Not so with a human soul, though. Human souls are tied to this realm, and when a human body passes, its soul dissipates; the energy that once clung together, forming a conscious, self-aware life-form, just sort of fades away until that person, body and soul, is gone forever. It’s exactly what happened to my mom two decades ago, and it sucks balls.

For years, I struggled with her death—not just with the passing of her body, but the ending of her soul. Oh, who am I kidding? I still struggle with it. But that’s the thing about being an immortal girl in a mortal world. Goodbyes become all too familiar; letting go becomes as easy as falling asleep. We might not want to fall asleep, we might hold onto wakefulness with all our might, cling to consciousness like our lives depend on it, but sleep will claim us eventually. We will let go eventually, whether we want to or not. At least, that’s what Dom tells me. Maybe in a century or two I’ll understand.

For most Nejerets, the death of the mother is the first introduction into the inevitable cruelty of our existence. We’re tied to humans, coexisting by way of reproductive dependency. As a byproduct of our hyper-regenerative abilities, female Nejerets’ bodies are incapable of sustaining a pregnancy to full term. Except for a few very rare cases—like Lex and Heru, literal soul mates whose bond alters Lex’s body, allowing her to sustain a pregnancy, or Nik’s mom, Aset, who was raped before her Nejeret traits manifested and rendered her infertile—a female Nejeret’s body will reject a fertilized egg almost as soon as it implants in the uterine wall. As a result, the burden of propagation, of sustaining our species, is left to male Nejerets and either female human carriers of the recessive Nejeret genes or young female Nejerets-to-be who are still fertile.

Because of this, nearly every Nejeret has a human mother. And all of us lose our mother, so often the one person who’s always been there for us, who’s loved us unconditionally. Who’s put us first, always first. Who will die. Whose soul will fade away, leaving us feeling lost and alone in this desolate existence. She is our first true taste of goodbye, and the bitterness lingers for ages, clinging to our tongues like resin. A constant reminder of the pain that comes from loving mortals, even as their fragility enhances their allure.

I’ve killed a lot of people—forty, to be exact—but they were all Nejerets, save for the human scientist who killed Dom’s body. All but one of my victim’s souls continued on after their bodies died. Somehow, that didn’t feel like truly ending a life. I’ve only ever taken the one human life. I’ve only ever ended one soul’s existence, and that shithead deserved it. Even so, the finality of what I’d done terrified me.

And if the kids infected with gods-know-what back in the Tent District succumbed to their illness in the end, their deaths would be as final as any other human’s, all because they’d been caught up in some ugly Nejeret business. It was my people’s fault that these innocents might die. That their souls might cease to be. That didn’t sit well with me. Even if it meant targeting and taking out—ending forever—a few corporate scumbags, I would see this thing through. I would fix this.