Deathless

Chapter 45: Millie

The smell hits me first, the sudden shift from the stale dampness of the hallway, the smoke and bitterness left in the wake of the blasts to the crisp winter air of an outdoor morning. There's enough mixed up in that scent to let me know we're in a city, that faint mix of sewers, car fumes and concrete clinging faintly to the air.

When I open my eyes, I see that I'm standing next to Jackson in a cemetery. The early morning sun bleeds peach and pink across a sky of silver and lavender clouds. The dim light casts blueish shadows across the stones and monuments that surround us, the blackened talons of tree branches clawing across the ground. In the distance, miles behind the cemetery, surrounded by the hazy silver of the city, I can see the Eiffel tower reaching towards the sky. I gasp and turn to Jackson. His face is solemn, those same shadows obscuring his face.

I realise he wasn't lying when he said he needed me here. Whatever this place holds for him, it's gripping him tightly, but we don't have time to confront it now. Though from his expression, we may not have any choice. I slip my hand in his and he turns to me, his eyes dazed like he forgot I was here.

"I always knew you'd take me to Paris one day. I was thinking about the Louvre or maybe Disneyland, though." He snorts, and then a sliver of a smile reveals my Jackson to me. He swallows hard, eyes scanning the area. Sitting on the stones nearby, a raven watches us. Bobbing lightly and tilting its head.

"This way." He says simply, walking forward but not dropping my hand.

There's a beauty to a place like this, a peace in the finality. It's silent, save a few birds cawing from the trees. The faint sounds of the city were present but dulled, the early hour saving us from its true roar. The air is still, a faint mist hangs above the ground. The world glitters even though we're surrounded by death and decay.

I think of Mum's funeral, at my rage and misery when I saw her grave, and wonder if I misunderstood. If I've misunderstood everything. I tighten my grip on Jackson's hand, feeling the warmth and support of his touch. He turns to look at me, his face still solemn, and I think he knows. He brings my hand up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles with a tenderness that shatters my heart.

He walks onwards. As we walk deeper into the cemetery, the gravestones grow older, crumbling with age and neglect. Time has taken anyone who may have maintained them with flowers, care, and affection.

"Why are we here, Jackson?"

He's silent for a long time, the cry of ravens the only break in the quiet. They seem to grow in number as we pass them, squatting like dark guardians on graves and tree branches.

"I lied to Atropos. Before Death passed over, he spoke to me. Just one word. He said, Jacqueline. He said my mother's name."

He keeps walking; the ground seems to buckle here, tree roots rearing up through the path. As we go deeper, Jackson's footsteps slow. His breathing is faster, heavier, his grip on my hand tighter.

A few steps ahead of me, Jackson moves a branch out of my way. The surrounding ravens still multiplying, their beady eyes watching us as we go. Jackson pays them no attention, but their presence makes me shudder. I know, without needing to ask, that this isn't a normal conspiracy of ravens, but one with a task. A duty.

I see our destination before we reach it, the buttery light melting through the dark forked trees and skimming across boxy graves. Everything here is faded and crumbling, forgotten by everything but time.

Except here, except these graves.

Two gravestones, elegant in their simplicity and lovingly tended to. The surrounding grass, neat and lush. Fresh flowers grow around them, carefully maintained. The ravens sitting in the nearby trees watch us as we stop in front of the graves. I pull closer to Jackson and read the wording on the stones. They're in French, but I understand enough.