Ezra returned to the alley behind the bar. He knelt at the spot where she slowly bled to death and ran his fingers through a small pool of blood. Her scent was strong, fragrant and charged with electricity. Different odours lingered underneath hers, less potent— a deep organic musk just barely detectable. There were scuff marks on the pavement, maybe from her or perhaps from the men. He couldn't be sure. The dumpster had been thrust against the wall from where they had pinned her. The knife had slid effortlessly between her ribs as if the thick bone and cartilage offered only the suggestion of protection. 

   Ezra hadn't seen much. Leif had run into the fray from the first muffled scream. Leif never knew when to keep to himself. Getting involved in people's lives and problems never ended well. It took four seconds before he had steadily followed after Leif, giving him only a glimpse of the men. He hadn't been interested, not at first.

   The girl had surprised him, staring at him as if she was daring him to look away... and the way she smiled at him while she bled out. Ezra shook his head, none of that mattered. It was what she said that gripped him— those last words, garbled, almost unintelligible and ancient. Very ancient. How did she know?

   Ezra grunted to himself and walked further into the darkened alley. He walked for over an hour, the trail leading to an ordinary, unassuming house. The porch glistened with rain, reflecting the street lights. He didn't hesitate, walking through the front door as if he owned the place. No one heard the door creak or close quietly. He found the man asleep. He was naked from the waist up and one foot dangled near the edge of the bed.

   The room was cluttered, dark and typical of this world obsessed with pointless minutiae that people can't live without, self-obsessed and bored children. People had become as useless as their toys. Ezra walked over to the bed and stared down at the man, his chest rising and falling in a deep, soft rhythm. Watching him made Ezra feel quiet and peaceful. It had been a long time since he'd watched someone sleep.

   The man only had time to open his eyes. Ezra's hand clamped over his mouth and pinched his nose closed before he had a chance to take a breath. The man struggled and scratched at his hands for a while, trying to buck him off. Ezra watched him struggle for a while then released slightly. Wide-eyed, he stopped fighting instantly.

   "Where's your friend?" Ezra asked quietly.

   The man blinked up at him. Ezra squeezed harder, stopping just shy of crushing the man's face, then released again.

   The man shook and tried to pull away. "What... Who?"

   Ezra sighed and looked out the window at the rain. "This could have gone differently."

      He'd allowed the man the opportunity to save himself. He never used to offer chances.

Despite the lateness of the hour, everything was exactly as it had been the previous day. I could almost have imagined it had been a delightfully bizarre dream.... if it hadn't been for the sharp pain that poked at my ribcage.

   I pulled the sheet aside to examine the gash. It felt more than just damp. Then I started screaming. Blood had soaked into the sheets twisting around me like a cocoon. Panic flooded my system faster and stronger than ever before. I pulled up my shirt and saw a thin trail of blood oozing out the small gash at my side. Somehow, during the night, I had managed to rip it open.

   My stomach rolled, and I had to close my eyes to breathe. I didn't know if I was going to shake, cry or what. Where was my phone? I scrambled to reach for it. It only took a moment to slide my thumb across the screen, but that was as far as I got. I stared at the numbers wanting to call an ambulance, but I just couldn't do it. I needed to go to the hospital, but I couldn't make myself dial. 

   I scrolled through my list of contacts and found the number Leif had saved to my phone.     

   He answered right away. "Before you ask, no, it wasn't a nightmare. You really are a god."   

   "L-Leif?" I stuttered and gulped.

   "What's wrong?"

   "I can't call an ambulance."

   "You need an ambulance?" He sounded so calm and self-possessed. I wish I could say the same for myself.

   "I don't know."

   "Where do you live?"

   I told him, and he hung up without saying goodbye. I didn't move from the bed and kept my hand cupped over the wound. Blood slipped out between my fingers every once in a while, but it was sluggish and inconsistent. Finally, there was a knock on my door. I had to move off the bed to answer it, renewing the pain. It was starting to become disturbingly familiar.

   I still had my bloody hand pressed against my side when I opened the door.

   Leif stood in my doorway smirking. Then he looked down at me. I must've appeared an extra straight out of a horror film, rolling around in blood all night. Which I had been. "Ah. What a mess. You're not quite as healed as we thought." He closed the door behind him. "Let's do something about that, shall we?"

   I pulled my hand away from my side and winced. I knew it looked far worse than it was, but still.

   "I can't make myself go to the hospital. I don't know why."

   He smirked and directed me toward a chair. "I think you know perfectly well, why." I twisted my shoulders uncomfortably, and he made me lean into the back of the chair. "Stay away from hospitals for any serious injuries. They only ask annoying questions. It must be exciting, being the youngest."

   Leif pulled my shirt up, exposing my torso. I twitched a little, uncomfortable at having this virtual stranger scrutinize me. He grinned, "Are you being modest or it is just around me?" I ignored the question. He wasn't looking for an answer anyway.

   "The youngest? I don't know if exciting is precisely the word I would choose. Do you guys usually keep track of these things?"

   "Yes and no," he said. "We need something to clean up the blood. He paused for a second, then continued, "And I'll need a needle." He sauntered to the bathroom as if he owned the place, and I heard him rummaging around the cabinets. He came out with a rag, soapy water and a small sewing kit I had tossed into my bag during my last hotel stay. He nudged my hand away, surprisingly gentle as he wiped away the fresh and dried blood.

   "New Avati are rare, so we do perk up a bit when someone young, like you, comes along. But we make a point to leave them in peace. It wouldn't be of much help to you having dozens of immortals hanging around, interfering in your life."

   "How rare?"

   He looked up, thoughtful. "The last Avati to make the change, that I'm aware of was about two or three hundred years ago... give or take. We got three newbies, only a few years apart. Hectic decade for us.  So I suppose you could say we were due."

   There were none in the last three centuries? How many of us are there? And if the population continues to expand, does the numbers of immortals increase as well?

   "Your wound is only half-healed. It didn't close as much as I had hoped. You're going to need stitches. What were you doing last night to opening it up again?" Leif gave me a stern look. Had I been tossing and turning in my sleep? I winced when he pressed on the gash, trying to clear the blood away.  

    "If my body is essentially the same as it was before, like you said, how can I know for certain?"

   Leif shrugged, "I suppose you could shoot yourself or start jumping off bridges, but I don't recommend it. It's excruciating, and you'll be immobilized for days," he said matter-of-factly. His laissez-faire attitude about suicide was chilling.

   "I'll keep that in mind." I'd never been one to fantasize about that, and the prospect didn't appeal to me either.

   "The worst thing at your age is how long it takes to be able to move. You'd be fully conscious of everything going on around you but be completely unable to do anything about it." He shook his head at the thought as if he was shaking away an unpleasant vision. His hands were gentle and firm as he slowly wiped the blood away. "I can't imagine what an autopsy must be like... listening to people bury you is horrible enough. I don't recommend it. Digging yourself out of a grave is not as simple as it looks in the movies. It takes days or even weeks, and you usually die of suffocation many times in the process."

   "Jesus! That happened to you?" I decided the word die didn't have the same meaning any more.

   I tried to close my mind to a vision of digging myself out from six feet of dirt, but I couldn't get the picture out of my head.

   "Twice, actually. The third time someone helped me out. But with these modern metal coffins they use now, I don't know if you'd ever be able to dig yourself out. And you don't want to get cremated."

   "Got it. No suicide attempts for personal amusement," I deadpanned.

   "That's always been my philosophy," he said and flashed a broad smile. "Not that I have to worry about that as often anymore. One of the perks of getting old."

   I laughed and then grimaced from the pain. Getting old today is practically a curse, a battle to be fought against every moment. Getting old means getting slower and weaker, being treated like a child again... it means becoming less and less important as you are replaced by younger generations. This new world viewed old age as a prize— just as a young child eagerly anticipates each birthday. I was a young girl again, waiting for the day when I'd be old enough to be taken seriously.

   He dropped the rag into the water and reached for the sewing kit. I stopped breathing when he pulled out a thin needle. Shit. This was going to be painful. My heart rate was ratcheting up. How could I let this stranger sew into me? He took the needle between his fingers and started to bend it, twisting it into a curve.

    "Umm..." I breathed out slowly. "Where did you learn to do this?"

   "Heidelberg. 1520... give or take a decade or two."

   I closed my eyes. Bad. Very bad. "Define 'age very slowly'," I said, trying to distract myself. I opened my eyes and watched him pour liberal amounts of rubbing alcohol onto the needle after he threaded it.

   "What?"

   "Yesterday, in the bar, Ezra said we age very slowly. What does that mean?"

"Ah," he said. "Well, it's different for everyone. Some are slower than others. But, if I had to guess, I'd say an average of maybe one year for every thousand." I sat staring at nothing. I suddenly snapped my jaw shut as I realized it was gaping open.

   "Ezra once told me he thinks he was in his twenties when he died." He smiled at me innocently. "You do the math."

   I thought about the faint lines around Ezra's eyes and mouth. But, people in his time would have lived a much harsher life and would have aged earlier than we do. But when would age start to take its toll back then? Ezra appeared no older than thirty-two; he was definitely older than five thousand years. Was the number was closer to ten? There were realities at play in my new life I could not imagine. 

   Leif reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a flask covered in dark brown leather. "Here, drink."

   I scowled. "It's nine o'clock in the morning."

   He glared at me. "This is just about the finest scotch you will find anywhere. And I am sharing it with you. Drink."

   "Is alcohol your solution to all your issues?"

   "No, just the good ones." He shook the flask at me, "Last chance, Pet."

   I took another breath and pain dug into my ribs again. "Fine." I reached for the flask and tipped my head back, swallowing a couple large gulps. It burned my throat, and I sputtered. Leif laughed like a delighted boy. I handed it back to him, and he took a large swig himself. 

   He raised the needle, ready to pierce my skin and I winced, holding my breath. His eyebrows shot up. "I can cauterize the wound instead if you prefer." I think my stomach literally flattened in horror.

   "No! No worries. Go ahead. I'm fine." His lips quirked upwards, almost a smile before his gaze flickered back down at my side. He rested his ear against my ribs and listened first.

   "You're lungs sound clear. It sounds like any damage to the lung was healed. It's just the surface wound that is causing the trouble. You'll be fine." He paused and looked at me, "Ready?"

   I nodded. My empty stomach and loss of blood made my head swim in a lazy fog from the scotch. I rested against the back of the chair and closed my eyes. The needled stung as it dug into me. The feel of the thread pulling through me was an eerie sensation that made my stomach twitch slightly. The needle stabbed and pulled my skin together, over and over again.

   "I still can't remember what happened," I said. "I get flashes of the attack, and then they slip away before I can understand what I remember, like an epic fog."

   Leif nodded. "I don't remember when I died either. Few of us ever do." He wiped some blood that had escaped. "It may come back to you after a while. Or you may just remember parts of what happened. Ezra hardly remembers anything from his entire life before he died."

    "He doesn't remember anything?" I asked louder than I intended. Leif looked up.

   "Just pieces." He returned to sewing.

   "Is that normal?"

   Leif shrugged. "I don't know." He knotted the thread and then bent to break it with his teeth. "There. That'll do. That's excellent work, so don't do whatever you were doing last night and rupture the stitches."

   "I don't know what I did last night."

   I bent down to examine the wound, perfectly spaced and even. Maybe he did know what he was doing.

   He shot me an enormous grin. "Ah, Ma Biche, your first night as Avati... you could have done anything. Young ones are so delightfully entertaining." The constant reminders about being so young were starting to irk me.

   "I should go," he said and stood up. "And I suggest a bath. It's not close enough to Halloween not to alarm people dressed like this." Not surprising, my pajamas were nearly covered with red splotches, as were my bedsheets. A strange sensation prickled down my arms, as an odd scent wafted under my nose, just as it had in Ezra's car the night before.

   "He's on his way to Germany," he said, reading my mind. "He left this morning." I looked up at him. He held my gaze, then nodded. "We'll be around if you need us."

   He turned and strolled out the door.

I looked down at my bloodied hands again and sighed.

   Ása felt the air around her crackle and could smell the heady ozone as she neared the corner of her street. She glanced down her block as she neared her flat. A man leaned against a car watching her front entrance. She pulled the hood on her coat up over her head and wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. Ása hated unexpected visitors. Walking swiftly, she stepped closer to her door.

   The man turned to face her. He was wearing only a light jacket without a hat. Clearly, he wasn't local, only a foreigner would forget his hat in weather like this. She could see dark wavy hair spilling into his face. He smiled as she approached.

   "Ezra," she called out, quickening the last few steps to greet him. "You didn't tell me you were coming to town."

   "It was a last-minute decision," Ezra replied as he straightened up from the car. 

   "And you came straight to me," she replied. "I'm honoured... and suspicious." 

   "I came to take you to dinner. Where's Wu?" He opened the passenger door and reached in to grab something off the seat.

   "He's still in Bali. You arrived just in time; I'm flying back to Indonesia next week. I'm only going to be in Frankfurt for another week." She spied a bottle in his hand as he straightened up. "What's this?"

   His fingers were wrapped around the neck of a dark bottle, its label brown with age. "A bribe," he replied and held it out. "I made a quick stop at my house on the way here."

   Her eyebrows rose in interest. "1959 Chateau Haut-Brion. This came from one of your cellars?" Ezra nodded. "And what is this bribe for?" Her hands were already wrapping around the bottle.  

   "Allowing me to snoop around your library for a while."

Who do you think that man Ezra killed was?

TEASER: "Leif should have let me kill her." 

Uh oh. I wonder if this is about Kaja.