Immortal at the Edge of the World Read Online Free

last forever—it basically ends when the civilization that recognizes it does—so maybe that’s why I’m indifferent about it. Basically, I’m good as long as I have access to food, drink, and shelter, and if money gets me better food, more drink and nicer shelter, then that’s great.
    Lately my education about money has involved setting up companies. Some of these are companies that invest in things that other people make or hope to make, and some are just there to hold money in places where people won’t ask too many questions. I’m nearly positive some of it is illegal, although I couldn’t tell you which country’s laws are being violated and whether that even matters. (I half expect to someday learn that I’ve been running the Mafia all this time.) My only active contribution to the day-to-day is when I bring something specific to Heintz and ask him to arrange it for me. In this way, having a tremendous lot of money and a private banker is like having a concierge for the entire world.
    And like any good concierge, Heintz doesn’t know and doesn’t ask why I want these things. This is fortunate. Because one of the things I’m trying to figure out is how a person can vanish into thin air, and explaining that would just be awkward.
    *   *   *
    The rest of my encounter with Heintz went quickly and nobody was stabbed at any point, which is always the mark of a successful meeting. I signed my fictional financial mogul name several dozen times, we discussed a couple more errands I needed him to deal with, and that was that. It was deeply boring, and there’s no point in going over all of it. I nearly fell asleep twice.
    My extremely quiet limo driver was waiting for me in the garage. He had undoubtedly been notified of my impending arrival, as he was standing by the rear door of the car and trying very hard to avoid making eye contact. It was impossible to tell if he was doing this because some extra level of obsequiousness was mandatory for this gig or if he didn’t want to look at the vampire.
    “Back to the hotel, sir?” he asked.
    “No, actually,” I said, “I was thinking of visiting a friend.”
    “Now, sir?” he asked. Because, again: sunlight.
    “If that’s not a problem. Also, do you have any alcohol?”
    He looked directly at me for the first time. Since the garage was well lit, if he knew anything at all about vampires he’d recognize quickly that I am not one. Aside from the slightly tanned face, my eyes are the wrong color. “A good meeting?”
    “Only in the sense that it ended.”
    He gestured, and I slid into the back of the car. Reaching inside, the driver unlocked a small bar hidden under one of the seats. “I don’t have anything chilled,” he lamented.
    “It’s all right, I’m not celebrating anything,” I said. I reached in and found a bottle of whiskey that looked to be of decent quality. “I’m just not expecting to have to think very much for the rest of the day.”
    “Yes, sir.” He closed the back door, then slid into the front seat and lowered the privacy window. “You’re not . . .” he began, before stumbling over how to say the word vampire to a non-vampire without coming across as a lunatic, “. . . not like most of our clients.”
    “Apparently true. I might even crack a window on the ride back, provided they open.”
    “They do,” he said. “So not the hotel?”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Dugan, sir.”
    “Is that a first name or a last name?” I asked.
    “Take your pick.” He smiled.
    “All right. Dugan, I need to visit a very particular pawnshop in a less than fantastic part of this city. If you’d rather not travel to this part of town in your nice car, I understand, but that’s where I’d like to go nonetheless.”
    I gave him the address, and he tapped it into his onboard trip computer. Not to get all fussy and irritable, but in my day professional drivers knew how to get around without an electronic box of maps shouting at