The Day Before Forever

To the Henleys in our lives

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;

And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,

Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,

And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

—Alexander Pope,
Eloisa to Abelard

PROLOGUE

I TURNED THE
doorknob, and I was in. There was no lock, and why should there be? They let rooms for harmless travelers. They had no thought that anything could go wrong.

The first room was painted in opposites—light and dark, but in the night it all looked gray. It was small, almost like a closet by modern standards, but it was a size I was used to.

I placed one foot in front of the other, careful not to bump into the chairs lined up by the door. I didn't want to touch anything unnecessary.

I had thought this through. I had thought
everything
through—especially during my many sleepless nights. I knew what every move should be, and I knew what every second held for me. Tonight's plan was completely thought out. All that was left was to execute it.

I paused at the black table, as I had planned. There were many drawers, but only one with a lock, the bottom one. I
opened the top drawer instead.

There, nestled in the corner, was a set of keys. Predictable. People were all the same. Even time cannot change them that much.

I used the smallest key on the locked drawer, and it opened for me without so much as a sound.

Files. Paperwork. There were names that meant nothing to me. And for the first time that night—the first time in a while—I felt apprehensive. How would I know which one was hers? Where she would be? She could easily hide behind a false name, and I wouldn't be able to pick her out.

Then there it was, staring back at me. Her name. And another name, equally familiar. But it could not be
him
since he was not of this time—no matter. It was
her
that interested me. What arrogance and stupidity to use their own names. It led me straight to them, and now I knew exactly where they were.

Two white doors met my gaze. Now, which held what I was looking for? Or rather,
who
I was looking for?

I chose the left door and was pleased when it opened onto a hallway. There were many doors on either side, but they were not the one I needed.

I walked to the side, keeping close to the wall so the floors wouldn't creak under my weight.

Turning the corner, I saw it. A small, delicate blue flower amid a garden of white.

Taking a hairpin out of my bag, I set to work on the door.

I turned the hairpin clockwise in the lock, waiting for it to catch on something.

Click.

I looked down at my hand, holding the hairpin. I expected it to be trembling, but it held steady. Good. Now counterclockwise with a little push.

I wished I could have just broken a window to get in. It would have been so much easier. But much too haphazard. No, I had thought this through and this was the best way. This wasn't a time for sloppiness.

A creak sounded in the hallway behind me.

No.

I froze. If I could have willed my blood to stop, I would have. I was so close. I had practiced these very motions night after night. No one could stop me. Not now.

I stood there listening. No more sounds. Whoever it was, he or she was not coming my way.
Thank you.

My hand was still holding the hairpin in the lock. I turned it halfway clockwise. I leaned against the door, and it gently opened.

Looking over my shoulder, I scanned the hallway behind me. Still empty. Everyone was asleep. It was as if they had made it easy for me. But I wasn't doing this for the challenge, I reminded myself as I crept in. This was a culmination, of sorts—my last act.

Best to close the door behind me so no one would think anything was amiss. I slipped the hairpin into my bag. It went with the knife and the small pocket watch I also carried.

There was no time to waste anymore. This had to be done.

And then I stopped. For there she was. She was on the bed, fully clothed—not even underneath the covers—as if she had fallen asleep talking. This was too simple.

This was the first time I was seeing her up close without the mask of darkness. When I had tried to smother her before, it had been too dark to see more than the outline of her face. But now, seeing her, I realized she looked exactly like all the others I had ended.

This one's eyelashes pressed into her skin. Deep sleep. She was curled around a man, who was next to her on the bed, as if her little body was trying to shield him from whatever might come through the door. Me.

I almost laughed. She didn't have to worry about that. It was her I had come for, after all. But as I moved farther into the room and stood over the bed, I saw his face and my breath stopped.
It couldn't be.

I now knew why she was curled around this man, trying to shield him. The man's face was one I remembered well. It was a face I had seen before, centuries ago. He had been sick, dying in fact. Mortal. But if he was here now, that could only mean he was immortal. She had turned him.

Pain shot through my jaw. I hadn't noticed I was clenching it that hard. If she had done this to him, she could be doing it to others.

I scanned the top of the bedside table and quietly opened its drawer. Stationery. Nothing important.

I opened the closet door. Just a few articles of clothing. A black shift of some sort. A few men's shirts. Shoes on the floor. Nothing that would hold water. I made sure to put everything back in the right place.

Next, I checked the adjoining bathroom very carefully. Still nothing.

I had already searched through the other woman's house in New York. Just like in this room, she had nothing that resembled a glass or a bottle of liquid.

But this woman . . . she would have needed the water to turn him. There was no other way to do it.

She must have used the last she had on him. So perhaps she would go back to acquire more? She had to. To turn more into her kind.

I had searched in Florida for the original source of the water, but I had failed. The others I had eliminated had refused to tell me the location of their source before their deaths. Perhaps there was another source to which she could lead me?

I peered at the bed again.

I could do it in one motion. A twist of her neck. A swift gesture of a knife. Painless . . . almost. But what good would that do if I couldn't find her water? Instead, I should keep her alive a while longer to find the source.

I could keep him too. She would confide in him. I could keep a close watch on them. And he might also be useful. She seemed to care about her unnatural creation like she cared about no other thing or person. One might even call it
love.
Or weakness.

My eyes fell on a string of plastic beads on the bedside table. My hands found them, and in a familiar way I carefully wrapped the beads around his hands, taking care to clasp them together. He did not stir.

It was too easy.