by Jen Printy
“Well, you’re not dead. She’ll have to wait a bit longer to get the happy news.”
“Wait, my phone.” I pat down my pockets. “Dammit! I left it at Grady’s.”
“Cell phones don’t work out here, and honestly, this might be the kind of news you want to tell in person.”
“How long?” I demand.
Artagan glances over at Kemisi. “What do you think?”
“Another hour, at least,” she answers with a touch of uncertainty in her voice.
“An hour! No way in hell,” I say, trying to stand again and finding my legs are still made of jelly.
Kemisi frowns. “Men are always so restless. This isn’t a choice, Jack. You physically aren’t going to be able to walk before then. I might be wrong, but I don’t think Artagan wants to give you a piggyback ride all the way to the station.”
Artagan grimaces, showing off all his pearly white teeth.
Kemisi hops to her feet. “I’ll go see if something might help to speed the process.”
“Look in my books. Anything with dandelion root should help,” Artagan says.
She nods then walks to the adjacent wall and straight through the shadow.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” I say, looking at Artagan. “So what the hell was that thing? The black mass?”
“They don’t call this place the Valley of the Shadow of Death for no reason. Everything has a shadow, even Death. The creature was judging you. Did you see how it tore Vita limb from limb? Exquisite! Better than sex… almost.” He laughs, rubbing his hands together. Artagan has fondness for the theatrical, to be sure. His growing excitement electrifies the air. “I can’t believe that bitch is finally dead. Serevo is the newest member of the council, and Leah is the recipient of Vita’s immortality. Everything’s as I planned.” He pauses, studying my face. “How are you feeling? You’re not pasty white anymore. A bit more color in your cheeks now.”
I push up into a sitting position but slump back to the hard earth. My head pounds, and again, the room spins. “I feel like I was hit by a Mack truck. What did Vita give me?”
“Belladonna mixed with three drops of immortal blood. The poisonous concoction summons the Immortal Judge—the Shadow of Death.” His voice turns solemn, almost reverent. “The creature judges if an immortal’s soul is culpable for a crime or not. One must be very careful. If the accused is found innocent, the judgment ricochets, returning to the accuser. When Vita brewed and presented the belladonna tea to you with full knowledge of what she was doing, she became your accuser.”
“Not something most of us knew,” Kemisi says, glaring at Artagan as she walks in with a mug of steaming liquid. “Otmar made tea for you. A blend of dandelion root, burdock, and milk thistle. Their properties should remove any toxins left in your body and help you recover faster.”
I shrink back from the mug.
Artagan takes the tea and puts the cup to his lips, taking a large gulp. He counts to ten and then props up my head. The room seems to tilt and wobble.
“Drink,” he says, putting the rim to my lips. “The tea’s safe.”
“Trust issues,” Kemisi mutters.
“Blame me?” Artagan smirks.
Kemisi shrugs then strolls to her seat and curls into the chair like a cat.
I scrutinize Artagan, who still seems in good health.
“Drink,” he says with a renewed grin. “Do you want to see Leah or not?”
I sip the hot liquid. Its sweetness makes my lips jump away from the cup. Artagan gives me another encouraging look. I drink again, taking a large gulp. The sweetness floods in, but a slightly bitter aftertaste follows, which calms my nerves. Warm needles prick my throat and trail the tea into my stomach. The sensation grows with every sip. Soon, I’m sitting without help and holding the mug on my own.
Finally, my limbs begin to move when and how they’re told, and the room anchors itself into one place. I endeavor to stand. My muscles and joints are stiff, and I teeter then pitch forward. Artagan grabs my elbow to steady me.
“Let’s go,” I demand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I stumble for the third time, falling hard to my knees on the soggy green earth.
“I think we should stop, give you a bit of a break,” Artagan says.
“Absolutely not. Leah’s lying in a hospital bed miles away, mourning me, and you want to take it easy?”
“Have it your way.” He yanks me up by my shirt collar.
Finally back in Achnasheen, I pace back and forth along the long platform. Artagan sits on a bench, one leg propped up on a knee, arms stretched along the backrest, watching me with an amused smile.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” he says.
“Can’t.”
He puffs on his cigarette and then removes the box from his pocket. “Have one. They’ll calm your nerves.”
I concede and spend the next minute coughing, hacking up a lung or two. “Why do you smoke these things?” I manage between coughs.
Artagan guffaws then shrugs.
The train’s headlight breaks through the mist before the train slows to a stop at the station.
The car Artagan selects is empty except for a dark-haired man sitting near the rear, reading a newspaper. Artagan lets out a loud huff when he sees the other man. Muttered curses follow. Tucking the weekly under his arm, the man stands. I study him. Ordinary bloke. Typical height, maybe a couple of inches shorter than I am. Unassuming build. His untidy, slicked-back hair touches the collar of his long black trench coat. Nothing about his features sticks out, until he looks my way. His eyes are the color of garnet. I shiver against the cold that grows deep inside me and expands as rivers of ice dart through my veins. The man gives me a warm, welcoming smile for half a second then shifts his piercing gaze to Artagan. Then he passes us without a word and steps from the train onto the platform.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“The beast himself,” Artagan says with a roll of his eyes. “Death.”
I shoot him an incredulous look.
“What did you expect? A robe and scythe?”
“I don’t know what I expected, just not something so… human. So ordinary.”
Artagan laughs. “You haven’t seen him in action. Hold your judgment till then.” He pauses. Then with a wave, he says, “Forget about him. Now, how about that bullet?”
“What?”
“The bullet in your back. Let’s get the damn thing out. Turn around.” He digs into his pocket and returns with a Leatherman.
I swallow hard.
“Come on. It will be fine. I’ve had lots of practice. You won’t feel a thing,” he says, snapping the pliers hungrily.
“No thanks. I’ll keep my little souvenir, if it’s all the same to you.” Turning my back to him, I look out the window.
“Suit yourself, but if I were you, I wouldn’t want a weak spot.” The heel of his hand rams the slug of lead. Fiery currents whip through me, making my eyes water. “See what I mean?”
A sigh breaks through my lips. “Fine.” I yank up my shirt and hunch my back.
His fingers search out the interloper and pull my skin taut. “So how did you get shot anyway?”
The burn of the first rip forces my teeth to clamp together. “Ugh. Playing hero in a liquor store in LA, a few months ago. Guess the bullet was the thing that sent me to Portland—damn, that hurts.”
“I’m almost done. Quit being such a sissy.”
I fight off the wave of nausea. Beads of sweat form along my forehead, and I bite my knuckle to keep from screaming. Finally, I feel the freeing of pressure followed by a gush of warmth running down my back.
“There,” Artagan says, sounding pleased. He holds a cloth to the wound. “Hold this there.”
I fumble blindly with the soft fabric—a handkerchief, I surmise—and press the cloth against the renewed injury.
Out of nowhere, Artagan is talking again, chatting away as if we’re midpoint in a convers
ation. “So, I found myself in Portland, Maine, for the first time last November. The case needed a personal touch. The target happened to be the director for the Bayside Gallery. While doing research, I stumbled across a painting by an up-and-coming local talent—a Leah Winters. The portrait was of a young man from Victorian times. Strangely enough, I recognized him. The director was kind enough to show me several other paintings by the same artist. You were the overwhelming theme.”
“The night you told me what I was, I told you about Leah. I told you about the paintings and that she remembered. You acted surprised, like you didn’t know.”
“I lied,” Artagan says nonchalantly. “Besides, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure my interpretation was accurate, until you told me. There could have been other explanations for the paintings.”
An irritated huff erupts through my lips.
“Never lied, huh?”
I glance at the window. “Touché.”
Artagan laughs. “Leah’s bio said she was a student at the Maine College of Art. Fancy my surprise when Lydia Ashford came strolling out of Advanced Figurative Painting. From the resemblance, I knew she was the twins’ relation. After Lydia’s death, Domitilla let the fact slip that Lydia was their descendant, not knowing the seemingly unimportant detail would end up biting Vita in the arse. I hoped someday to use the information, but I didn’t know how until after Leah’s name came to me for the gathering.”
“So the phone call was true. Vita wasn’t a threat any longer. You were.”
Artagan nods.
Not attempting to hide my brewing anger, I ask, “Pawns still?”
“I had to keep you in the dark for the plan to have the slightest chance of working. What would you have done if I’d told you Leah was marked for death and yours truly was supposed to make that happen?”
My jaw stiffens. From the pit of my stomach, a snarl rises and bursts from my throat. I twist in my seat, wanting to hit something—anything. In truth, Artagan’s jaw would satisfy nicely.
“Point proven. And you should know that if you strike me again, I’ll return the favor.”
“You’re lucky I came to Portland at all.”
Artagan snorts. “Luck. I had to get you out of that hellhole somehow.” He drops the mangled slug into my lap.
I blink. “What?”
“I have a bit of a gift. Well, all descendants do. Most just don’t know how to use the ability.” Artagan smiles. His forefinger taps against his temple. “I had that punk shoot you. The voice in your head, sometimes that’s me.”
“You crazy son of a—you manipulated that boy. And me.”
“‘Manipulated’ is a strong word. I simply influenced your inner decisions.”
“That’s manipulation,” I grumble, not liking how often Artagan is pulling my strings.
He shrugs. “I couldn’t make you do anything against your nature. And foolish me, I figured you might want to know the girl you loved was wandering around… alive.”
He’s right, of course, and he knows it. I would have done anything and risked everything for this outcome.
He reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer. “I believe you’ll be needing this,” Artagan says, presenting my grandmother’s ring clasped between his thumb and two fingers.
I nod, taking Leah’s ring, then slide the band onto my pinky. “Thanks.”
Artagan sits quietly, gazing out the window, twisting his gold ring around his finger.
“Your ring, is it special?”
“No sentimental value, if that’s what you mean. Just a trinket I picked up in Rome. It serves as a reminder that there’s always a way out of any situation, even if the way means great sacrifice. You see, it’s a poison ring.” Artagan flips up the black onyx stone to reveal a small compartment with a small green pill tucked inside. “Having a mother who was an apothecary has its advantages. She taught me well. The pill’s hemlock and salt, my backup plan,” he says, snapping shut the small lid.
I grin then slide the plastic bag out my pocket and hold up my hemlock concoction.
Artagan lets out a laugh. “That’s my boy.” He returns his attention to the window, a grin still glued on his face.
After that, I have a considerable amount of alone time on my hands. Artagan’s grown quiet again, seeming lost in his own thoughts. I watch the passing countryside through the streams of rain. I have so many things to think about. Because of Artagan and his insane plan, Leah is mine forever. I never have to say good-bye.
The train slows, and a gravelly voice over the loudspeaker announces that we’ve arrived in York. I stand before the train comes to a complete stop. I elbow impatiently through the wall of bodies, Artagan following close behind.
Out in the fresh air of the rainy night, the crowd thins. I turn to Artagan and extend my hand. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re very welcome. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again.” He smiles. “I’ll see to it.”
I leave him standing by the station doors and begin to run. Artagan’s laugh echoes down the narrow street then fades.
My feet beat against the pavement while my heart hammers in my chest, both longing to get to her. I run through the arched gate of the wall, past the homes, and then over the bridge into York Minster. The cathedral’s lights gleam brightly, sending beautiful colors through the stained glass and into the darkness of the night sky. Organ music fills the air, mingling with the sound of the light pattering of rain, hitting the pavement.
So close.
Around the next corner, the hospital comes into view. I run through the front doors then race along the zigzagging corridors, leaving a trail of exasperated faces and shouts of disapproval. Ignoring the elevator, I take the stairs three at a time. After what seems like an eternity, I stand at Leah’s hospital room door. The machines that kept her alive are gone. She is sitting on her bed, her face buried in her hands, her body trembling. At her side, Grady rubs her back and whispers. His eyes shift to the door. Doubt folds his brow and narrows his stare, but as his shock withdraws, his face relaxes. A murmur slips through his lips. “Leah. Look.”
With red, puffy eyes, she looks up at me. Tears begin to fall freely down her flushed cheeks. She lurches forward, her arms outstretched. I close the distance between us in two long strides. I sit next to her on the bed. She stares at me as if she expects me to vanish in front of her eyes. I gently wind my arms around her shivering frame. She buries her wet face into the crook of my neck. Emotions crash over me when the reality of the situation finally takes hold. She’s here. She’s safe. We’re free.
Grady stands. A smile passes between us as he slips from the room, closing the door behind him.
Driven by a need to see her emerald eyes, I push away, take her chin in my hand, and tug her face upward. I wipe away her tears with my fingertips. “Don’t cry, love. Everything’s going to be all right. Everything’s all right,” I whisper.
Leah studies every inch of my face. “I thought you were… you were… gone,” she says between convulsive gasps.
“I’m here now.” I press my lips against her forehead, savoring the sweetness of her skin.
“Why did you leave?”
“I had to. I wouldn’t have, otherwise. You have to know that.”
She glances away. “What were you planning to do?”
“Save you.”
“Grady told me that much. But how?”
“I went to make a bargain with a group of immortals who handle these kinds of things.”
“Bargain?”
“My life for yours. I’ll never allow anyone to hurt you.”
Anger lights her face. “How do you think I could live without you? Knowing you sacrificed everything for me.”
“For me, hope has made all the difference. None of that matters now.”
“Of course it matters.”
I press my fingers to her soft pink lips. “Please listen. Haven’t you wondered how you went from fighting for your life to arguing with
me in just a few hours?” The corners of my mouth inch upward.
Confusion overtakes every aspect of her expression. “What’s different?”
“You.” My smile grows wider.
She wrinkles her forehead and bites her lower lip, obviously trying to wrap her head around a new reality. Then a light of understanding dawns on her face. “Wait a minute. You went to make a bargain. If you succeeded, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be… be…” She runs her hands along the sides of my face. “Are you okay?”
“Everything’s fine. And you, my love, have been granted a permanent reprieve. You’re immortal now, like me.”
Leah sits for a long while, hands folded in her lap, staring at the specks on her hospital gown. “So these immortals let you come back. Did you come to say good-bye?” She snuffles, and tears flow again.
“No, no more good-byes. We’re both safe.”
“Are you lying to me?” She looks up. “Please don’t, not about this.”
“I’m not, love. And I have lifetimes to prove I’m telling you the truth.”
“Lifetimes?”
“Hundreds of thousands. You might get sick of me after that.” I chuckle.
Leah smiles, scoots closer, and begins to trail kisses up my neck, leaving a warm tingling path in their wake. Fire ignites and courses through me when I press my mouth to hers. My need to be closer to her grows more intense with each kiss. I caress her neck down to the arch of her back, pulling her hard against me. Leah pushes me backward onto the bed. Our breathing becomes heavy and jagged. Her fingers tangle in my hair. A low moan breaks free through my lips.
“Leah,” I whisper.
A clearing of a throat interrupts the moment. I glance to find a scowling nurse leaving in a huff. With a giggle, Leah slides off me.
I stay sprawled across her bed, trying to regain my breath. “Ah, Leah, you’re going to be the death of me yet.”
She swats at my shoulder.
“Ouch!” I rub my stinging skin and chuckle.
“Not funny, Jack. Besides, you’re the perfect gentleman twenty-four, seven.” She sits up and retreats to the corner of the bed.