But it was just books, so it didn’t seem so bad.
The collection was varied, and this was only part of it. There was an enormous bookshelf in his bedroom, too. Novels, nonfiction, and a surprisingly large assortment of poetry. I reached for one that looked well-worn and gasped at the vision that popped into my head:
Grey, reading alone.
It was a lonely sight rather than cozy. I couldn’t tell if he actually felt lonely in the vision, but it sure looked that way. I put the book back and reached for another.
A similar vision shot into my mind. I went down the line of the bookshelf, running my fingertips over the spines. Grey’s clothes changed each time, flashing from past to present depending on when he had read the book.
So many years.
Alone.
That was the thing about immortality. You were constantly alone. Even if you found someone, they died eventually, leaving you alone. Again.
From what I understood of my new world, heavens and hells were real. They were called afterlives, and almost all supernaturals went to one when they died. What you believed in life would determine where you went in death, so it wasn’t really an end.
Except for Grey and the other immortals. They stayed on earth forever. Alone.
Tears pricked my eyes.
“Exploring?” Grey’s low voice sounded from the corner.
I jumped, gasping. Slowly, I turned, the book clutched in my hand. He wore simple charcoal sleep pants and a T-shirt, looking more casual and handsome than I’d ever seen him. I swallowed hard. “I…uh…couldn’t sleep.”
“Looking for reading material?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a good one.” He nodded to the book in my hand. “Does your gift work on it?”
“It does, but I didn’t come out here to snoop.”
He raised his eyebrows, clearly not buying it.
“Well, not entirely.”
A smile tugged up at the corner of his mouth. “See anything interesting?”
“You, reading a lot of books.”
“Helps the time pass.”
“You don’t hate being immortal?”
“Hate?” He frowned. “I don’t know if I hate it. This is just the way life is.”
“It sounds terribly lonely.” I wanted to hug him.
He turned and strode to the window, as if he didn’t want to consider the idea. Finally, he said, “I’m used to it.”
“I’m worried about you.” About his health, but also about this. About the fortress he’d locked himself inside for so long.
“You don’t need to be.”
“On the contrary, I believe she should be.” The voice sounded from behind us, and I turned, my heart in my throat.
The air on the other side of the room shimmered, and the Oracle appeared out of thin air.