The Immortal

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THE IMMORTAL

THE ETERNAL ENEMY

ROAD TO NOWHERE

MONSTER MASTER OF MURDER

CHAIN LETTER 2: THE ANCIENT EVIL

WHISPER OF DEATH

BURY ME DEEP

DIE SOFTLY

WITCH

SEE YOU LATER FALL INTO DARKNESS

LAST ACT

SPELLBOUND

GIMME A KISS

REMEMBER ME

SCAVENGER HUNT

ALSO DONT MISS CHRISTOPHER PIKE'S WHODUNIT TRILOGY-
FINAL FRIENDS:
THE PARTY THE DANCE THE GRADUATION

All available from Archway Paperbacks Published by Pocket Books

Tine Ancient City Was Alive.

I crested the hill and looked down at the ruins in the moonlight.

The city was new.

I blinked. Nothing changed, although everything already had.

The city was alive.

People, beautiful creatures in long, colored robes, walked among pillared walkways and sat upon marble chairs. Their long hair, gold and black and red, hung like shawls over their shoulders. They moved as if in a dream, or perhaps it was because I was in a dreamlike state. For I could not say how I felt at that moment. I should have been in shock. But I didn't register what I saw as real because I no longer felt human. I moved forward, toward them, wanting to be a part of them. Yet it was as if my feet no longer touched the ground. They floated and I drifted. I could vanish into space in an instant. It was good. I was in the right place at the right time. I was coming home to a place beyond space and time. A portion of my mind left me then, and a larger part of my soul entered the void.

I stepped into the city.

I sat down on a smooth white seat.

Someone noticed me. Then another. They smiled joyfully, hopefully.

I closed my eyes and waited for them to come to me. To serve me.

Books by Christopher Pike

BURY ME DEEP

CHAIN LETTER 2: THE ANCIENT EVIL

DIE SOFTLY

THE ETERNAL ENEMY

FALL INTO DARKNESS

FINAL FRIENDS #1: THE PARTY

FINAL FRIENDS #2: THE DANCE

FINAL FRIENDS #3: THE GRADUATION

GIMME A KISS

THE IMMORTAL

LAST ACT

MASTER OF MURDER

THE MIDNIGHT CLUB

MONSTER

REMEMBER ME

ROAD TO NOWHERE

SCAVENGER HUNT

SEE YOU LATER

SPELLBOUND

WHISPER OF DEATH

THE WICKED HEART

WITCH

Available from ARCHWAY Paperbacks

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AM ARCHWAY PAPERBACK

Published by POCKET BOOKS New York London Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as "unsold and destroyed." Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this "stripped book."

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

p j sie

or

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AN ARCHWAY PAPERBACK
Original

An Archway Paperback published by

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

Copyright © 1993 by Christopher Pike.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-671-74510-7

First Archway Paperback printing July 1993

10 98765432

AN ARCHWAY PAPERBACK and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

Cover art by Brian Kotzky Printed in the U.S.A. IL14+

My sleep, as our plane neared Greece, changed, but I cannot say how. I would like to say that a dream, a vision maybe, entered my unconscious state and filled me with wonder and fear. But if this happened I cannot remember it. I do know I
sensed
the approach of this ancient land before I awoke. I sensed it in the same way a child senses home, and awakens, just before the parents pull the car into the driveway.

The stir in my sleep was familiar. I was coming home—to a place I had never been before.

Then I heard the captain's voice announcing that we had begun our descent. I opened my eyes and was momentarily blinded by the morning light, a morning that had never come so swiftly for me before. The flight attendants had pulled up the window shades. Yawning, stretching, I glanced over at Helen Demeten She was already wide awake and staring at me.

CHRISTOPHER PIKE

"Are we there yet?" I asked.

"Fifteen minutes," Helen said.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Hours. You snore."

"I don't snore," I said quickly.

"It must have been the soul that occupies your body while you sleep that snores," Helen replied.

My mouth tasted like the last thing I had eaten before I passed out, which I think was old peanuts. I sat up straighter, heard my neck crack, and swore to myself that I must be getting old. I was stiff as a corpse.

"Do we get breakfast?" I asked.

"We just had breakfast," Helen said.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"You didn't look hungry." Helen made a face. "You need a breath mint, Josie."

"I need a shave and a shower," I said—and my name is Josie Goodwin, and I'm a girl.

"Brush your teeth and ask a flight attendant for some orange juice. He might take pity on you. The Swiss are very polite."

We were flying Swiss Air, nonstop from ll.A. to Athens. Helen and I were in coach, my father and his new babe, Sylvia—or "Silk," as she preferred to be called—up front in first class, where they could stretch their legs as far as they wished. Not only were their seats as big as ones at home, but all the champagne they wanted was on the house. I wondered if Daddy and Silk were stewed. He was drinking more

THE IMMORTAL

since he'd met his latest. My dad was a Hollywood screenwriter. He was one of the best. I didn't know what Silk was other than a pain in the ass.

"All right," I said, grabbing my carry-on bag and lurching to my feet. "Don't let anybody take my seat."'

"It's not as though you can wait outside until we land," Helen called after me.

My skin was the color of wet plaster in the bathroom mirror. My blond hair was matted to my head. The veins in my eyes were the color of whiskey. And I was supposed to be pretty—really, somebody somewhere had told me that. I think it was my last boyfriend—Ralph. I had really liked him, Ralphy Boy.

So had Helen, for that matter. But Ralph had moved away, and Helen and 1 were still friends.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face. Then I used the toilet, and that thing almost took off my butt when I flushed it. Incredible suction—I could have believed I was on the Space Shuttle. As I left the lavatory I asked a flight attendant if I could have a hit of orange juice, and he handed me a cup, made me drink it on the spot, and then told me to get in my seat. But the blue ocean, incredibly gorgeous in the first morning light, still looked a mile below us, so I rambled up to first class to see my dad.

He was sharing a joke with redheaded Silk. Outside of Hollywood, they would be an unlikely pair. Dad had balding gray hair that had failed to respond to transplants and rolls of fat that were immune to fad
CHRISTOPHER PIKE

diets—he was a battered fifty. Silk must have passed her midthirties, although she was still striving to be ready for teenage auditions. Her face was great, but hard somehow. Her firm chin may have been an implant. Her green eyes were definitely contacts. But that hair—I had to grant that Silk had hair worthy of her nickname. It flowed all the way down to her butt, which had ridden the most expensive exercise bicycles in Beverly Hills.

But in Hollywood such couples were natural. An out-of-work actress of questionable talent latching onto an out-of-work screenwriter of immense talent. Who was hoping for more? Daddy or Silky? In their own sad way they did fit together.

Sad for me.

"Hi, guys," I said, interrupting their chuckles. "Did you miss me?"

"Josie," Dad said. "We checked on you an hour ago and you were out for the count."

"You were snoring like a pig," Silk said.

I gave the sweetest smile. "At least I get it out of my system when I'm asleep," I told her.

"Jo," Dad muttered.

"Daddy," I said innocently.

But I hadn't insulted Silk, because she was too stupid to realize it. Or maybe I was wrong about that.

Sometimes, when I was feeling paranoid, I wondered if Silk took in everything and simply filed it away for future reference, when her position was stronger.

THE IMMORTAL

"I cannot rest a moment on a plane without my blue bomber," was all Silk said.

"What the hell is that?" I asked.

"A sleeping pill," my dad said dryly. "Be grateful you slept, Josie. We're getting in early. You'll be ready for the sun and the water and we'll be in bed." He looked tired. "At least I got some writing done."

"Did you?" I asked hopefully. My father always brought his laptop computer when he traveled, but he seldom did anything more on it than write letters. He was currently doodling on a sci-fi script that he hoped would put him back on the studio executive lunch circuit. But he had writer's block—no, it was more like writer's wall, writer's mountain, writer's black hole. He hadn't had an original idea in the past year. His drinking wasn't making the situation any better. That was another reason I disliked Silk. She was under the erroneous belief that booze got the juices flowing.

My father nodded to the laptop resting on his lap and chuckled grimly. "I signed on, put in the date and time, and reread my notes."

I touched his shoulder. "The word
muse
is Greek. Maybe one of them is still hovering around the islands and will drop in and pay you a visit."

He looked up at me. "You're the only muse I need."

His compliment had a grain of truth in it. I often helped my father with story ideas. I had a knack for it.

The plane shook beneath my feet. I almost fell into Daddy and Silk's laps.

5

CHRISTOPHER PIKE

"Better sit down, dear," Silk said. "We wouldn't want you to get hurt before your vacation begins."

"I'd rather not get hurt on my vacation either," I said, like the snotty little girl I could be. Saying "See you soon," I turned and hurried back to my seat. Once there, Helen helped me fasten my seat belt.

"I didn't tell you that the Athens airport is the foulest place on the face of the Earth," Helen said. She had visited Greece the year before. Indeed, it was largely because she raved about her vacation that we were all going now. "They hate Americans with a passion. They'll spit on you the moment you get off the plane."

"But the pamphlets say the Greek people are warm and friendly," I protested.

"They're not so bad on the islands. But the airport is bizarre. Terrorists hold weekly meetings there. They sell plastique in the restrooms. You can be shot for saying, 'Hey Zeus.'"

"What?"

"'Jesus.' That's 'Hey Zeus' in Spanish. Plus the food is lousy," she added.

"Well, we won't be there long."

"We have to take a cab to another airport to catch our plane to Mykonos," Helen continued. "The cab drivers hate Americans. If you don't tip them enough they drive you back to Athens Airport and tell the people there that they didn't spit on you enough."

"You are exaggerating a tiny bit. I can tell."

Helen shook her head. "It is all very true." She THE IMMORTAL

returned to her book—a travel guide to Mykonos and Delos. Like she was the one who needed to read it and not me. The plane shook some more. Over the speakers the captain said that we would be on the ground in three minutes and that the flight attendants should sit down.

"Tell me more about the nude beaches on Mykonos," I said.

Helen lit up. She was pretty when she smiled. Her hair was brown, a no-nonsense short cut, her small nose cute, something to squeeze if you were into such things. She was slight—two inches shorter than my five five—but not bony. I thought she was pretty, but even though I had known her forever, I didn't know what
she
thought. She had a talent for many things: singing, dancing, homework, art. Yet I got asked out more often, even though all I could do was help my dad with his stories.

When Helen wasn't smiling, she looked like she wasn't happy. But she would laugh when I told her that, and I would be reassured.

"The nude beaches are combined with several of the regular beaches," Helen said. "Not everyone is naked—maybe half. But few women wear tops." Helen paused. "Are you going to wear your top?"

"When my dad's around, yeah," I said. "But I'll take it off if he's not there. I'm not that shy. But I don't think I want to go totally nude. Are you going to?"

Helen hesitated. "If you don't, I won't."

"Are there a lot of gorgeous guys?"

CHRISTOPHER PIKE

"You mean, are there a lot of gorgeous body parts?"

"Yeah." I laughed. "Certain body parts?"

Helen nodded. "Yeah."

I rubbed my hands together. "I love vacations."

I was not a virgin, nor were Helen and Ralphy Boy. Oh, I say that so flippantly. It was not a kinky threesome—at least, not in one time frame. But Ralph Frost would certainly remember Josie Goodwin and Helen Demeter in the years to come— although maybe not in that order, since he'd gone out with Helen first. But I can honestly say I didn't steal Ralph from Helen. He had broken up with her before he asked me out. Of course, I could have said no. That's what friends are for, I know, to say no when it matters, as often as they say yes. But I didn't, then or later, when Ralph worked his seductive charm on me and we did it on the floor of his bedroom beside his huge aquarium and his bug-eyed fish. Nowadays it was hard for me to think of sex without remembering those fish. Helen, I suppose, must have the same problem.

Anyway, I think I broke Helen's heart a little for being with Ralph, and I was sorry for that. It was kind of a relief when Ralph moved away. Yet I didn't understand why he had never written to me—not a single letter, not even a card. I really did care for him. Oh well, I tried to console myself, Helen mattered more.

A few minutes later the plane landed smoothly, and when it came to a halt everyone jumped up at once as

8

THE IMMORTAL

if they were going to be the first off. Helen
and
I were patient. I stacked my books back in my carry-on bag. I was currently into courtroom thrillers and was thinking of becoming a lawyer. Helen and I had graduated from high school a month earlier, in June. But with that thought I was being practical, because what I really wanted to be was a screenwriter like my father. The problem was, even though I was wonderful at thinking up stories, I didn't have the discipline to sit down and write anything. I couldn't even complete a letter. I wondered if Ralph hadn't written because I had never written to him.

Eventually we got off the plane. Customs was a joke. They didn't even look at our passports—just saw that we were Americans and waved us through. No one even glanced at our bags. And Helen had lectured us on how strict they were.

The airport was hot and sweaty and crowded. We each changed some money. I had my own; it wasn't courtesy of my dad. I worked with a caterer twenty hours a week. The official currency of Greece was the drachma. Right then we got a hundred and sixty of them for a dollar. I changed two hundred U.S.

dollars, and with the wad they handed me in return I felt rich. Helen was anxious to get us over to the other airport to make our connection to Mykonos. Helen was always neurotic about time.

No one spit on us, but no one smiled either. We left the airport, our bags piled in a couple of rental carts, and got in a long line to catch a cab. The sun was

CHRISTOPHER PIKE

intense and I began to perspire. The buildings in the vicinity were dirty. I couldn't complain—I was from ll.A.

"It's cooler on Mykonos," Helen said as I wiped my forehead.

"That's good," I said. "How long is the flight there?"

"A half hour," Helen said.

"Will there be someone to meet us at the airport?" Silk asked. She had dressed up for the trip—always a mistake. Her purple dress and coat were close to being ruined. She had brought more bags than the rest of us combined. Helen and I were dressed casually in khaki shorts. Dad had on a pair of pants he should have thrown out the year before. He had to unbutton them to sit down.

"It's questionable," he said.

"Oh, Bill, didn't you make sure?" Silk asked, a whiny tone to her voice. Silk had a habit of whining when she was tired and if she didn't get her daily nap, which was supposed to be at about five o'clock. I hated whiners.

"I faxed the people at the hotel a number of times, honey," Dad said. "They said they'd do what they could. We can always catch a cab."

"The cab drivers on Mykonos are all crazy," Helen told Silk. "They hate redheads with a passion. They think they're witches."

"Oh, dear," Silk said.

We finally got a cab. The driver drove like a madman. I supposed I would have done the same if I 10

THE IMMORTAL

had to wait in line at the airport several times a day—it would have driven me nuts. He took us straight to Olympic Airlines. At the terminal I had to help with Silk's luggage—we all had to. I handled her bag roughly; it felt as if it was stuffed with back issues of
Cosmopolitan,
maybe an X-rated video or two.

We groped our way inside, out of the heat and into an oven, and still no one spat on us. Helen looked disappointed when I pointed that fact out to her.

The flight to Mykonos was in forty minutes. I amused myself by sitting on the floor—all the seats were taken—and reading my latest thriller. The hero was about to find out that the woman he was defending had not only actually committed the murder but had cheated on the bar exam as well when the two of them had taken it twenty years earlier. Spicy stuff. I glanced over at my father as he typed in a few words on his laptop and gave him a wink. He smiled—he knew he wasn't going to write more than a useless sentence or two in a crowded airport.