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Iris considered this, her head swimming. Of course, it had to be impossible. Her rational brain knew that. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “If that’s true, how have you lived so long?”

Gabriel seemed relieved that she hadn’t immediately dismissed the idea. “I was born very poor, to a laborer and a…” He hesitated. “A prostitute. I received little education and had almost no chance of amounting to anything. When I was introduced to witchcraft, it seemed like a loophole in the system of oppression. My only chance to rise up. And I was smart. Smarter than most of my peers. I was proud, too. I would have done almost anything to get ahead back in those days. So that’s what I did.”

Iris slowly brushed a stray curl off her forehead. She was still hesitant to speak, afraid to break the bubble of vulnerability that had formed between them. She was suddenly reminded of the time she’d sighted a very rare albino cardinal perched on the fence in their front yard—she had been just as afraid to move a muscle on that occasion, reluctant even to breathe in case she caused it to fly away.

But she needn't have worried. She could tell from his expression that Gabriel was still entirely ensconced in his memories, as if they were a vast cave that kept stretching backwards. Though his past had always been an enigma to her, Iris never could have imagined just how much it held.

“A few in our coven became interested in the possibility of achieving immortality. For some, it was an obsession.” He sighed. “We soon realized it was far more complex than we had realized. By law, the process wasn’t documented in any books on witchcraft. Only one witch seemed to believe it was truly possible, and he was eager to test his hypothesis. Most believed it was too dangerous to attempt, but I…well,” he said with a sardonic smile, “you know how stubborn I am. I decided to team up with him to give it a try. With Clement.”

This was the first confession that truly didn’t surprise her. Of course it was Clement who had led Gabriel astray. Who else?

“How old were you when you became immortal?” Iris asked.

“Thirty-three.”

So. He had only sort of been lying when he had told her his age.

Who was she kidding? Gabriel had been lying to her since the moment they’d met.

She zipped her coat up to her chin, attempting to block out the chill that had settled over her after Gabriel’s confession. His claim was impossible. It had to be.

And yet, she somehow sensed it wasn’t.

“Who are you worried about finding you now?” Iris asked. She hoped that Gabriel was merely being paranoid. The idea that some nefarious witches might be after him was more alarming than she cared to admit.

“There were sorcerers who believed that what Clement and I achieved went beyond the permissible bounds of witchcraft. To tamper with the natural span of life was seen to them as an abomination.” His left hand clenched around the immobile steering wheel. “Especially in the wrong hands.”

But that didn’t make any sense. If those witches didn’t believe in immortality, how could they be around to threaten Gabriel now, over two hundred years later?

Before she could ask him to elaborate, Gabriel resumed his story. “By around 1811, I had decided to discontinue my study of witchcraft. In doing so, I was shunned by most of my kind and labelled a warlock. In sorcerer’s communities, warlock is an insult that means ‘oath-breaker’ or ‘deceiver.’” He frowned. “The witch’s council was already angry with me and Clement for making ourselves immortal. When I left, they saw it as the ultimate betrayal. I had used centuries of carefully guarded secrets in order to pursue immortality, only to abandon witchcraft as soon as I’d gotten what I wanted, without giving anything back to the community.”

His voice suddenly took on a sharper, almost resentful tone. “When I first encountered Blair, it felt as though everything I'd suppressed had circled back to haunt me. I thought perhaps he was working for the council.”

“You should have told me why you didn’t trust him,” said Iris, exasperated. “I thought you were just prejudiced against Blair because he was homeless. Anyway, how did you realize right away that he wasn’t human?”

“Because I can only see the auras of other Similars.”

“What’s a Similar?” Iris asked. “And what do you mean you can see auras?”

“A Similar is what we call any non-human. And yes, I can see auras. Blair’s is cloud gray, with flashes of suppressed magic around the edges. Mine is indigo. Clement’s is teal.”

“Huh.” Iris filed this piece of information away to think more about later, when her head wasn’t aching so much. “So does that mean Blair is a sorcerer, too?”

Gabriel’s posture stiffened. “I thought he might be at first. Now I believe he’s likely something else.” He hesitated. “A weapon of sorts.”

“A weapon?” Iris asked, thoroughly confused. She fought against the burning in her eyes, blinking rapidly as she kept her attention on him. “What does that mean?”

“It’s sort of a long story.”

She gestured to the swirling snow outside the confines of the Mercedes. “I have nowhere to be.”

Gabriel heaved a heavy sigh. He twisted the key in the ignition, and a blast of stale heat radiated from the car vents. Iris raised her hands to the warmth, suppressing a shiver.

“Well, around 1815, Clement and I learned of a wave of witchcraft paranoia spreading through a small settlement in Rockland County. Nearly all of the accused were innocents, often unmarried women who were too old or clever, or those suspected of homosexuality. We decided to set up a safe house in an abandoned church to protect them from the mobs.”

Iris’ forehead scrunched in confusion. “Mobs?”

Gabriel nodded. “By the 1800’s, judges rarely entertained accusations of witchcraft, but there were still plenty of uneducated townsfolk who weren’t afraid to take matters into their own hands. They could be quite formidable enemies. In any case, our cardinal rule was that no true witch would be allowed to enter the sanctuary. But I…” He ran a shaking hand down his face.