by Jen Printy
I snort, but Death’s gaze stays on Leah.
“I hope you don’t hold a grudge. What happened in York was nothing personal,” Death adds.
Leah’s expression grows fierce. “Call me silly, but it was personal to me. And to Jack. So thank you for coming and welcoming me to the immortal family, but I’m afraid you’re making my fiancé uncomfortable, so I must ask you to leave.”
My posture tense, I worry Leah might be pushing Death too far. Beside me, Artagan chuckles under his breath. I see what you like in her.
“Right to the point.” The crispness in Death’s tone is unmistakable. “I’ll admit I like your spirit. Once trained, you’ll give Domitilla a run for her money. The others doubted. Even Artagan thought I was a fool, but I knew you were the right choice.”
Choice? I stand, stunned, frozen by the currents of horror as the final puzzle piece clicks into place with an audible snap. The reason for their unexpected visit. Why Artagan looks like hell. A lump forms at the back of my throat as my brain scrambles to find any other logical excuse for what I heard.
When Death speaks again, his voice sounds some distance away, like he’s talking from the next room. “Since Jack seems to have told you everything else, I’m sure he’s told you whose descendant you are. My deceased daughter Vita.”
Leah nods. “I can’t say I’m proud of the lineage since she tried to kill us both.” She gestures from herself to me.
“Vita was always a tenacious child. The transitions may be rocky at first, but I will help you adjust, as any good father would. You are my daughter now. I’m here to welcome you to the Concilium Animarum, the Council of Souls. I’m bestowing Vita’s seat on you. It’s a great honor.”
Rage rises like a flaming phoenix out of the cold ashes in my chest. The intensity thaws me from my solid state. My hands tremble at my side. “You son of a bitch!” I’m not positive if my words are coherent or only ring clear in my head. I raise my fist.
“Jack, no!” Artagan yells.
CHAPTER FOUR
My fist finds its target and lands with an audible smack against Death’s bony jaw. His face a mask of surprise, Death stumbles backward into the bedside table, sending it tipping and crashing to the floor. The crystal candlesticks shatter into hundreds of tiny pieces, and he falls into the wreckage. Muan steps forward, his black eyes glinting with expectancy, but stops when Death waves him off.
Gaze locked with mine, Death grinds his hands into the shards of glass. His eyes remain cold and speculative, but amusement plays on his lips. After shoving himself to his feet, he extends his arms to show me his palms. The skin is clear and smooth, not like he heals quicker than the rest of us, but as if he had incurred no damage at all. He steps closer so only inches separate us. His frosty breath wafts into my face, and his bright eyes drill into mine. “My children advised me you might be difficult. You don’t disappoint.”
Muan chuckles, his arm now draped around Leah’s shoulder. Leah stares at me, her expression frantic.
“Keep your filthy hands off her!” I shout, forcing out each syllable. Unable to escape the cloud of anger, I thrust forward.
“Idiot,” Artagan murmurs. A snakelike arm shoots around my neck, enclosing my throat with a stifling hold, and he hauls me backward. I struggle, but Artagan constricts his grip. He retreats, dragging me with him. His words hiss in my ear. “You’re done. Do you hear me? Done! Or you’ll end up maimed or worse.”
As his grasp threatens me with unconsciousness, a clacking, like a train on its tracks, rattles in my ears, and my vision recedes into a long, blackened tunnel. I stop battling. He loosens his arm, allowing my vision to return to normal.
Death’s voice flows like a disjointed melody. “I assured my children no man who went to such measures to save the woman he loves would put her in jeopardy.” He glances at Leah before his attention revisits me. “Am I wrong?” he asks, his tone composed as if he couldn’t care less which path I choose.
I shake my head, still trying to catch my breath.
Death studies my face, and then his gaze fixes on Artagan. “Release him.”
Artagan’s arm uncoils, and I take in several calming breaths.
Death outstretches his hands to Leah. “Welcome, my daughter.”
Leah stares at him, her eyes cold and expressionless. Then, in the face of whatever fear churns inside her, Leah walks straight into Death’s embrace. An intense hollowness springs into my chest. I shove my hands in my pockets to hide the shaking.
“With that settled, you and I need to talk, my dear.” Death offers Leah his arm. She glances over her shoulder and gives me a reassuring nod before reluctantly slipping her hand into the crook of Death’s elbow. He leads her to the wall, and they melt into the shadows, followed by Thanatos. Muan lingers behind, surveying me before stepping into the veil of shadows. Only his arrogant laugh remains, echoing in my head.
In a burst of panic, I rush to the wall. My fingers run over the unmoving space where Leah vanished. My breath becomes ragged, and the beat of my heart roars like a freight train in my ears. I’m acting like a madman. I can see it, feel it, but I cannot control it.
“Of all the childish, shortsighted things you could have done…” Artagan’s words mumble off into garbled ramblings.
My focus snaps to him. “Where the hell did they take her?”
Artagan stands on the other side of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There are not enough rewards in Heaven for this type of shit.”
“Where, dammit?” I step toward him, my entire body trembling now.
Artagan looks up. His face is hard as if carved from stone. “For a father-daughter chat. Leah will be back soon enough.” After a long pause, he continues. “Do you realize Death could exterminate you with a blink of an eye? And if that happened, what good would you be to Leah? She’ll need you more than ever.”
“Don’t you lecture me. How long did you know Leah was Vita’s replacement?”
Artagan glances away.
“Answer me! How long?”
He walks to the window and stares out at the city lights. “I suspected from the beginning, but for certain, since the night I dropped you off in York.”
I grind my teeth. “In all that time, you didn’t feel the need to mention it? You should have warned me of this possibility from the start.”
Watch what you say. At delicate times such as these, the shadows sometimes have ears. Artagan’s voice warns in my head, and he faces me. “What would you have done? Tell me. Would you have had the fortitude to give Leah up when there was the slightest chance of keeping her forever?”
I exhale, my glare falling to the floor.
“Didn’t think so.”
“You’re wrong. I would have, but you never gave me the chance. If you knew from the beginning that this was a possibility, why didn’t you?” I remember Artagan’s story of how he requited Olluna’s death. “Revenge. Of course. I fooled myself into thinking your plan was all about saving Leah and my happiness. But it was never about that, was it? For you, it’s always been about revenge, no matter the cost. Whether it’s a town of harmless villagers or a nineteen-year-old girl with her future in front of her.”
“You might be right. In all honesty, I don’t care if you forgive me or not.” A tightening of the muscle in his jaw tells me he’s lying. I keep the observation to myself and let him continue. “I understand that absolution might be more than you can give. But if we are as alike as we seem, you would have given anything for this future, and I bet so would she.” He smiles.
“It wasn’t your choice.”
“Perhaps not,” he says, then his words invade my mind. That doesn’t change the fact that that plan was the only foreseeable way to stop Vita. She thought she could come after those I love without consequence. She was wrong. His eyes spark with hatred as he glances at the spot where Leah disappeared
. “We all have our demons to bear. For now, you’re safe, and so is your Leah, if you allow it.”
“Safe? She’s with Death. How is that safe?” I yell. Artagan doesn’t respond. I grab his shoulder to get his attention and shove him toward the door. “I’ll find my own way to keep her safe.”
In a rush, my back hits the wall. Artagan’s forearm presses into my throat. “Accept this situation as reality. If you don’t, you’ll only make matters worse and risk her life and yours. Being Death’s descendant may grant you immortality, but like I said, Death has the power to revoke it. Remember who gave me this.” With his free hand, he points to the crooked scar across his right cheek. I remember the story. There had been a misunderstanding with Kemisi, Death’s eldest daughter, and in anger, Death had retaliated, giving Artagan the scar. “These circumstances are unfortunate, I agree, but they aren’t a death sentence as long as you mind yourself and don’t turn them into one.”
Artagan releases me. “Can you think of nothing so valuable to Leah that she would sacrifice anything to protect it, including herself? If my gut is right, she’s as self-sacrificing as you are. Besides, what would you do? Run?”
I break eye contact.
Artagan snorts. “That’s the precise stupidity I’m talking about. Death is not Vita. They’re not even in the same ballpark.”
“I realize that,” I say.
“Do you? Death would know what you were up to from a mile away. Who wouldn’t? Look at you, all crazy eyed. Veins pulsing in your neck. You always wear your emotions on your sleeve. It’s your worst trait.” He grumbles something under his breath in Gaelic, maybe. I believe I catch a bit of Scottish brogue seeping into his voice with the foreign tongue. From his tone, it’s a colorful expression, whatever the language.
There’s a long, tense silence before he speaks again. “Listen carefully. Death may not see us. He surrendered that ability when he gave up his reign over our mortality and made us immortal. However, he will have no qualms about using Leah’s loved ones to control her. If she defies him in any way, she will put her family in danger. We both know death is far harder on those left behind.”
The muscles in my throat constrict in a convulsive swallow. I know he’s right.
Artagan leans closer, eyes intent on me. “To be honest, I’m not worried about Leah. My real concern is you, because if you challenge him on Leah’s behalf again, losing your life would be the best outcome. He has an arsenal of pain at his disposal that will leave you wishing for an end. Therefore, for Leah’s sake and mine, be on your best behavior. Yes, sir. No, sir. That’s it.”
He closes his eyes, and a palpable silence falls over the room. When he opens them, the rage has receded, leaving his expression drained. “Some things just are, no matter how much we wish the contrary.”
“What? No master plan this time?” I ask, matching his tone. “No way to bargain—?”
Careful. Artagan’s voice flows into my head, cutting off my train of thought, and he taps his finger along his lips. “You can’t bargain your way out of the council. As you can imagine, if there were an avenue besides death, I would have taken it a long time ago. I’ll be back tomorrow evening for her first lesson. Nine sharp. We’ll meet at your place. I assume it’s larger than this shoebox.” Artagan steps to the wall, departing into the shadows.
I slump onto the bed and let my head sink into my hands. My stomach rolls, forcing a sour taste into my mouth. Fate had a plan. I laughed in its face and told it to go to hell. And where is Leah at this moment? With Death. I risked everything to prevent this, and yet she’s with him just the same.
My attention drifts to a handful of framed pictures arranged in a cluster on the bookshelf. Leah’s mum, sitting at her potter’s wheel, smiles at the camera. Leah, Grady, and me in York. Leah and her brother, Grady, standing arm in arm in front of Redding Boarding School for Boys. He was so excited that day, prattling incessantly as he showed us around the school where he works as a history teacher. Leah’s family has shown me nothing but kindness, and over the brief time I’ve known them, accepted me as one of their own. And now, they’re at risk because of something I’ve done.
As the minutes tick by, paranoia grows. I pace the room, my eyes glued to the exact spot where Leah and Death disappeared.
Close to midnight, Leah returns. She has a difficult time meeting my gaze. When I wrap my arms around her, she’s cold as ice. I bring her closer, rubbing her back.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“I don’t think I’m allowed.” Leah’s voice falters on the last word. She shrugs away and, with a pained expression, looks toward the shadow stretched across the adjacent wall.
Remembering Artagan’s firm warning about eavesdroppers, I grab a notebook off the floor and push it in her direction. She stares a moment, then comprehension flashes in her eyes. She takes the notebook and a pen from the table, and she sits on the bed. Turning to the first blank page, she begins to write. Her scribbles are far less legible than normal, probably because of stress. Then she hands me the notebook.
Death threatened you, Grady, and my mother. It was all very polite, but I understood his meaning as clear as day. Obey or else.
I glare at the letters on the page. My face burns. On this account, at least, Artagan was telling the truth. I sit next to her and write in my florid script.
Artagan warned me of that possibility too. I’m sorry bargaining with the council put you in this position. How are you doing with all this?
Reluctantly, I offer the pad back. Leah reads and snorts. “Good question. There’s a lot to digest. It’s still soaking in.”
I suck in a deep breath and take her hands in mine. “Know I’m here for you, and I’ll do anything you need.”
“The first thing you can do for me is stop feeling guilty. I can see it in your eyes. You’re blaming yourself. When you went before the council, you weren’t thinking about your well-being. Your focus was saving me. That’s what you do for someone you love. So no more, Jack. No more blame, no more looking backward. Keep your eyes on me and our future together. Know I love you, and let that be enough,” she says, her voice softening. “And I’ll do the same.”
Her words release the tension building in my shoulders and neck, but nothing can rid me of the sickness in my stomach. She tightens her grip. The metal of her engagement ring pushes into the flesh of my palm. A reminder of a promised future we’re to share. I lift her hand and press it to my heart.
“Fierce, aren’t you?” I attempt a smile.
She raises her chin, tilting her head to the side. “When I need to be. Yes.”
“Tell me one thing,” I say, lifting her round-tipped knife off the bedside table and holding it up. “What were you planning to do with this? It looks a bit too dull to be of any real use.” I swish the triangular knife through the air and then lunge.
“It’s not supposed to be sharp. It’s a palette knife. For mixing paint,” Leah adds. “You’re good, by the way. Nice flourish. It looked like a move from one of the old swashbuckling movies my dad used to watch on Sunday afternoons.”
“Fencing training, but I’m years out of practice. I won’t say I’m good, although I used to be.”
“Back then, wasn’t that reserved for the rich and famous?”
I snort. “I guess. Mostly the educated. The poor were more preoccupied with sensible things, like putting food on their tables. I didn’t learn by choice, I can tell you that. Lady Ashford caught William and me poking a townie with a stick.” I smile at the memory. “The boy had pulled Lydia’s hair and made her cry, so her brother and I rushed in to protect her honor. When Lydia’s mother—your mother—found out, she wasn’t impressed by our heroic use of the materials at hand, and so made us learn fencing, although I’m not sure Lady Ashford’s plan to have two prepubescent boys trained in the use of pointy metal objects was her best one. But I suppose the
sword practice kept us out of trouble most of the time.”
“Always my protector.”
“I try. You haven’t answered my question, you know.” I wiggle the knife back and forth.
“I wasn’t thinking. I knew I had to protect you.”
I frown.
“If anyone should understand, it’s you. In England, you were willing to sacrifice everything to keep me safe. Think how it looked. You were on the ground. Four guys—one of them freakishly huge, by the way—were standing around you. What did you expect me to do?”
“Run,” I grumble. “Or go back to your room and lock the door.”
Leah gives me a dry stare. “Lot of good that would have done.”
I lower my head and shrug. “Still, it would be reassuring if self-preservation was in the forefront of your mind.”
“Your sexism is showing,” she teases. “Besides, you’re one to talk. I overheard what Artagan said. Maimed or killed.”
“He lies.” I keep my tone as lackadaisical as I can.
“A family trait,” Leah mutters.
“Fine. Let’s make a deal. You do whatever you need to keep yourself safe, and I’ll do the same.”
“Deal,” she says. “I’m holding you to it.”
I grin. “I’d expect nothing else.” I fold her into my chest and kiss her on the top of the head, savoring the sweet fragrance of her hair. Now I have two promises to uphold. The other being the vow I made months ago to keep Leah safe, whatever the cost. Hopefully, the two won’t collide.
“It’ll be all right, you know. In the end, I mean,” Leah says. “We just have to be brave enough to live the life thrown in front of us.”
