A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis - Robyn Peterman Page 0,60

out?” Candy mused aloud.

Tim stood and scratched his head. “I know of this. It’s appalling. There was a group created—kind of like thoroughbred horses—no sexual intercourse involved. It was done to streamline the species. Very unethical, if you ask me.”

“No one asked you,” John Travolta said so coldly, I stepped back. “And yes, it was unethical, but we are all aware there are shades of gray around every corner, especially for those who can’t die. There are many circumstances of which we have no control. I didn’t know that you were one of the products of the experiment until a century ago, and I was forbidden to reach out.”

“What made you change your mind?” I asked, unable to stop myself. I was sure his answer would be cryptic like it always was.

“Because it was wrong,” he said. “Because Heather asked. Because she has a right to know.”

“Will there be consequences for you if they become aware you told me?” Heather asked.

Michael shrugged. “I have ceased to care. It should not have been a secret.”

Heather stared at him for a long moment. She calmed herself with effort. She paced the room and gathered her thoughts. “So, basically I’m a horse. An Immortal horse.”

No one said a word. While Darth Vader was her father in a very indirect sense of the word, he was more of a sperm donor. Literally.

“I wonder how many exist?” Tim questioned aloud, and then zipped it when Charlie glared at him.

“Five, from what I understand,” Michael said.

“Identical to me?” Heather asked.

“No,” he replied.

“Unbelievable.” With a huge sigh of resignation, Heather slowly crossed the room and extended her hand to Darth Vader. “I’m sorry for attacking you. Sadly, and unsurprisingly, you were a pawn as much as I was.”

And yet another turn of events I didn’t see coming. I’d expected a little more bloodshed and possibly a few tears. It had been wildly anticlimactic.

“Hang on,” I sputtered in shock. “That’s it? You’re not going to punch him again?”

“No. I’m not,” Heather said, sounding old and tired.

“Do you want me to punch him?” I offered, wanting to have her back since she always had mine. It wasn’t mature. It wasn’t becoming, but it felt right.

Heather took a deep breath and then exhaled audibly. “No, but I appreciate the offer. There are things you don’t understand, Daisy—hopefully will never have to understand. We’re all pawns in a larger game. It is what it is. I bear the Archangel no ill will. However, the one punch I got in was satisfying.”

The Archangel took the Arbitrator’s hand and shook it. “I am truly sorry, Heather.”

“Me too, Michael,” Heather replied.

“Wait. We’re sisters,” I said as my brain raced and my mouth followed.

Heather’s laugh was hollow. “That’s the only good thing to come out of this mess,” she said, and then calmly turned back to the man who’d sired her. “So that leaves you, Archangel. You planted the incorrect cause of Alana’s death in Gram’s mind, because I sure as hell know I didn’t do it. And apparently no one else here could have.”

“That’s certainly bad form,” Tim said, shaking his head. “I’m surprised at you, Michael.”

“I didn’t do it,” Michael said.

“Then who did?” I demanded of my father.

His lips compressed and his color heightened. “It was not me,” he said, pinning me with a hard stare. “Think. Please think. The words cannot come from my lips. Too much is at stake.”

And another puzzle piece fell sickeningly into place.

“Clarissa,” I said. “Clarissa did it.”

My father didn’t confirm or deny, but I saw a brief moment of great relief in his eyes.

“Why?” I demanded. “No more cryptic bullshit. We are so far past that point. The guessing games are over.”

Everyone looked at the Archangel.

“To cover her tracks,” he replied reluctantly.

“You will have to expound on that, Archangel,” Charlie instructed. “Now.”

Glancing around the room warily, he motioned for us to gather close. Waving his hand, a shimmering bubble surrounded us.

I looked over questioningly at Gideon.

“Insurance,” he said. “Soundproofing.”

“Because?” I pressed. “I don’t think the ghosts are going to blab.”

“Not the dead. Other Immortals,” Candy said.

“Exactly how many Immortals are in town at the moment?” I snapped.

All eyes went to Tim.

“Right now, just those of us in the room,” Tim said. “However, other’s bop in and out occasionally.”

Dropping my chin to my chest, I bit back all the questions I wanted to ask that had little to do with what we were discussing. I wanted to know how many Immortals existed. I wanted to know if they