by Jen Printy
I draw a quick breath in through my nostrils and glance at the floor. “This is all my fault. I know you don’t like hearing me say that. Don’t be mad. It’s just…” I look up to find Leah staring at me, her face calm.
“I’m not mad,” she says. A faint smile shadows her mouth, reminding me of Vita’s sinister grin. I resist the urge to step backward. “I agree with you. It is your fault. It’s because of you I’m a member of the council in the first place.”
Stunned, I lick my drying lips, trying to find the words.
“I want you to leave.” She points at the door.
“Leah, please don’t push me away. I’m sorry. You have to know I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“Oh, I believe you. But it doesn’t matter because I can’t forgive you. I wouldn’t let myself even if I could. Grady will never be married, never have kids. He’ll never—” Leah’s voice falters, cutting off her words. She wraps her arms around herself and looks away, eyes brimming with moisture.
The muscles in my chest clench so tight I have trouble drawing in a full breath, and I reach out to her.
“Don’t touch me!” she shouts, cringing with revulsion. She catches her lower lip between her teeth as though to bite back tears.
Unwilling to let Leah shove me away again, I step forward, and to my relief, she doesn’t move away. She stays as still as a stone while my fingers travel down the back of her arm, and then I catch her hand tight within mine. We stand connected for a long moment before she wrenches her hand free.
“I feel nothing,” she says, almost with a smile. The suppressed hatred in her voice strikes me low in my stomach.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, searching her face for a glimmer of the girl who loves me.
“I almost forgot.” She slips my grandmother’s ring off her finger and holds it out.
“Please don’t do this.”
She ignores my plea and pushes the ring toward me.
“I don’t want it,” I say through my teeth, looking down at the gold band tucked in the well of her hand. “It belongs to you.”
Leah reaches out and seizes my wrist.
I wince, her touch sending a familiar electrifying heat racing through me.
She presses the promise ring into my palm, the circular edge pushing hard into the flesh. Without a word, she closes my fingers shut around the ring, and with a “goodbye,” she turns her back to me.
I stand numb, repeating her words in my head, trying to rearrange them into a different meaning. But each time, I come up with the same conclusion. Leah doesn’t want me. My vision blurs, and I blink, a flood of emotion threatening to drown me. My feet seem cemented in place.
Leah spins around, jolting me backward. Her intense expression splinters, leaving a sea of emotion in its wake. “Damn it, Jack! Do I have to spell it out for you?” She takes a step, placing herself in front of me. “I wish I’d never dreamt of you. I wish you’d never come here. I would cut you out of every facet of my life and every memory if I could because loving you has come with too big a sacrifice.”
Eyes filled with resentment, she stares at me, jabbing her finger toward the door. “Now leave! I never want to see you again,” she says, putting every speck of hatred into each syllable. I catch a glimpse of everything I’ve cost her—her freedom, art school, a relationship with her mother, and now, her brother’s life. The look stops any argument I can wage because I know every time Leah looks at me, she’ll only ever see her brother and the future she lost.
I stumble out into the hall and make it the short distance to my room, my mind spinning around the central fact that Leah doesn’t want me. I slip the gold band onto my left pinky and stare at the five rectangular-cut emeralds—each the exact color of Leah’s eyes. I remember the night I slipped the ring onto Leah’s delicate finger and she promised to be my wife. At that moment, I had thought the worst was behind us. How wrong I had been.
I pull back my arm, and in a fury of grief and pain, I slam my fist hard against the dark walnut armoire. Assaulting the defenseless wood, I ignore the stinging throbs in my hand. Blood seeps from my battered knuckles. My knees buckle, and I slump to the floor. I cover my face with my hands, and tears slide hot between my fingers. I feel rather than hear a mangled sound rising in my throat, shredding me from the inside out as it mounts. Behind my closed lids, memories replay with earth-shattering clarity—Leah’s angry eyes sparking with a green flame, and her voice, emotionless and sharp, echoing in my ears.
She doesn’t love you, the voices repeat in my head.
“Leave me alone. Please,” I whisper to nobody, trembling.
Lydia’s death left scars. Not physical ones, but ones every bit as permanent. Leah had swooped into my life, and her presence alone had snatched me from the darkness of my mind. Now with her departure, she has thrust me back, deeper into the bottomless void than I’ve ever been. If only I could tear her out of my heart as completely as she ripped me from hers.
Despair claws at me. I let it pull me under, and retreat into some remote place in my mind, where there is nothing but me and a hollow disconnect. I have no idea how long I sit there on the cold floor, my back to the wall. Leaving is the only half-intelligible thought my mind produces.
I’ll drive so bloody far away she’ll never cross my mind again.
My internal voice laughs at me for even entertaining such a notion.
I ignore it and hoist myself to my feet. I close my eyes to get my balance but quickly open them again before any memories can assault me. Lumbering like the old man I am, I make my way to the closet. In a trance, I fumble my way through the contents of my duffel, searching for my old friend. When I feel the smooth, worn cylinder of wood and fluff of feathers of the dart under my fingers, I let the breath I had been holding escape through my lips.
With a sense of somber ceremony, I spread the yellowed map along the wall and then push a thumbtack into each curled corner as I have done a thousand times before. I run my fingers over the pin-size holes that mar its frail paper surface, letting the tips skim over the hole that had brought me here, a mere half-inch off the Maine coast. The sensation thrusts thoughts of Leah into the forefront of my mind, and against my will, memories begin their somber roll.
I remember a similar bone-deep need from a century ago. The longing for a future I thought I’d never have again and the depression that followed. However, that was child’s play compared to this hell, because Lydia didn’t leave me of her own volition. Death stole her from me. But Leah… Leah did.
Following one deep, shaky breath, I kiss the dart. My hands tremble so much I almost drop it twice. I stop mid-throw. Words of long ago, almost forgotten, spin into my mind. “It’s our choices that make us men,” my brother had told me. By then he was Captain Henry Hammond. He spent the night at home before being shipped off to war. I remember staying up into the wee hours of the morning as Henry spilled his words of wisdom for his eager-to-please little brother. How I idolized him.
I let my arm fall limp at my side. Can I leave, knowing Leah is still in harm’s way? Is that the kind of man I am?
“Damned if I will,” I say, slamming the dart on the nightstand, half-mad, fully determined. I’ve loved Leah with every ounce of my soul, with a profound and undying passion. I still do. I promised to keep her safe. As long as I have breath left in my body, I will. Besides, where I need to go isn’t on any map.
I hang my head, my brain working behind an expressionless face. If Artagan is right, and Leah receiving her brother’s assignment is Domitilla’s plan for revenge, she probably planned for two scenarios. Either Leah agrees to take Grady, or she doesn’t. Although Domitilla probably planned that Leah wouldn’t take her brother, I have to assume that Dom strategized and prepared for both options. If that’s the case, taking either path might very well lead to the same end. But what if I toss a wrench in the plan and give Dom
something she doesn’t expect? What if I tell Grady the truth?
I hear the rush of blood pounding in my ears as awareness of where these thoughts are leading dawns. Out of pure desperation, I ponder the idea. I know what Grady will do if he finds out what his little sister is facing. He’ll go to any lengths to keep her safe, just as I will—a fact that was proven the night I went to the Concilium Animarum to give my life for Leah’s. Grady offered to go with me without a second thought. I saw the glint of determination in his eyes. He was ready to put everything he had on the line to save his sister. And I know Grady would willingly take his own life to save her now.
As the details fall into place, fear, horror, grief, and guilt all wash over me in consecutive swells. I shove the emotions back, slamming them behind an imaginary door, and I slip my phone out of my pocket. I need to know if Artagan thinks this idea has any merit. I’m surprised when my cell vibrates in my hand. A quick glance at the screen tells me it’s the very man I need to speak to.
“I was just going to ring you. Have you had any success?” I ask, skipping the formalities. My stomach knots with anticipation as I wait for an answer, hoping to God that Artagan says yes.
“When the hell were one of you going to tell me that Leah is refusing to take her brother?”
“What are you talking about? I just left her. Le—” I have a hard time saying her name aloud. I steel my emotions before I continue. “Leah is saying yes.”
“Domitilla called a meeting. She told Death that Leah refused, and Dom asked to take the assignment herself. Death is considering her proposal, Jack. I need you to go to her brother and protect him until I sort this thing out. No one can gather him but Leah unless I tell you otherwise. Understand? Bring him to the house. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”
I feel sick to my stomach. “What if Grady accidentally found out what was going on and took his own life? Would that be breaking any rules?”
“Interesting idea, but for it to work without complications, she’d have to tell her brother herself.”
“Is anyone going to ask Leah? Or are they just going to take Domitilla’s word?”
“I don’t know. Something underhanded is going on, that’s for sure… Shit! Leah’s here. I have to go. Get yourself to Grady’s now.” Artagan says, his voice hushed but firm.
After Artagan hangs up, I snatch my leather jacket off the settee. As I dash for the door, I pat the right pocket where I stash my plastic bag of hemlock mixture for safekeeping. It’s there, waiting for me when I’m ready for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As I push out through the back door, an arctic blast of air and an ever-thickening layer of white greet me. In the dying light of day, with the tenor of my apartment set in my mind and the memory of its dank, dusty smell in my nostrils, I step into a shadow cast by one of the overhanging walls of the mansion.
With luck, I reemerge from the shadow into the long, deserted hallway outside my old apartment. The only noise I hear comes from the beat of rap music thudding from the neighboring flat.
I step to the door and pat along the top lip of the frame for the spare key. After wiping the grime off on my jeans, I slip the key into the lock, and the door opens with a click.
All the apartment lights are on, but it’s quiet—eerily so. Memories of Leah seem to permeate the very walls. I call out, but again I get no answer. In the living room, my eyes scan a menagerie of history books, all on the Battle of Hastings, scattered across the coffee table. Grady’s laptop sits open, humming, waiting for the next keystroke. A cell phone sits next to it. His coat is gone but not his car keys. A dull thud sounds through the apartment like a heavy object being knocked over, followed by a moan. Both noises come from the bedroom.
The room reeks of fear and vomit. In the far corner, half-hidden by the bed, is Grady, slumped on the floor against the wall, head resting in between his knees. I pause only long enough to check the darkened corners. Then, crossing the room, I lay my hand on his shoulder.
He cowers, trying to move away.
“It’s Jack,” I say, crouching in front of him.
Grady looks up at me. A sheen of sweat drenches his hair and the collar of his shirt. He stares at me a moment with an unfocused gaze. Then his expression tightens as if he’s questioning what is real and what is illusion.
Then he clenches his teeth, his body goes rigid, and he lets out a groan. I draw back, puzzled by his condition. At first glance, I see no marks, no reason for this level of discomfort. I lean closer to examine him further and see thin streaks of a faint yellow powder across his face. Most of it has been washed away by sweat, but the remainder clings in the grooves around his nose and mouth. I recognize the substance immediately.
The Soulless. My pulse picks up speed. I glance around, taking a quick assessment of the shadows once more. Seeing nothing abnormal, I turn back to Grady. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Grady hisses with exertion as I hoist him to his feet. He falters and weaves then leans against me to keep himself upright, slowly regaining his faculties. I watch as his mouth tries to form words, but nothing more than a faint wheeze passes his parched, cracked lips. He licks them a few times before attempting once more, but then his gaze flashes away for an instant. He grips my arm, hauling me closer. “Run,” he says, his voice no more than a coarse exhalation.
“An audience!” a melodic voice sings from behind me. I freeze. I don’t need to see her face to know who the voice’s owner is. Domitilla strolls out from one of the darkened corners, Muan and his brother Pacal trailing at her heels. I could easily take Domitilla or possibly either of the brothers alone, but not all three at once.
As if on command, Muan steps in behind Grady, pulling him backward. Pacal pauses, standing smug and silent behind me. All the while, Domitilla ambles around the room, admiring her long red fingernails.
“What are you doing here, Domitilla?” I ask curtly, deciding to play dumb. Hopefully, it will buy me some time until Artagan discovers we’re not at the house and comes looking for us.
She stops and faces me. “Oh, just looking for a bit of fun. The boys were keeping Grady entertained while I was tying up some loose ends.” She rotates the full force of her gaze to Grady. “I suppose I should apologize before we begin. I’m sure your sister would have had a much gentler method than me. Don’t you agree, Jack? In his sleep, or something instantaneous, a car crash perhaps.”
Grady’s brow furrows and focuses his attention on me.
I look away, attempting to ignore him, and focus on Domitilla. “I hope it’s worth the price. I imagine the punishment for taking another’s job is pretty steep.”
“Haven’t you heard?” A cold smile expands across Domitilla’s face, reminding me of her sister. “Leah said no.”
I give a slight shake of my head. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I?” Her hand now hovers above Grady’s shoulder, only centimeters away.
Outnumbered and outgunned, I fear my chances of saving Grady from a painful death are growing slim. Time is running out. However, maybe there’s still an opportunity to save Leah from the fate of Shadow Death.
“Well, then,” I say, keeping my voice devoid of any sentiment that might betray me, “maybe we can make a deal.”
She drops her hand and glides closer, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “Go on.”
“One of the last in the line of Brennus in place of a girl Mosi himself called ordinary, no more than an Ignorant turned immortal. I know you agree.”
“A life for a life.” Domitilla snickers. “I think we’ve been here before.” Her expression hardens, and she continues. “I’m not rash like my sister was. She was always far too impulsive, hence she usually left the scheming to me. If Vita had told me of her plan to switch the hemlock mixture with belladonna to summon the Shadow of Death, I would have told her no, and none of us would be here right n
ow. You’d be dead. So would Leah”—she shrugs—“her soul waiting in line to carry on with her next meaningless existence.”
Grady growls something incoherent. I hush him and turn my attention back to Domitilla.
“Well, everything will be set right soon enough.” She waves a graceful hand, dismissing the matter, and she targets her concentration on Grady. “Shall we get on with it?”
“I know how this has to end. I know Leah must die,” I say, locking all sentiment behind an emotionless mask.
All fall silent. I’m sure Grady’s eyes are on me now, but I resist the urge to glance in his direction, keeping my gaze fixed on Domitilla, who has stopped short. Her attention returns, one eyebrow arching. I’ve caught her by surprise.
Good.
“Death must have his pound of flesh for disobedience,” I continue. “It’s the destination I want to negotiate.”
I half expect Domitilla to laugh me off, but she doesn’t. Instead, she cocks her head, so I continue. “What I’m suggesting is a reversal of Vita’s plan. Give Leah hemlock tea instead of belladonna. If you agree, my fate is yours.”
“And if I’m caught?”
“Pin the blame on me. I won’t deny it. I’ll even write a letter of confession, if you want,” I say. “We both know Leah had nothing to do with what happened to your sister. So let’s leave her out of it. Vita’s plan was to send me to Shadow Death. Me, not Leah. You and I could give Vita her dying wish. Perhaps I’ve committed no immortal crimes yet, but I’m sure your conscience wouldn’t have an issue with pointing me in the right direction. After Leah has taken the hemlock, I’ll do whatever you ask.”
Her expression spirals into a mocking grimace. “Anything?”
I nod once, feeling a constriction in the pit of my stomach.
Domitilla glides forward, so only inches stand between us. “Hmm, so many possibilities,” she says, playing with the button of my shirt. “Including tainting the noble line of Brennus with my bloodline. What a tempting prospect. Why haven’t I ever thought of this before?” Her cold gaze rakes over me, traveling with a brazen appreciation from the crown of my head to the toes of my scuffed sneakers.