Immortal and the Island of Impossible Things (The Immortal Series Book 4) by Gene Doucette

Author:Gene Doucette [Doucette, Gene]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Published: 2016-12-13T07:00:00+00:00

* * *

I didn’t get a lot of sleep. Under very nearly any other circumstance, my saying I shared a sleeping bag with a succubus would naturally lead to the statement I didn’t get a lot of sleep that night, and no further explanation would be necessary. But that wasn’t the reason.

It certainly could have been. Gordana wasn’t like a lot of the succubi I’d met, in that she didn’t seem to carry herself with the same sort of quiet confidence—equal parts intimidating and exciting—most had. It was like she’d turned off that part.

This had less of an effect on her appeal than one might have imagined. The biggest difference was that most of the time, when you’re around a succubus, they make it so clear they’re game, the only lingering questions are when and where and for how long? With Gordana, I felt welcome, but I also felt like I had to ask first.

I didn’t ask. We huddled together under the light sleeping bag, for warmth and only that.

She wasn’t what kept me up. What kept me up was the idea that there was a prophet, somewhere on the island, who saw far enough into the future to come all the way here specifically to save my life.

There was a lot to mull over. For starters, I’m not nearly that important. Sure, I’ve been around for a long time, but if I died overnight, the world would go on just fine, with maybe only a couple of people available for mourning. This is not to say I don’t have a lot of friends, only that the vast, vast majority of them have died of old age. On top of that, a few years ago I severed my current real-world connections by staging my own death. The necessary people know I didn’t actually die, but they also know I may as well have, because the whole point in staging your own death is not reconnecting with the people who knew you when you were alive. The point is, if I died on this island, there would be no way for any of them to know it.

Mirella would know, and would mourn my passing, but that only counted if she was still alive herself, something I was becoming more anxious about the longer I thought about it.

In my admittedly limited direct experience with prophecy, I’ve found predictions tend to revolve around large events, not small ones. Prophets don’t bother to announce things like who is going to have a ham sandwich next week and which celebrity is getting pregnant soon. They deal in sinking continents, extinction-level events, and wars. Acts of God, if that’s what you’re into.

Coordinating a trip to this secret island for however many people were in this little cult, in order to set up a hidden camp in the hillside specifically to support my rescue could only have meant one thing: I was supposed to do something important in the future.

This was why I hated prophecy so very much.

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