Twenty-Two ◑ The Half

Lucille was weightless, yet it wasn't as liberating as she'd thought it would be. The lightness of her entire body made her feel untethered, exposed, vulnerable.

There were faint sounds around her. Sobs and soft cries, her name being whispered urgently. Then there was the roar of a car, muffled and distant, as though she was hearing it from a well-enclosed space. Silence replaced it, the kind that would make one's ears ring. After that there was a long stream of whispers, phrases uttered in such a low volume that the words blended into nothing.

It made her dizzy, nauseous, but she couldn't even feel her own body. She couldn't tell if she was whole. She was just there, floating around aimlessly. She couldn't open her eyes, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything.

Was this the end? Lucille wondered vaguely. Was she dead? Was she slowly being transported into the afterlife? Was she going to meet—?

"Lucille?" a familiar male voice said gently. "Lucille? Can you hear me?"

A responding groan escaped her lips, and it was weird because it didn't feel like she still had lips. However, it seemed that she was gradually regaining sensation all over her body. Her weight was pressed down against soft and smooth. Something was covering her from the neck down.

And there was definitely a hand on her forehead, tenderly brushing her hair back.

Lucille jolted awake, gasping as though she'd been holding her breath underwater for quite a while. The first thing that blasted her senses was the sunlight, illuminating the vast space of her bedroom. Her eyes began to sting. She shielded herself from it, her limbs heavy and weak.

Someone grabbed her arms and tried to push her back down onto her bed. "Hey, just relax. Don't overdo it."

She yelped and turned towards the sound of the voice. She knew it. It was Dimitri.

Should she be relieved or mad? His presence could mean two things: her death or her safety. Well, either way, he still deserved to be screamed at. She didn't manage that, though. The only thing that came out of her was a feeble, raspy series of questions. "You again? Why are you here? Where's Agnes?"

"One question at a time," he said sternly, but there was a faint smile of relief on his lips. "Agnes is in the shower." He raised a small damp washcloth and dabbed it against her forehead. "She left me on nursing duty, so unfortunately for you, you'll have to obey me. Now relax."

He eased her back against her pillows, but her shoulders were so stiff that she looked like a doll stuck between sitting up and lying down.

"Just relax," Dimitri repeated, trailing the washcloth down her cheeks and neck. "Agnes is going to yell at me if I'm unable to perform my job, and I assure you, you don't want to hear such unpleasantries this early in the morning."

Lucille cracked a smile and let her muscles loosen up. "So I'm not dead, huh?"

He shook his head, a lock of his wavy hair swaying by his golden eyes. "No, you're not."

She bit her lip. "Am I going to be soon?"

"No." Dimitri stopped moving the washcloth around her face. Usually, the topic of her long-awaited death perked him up, but now he looked worried. "That mortal almost succeeded, though. The bullet was inches away from your heart."

"But normal weapons are not supposed to hurt me. I'm immortal." Dread filled up her heart. "Am I already . . . out of time?"

"You're not." His jaw tightened. "As to why the bullet managed to penetrate you, I don't know, and I would very much love to punish that stupid mortal for attempting. But this isn't something I should meddle with. Besides, she got away." When her eyes flashed in anger, he quickly added, "Don't. Don't come after her. The important thing is that Agnes managed to take you home and call on me to revive you. There’s no point trying to find that woman."

"So I was gone?" She swallowed hard. "Did I really die?"

"Of course not," Dimitri said with a bit of a scoff. "You think I'd let that happen?"

"But you're so eager to take me to the afterlife," she reasoned. "You keep saying you look forward to it. You're always so disappointed when I stay alive."

He smiled wryly. "I'm the God of Death. It just irks me when I can't have a soul. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop making sure you're safe."

Lucille's stomach flipped. This was one of the reasons why it had always been hard for her to stay mad at Dimitri. He might be snide, blunt, and condescending sometimes, but he would come to their aid no matter what. He was Lucille and Agnes's biggest critic, but he was no doubt their protector.

Still, Lucille didn't want to think about how close she'd been to death, and how the god of that realm himself brought her back from the brink. Nope, she didn't want to think of it. She just extended a hand and tried to take his. But of course, her fingers passed through hers again.

"And I still can't touch you," she said dryly.

"Why are you still surprised?” Dimitri's eyes crinkled in amusement. “Do you want to touch me that bad?"

"No," Lucille said vehemently. When he laughed, she waved him off. She felt her humor transitioning into gratitude. "Thank you for what you did, though. Seriously."

Silence stretched between them. He resumed treating her with the washcloth, occasionally pausing to tuck her hair away. His touch was so soft and so warm that it was hard to believe he was intangible to her. She was beginning to feel hot because of it, in places that were not supposed to gain heat just because of him.

Lucille shifted and casually shied away from his touch. "So, how long was I out? One hour? Two?"

"One."

"Oh. That's a relief, isn't—"

"One week."

"What?" Lucille spluttered, springing upright and causing her own head to throb. "One week?"

Dimitri shrugged. "Yeah. Don't worry."

"Don't worry?" She faced him urgently. "The people at work need me.”

“They do?” He frowned. “That’s strange. Did you actually take the job seriously and made yourself an asset?”

Lucille chose not to answer that. “I know I don't need to go to work anymore, but I have to. I still want to. I still have unfinished business there."

For some reason, this made Dimitri's nonchalant expression melt into something warm and reminiscent and almost . . . affectionate.

"You've always been too strong-willed for your own good," he said in a hush, almost to himself. "Your soft side is rare, but I hope you spare me a bit of your tenderness when you finally remember."

"Remember what?" she asked, blinking hard in confusion. "Dimitri, what are you—"

"Miss Lucille!" Agnes appeared at the door, wearing a fluffy sweater and some track pants. Her hair was still wrapped in a towel and her clothes had damp spots, but this didn't stop her from bounding towards the bed, pushing Dimitri out of the way, and enclosing Lucille in a warm hug. "I'm so glad you're okay. You gave me a scare. Next time, don't take bullets for me, okay?"

Lucille frowned at her last statement, which made Dimitri grin. "Um, sure, Agnes," she just said, hugging her back. "Thank you for saving my life."

"Aww, it's nothing. Did you take good care of her?" Agnes demanded at Dimitri. When he nodded, she turned to Lucille. "Did he fill you in on the happenings?"

Dimitri answered for her. "Yes, I did. Now it's time for me to go. Till next time, ladies. Please keep out of trouble. And by trouble, I mean you, Lucille."

He turned to go, but Lucille leapt out of bed and tried to stop him. "What did you mean, Dimitri?"

"Nothing." The god gave her a quick kiss on her greasy hairline. "Goodbye."

With that, he stepped back and vanished in a wisp of black smoke.

"He didn't tell you everything, did he?" Agnes asked, still staring at the spot where Dimitri had disappeared.

"He never does," Lucille said, shaking off the feel of Dimitri's lips on her skin. The spot he’d kissed for about a millisecond was still alarmingly hot. She sat at the edge of her bed. God, her joints were still mush. "So, what was he supposed to tell me?"

Agnes didn't respond immediately. Instead, she crossed the room towards the big painting hung on the wall and unmounted it to reveal the vault. "It's the candle."

Lucille's heart skipped a beat. "What about it?"

"This." Agnes opened the vault and brought the candle out. "This is what he was supposed to discuss."

She lowered it to Lucille's eye level, and Lucille's body nearly gave way when she saw what was inside the container.

The candle was halfway gone. Melted into a puddle of thick red wax. Her life, her memories, her powers . . . all halfway gone. The little lick of flame topping the wick was dancing merrily, bright and stubbornly alive.

They stared at it for a while, concentrating on the half-melted carvings like their sheer willpower would rebuild the whole thing up. Lucille was just withering inside, to the point where she was just hollow.

So this was what Dimitri was supposed to talk to her about. She didn't like that he'd said weird shit and dipped off instead, but she understood why he’d avoided the topic. She wasn't sure if this was something she wanted to be explained, much less by the God of Death. Not when she still wasn't ready to give up her life as she knew it, not when she wasn't ready to remember anything.

But what would this mean for her now? Did this mean she was only half alive? Did this mean she'd be vulnerable from now on? Did this mean she'd age?

Did this mean she'd start to get more frequent visits from the ghosts of her past?

"This happened the moment you got shot, I'm guessing," Agnes said, taking the candle back in the vault. "Dimitri didn't want to discuss it with me. He said he didn't want us to be scared."

"Too late for that," Lucille muttered. "I'm already—"

The rest of her words went unsaid when the sound of the elevator doors opening invaded the silent apartment. Agnes's eyes widened, almost bulging out of their sockets when a familiar male voice announced, "Hello? Is anybody home?"

It was Cade. Cade was in their suite.