Immortal: Curse of the Deathless

Chapter 4 (Part 1: A Beginning)

Asher scrunched his nose at the loose crimson robe that had been thrown over him and shifted in his uncomfortable chair. Although silky smooth to the touch, he couldn't help but feel exposed in the loose clothing. Asher and the coven had immediately been separated from each other. They were interrogated individually while simultaneously being put on display for unseen observers that lurked behind one-way glass.

Asher had been forced to provide an account of his story from beginning to end several times over by then. He downplayed the role of his regeneration ability and tried to weave a mostly true story that combined luck with planning. The middle-aged woman across the table from him set down her writing utensil and signaled the watching party.

The purple, opulence-obsessed man entered. "Ah, a naive fool. Well, that's no surprise."

Asher seethed.

He leaned in as if to whisper a secret. "Boy, have you ever heard of telepaths? No? How sad. Because a talented one has been combing through your memories for the past two hours. You may go now, my lovely Beatrice."

Telepaths are a thing?

Disguising his thoughts had been a practice in futility; he was made to feel the alien sensation of a foreign mind inside his head. Asher's interrogator rose and exited the room without a word, leaving the notepad that'd been diligently recording his lies. Asher's stomach dropped out from under him as he realized the implications of the news.

Was my fabrication seen through that easily? He dug his nails into his palms. So much for my skills as a competent liar.

The man clutched his chest. "Ah, how rude of me! This is our second meeting, and I haven't introduced myself. Archibald Castor, at your service," Archibald bowed regally, his mouth warped by a foul smirk.

Asher envisioned himself strangling the man. "When will we be released?"

"Released? We?" Castor rolled the words across his tongue as if they were unfamiliar, then snapped his fingers dramatically. "Why of course! You'll be happy to know that poor excuse for a coven was sent home ages ago."

A foreboding feeling pressed down on him. "Why am I still here then?"

Castor seemed to see straight through him. "My, what a crudely bred mutt you are! Certainly you realize that you're being detained as the orchestrator of an unprovoked attack on the Inquisition."

"From the frying pan to the fire," Asher said, biting the inside of his lip.

Can't a guy catch a break? I'm looking at you.

Castor clapped merrily. "And so the child finally discerns the extent of trouble he's found himself in. Educating children requires no more reward than that fitful spark of realization, and that pitiful countenance."

Just then, the door to the examining room slammed open, and Metis strode in. Her blue eyes promised a storm. "This interrogation is over. Leave us."

Archibald bowed ironically to Metis and saw himself out with poised elegance. Metis took the seat opposite Asher. The brilliant facade she'd put on for Archibald shattered like the mask it was. Her usually crisp clothes were wrinkled, and she looked worn out.

"It's rare to see you emerge from isolation."

Asher was gratified to receive a sharp look. "Asher Hearst, I knew you were foolish, but this takes stupidity to new heights," Metis said, and Asher winced.

"I'm sure you came because you had one of your famous tricks up your sleeve?" Asher said, his expression hopeful.

Metis tapped her long nails against the metal table. "You'll have to present yourself before the Council. The Inquisition is negotiating for reparations, and your head is their foremost demand. They'll be looking to crucify you to take the blame for the attack."