Page 100 of Werewolves and Witches AU

“Immortality is a strange beast,” she begins. “In the beginning, it inspires greed: an insatiable drive—a compulsion—to experience everything. The hedonism of it all is addictive. You can’t die, you see, and so there are no limits.”

She takes another drag on her cigarette and stares off over the moonlit Pacific Ocean.

“Imagine it: everything you can dream up can be your reality, if you wish it. The wildest highs and hottest love…” Her dark brown eyes, impeccably lined into symmetrical upward flicks at the outer edges, latch onto my face. “Alas, the universe presents experiences to us along a spectrum. And so, for every high there is an equal and opposite low.”

Señora Tiempo drains her margarita. “Lost loves, lost lives… and lost hope.”

I finish my first margarita, too, and push the glass away to make space for the second. These are lovely.

“I’d lost hope. Those I’d grown to love had passed, their time expired. I made new loves and new lives, of course. But then they too expired. And where once there’d been a thrill, there was only a draught. That endless cycle of love and loss, of joy and pain, grew cold. I no longer wanted to love, if it meant experiencing the loss.”

She sits back and takes another drag on her cigarette. Through the cloud of blue smoke, her dark eyes never leave my face. “And from what you told me in your message, I think you know a little of how that feels.”

I swallow, but not the margarita; I know exactly how that feels. But I also know I still have the hope that she describes as having lost—that I still want to love, in spite of the pain of the loss. Glancing furtively at Rowan, who immediately stops scanning our environment to give me a small and private smile, I squeeze his thigh.

Lady Time pulls herself out of whatever memory she’s trapped in. “Anyway, that was why I conceived the Office of Time. It was a way to put a layer of protection between me and…” She waves her hand in a vague gesture over the other patrons. “Mortality.”

I nod in understanding. After all, isn’t that what I tried to do? Craft a spell that would slow Ethel’s mortality. My mouth finds its way to the rim of the glass of my second margarita.

“But instead of using it like a shield, I used it as a wall and blocked myself off from all my responsibilities. I let the people vote for those who they felt would represent them well, bestowed upon them a portion of my powers and immortality, and then hid myself away.”

Señora Tiempo finishes her cigarette, then smoothes her red-painted fingers over the tablecloth, tanned skin contrasting with the white cotton.

“It’s been over two thousand years, and do you know what I’ve learned?”

I shake my head—no.

“That with great power comes great responsibility.”

She holds my gaze. But my brain glitches—did she just quote Spider-Man?

Lady Time laughs. “Sí, Milo. That’s what you think it is. What you have to remember in all of this, is that I’m not human: I’ve existed forever. Yet, despite that humans have been around for just a fraction of that time, the culmination of the knowledge you all share and pass down through the generations is more than I’ve ever gleaned for myself.

“So, imagine me—a bored immortal—sitting in an empty theatre screening of a comic book movie in New Jersey, hearing that line. I never considered that I had power, not in any meaningful way, I just was, and so I never accepted my responsibility.”

I take another long sip. Then, emboldened by the most excellent tequila I’ve ever had, I challenge the god of Time. “But Spider-Man came out over twenty years ago. Even if you only realised you held responsibility then—which, by the way…” I give her my best side-eye, the one I learned from Ethel. “What have you been doing since?”

My gaze drifts out over the beautiful resort we’re in. “Have you been hiding here the whole time?”

Señora Tiempo at least has the decency to look away sheepishly when she picks up her drink. “I’ve been gone a long time, Milo. I didn’t know how to—”

“Bullshit.”

Beside me, Rowan immediately tenses and grips my thigh. His claws prick my skin through my jeans. A warning, I know, but I can’t seem to control my tongue now I’ve started. “No. You know what? I don’t accept that. The Office of Time is yours; you can go back any time you like. In fact, I think they need you more than you realise.”

I cut my eyes to Rowan.

“Right? Your Dogs went there. And I know that Janus is supposed to be the head of a department, but how can he have been doing his job when he’s busy using the power you gave him to…”

Unable to finish that sentence, I wash my anger down with the last of my margarita. Then I take a deep breath.

“I met a very talented witch recently, her name is Sarah Blackwood, and she’s been trapped in time for over four hundred years because you’re not doing your job. You’re not Death, but you are Time, and Time without responsibility is Death, by any other name.”

Señora Tiempo blinks, tears building in her dark brown eyes. But I’m on a roll.

“I told you about Ethel, but I didn’t tell you about Sarah. She’s out there—existing—but she’s so full of fire and compassion still.”

I don’t realise I’m so emotional until the first tear drips onto my cheek, but I’m not finished. We crafted this spell to get Time’s attention, and now that I have it, I won’t waste the opportunity.