Council of Souls

by Jen Printy

  “Thank you. Will do.” I then add “Nice to meet you” for good measure.

  Michelle waves and disappears into a menagerie of dancing ghouls and monsters.

  The first floor of the dormitory, generally deserted and drab, has been transformed into a discotheque. I press through the packed bodies, searching for my Cleopatra. But I cannot find Leah, so I head for the stairs.

  At Leah’s door, I knock. No one answers. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before trying the knob. The door creaks open. The room sits in darkness except for a dim glow of candlelight. Within, I hear the sound of rustling fabric.

  “Leah?” I say.

  “Come in,” she replies, but her voice sounds nervous.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Flickering candles line the top of the bookshelf and clutter the bedside table, their flames wavering amid the thick shadows. A trace scent of jasmine drifts toward the door. I try the light switch. Nothing. I stay close to the entry and shut the door. I squint as my eyes adjust to the lack of light. My gaze roves the room and settles on a solitary figure sitting on one of the twin beds—a silhouette I recognize at once.

  “I met your friend Michelle downstairs. She claimed you were sick. I knew that wasn’t true, but is everything okay?”

  Leah pushes from the bed and walks toward me. My eyes trace the gentle curves of her body emphasized by the cling of a spaghetti-strap nightdress, lingering for a moment on the swell of her hips before moving to the hem trimmed in lace, touching her mid-thigh. The ivory satin glimmers in the warm glow of the diffused candlelight.

  I try not to stare, but how can I not? Leah looks like she stepped out of one of Klimt’s Golden Phase paintings, and it’s hard to believe this beautiful woman is mine. Leah’s far more than I deserve.

  I take a large gulp of air, puffing out my cheeks. Be the gentleman, I remind myself. Eyes up, dammit.

  “Sorry if I woke you,” I say. “I thought we were meeting in the lobby at nine.”

  “You didn’t. And we were,” Leah says, her voice uneven, low-pitched. “I decided we could use alone time instead. I texted you,” she adds, moving closer.

  “Oh.” I reach for my phone but stop as I glance around the room, taking in the scene once more—the mood lighting, the apparel, or lack thereof. My eyes find their way back to her face, attempting to avoid her figure, but I’m achingly aware of her proximity. I rake my fingers through my rain-soaked hair, my perpetual habit whenever I’m nervous or flustered as I am right now. I find myself staring at the satin nightdress again.

  “It’s new. Do you like it?” Leah asks, running her hands down the silky fabric.

  I let out a tense chuckle. “Very much. Probably too much. Leah, what are you up to?” I ask, although it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to decipher her intent. Leah Winters is attempting to seduce me. And from my racing heart rate and body stirring with need, she’s doing a bang-up job.

  Her answer doesn’t come in words. She inclines against me and rolls to her tiptoes to claim my mouth with hers. It’s as if someone doused my body in kerosene and lit me ablaze. No flames, only heat. Although I want nothing more than to continue, I force myself to step back.

  “Don’t your horror flicks warn against this kind of behavior?” I tease then let out another edgy chuckle. “Especially with All Hallows’ Eve right around the corner.”

  “Good thing we’re immortal, huh?”

  “I’m trying to be honorable here, but please don’t push it. I’m no priest.”

  “Could have fooled me.” Leah runs her fingertips down my chest, playing with the buttons of my shirt. “I realized today in the middle of Renaissance history that we’ve technically been a couple since 1862. I think that counts as a long-term relationship, don’t you?”

  She stares at me, her mouth parting. My eyes focus on her lips, and my resolve wavers.

  “You want to kiss me,” she says with complete confidence.

  “I always want to kiss you.”

  “But this time you want more. I can see it in your eyes.” She edges closer so her body is less than an inch from mine. I can feel the warmth radiating off her, and she whispers, “I want you.”

  “A-And I you, with every fiber of my being. But, ah—” is all I’m able to stammer out before she presses two fingers to my mouth.

  “That’s all I needed to hear.”

  Her lips crush mine, and for a split second, it’s nearly painful. The kiss—long and inviting—swallows my words and muddles any argument. I feel Leah’s beating heart through the thin layers of fabric between us, its quickening rhythm echoing my own. I may be a gentleman, but I’m still a hot-blooded man at my core. When I don’t push away, her kisses soften. She yanks my shirt loose at the waist and, with trembling fingers, tugs at the buttons.

  Instead of pushing her away, I pull her to me, holding her tight against my bare chest. My tongue runs along the curve of her lower lip and invades her mouth. She tastes of peppermint. All the while, my noble side argues in the background, but right now, desire has a much stronger voice.

  Three quick raps on the door interrupt our intimate moment and stop me dead in my tracks. Respectability saved by a knock. “I should—” I start, my voice husky.

  “Ignore it.” Her lips brush along my jaw, and for the second time this evening, a jumbling fog overtakes my thoughts.

  Another knock follows.

  Leah groans. “You gotta be kidding me. If that’s Nathan or Max, I’m going to kill ’em,” she mutters, glaring at the door, and then glances at her negligee. “You should get it. I don’t need those two seeing me like this. I think Nathan has finally got the hint that it’s not going to happen.”

  “Agreed.”

  “But be quick.” Her lips press hard to mine once more, robbing me of what breath I’ve managed to catch.

  “I was right,” I mutter when her mouth releases mine.

  She looks up with a quizzical eye.

  “You are here to torment me.” I smile and pry myself from her.

  I walk toward the door as another knock pounds, this one more persistent than the others. As the door swings open, the weary eyes of Artagan meet mine. Reeking of stale ale and cheap perfume, he sports a five-o’clock shadow. His hair doesn’t have the usual well-groomed look, either. Instead, it’s ruffled and unkempt, and his clothes are wrinkled as if he has been sleeping in them for days. There’s something fierce and almost unhinged in his expression.

  “You look like hell,” I say as I step out of the room and close the door partway to hide the scene behind me from any prying eyes.

  Artagan looks me up and down. He lifts one eyebrow and grins. “Sorry. The timing couldn’t be helped.”

  “No worries. In all honesty, I should thank you. Where have you been? It’s like you fell off the edge of the earth.”

  Artagan gives a half shrug, his gaze inspecting the span of the deserted hallway. The only noise, a steady thrum of music, floats up from downstairs.

  I huff, irked by his evasiveness. But then again, what else should I expect? “So you’re here. That must mean you got my message. Have you found any reason for Leah’s soul memories?” A spark of excitement pushes past the annoyance.

  His gaze returns. “No. Dead end after dead end.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder again.

  I glance down the hall. “Anything wrong? You don’t seem yourself.”

  “We should talk.”

  “All right. Give us a minute, okay?” Not waiting for a response, I turn toward the door. Movement in my peripheral vision catches my eye. A silhouette glides out of a shadow at the end of the hall. A moment passes before I recognize him, and my breath freezes in my throat. The newcomer is Death. Two other figures, whom I remember from my time in the catacombs as Thanatos and a man Artagan called Soulless, join him.

  Artagan sighs. “I am sorry about th
is.”

  “What the hell?” A singular conclusion rushes into my mind. Artagan was wrong. The Concilium Animarum are here to collect their pound of flesh. In their eyes, I’m sure the bargain I made with them back in the catacombs had failed, saving Leah but still leaving me alive. My heart rate speeds to a gallop as panic rushes in, so crushing and suffocating I can barely breathe. I clench my jaw and click the door shut. Then, swinging around into a defensive position, I hurl Artagan one heated glance of reproach.

  He cannot meet my eyes.

  Death walks forward, his long trench coat swishing with his movements. His dark hair, slicked back, emphasizes his narrow face and hollow cheeks. Sunglasses hide his distinctive eyes.

  “Hello, Jack.” Death’s voice is gentle and polite, refined even. Even so, his tone sends an icy tingle flaring along my spine.

  I press my back to the door and keep my hand on the doorknob.

  Death offers his hand but drops it when he realizes I have no intention of accepting the gesture. “We’re here to see Leah,” he says. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  “Not bloody likely. We can keep whatever this is between us.”

  Soulless whispers something to Thanatos and chuckles, then in two strides, he moves to Death’s flank.

  Soulless folds his thick tattooed arms across his barrel chest. “Move aside,” he says. His face relaxes into a calm, almost agreeable expression, but his eyes, dark as shards of night, cut through me, leaving me chilled to my depths. Still, I stand my ground.

  Feelings of desolation and fear press into my mind. Muscles strain and rebel. My fingers twitch on the cold metal knob. I find I’m of two minds. Most of me demands I stay where I am—a barricade between Death and Leah—but in the dark recesses of my brain, an impulse urges me to welcome them. I clamp my teeth together and fight the battle of wills rising within me.

  Just as I feel I’m winning, the pain hits, threatening to bring up my meager supper. Beads of sweat bloom along my forehead and trickle down my face in salty paths as the waves of pain grow stronger.

  I lift my eyes just enough to find Artagan, looking for his help. He stands on the sidelines next to Thanatos, a picture of perfect ease, except that his hands are balled into fists and hanging at his sides. His eyes are fixed on something at the end of the corridor, avoiding my gaze.

  Thanatos’s glaring, thin-lipped face appears to say, This throttling is my doing. It’s only then I notice Thanatos’s hand clasped on Artagan’s shoulder, holding him in place.

  As another wave of pain overtakes me, my knees buckle, and I lose my grip on the doorknob. I coil in on myself. The floor, seeming to rise up, slams into me. I lie in the fetal position at Soulless’s feet. Choking and coughing, I roll to my back.

  “Jack? Everything okay?” Leah’s muffled voice calls from behind the closed door. The sound of footfalls moves within the room.

  Shit! I push through the pain and will myself to my feet, but an unseen power forces me back to the floor. The door creaks open, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

  “Jack!” Leah says.

  “Go,” is all I manage to push out.

  Now dressed in a flimsy T-shirt and sweatpants, Leah places her small frame in front of me as a shield. I attempt to grab her leg to hold her back, but the pain restrains any useful movements.

  “I don’t care who you are, but you better get out of here, or I’ll call the police!” she says, brandishing a round-tipped knife.

  “I fear the authorities wouldn’t be much good here, Leah.” Death removes his sunglasses, showing off his eyes. His smile broadens, and his eyes flash orange-red as if emitting their own light, like the eyeshine of an animal in the dark.

  In a burst of panic, I push myself to my knees. Fire rips through my limbs. My wrists and ankles feel chained to hundred-pound weights. “Back. Inside,” I say through gritted teeth. My face contorts with another round of pain.

  Leah looks at me. Fear traces her features for half a second before her expression shifts, her face turning fierce as her glare returns to our guests. “Stop it!” she hisses, pointing the small knife at the council members as if she’s wielding a saber. “You’re hurting him!”

  The sensation of domination dissipates, recoiling and folding in on itself until all that’s left is a pinpoint of fire in my gut. I haul myself to my feet and resume my defending stance, maneuvering myself between Leah and the others. Every muscle in my body aches.

  “Are you okay?” Leah says, stepping back to my side.

  I nod, not peeling my stare from Death. I grip Leah’s hand with mine in a show of solidarity.

  Death looks past me as though I don’t exist, the fearsome gaze replaced with a gentle air. “Things got a little heated. It was not my intent. My apologies.”

  “If this is about my bargain with the council,” I say, “it’s not Leah’s fault. I take full responsibility for the debt and its payment.” The bargain had been simple—my immortal life for Leah’s mortal one. The council thought the bargain was lopsided, but despite this, my request was voted upon and granted.

  “Do you?” A smirk lurks at the corners of Death’s mouth, and he glances at Artagan. “Well, it’s nothing as morbid as that. We’re just here to talk, an introduction of sorts. But one best done in private.”

  Let him in. No harm will come to Leah. I promise on Olluna’s grave. Artagan’s voice comes as a breath into my mind, calming and soothing. I exchange a fleeting glance with him. I’ve never heard him invoke his late wife’s name in such a way before. His expression is smooth, unreadable. Then he gives me an encouraging nod.

  With a deep breath, I squeeze Leah’s hand before my gaze returns to Death. “Fine. Come in.” Leah’s posture stiffens. I feel the tension rolling off her. “It will be okay,” I say, an edge in my soft voice.

  I step aside, pulling Leah with me. With a sense of queasiness, I watch as Death and his children parade past.

  Artagan stops before Leah and dips his head. “After you, lassie,” he says.

  Leah glances at Artagan then at me. She must see something that satisfies her because she releases my hand and walks in ahead of him.

  Before I can take a step, Artagan pushes by, a faint attaboy smile tugging at his lips. “Button your shirt,” he whispers, batting me across the stomach, “and for God’s sake and mine, be polite. No matter what.”

  I grimace and button my shirt. Then, tucking the shirttail into the confines of my waistband, I walk into the room and close the door behind me, shutting us in the lion’s den.

  Although the candles still flicker, Leah has turned on the lamp by her bed, changing the room’s mood from one of romance to business as usual. She lingers by the door, keeping as much distance from our guests as she can in this small, confined space. Arms folded across her chest, her steady gaze locks on Death. Despite her guarded exterior, her fear is plain from her ashen face. After Death’s little game in the hallway, she’s aware of what horrors hide beneath their casual exteriors.

  I step to Leah’s side and give her a look of reassurance, although it doesn’t make me feel any better. Artagan leans against the wall, placing himself just to my right.

  Death stands in the middle of the room, his eyes roving over her collection of books—classics mixed with a few modern treasures—and the stark white walls littered with reproductions of Gauguin, Van Gogh, and Chagall. Thanatos and Soulless position themselves on either side of Death. Relaxed but at the ready, just in case I need another beating, I surmise. From the smirk on Soulless’s face, he’s hoping for another round.

  “Well, you have superior taste.” Death flashes a smile. “I have a fondness for Gauguin myself. The emboldened way he used color has always attracted my eye. And his Vision after the Sermon is my favorite as well.” He gestures to the picture on the opposite wall.

  Leah doesn’t respond.

 
“It truly is a pleasure to meet you,” Death continues. “I wish all my children could be here, but you’ll meet them all soon enough.”

  Leah stares at him, a touch of skepticism in her expression.

  “Where are my manners?” Death steps closer, holding out his bony hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Leah places her hand in his. He smiles. “I’m Death, my dear. But you can call me Dīs or Hades, if that makes you more comfortable.”

  Leah’s eyes widen, and I watch the color drain from her cheeks, but her chin stays pointed upward. Death’s proximity only adds to my mounting anxiety. I feel the muscles in my shoulders tense, and the back of my neck prickles with a surge of icy needles. I consider stepping between them to break his hold, but as I stride forward, he says, “She’s fine.” Then, resting his hand on my shoulder, he holds me in place.

  “These are some of the members of my council: Thanatos, Muan,” he says, gesturing at Soulless. The two men nod. “And this is Artagan.”

  Leah draws her hand away in disgust. “Jack mentioned your council. He told me about what they do and what happened at that monastery.”

  “Then I fear you’ve heard a slanted view,” Death says.

  “I’ve heard the truth. Jack and I have no secrets. Your children are no more than glorified murderers.”

  “Secrets between lovers are as numerous as the stars.”

  “That’s a cynical view,” Leah says.

  “Everyone has secrets.” Death smiles, amused, then he steps away, moving back to the center of the room. “It is true that people die by our devices.” He pauses, taking that moment to study me. “Your father was a vicar, was he not?”

  I nod, and Death’s gaze looks to the ceiling.

  “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heavens. A time to be born and a time to die,” Death recites, emphasizing the last word.

  “I know the passage,” I snap.

  “Some might say we’re ordained by God.” Death’s attention returns to me for a moment, and he smiles before his eyes flick to Leah. “It’s true that we reap mortal souls, but I like to think that we serve a higher purpose. I like to think we’re the ones who teach mortals life is worth living. Jack and my council didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, and that has tainted how he sees us.”