by Jen Printy
“You’ll do great, gramps.”
“Thanks, kid.” Ed smiles.
On the way to work the next morning, I rush along. Somehow, I forgot to set my alarm, but luckily, the sun, which promises another beautiful day, woke me. In my dash to be on time, I’m actually on course to be early. My thoughts revolve around Ed. I wonder if he found his nerve. My pace quickens. My curiosity gets the better of me. I’ll be able to guess her answer when I step through the door. Ed’s face will tell the whole story in one glance.
As I round the corner, two figures step out of the doorway of Rare Books and walk down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Ed’s opened the store early or—
My thoughts freeze midstream. I recognize the tall, lean man smoking a cigarette. A petite woman with cropped dark hair prances to Artagan’s side. I would have thought she was a young boy if not for her dark fitted suit that shows off womanly curves.
“Artagan,” I call.
He looks over his shoulder, his grave expression etched into every crevice of his face. He turns and keeps walking. The pale woman turns her head. Her wintery-blue, deep-set eyes pierce right through me. Her smile makes my blood run frigid and sends me rushing into the bookstore.
All the lights are off. The store is uncommonly quiet without the hum of the prehistoric computer or the chatter of Ed talking to himself in the back. The smell of rust and salt permeates the air. I call out, but get no response. I look over the open drawer of the cash register—now empty—and my search settles on a pair of legs sticking out from behind the counter. Waves of panic roll over me, threatening to bring my breakfast up. My body goes taut and rigid, and each step takes effort. I stop short at the counter.
Ed lies crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Trembling, I drop to my knees. I prod his warm neck, desperate to find a pulse. Nothing. Uncontrollable gasps force my chest into irregular heaves. Ed’s eyes stare straight at the ceiling, vacant, lifeless. I stand and stagger backward. Thoughts spin and thrash, trying to escape the reality lying before me. He’s dead… murdered. The horror of this certainty threatens to plunge me into darkness. Every ounce of air is sucked from the room. Without warning, my legs fail me, and I stumble against a shelf. The tower teeters, spilling books at my feet, but my eyes stay glued to Ed’s motionless legs. His blood pools, creeping its way around him. Rising acid sears my throat, shaking me from the shock and sending me tumbling out the door.
Outside, I lean against the cool brick wall and vomit then wipe my sleeve along my mouth. I want to wake up. This is just a horrible dream, right? This can’t be happening. A strangled sound escapes my throat, as though an animal is dying inside me.
Ed. Not Ed.
Dazed, I scan the street, but Artagan is gone. I slump against the wall and sink to the ground in a stupor, my head cradled in my hands. The initial shock wears off. I slip the phone out of my pocket and dial 9-1-1.
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?” a woman asks in a monotone voice.
“My friend. He’s… been murdered.” A pain rips through my chest. I groan.
“Sir, are you hurt?”
“No, Ed. He’s hurt.” By Artagan. I wonder how much I really even know about him. He admitted to destroying an entire village without remorse. Then he had his reasons—revenge. Or was that an excuse?
“Sir, are you there? Sir!”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Your location? Where is it?”
“Rare Books. Exchange Street.”
“The police are on their way. Is the offender still there?”
“No, he’s gone.” Anger surges. I grip my phone tighter, longing for my own retaliation. But where did he go? Oh, God… no! Fear shoots through me, freezing my breath in my throat. I hit the end button, cutting the operator off mid-sentence, and dial Leah’s cell. I check my watch, trying to remember her schedule.
After three rings, she answers. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” I ask, with a mixture of urgency and helplessness in my tone.
“Jack, I can’t talk. I’m running late,” Leah says.
“Where are you? Answer me.”
“I just left my place. What’s wrong?”
“Good. I need you to trust me.” My voice cracks.
“Is everything okay?”
The cop cars speed around the corner, lights flashing and sirens wailing.
“Listen to me and do exactly what I say. I need you to go to the dorm. Go upstairs. Don’t talk to anyone. Lock the door and window, then text me and let me know you’re safe. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”
“But work.”
“When you get to your room, call Rachel. Make up some excuse.”
“You’re scaring me, Jack.”
“Everything will be fine. Just do it!” I snap, my patience spent.
A silence hangs in the air. “Okay. I’m going now.”
“I have to go. Remember, text me.” I hang up.
The police are out of their cars before my phone hits the bottom of my pocket. I explain to an Officer Jenkins what I found when I arrived, leaving out the details of Artagan and his friend. The other officers buzz around like a well-oiled machine. They cordon off the bookstore with yellow tape and barricade the street to hold back the swelling crowd. The whole ordeal feels like an out-of-body experience. I check my phone. No texts. My eyes flit across the crowd at the edge of the barrier. I’m looking for Artagan, but I see Sally. She’s frantically talking with one of officers, waving her hands and gesturing to the bookstore.
“Sir. That’s Mr. Growley’s girlfriend,” I say, pointing at Sally.
Officer Jenkins beckons her to pass.
Sally hurries to me with fear and confusion in her eyes. “Jack, what’s going on?”
“It’s Ed.” My body aches with the memory of what she will soon feel.
“Is it his heart?”
Officer Jenkins steps into the conversation. “No, ma’am. It looks like a robbery.”
“Robbery?” Sally asks.
“We believe so. The register was left wide open. All the cash was gone,” says the officer.
“He must be so upset. Where is he?” She takes a step toward the door.
I catch her arm.
“What’s wrong? Is he hurt?” she asks. Her youthful eyes scan my face then widen. “Oh no, no. He can’t be dead. He can’t be. I would have—” Her words break into a sob.
I fold my arms around her quivering shoulders, noticing the gold band of an engagement ring wrapped around her finger. “I’m so sorry.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hammond.”
I look up to find a short towheaded man dressed in an ill-fitting suit, studying me. “I’m Detective Samuels. I have a couple questions for you.”
I release Sally and step to her side.
The detective clears his throat and removes a pen and notebook from his breast pocket. “What did you see when you arrived? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“No. Not until I walked inside.” I pat my fingers against the phone’s silent bulge.
Samuels nods, scribbling down my every word. “What was different when you entered the shop?”
“The quiet.”
He thinks for a moment. “So there was no one else in the shop?”
“Like I told Officer Jenkins, no.” I shift my weight back and forth anxiously. “Just Ed.”
“Are you in a hurry? Do you have somewhere to be?” Samuels eyes me quizzically.
“It’s my girlfriend,” I say, keeping my voice composed. “I don’t want her to hear about this on the news.”
The detective’s posture relaxes. “Of course. Understandable. Just a couple more questions.”
I nod.
“Has anyone been hanging around the store?”
“No one I’d label suspicious, if that’s what you mean.”
“Do you know if Mr. Growley had any enemies? Anyone who’d wish to do him harm?”
“No!” Sally says.
“Sorry, ma’am. We have to ask.” Samuels studies his notes, flipping the pages. “Looks like we have everything we need for now. We’ll call you if we have additional questions. You’re free to go.”
I offer to walk Sally home, but she doesn’t want to leave Ed. She says she knows he isn’t with us any longer, but sometimes, feelings don’t have anything to do with logic. And people have to do what their hearts deem right. I know all too well that she’s right. I hate abandoning Sally, but Leah still hasn’t texted.
I scoot around the barricade and dial Leah’s cell first. I don’t get an answer, so I call her dorm room. No answer. I burst into a full run. The five blocks and congested sidewalk rob me of moments I don’t have to spare. The ticking minutes feel like a lifetime. As I approach Leah’s building, I see Artagan’s jet-black hair gleaming blue in the sunlight. He’s sitting on her front steps, holding something pink, flipping it into the air over and over again. Leah’s phone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I skid to a stop in front of Artagan, my eyes transfixed on the phone while it rotates between his nimble fingers. Shivers of ice swarm down my back, and every muscle tenses, burning and tingling with the impulse to destroy Artagan. Without prompting from my brain, my arm swings.
Artagan catches my fist midflight. His sapphire eyes stare off into the distance, and he purses his lips.
In my head, the quiet voice returns. Relax, it says. My body rebels against the suggestion, and the icy burn spreads, slithering down each of my limbs. I jerk my fist out of his grip, debating whether to throw another punch or choke him out.
“I’m sorry about Ed.” Artagan’s voice is calm, almost casual. “If there was any way to stop…”
Ed. Dammit. The crazy, disorganized book-lover is dead. I can’t help him anymore. But Leah… “What did you do to her?” I spit out.
His eyes shift to mine. “Her?”
“Leah. If you hurt her in any way—” My anger shuts down my speech, and I begin to tremble.
Artagan cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “What are you going on about? Leah’s fine. I saw her run upstairs about twenty minutes ago. In her hurry, she dropped this.” He holds out the phone.
I snatch the cell from his hand and dial Leah’s dorm room number. On the first ring, she answers. She’s home, safe. Relief sweeps in but doesn’t dissolve my burning tension and grief.
“Hi, beautiful.” I clear my throat and attempt to win back my composure.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain everything soon. I’ll be there shortly. Stay put, okay?”
“All right.” From the hardness in her voice, she’s clearly irritated. “But—”
“Later, I promise. Love you.” I close her phone with a snap. I stare at Artagan under heavy brows, while images of my dead friend parade through my head. A new wave of anger crashes over me. “Ed,” I groan.
“I know you think I enjoy this. You’re wrong. I don’t.” A frosty edge sharpens his tone, as if my pain wounded him. His fist lifts to meet his mouth, knuckles whitening against rigid muscles.
Artagan came to the wrong place if he expects my sympathy for his fate. My tightening jaw is my only response to this flimsy excuse.
“I didn’t kill Ed. Some twenty-year-old junkie did that,” he says.
I lean in so I’m an inch from his face. I stab my finger at his chest. “You were there. You had something to do with it.”
“My job is death,” he spits. “The unnatural ones. Time handles the rest.”
I straighten. My mouth twists into a grimace. “So, people are no more than chess pieces to you?”
His eyes stray from mine. “We don’t get our hands dirty, per se. We orchestrate death. From a distance, when possible. Nearby, when needed.”
“We?” Who’s he going to blame now? Ed? I growl.
“The Concilium Animarum. The council is made up of nine immortals. Seven of them are the actual sons and daughters of Death. One, the oldest of the Soulless, was invited because of his unique quality.” He rolls his eyes. “And the last is yours truly. This job was thrust on me. My ancestor, Brennus, was a son of Death—a pureblood. Unlike me, an adopted son, he is a biological son of Death himself, and he was raised by Death from the age of two. Before that, he lived with his mother. Like all Death’s children, he has a human mother. Despite his upbringing, Brennus’s duties of taking human life weighed heavy on his heart. Unlike his other siblings, he was not made for such sorrow. Mind you, I knew nothing of Brennus or this world until he ended his life with the help of his cunning twin sisters. Before that, I was happy, living in a small village with my wife in the midst of the Blackmuir Wood, completely unaware of what I was. A soul immortal.
“You saw one of the twins today—Vita. She’s the more brutal of the two. A purely sadistic creature. Let’s just say she enjoys her job.” Artagan’s face flares with loathing. “It seems Vita plotted Brennus’s death for years. From what I’ve been told, her hatred for him grew after he stood against her creation—the Plague. Back in the fourteenth century, she directed the Black Death toward Europe for fun because it would slaughter as many humans and soul immortals as possible. She believes they’re both inferior beings. All the council does in their way—well, except me. They call the soul immortals the Ignorant. But Vita’s hatred seems to run deeper than that. By the time Brennus convinced his siblings that Vita’s motives were tainted, half the European population was wiped out.” Artagan twists a gold ring with a black onyx stone around his pinky while he speaks.
“Vita never forgave Brennus for swaying the council against her. With help from her sister, she preyed upon Brennus’s weakness, his spirit, and his love of humanity. The twins systematically drove Brennus mad. Vita disguised her hatred of Brennus as pity, offering to help him find peace, but it was no more than revenge. In his fragile state, he accepted her help and, in turn, death. With his dying breath, he blessed, more like cursed, this legacy on me. Passing on one’s position and power is a privilege reserved for council members. Because of that honor, I received Brennus’s seat on the council and his duties. I became an honorary son of Death. Since then, Vita’s been secretly hunting down Brennus’s descendants, determined to kill off the whole family line. She’s been effective.” Artagan pauses, and his attention gravitates to the sidewalk. “I am truly sorry about your friend.”
I examine Artagan, looking for spuriousness in his solemn expression, but I find his apology genuine.
“Ed wasn’t my obligation. Vita received the assignment. I came anyway. She didn’t appreciate my company, but I didn’t give her any choice. My deal was too tempting. I knew you were close to him. As you can guess, Vita enjoys causing as much pain as she can to the person unfortunate enough to meet her at the time of their passing.”
“So a sadistic loon is wandering Portland, killing whoever she feels like.” I glance at Leah’s window. How quickly can I get her out of this place?
Artagan chuckles. “If it’s Leah you’re worried about, she’s fine. Vita’s off on her next assignment in Africa. Swaziland, to be precise. She’s long gone. I only stayed to reassure you that Ed had an easy death.”
“An easy death? An easy death is when someone dies in his sleep at ninety years of age after living a full life. Ed died alone, crumpled on the floor, in a pool of his own blood.” Images of Ed’s lifeless body flood my mind.
“Ed died instantly. I promise you that. It wouldn’t have been that way if Vita had been alone.” His voice is authoritative, devoid of mercy and emotion.
My teeth clamp together in an audible snap. “He deserved better.”
“Deserving has nothing to do with it. Most don’t deserve it. Does a child deserve to die of cancer? Does a mother of three deserve to die in a car accident? Did a man deserve to be beaten to death for the shillings in his pocket? No. I hate it. If I could save them all, I would.” Artagan’s voice catches, and his chilled expression caves with regret.
His reaction to what h
e is breaks through my anger. I never suspected that an immortal who has brought death to so many could have a conscience or feel remorse. I slump onto the steps next to him, questions swirling through my head. Brennus died. He was an immortal, and he died. And Olluna? Was that part of the fairy tale true? Maybe when the time comes—after Leah has died, of course—Vita would be willing to show me the door out of this life. “Death for an immortal is possible?”
“Oh, yes, more than possible. I’ve thought about it, but I’m too attached to retribution to consider it. Or maybe I’m just chicken. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be going up there anyway.”
A smile breaks across my face. The longing for death in the foreseeable future vanished with finding Leah, but after her death, I never have to return to the life I had before her. No more pining for what could have been. No more flashbacks or searching for an escape as I had after Lydia’s death.
Artagan glances at the clear sky. “Not after that village incident and all. Eternity on earth is a far better choice than an afterlife in Hades. Self-interest is a family trait. Death’s perfected it.”
“How can an immortal die?”
“Hemlock mixed with a touch of salt.” His face contorts in suffering, as if he’s on fire. I recognize the pain. Instantly, I believe Artagan has known the heartbreak of his fairy tale. His expression clears, but a hint of suffering lingers in his eyes. “Enough of that.” He huffs, and his gaze drops to his feet.
When his eyes return to me, he’s locked away his pain. He stands suddenly. “I’m sorry you had to find Ed like that. Vita had already planted the plan in the boy’s mind when I came into the picture. There was no turning back then. I know the way he died must have reopened painful wounds. Sorry about that, too.”
Then he’s on the move, disappearing around a street corner.
Pressure builds in my head. My hands shake. I get to my feet, desperate for Leah’s reassuring touch. This memory isn’t one I wish to relive, not today. Stumbling to the top step, heaviness weighs me down, dragging me to my knees. I close my eyes, and I’m seven, a lifetime away, on a curvy dirt road on the outskirts of Lidcombe. I shuffle my feet, making clouds of fine powder behind me. The dusty earth grates under my leather soles. My brother walks several paces ahead, moving purposefully.