Clement looked out of the window to the street below. He watched the emissary from the Gathering Light Society amble down the block and stop in front of the palace. The woman, dressed in tourist regalia, checked the street before pulling a device from her backpack. She put the viewer up to her eye and swept the front of the palace. The woman frowned and recalibrated the device. The findings were the same: The legion of demons no longer clung to the palace’s gargoyles. The woman whipped out a notebook and scribbled pages of notes.
“That was you a year ago,” Eilyn’s weak voice emerged from the pile of furs cradled in the wheelchair. “And several years before.”
“How are you feeling?” Clement asked, adjusting the swaddling. The centuries were catching up to her fast.
“I’ve got time still,” she smiled. Her withered hand reached out to pat his.
“We could always summon your brother,” he offered. She frowned and he added. “You wouldn’t be alone.”
“No,” she laughed. “I am too happy to have this life over with and I would not allow you to trap yourself.”
“As you wish,” he nodded. The man in him feared the powers needed to grant eternal life. However, his inner historian swooned at the prospect of observing the passage of time without consequence.
For now he was satisfied with interviewing Eilyn. Her mind remained sharp even as her body failed. And each day, when she grew too tired or cold to go on, he studied her detailed diaries or the massive collection of first editions in the palace library.
Someday, the books would be all that remained of this epic tale.
“Let’s get started,” she tugged his hand, dragging him out of his thoughts. “1889 was an exciting year in the city.”