Sometime in 1788: Lessons in Survival …

  Akio lands on his butt with a thud, a yelp escaping him as his hands flail up, swatting away the dust cloud his graceless landing kicks up. His gaze darts between the wooden pole now resting beside him and Alex, who stands over him with a full-toothed, infuriatingly smug grin, her own pole still in hand.

  With a pained grunt, he rises, dust clinging to every inch of him. He reaches for his pole. God help him, she was enjoying herself.

  “You having fun?” he asks, voice taut with barely contained frustration.

  Alex exhales in extreme satisfaction. “Lots.”

  Akio tamps down the very real urge to launch his stick at her head. Instead, he breathes through his nose. “Look, not to ruin your idea of a good time, but you said you were going to teach me to fight.” He gestures vaguely at his bruised everything. “So far, you’ve just been beating the hell out of me, and I’ve learned nothing.”

  Alex watches him, pole twirling lazily in one hand. That smug smile remains, but now her head tilts, considering. “Actually, I said we were going to find someone to teach you to fight. It’s not my fault we didn’t find anyone.”

  Akio scoffs, rolling out his sore shoulder. “So what, your plan is to just keep pummeling me until I magically absorb the knowledge?”

  “And you said you weren’t learning anything.” She smirks, planting her pole into the ground with a single impressive swoop. Stepping away, she motions for him to come at her. “Again. I won’t even use the stick this time.”

  Akio sighs. This is pointless. But he closes the distance anyway, swinging his pole in a wide arc. Alex sidesteps, hands tucked neatly behind her back, evading him with infuriating ease.

  “Plant your feet,” she instructs smoothly, her body weaving around his increasingly frantic attacks. “And protect your face.” Her fingers trace an invisible frame around his features. “Serious issue, that face part—’cause that’s really all you’ve got going for you.”

  Akio rankles.

  “Where did you learn all this?” he pants, pole flying wildly as he tries, in vain, to land a single hit.

  Alex catches his weapon mid-strike, wrenching it from his grip like it’s nothing before sweeping his legs out from under him. Once again, he lands flat on his back, head thunking against the dusty ground.

  She crouches into his line of sight, utterly unbothered. “Also, maybe don’t ask your opponents personal questions during a fight. In a real battle, that’s just incentive to kill you even faster.”

  With a bored sigh, she stands and steps over him, dismissing him entirely.

  “Now, on to lesson two.”

  Akio groans. “I thought lesson two was ‘Don’t die.’”

  Alex shrugs. “On to lesson three, then.” She extends a hand. He takes it.

  Once he’s up, he stretches, wincing at the satisfying pop of several joints. He turns to her, expression shifting.

  “You—you’re bleeding.” He gestures to his own nose, guilt flickering across his face.

  Alex tsks knowingly, producing a pristine white handkerchief to dab at the blood.

  “I didn’t realize I hit you,” he insists, brushing the dust from his clothes.

  When he looks up again, Alex is gone.

  He pivots, scanning the area, only to find her striding off without a word.

  ~~~

  Alex hums an old tune, fingers deftly assembling a pistol. She has no idea where the song is from, only that it was one of the first things she ever learned. Sometimes, in the quiet spaces of her mind, she recalls a shadowy figure lulling her to sleep with it, but no matter how hard she tries, the face never quite comes into focus.

  The crunch of boots against sand snaps her from her trance. She recognizes the footfalls instantly and shifts her expression back to casual indifference before Akio even comes into view.

  “Is your nose okay?” he asks, still looking vaguely remorseful.

  “Perfect.”

  Akio nods, but his gaze flicks to the gun in her hands, his shoulders tensing. “What is that?”

  She lifts the items in her hands one by one, speaking slowly, as though to a particularly dim child. “Gun. Rounds.”

  Akio scoffs. “I know what it is.” His brows knit. “You want me to fire a gun?”

  “Yes. Hence the presence of the gun.” Alex responds caustically, and Akio shrugs.

  “You might need it to shoot me.”

  She makes a wistful sound in her throat, twisting around to look at him.

  “Don't tempt me.” She snaps the chamber shut, giving it an adept spin before relinquishing the loaded gun to Akio, grip facing him. “Here.”

  He lifts his hands like a shield, taking a cautious step back. “I can't take this.”

  Alex moues, eyes raking over the gun in search of the defect. She finds nothing amiss.

  “What's wrong with it?” Her eyes whip up to inquire from him.

  “It—it’s a gun!” he sputters. “I don’t like killing people. Or violence. In general.”

  Her expression goes utterly flat. Her left eye twitches in an almost imperceptible squint. “Didn’t you blast a guy ten feet across the street?”

  “That was necessary self defense!”

  “Consider this necessary gun violence then.”

  He gapes at her. “That’s not how that works.”

  She snaps the chamber shut with a flick of her wrist, gives it an adept spin, then holds the weapon out to him, grip first. “Here.”

  Akio recoils. “I just said—”

  Alex exhales through her nose, patience thinning. “Look, you might not like killing people, but believe me, other people want to kill you.”

  “Why? They don’t even know me.”

  “No one cares.” She pushes the gun into his hands. He fumbles to keep hold of it. “It’s a simple survival tactic kill or be killed.”

  “It’s heavy.” He turns it over awkwardly, like it might detonate in his grip.

  Alex briefly considers every single life decision that led her to this moment. Too many errors to choose from.

  She guides him a few steps away, where empty glass bottles sit lined up on a low wall. “Aim at the bottles, please.”

  “You say 'please' a lot.” Akio says, the gun still angled away from him.

  Alex could feel the eye twitch that heralded the swift decline of her patience.

  “Then I'll stop.” She hoists his hand to the proper level. “Shoot.”

  Akio squeezes the trigger tentatively, flinching each time he fires, missing every last bottle.

  “I’m awful at this.”

  “No shit.” She scratches her chin in contemplation. “You did hit everything. Just… not the bottles.”

  Akio sighs, already resigned. “Yeah, I’m going to fucking die out here.”

  “Oh, don't say that.” Alex chastises. “We could move the targets closer, start from there. Also we’re going to have to put an end to the swearing. I've never raised a child before …” Akio immediately grouses vehemently at the use of the word ‘child’, Alex continuing to talk over him. “... But I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be allowed to swear.” She finishes, her voice much louder than when she started.

  She moves Akio a few steps toward the table, hands firm on his clothed shoulders. His grumbling is in full force now. “--I am a hundred and thirty-eight, I’ll have you know!” He croaks.

  “You’ll always be a child to me.” Akio seethes, she trudges on. “Besides you look fifteen. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, obviously you have excellent genes. But, to the outside world, I'm going to look like a horrible person if I just let you about, cursing unhinged.”

  Akio mutters indistinctly under his breath, the slumping of his shoulders visualizing his reluctant concession.

  Alex pats his shoulder, then gestures to the bullets on the table. “Reload.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  She squints. “You’re one hundred and thirty-eight, you don’t know how to load a gun?”

  “Technically, I’m turning one thirty-nine this year.”

  “Not helping your case.”

  “I never needed to load one before, okay!”

  “Right. You poor, sheltered bread bun, you.” She taunts, “But I loaded that gun right in front of you.”

  Akio shrugs. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to pay attention when you loaded it.”

  She stares. “Why the fuck else would I do it in front of you?”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Akio flinches. “Okay, the swearing rule has to go both ways.” He rallies after a small step away from her. “It's not pleasant when someone else says it to you, knowing you can't say it right back.”

  He looks a bit torn between seeing things through and simply bolting. Bolting was out of the question, he wouldn't get very far on his own.

  Alex smacks the table hard enough to rattle the bullets. “FOCUS Akio! Load the gun.”

  He flinches at the thunderous tone, arms coming up to wrap around his torso. And Alex has the strenuous task of stopping herself from apologizing. It was for his own good.

  “Alex, I'm telling you I don't know how to!” His voice comes out louder than expected, and for the first time since Alex had known him he looked properly murderous.

  Perhaps he wasn't completely a lost cause yet.

  Alex studies him, numerous strategies to ensure his continued survival flitting through her mind. She pushes off her tilt on the table, stepping into his space, eyes locking onto his with predatory intent. He whines—a small, pathetic sound.

  “You're not coming in, until you've loaded that gun, and shot down at least one bottle.” She points, Akio following her pointer finger to the glass bottles still sat untouched on the low wall where they were propped.

  By the time Akio turns back to her, she is already walking away.

  “Wait—where are you going?”

  “Inside.” She smirks. “To eat.”

  “I’m hungry too…”

  Alex doesn’t even pause. “Then you better get to shooting. And if you cheat, I'll know.” She continues her walk away.

  “This has to be some form of Child Abuse.” He laments to himself.

  She was definitely too far away to have heard that one normally. Then again no one had ever accused her of being subtle.

  “You're almost a hundred and thirty-nine!” She yells back without turning.

  She would let him come up with theories of how she was able to hear his borderline internal monologue from almost 12 feet away.

  Akio discreetly wipes what he belatedly realizes is a drop of blood from his nose, thankful for the dark-colored jacket he chose today. With a quiet hiss, he retracts his hands from Alex’s temples, letting the purple glow in his palms fade.

  He’s been at this for thirty minutes—futilely. The inconspicuous booth at the far end of the restaurant had offered them cover from prying eyes, but it had done nothing for his frustration.

  The empty plates in front of him mock his ineffectiveness, and Alex’s presence alone is the only thing stopping him from blasting the ceramic to dust.

  “Did you fall asleep back there?” Alex tilts her head, glancing up at him. A reminder that he’s been standing behind her, unmoving, for an uncomfortably long time.

  “Ever heard of a brain hemorrhage?” he asks, the only thing he’s been able to diagnose in the last half-hour.

  “Oh, I caused a couple of those back in the day. Heyyo!” Alex grins, holding up a hand for a high five.

  He fixes her with an icy stare. She smirks and slaps her own hand in a self-high-five.

  “Yes, I know what it means,” she adds, clearly enjoying herself. “Continue.”

  Akio exhales and takes his seat.

  “You had one last night. You’re lucky your blood vessels regenerate.” He rubs his temples, eternally grateful for her supernatural resilience.

  “What could’ve caused it?” she asks, drumming her fingers against the table.

  “No clue. Did you hit your head?”

  “Nothing that should’ve given me a brain bleed.” She shrugs. “Chris did mention some weird weather thing that night.”

  If something had happened, it hadn't reached Jersey. “I didn’t notice anything.”

  “Me neither, but I’ll look into it.”

  “Do it soon,” he says. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t die.”

  Alex grins, slow and menacing, like a cat about to pounce.

  “Aww, you do care about me,” she coos, baring all her teeth in a grin.

  “I’m not worried about you,” he scoffs. “Do you know how hard it is to find a… long-lasting person I can tolerate? The ones I already know are insufferable. And then there’s Chris, who, of course, would be devastated.”

  Alex raises an eyebrow, still grinning. She picks up a fork and gestures dramatically. “Look at that crinkle between your brows. That’s your worried crinkle.”

  He scoffs. He does not have a crinkle. He checked this morning.

  “I don’t have a crinkle. I barely age—”

  A loud throat-clearing interrupts him. They both turn to see a waiter standing beside them, waiting.

  “—thanks to proper… uh…” Akio clears his throat, mind scrambling. “Skincare.”

  Alex snickers as the waiter gives him an odd look. Akio throws his napkin at her, but of course, she catches it effortlessly.

  The waiter wisely turns to Akio, flagging Alex as a lost cause. “Will you and your wife be needing anything else, sir?”

  Akio sighs. He was doing so well. “She’s my sister,” he corrects, ignoring Alex’s growing amusement.

  “No love, that’ll be all,” she says sweetly. “Check, please.”

  The waiter nods and leaves.

  Akio turns to her. “Why do you never correct people when that happens?”

  “And miss the horrified look on your face?” She sighs dramatically. “My only regret is that you weren’t mid-swallow when he said it.”

  He pointedly takes a sip of wine, flipping her off with his free hand.

  She raises an eyebrow. “Moved to Jersey and lost your manners, I see.”

  “As if you’re any better.”

  “At least I don’t display obscene gestures in a five-star restaurant.” She subtly tilts her head toward another table, where a woman is glaring daggers at him.

  He retracts his finger with a quiet curse. Alex cackles.

  “Dickhead.”

  “Stew about it.”

  “Shut up.” He leans back in his seat. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow. Right now, I need a cold shower and Netflix.” She twirls the fork in her hand absentmindedly.

  He hums. “And sleep?”

  “I’ll take whatever it gives me.” She stretches, rolling her shoulders. “Funny enough, yesterday was the best sleep I’ve had in 2,500 years. Brain hemorrhaging aside.”

  His brows scrunch in concern—not that he cares if Alex decides to mock him for it again.

  “Call me if anything changes,” he says. “I don’t care what time it is. If something’s wrong, call.”

  She opens her mouth to respond, but the waiter returns with the check. Akio notices the way the man suddenly looks at Alex—with admiration, almost reverence.

  What in the body-snatcher?

  “Halfsies?” Akio asks, already reaching for his wallet.

  She bats him away. “Nah, I pulled you out of work, I got it.” She lays the cash neatly on the table.

  “You’re Alex Jordan, aren’t you?” The waiter’s voice trembles in poorly concealed excitement.

  She hesitates. “Yes, I am.”

  “I love your book,” he gushes, eyes wide.

  She offers a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

  “My boyfriend and I read it every night,” the waiter continues. “It helps our sex drive.”

  Akio chokes on his drink.

  Alex blinks. “It’s a fictional biography about a demigod.”

  “Oh, I know,” the waiter nods enthusiastically. “We like to role-play—”

  “Okay, son,” Akio interrupts, raising a hand. “T-M-I.”

  The waiter barely spares him a glance, still beaming at Alex.

  “Can I get an autograph?”

  She pats herself down for a pen. “Uh—”

  “I have one! Be right back.” The waiter practically sprints away.

  They watch him go, Alex sighing as she recalls. “I think I forgot to tip.”

  “Typical Alex, saving people’s sex lives,” Akio mutters, retrieving his napkin.

  “I am confused as hell, but happy to help.”

  He chuckles softly, dabbing his shirt. His appreciation for the dark jacket grows.

  “Oh, look,” She feigns disappointment. “You finally choked, and I couldn’t even enjoy it.”

  The waiter returns with a pen and a well-worn copy of Alex’s book.

  “Oh, you weren’t kidding about reading it every night,” Akio observes, eyeing the dog-eared pages.

  “It’s a good read,” the waiter says sheepishly. “Almost like it’s told from firsthand experience.”

  Alex clears her throat loudly, signs the book, and hands it back.

  “Sorry for mistaking you two for a couple earlier,” the waiter says, clutching the book to his chest.

  “No problem at all.” She tosses an obscene amount of bills onto the table. “Forgot to tip that time.”

  The waiter stares at the cash, speechless.

  ~~~

  Alex inhales the crisp night air, tilting her face toward the moon. There was, at best, a 37% chance Akio would let the restaurant incident go and grant her the moment of peace she’d been craving since the Ice Cream Incident.

  That hope dies the moment she hears him chuckling.

  “So,” he muses as they reach his sleek BMW. The latest M8, very expensive. “Firsthand experience?”

  She groans. “That book was your idea.”

  Akio leans against the roof. “Your diary was just sitting there—”

  “I don’t have a diary—”

  He talks over her.

  “Your diary was sitting there gathering dust, it's pages crumbling each time you picked it up. You should be thanking me for keeping your memoirs alive.” He finishes, pointer finger wagging at her.

  “And now people are reading it to get off, apparently.” She rattles the door handle. Which still locked for some reason.

  “Alexandria Jessica Jordan. Sex therapist.” He smirks, fiddling with the keys.

  “That’s not my name.” She jiggles the door handle even harder, eyebrows flying up in allusion to the still locked door.

  “You don’t like it?” He asks, pretending not to see or hear her request.

  Alex drops her forehead onto the roof with a thud.

  “I will find you a middle name that you appreciate.” He promises as the car finally unlocks.

  She enters swiftly, seat belt already buckled by the time Akio is sliding in in turn.

  “By the way, I need to call Chris. He’s gonna love this.”

  “I’m never living this down, am I?” She asks, the cool hum of the car engine sending tingles down her spine.

  “Not in this lifetime, no. And we’re immortal, Alex.”

  She groans as the car screeches out of the lot.

  (Continuation)

  "Stupid gun!" Akio roars, his voice slicing through the quiet evening of the open field. The pistol in his hand felt heavier with every missed shot, his frustration mounting with each failure.

  He lifts a hand to his forehead, letting the length of the gun barrel rest against his temple, metal cool against his sweat-slicked skin. If he could just hit one bottle—one—he’d call it a day and walk away with some dignity intact.

  “Good practice?”

  The voice behind him is unmistakable. He whirls, instincts sharp, the gun already raised in defense. He exhales when he sees it’s only Alex, standing there with her arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on her lips.

  “Are you insane?” he snaps, lowering the weapon. “You don’t sneak up on someone holding a loaded gun! I could’ve shot you!” He waves the pistol for emphasis, as if she hasn’t noticed it.

  "Sure," Alex snorts, unconcerned. "Progress report."

  Akio exhales sharply, shoulders slumping. “I loaded the gun, almost shot myself in the foot, and I’ve been firing at glass bottles for four hours now!” He lists angrily.

  Alex raises a brow at him, eyes flicking from his face to the pristine row of bottles perched on the wooden fence.

  "No… you’ve been shooting at something," she muses. "Not those bottles, though.”

  Her tone carries the faintest trace of condescension, and it grates. Akio narrows his eyes at her, catching the brief flicker of pride before she schools her expression into nonchalance.

  “This is amusing to you?” Akio challenges.

  "You have no idea."

  She snatches the gun from his hand before he can react, her movements effortless. Without breaking eye contact, she raises the weapon, fires once—then again. Two sharp cracks echo across the field. The glass shatters in response, shards catching the fading sunlight as they fall to the ground.

  She twirls the pistol once, then stops abruptly, holding it out to him by the grip. Damn she was good. He scoffs.

  “Now you're just showing off.” In his defense, he never said he was going to tell her.

  She tilts her head at him. "Look, you’re thinking too much. Take a breath, aim, and pull the trigger."

  Did she seriously just—? "What do you think I’ve been doing for the past six hours?!”

  “I thought it was 4?”

  “Who cares, Alexandria?!”

  “Alex.” She corrects, “And, I do. A little bit. Someday firing a gun might be the only thing keeping you from living your very long … immortal, fruitful–I don't know–life.”

  She sighs, pressing the gun back into his hand. “Come on, take the gun.”

  "Just let it all out," She instructs, stepping back slightly. "Whatever it is that’s got you all twisted in knots—breathe in, breathe out, and take the shot.”

  Akio takes a deep breath.

  “Now point at those bottles and put a hole through them.”

  Akio exhales again, more slowly this time, leveling the gun at the bottles. His finger tightens around the trigger, and—

  The bullet flies, clipping the edge of a bottle. It wobbles, teeters… and then settles right back in place.

  Alex shrugs. "I call improvement.”

  Akio groans. "Oh, come on!" He flings the gun to the ground in frustration.

  A mistake.

  The gun goes off the moment it hits the dirt. The bullet ricochets off a rusting shovel leaning against the shed, redirects in a blur—

  Smashes through one of the bottles, then slams into Alex’s forehead.

  She collapses, stiff as a board, eyes open but unseeing. Dead.

  Akio drops to his knees beside her, breath coming in short, panicked bursts. "No, no, no, no," he mutters, gathering her in his arms, fingers tangling in her jacket. "Alex! Hey, hey—"

  The pistol lies discarded in the dirt beside them, and he flinches at the sight of it, shoving it away as if that alone will undo what just happened.

  "Please don’t don't do this," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Please don’t leave me.”

  The bullet pops out of her skull.

  It rolls onto the ground with a dull clink, leaving behind a bloody hole—one that seals itself within seconds.

  Alex inhales sharply, body jerking upright in a motion so unnatural it sends Akio scrambling backward, kicking up dust in his panic.

  "Jesus!" he yells, hands raised as if to ward her off. "What the hell—"

  Alex groans, reaching up to prod at the spot on her forehead.

  "Owwww," she drawls, rubbing at the now-vanished wound.

  Akio’s heart pounds against his ribs. "What. The. Hell. Is. Happening?!"

  Alex turns her head, blinking at him as if she’s only just noticing his presence. Her expression darkens. "The bloody bottles were the target, not my face!"

  "How are you alive?!" His voice cracks, still raw with shock.

  "You tell me! You shot me!" Alex shouts back, fury ebbing away once she takes in the panicked look on his face.

  “Are you crying?” She asks.

  "Yes! Yes I'm crying, You died!" Akio screams.

  "No, I didn’t."

  “There was a bullet in your forehead, I'm pretty sure you did.” He pants, chest rising and falling heavily.

  She tilts her head, expression thoughtful. "Oh. Well." She dusts herself off, as if shaking off death itself, while Akio stares in utter disbelief.

  "That’s it?" he demands, gesturing wildly. "That’s all you have to say?"

  Alex pauses mid-brush, squints at him. "I’m sorry you thought I died?" She glances down at the shattered glass littering the ground. "Oh, look—you finally hit one. Guess it's dinner time."

  Akio rankles at her blasé attitude. If he hadn't been the one who shot her, he would have called bullshit on the entire thing, based on how nonchalant she was being about her very recent death!

  He lets out a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a growl. "Forget the damn bottle, Alex! I deserve an explanation!"

  A tense beat stretches between them as they lock eyes, neither willing to be the first to back down.

  Then, to his surprise, Alex exhales in surrender. "Fine," she mutters. "Can I explain inside? At least there’s food in there."

  "Fuck you, Alex," Akio snaps, shoving past her toward the house.

  Behind him, her laughter rings out, full and unrestrained.

  "Ah, ah," she calls after him, still laughing. "We’re not supposed to use that kind of language anymore!”