by Jen Printy
“With that settled, it’s time.” Artagan opens the door.
My jacket left behind, thrown on the couch, I trail them out of the apartment and to the far end of the deserted hall.
“This should be far enough out of the reach of the smudging.” Artagan’s gaze returns to Leah, his face holding a rare excitement. “You, my dear, have oodles of faith, so this should be a piece of cake for you. No matter what happens, keep Daniel Harris planted in your mind. Have you seen the movie The Matrix? Remember when Spoon Boy tells Neo there is no spoon?”
Leah nods.
“There is no wall.” Without pause, Artagan walks into the shadow, passing from sight into what can best be described as a mist, although the vapors are thicker and far less transparent.
Leah steps to the darkened corner, studying it as if trying to find the secret to a magician’s trick. She jumps backward in surprise when Artagan’s hand materializes palm up from the shadow. Leah places her hand in his, and taking an uneasy step, she disappears.
I sit alone in my room as the night wears on, and the darkness has no intention of relinquishing control without a fight. With nothing to divert my attention, the minutes tick by, and anxiety has its way with me. Too filled with nervous energy to remain still, I pace the confines of my apartment like a caged animal. I act as judge and jury to myself, second-guessing every decision, all the while condemning my own actions. I cannot deny that Leah would not be in this predicament if not for me. At 1:05, I cannot take the silence any longer. I swing off the bed and stumble out into the living room, groping through the dark, not bothering with the light. I need fresh air, a drink, anything besides this dark quiet.
A whimper startles me.
I fumble for the lamp and flick the switch, blinking to adjust to the changing light.
Huddled on the sofa, Leah looks at me with puffy, red eyes, her cheeks shining with tears.
“How long have you been here? You should have woken me.” I sit down next to her and pull her against me. She buries her face into my chest. Her body trembles, and her breaths become harsh with the sound of sobs. I hug her while she cries.
When Leah speaks, her voice is shallow and hoarse. “I’m a monster.”
“No, you’re not!” Our eyes meet, and I fight to keep my voice steady. “None of this is your fault, love. It’s mine and Artagan’s. Never yours.”
She shakes her head but says nothing. Her eyes remain on mine a moment longer, then she looks away. “Tell that to Daniel’s kids. He was a father of four. I took a father away from his children tonight. Oh God!” Her words dissolve into another round of weeping.
Feeling helpless and ill equipped, I say, “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Hold me.”
I tighten my embrace.
“Make me forget his face.” She pauses. “Tell me a story from our past, a happy memory.”
I lift her into my lap and wait for her tears to wane before I start. “Lady Ashford threw the most elaborate balls. Do you remember?”
She sniffles and nods against my chest.
“I hadn’t been home for two years,” I say, stroking her hair. “Away at school, I’d worked odd jobs on the holidays, determined to pay back Sir Robert’s generosity. My mother begged me to come home for Christmas. That time I couldn’t deny her. I rode the train to Lidcombe with William. He told me about the ball his mother was throwing and insisted I come. I didn’t make any promises and planned not to go. I’m so glad I changed my mind.” I kiss the top of her head.
“Lady Ashford spared no expense for a party. Every festivity began with a five-course meal. Pheasant was always on the menu since it was Sir Robert’s favorite. That night, she even brought in the grand orchestra from London, said to have performed for Queen Victoria herself. I remember making my way through the crowd, looking for a familiar face when I found—”
“Me,” Leah interjects.
Since her near-death, Leah has become more comfortable with the fact she and Lydia share the same soul, often talking about Lydia in the first person, almost like, in her mind at least, the two lives have melded.
I nod. “That was the moment I realized that the little girl who used to trail William and me around like a shadow was gone, and she had been replaced with the most beautiful and captivating woman.”
She glances up and smiles. It’s weak but still a smile.
“I still remember what you were wearing. The most ornate deep-lavender gown, its neckline adorned with ribbons. Your hair was swept back in a bun, which showed off that beautiful swanlike neck. I didn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, causing us to become the tittle-tattle of Lidcombe, as my mum put it.”
“Mother—Lady Ashford,” she corrects herself, “was furious because everyone was staring, and I’d opened myself up to gossip.”
“Lady Ashford was wrong, you know. None of the partygoers were staring because they saw a scandal. On the contrary, your beauty amazed everyone. You captivated them all. Just like you do every day.”
Leah laughs.
“Too cheesy, huh?”
“Maybe just a little,” she says, and then taking a deep breath, she relaxes and curls herself into my chest.
I chuckle. “Better?”
She bobs her head.
“Try to sleep,” I whisper, and then I start to hum a lullaby my mum sang when I was a child. By the end of the second verse, Leah’s asleep in my arms. I look down into her now-tranquil face, but hints of tear trails still stain her cheeks. It’s clear being apart through this ordeal did neither of us any good. I turn my attention to the window. Shades of pink, orange, and yellow paint the sky. I slip out from under Leah’s weight and grab my cell. At the window, looking out at the waking city, I dial Artagan’s number. The call goes straight to voicemail.
“Next time, I’m going. Leah needs me there,” I say. With the easy part handled, I snap the phone shut. Now all I have to do is convince Leah.
CHAPTER SIX
“Has anyone told you what an arrogant son of a—?” I groan. Pain pulsates through me like thousands of tiny electric shocks. My muscles contract and expand, demanding actions my mind has not ordered. I grit my teeth, shoving the commands away, and I glower at Artagan.
“Frequently. Now stop resisting. It only makes it hurt more. Besides, you’re the one who said you wanted to be part of this. Mind control is a very useful skill, but it takes a lot of practice. Welcome to the party.” Artagan’s lips thin, producing an unsympathetic smile.
When Artagan showed up on my doorstep spouting the promise of staying in tonight, the news was a relief. Although being Artagan’s personal marionette has been humiliating, if shedding my dignity is what it takes to keep Leah away from a night like last, even for a few hours, pain and humiliation are small prices to pay.
Concealing the pain the best I can, I shift my eyes from his, and my attention centers on Leah. She sits curled on the sofa at the opposite end of the room, her knees tucked under her chin. She stares at me, her face pale. From her contorted expression, you’d think I was being drawn and quartered.
“I’m fine. No harm—” My vision blurs with a new throbbing wave much stronger than the last. My hands tremble at my side. An impulse to step forward floods my mind. Despite my objections, my feet oblige.
“See?” Artagan says, eyeing Leah. “With the right amount of force upon the will, you picture an action, and presto, it happens. Watch, now he’ll kneel.”
With a moan, my knees buckle, and I hit the floor.
“Artagan, enough!” Leah snaps. “Mind control. Useful stuff. I get it.”
Artagan folds his arms behind his back and rocks back on his heels, pivoting away from me. The pain evaporates, leaving my body sore and fatigued but no worse for wear. I push myself to my feet. Preparing for the next round, I take in a gulp of air.
“Up a
nd at ’em. It’s your turn, lassie.” Artagan gestures for Leah to stand, and she does as she’s asked. Rubbing her arm, Leah shifts her weight, being careful not to make eye contact with either one of us.
“Do your best,” Artagan encourages. “After a time, this ability will take a single thought. For now, it will require an immense amount of concentration. Now, just as I told you. Place your full focus on your subject, and then imagine an action, breaking it down step by step.” He points in my direction. “This skill, used correctly, will keep your life as normal as possible.”
“What if I suck at this? What then?”
“You’ll do fine. An assignment’s free will may get in the way from time to time, even with the best-laid plans. But as long as you know the disposition of your target and your instrument’s nature, that won’t happen as often as you might think.”
“Instrument?” Leah asks.
Artagan purses his lips. “A mortal used to carry out a task for a gathering, such as Bartolini’s sous-chef. Now, focus. Make Jack do something. Remember, nothing against his nature, like strangling you.” He smirks, eyeing me. “Or me, hopefully. Those kinds of acts will take a higher skill level than you have at this moment. Just keep it simple.”
Leah looks my way, apprehension flickering across her face. “But I don’t—”
“Stalling again, I see,” Artagan says. “I suppose you could just forfeit, and I’ll be the winner.”
“Come on, Leah,” I coax. “It’s just a game. You can do this. You can’t let the old windbag win.”
Leah’s expression lightens. “Lady’s choice?”
Artagan nods once.
A mischievous gleam dances across her face. I close my eyes and brace myself. Then I let Leah permeate my thoughts, giving her every advantage in this little competition. At first, there’s nothing but blurry depictions. However, as time passes, the vague, sporadic pictures congeal, strengthening into a solid image. In my mind’s eye, my hands rise to cradle her face. I let them obey. Instead of the throbbing pain, a faint, warm tingle surges through every muscle. It’s almost pleasurable. To the naïve, it would seem like nothing more than a swell of adrenaline or a change of emotions. I open my eyes. Barely conscious of Artagan’s presence, I bend my head toward hers. By Leah’s command, I begin the kiss, but in a burst of heat and without prompting, I prolong it.
“Okay, okay. Break it up.” Artagan’s voice cuts in. “Cheaters, both of you. Not a good enough test to hone your skills.”
I pull back but keep one arm around Leah’s waist. “I like her way better.”
“I’m sure you do. Who wouldn’t?” Artagan chuckles. Raising his eyebrows, he looks to Leah. “Commanding him to kiss you is like telling a lemming to jump off a cliff. No sport. If that’s the best you got, I suppose it’ll have to do. I win.”
Leah’s expression stiffens. She twists out of my grasp and stares me down, a spark of determination in her eyes. Concentrating, she bites her lower lip.
Still riding the high of the kiss, I outstretch my arms. “Hit me with your best shot, love.”
A new vision spills into my mind. Before the image takes full possession of my thoughts, my hand curls into a ball, and my arm jolts upward. My fist strikes me square in the face. I stumble back, eyes stinging, jaw throbbing. A hiss escapes between my teeth as my ass hits the floor.
Artagan’s rich baritone laugh fills the apartment.
Leah’s hands fly to her mouth. “I meant for you to hit him,” she says, pointing at Artagan. “I’m so sorry. Let me get you a cold washcloth.”
“Oh, he’s all right. The bleeding’s already stopped.” Artagan heaves a sigh as Leah runs from the room. “This is something you will practice even when I’m not around,” he calls down the hallway but receives no response except the sound of running water. His eyes fix on me. “Mind control is good for more than the art of gathering. It’s a needed skill in a family such as ours.”
My brow furrows as I push myself off the floor. “Protection?”
Artagan nods. “You don’t want her to become anyone’s puppet.”
“Let’s do it again,” I say to Leah as she hustles back into the room, dripping washcloth in hand.
“No,” Leah says, her focus on my nose.
“I assure you, I’m fine.” Using the washcloth, I swipe at the drying blood. “See?”
“I don’t like hurting you,” she counters. “Can’t you understand that?”
Drawing a deep breath, I hold it for a moment before releasing it. “If this skill will keep you safe, you have to practice. If that means I have to go through a little discomfort, so be it.”
“You’re not fooling anyone. What you’ve been going through is more than a little discomfort. How about if the situation was reversed? Are you saying you’d have no hesitation in hurting me?”
I stay silent, but I don’t break eye contact. True, the mere thought of causing Leah pain sends a stab of revulsion straight through me. Despite her misgivings, this is how it has to be. The likelihood that this skill could ensure Leah’s life is as normal as possible, coupled with the potential of keeping her safe, is too big a prize to pass up. Pain be damned.
With another deep breath, I begin my argument. “Listen—”
Leah juts out her jaw, and she folds her arms across her chest. I know this stance all too well. My face flushes.
“For all that’s holy, child, you’re more stubborn than he is,” Artagan says. “All right, I’ll be your guinea pig so you can get a handle on it. But just this once, mind you. After that, you will practice on lover boy whether you like it or not. Got me?”
Leah nods, but I don’t put stock in the sincerity of her response.
Artagan proves to be a more challenging opponent. Her first attempt does nothing. The cocky bastard stands in the middle of the room, a smug grin plastered across his face, telling Leah to work harder. After over two hours of attempts, hope appears on the horizon when Artagan winces. Soon, the pompousness disappears from his lips. He grits his teeth.
I lounge back on the sofa, propping my feet on the coffee table. “I see why you found this so amusing.”
Artagan’s penetrating eyes lift to meet mine. “Piss off.”
“Watch your language. There’s a lady present,” I say.
He glares, and I smirk back.
“Remember, resisting makes it hurt more,” Leah adds.
I chuckle.
Artagan’s eyebrows furrow, and he glances to the floor. His body contorts ever so slightly, evidence of the battle of wills raging inside. His left arm raises a fraction as his right hand inches toward his hip. He groans, shoving his arms back to his sides. “I’m not singing that.”
“What? Not your style?” Leah asks. “I’m sure I can come up with something. Hmm… what do you think, Jack? Maybe ‘Wrecking Ball’ by Miley Cyrus? Or better yet, Madonna. My mom listened to her Like a Virgin album endlessly. I know all the songs by heart. Let’s see, there’s ‘Material Girl’ or ‘Dress You Up.’”
The pain vanishes from Artagan’s face. He scowls and raises one arm, placing the other on his hip. When he speaks, it’s all but a growl. “I’m a little teapot. Now, knock it off.”
A bell-like laugh bursts from Leah. The sound startles me. I haven’t heard that pure, brilliant sound in weeks. I look to her. Her lips erupt into one of her breathtaking smiles. “Score!” she says, throwing her hand over her head and collapsing next to me on the sofa.
Artagan chuckles and then clears his throat. “Good job. You’re strong, stronger than you think. With practice, your skills could rival Thanatos.”
“Is that good?” she asks.
“Very. His talent with thought manipulation is second only to Death himself. We may have found your saving grace.” Artagan pauses. “Another time, we must work on resisting. Although painful, it is necessary.”
Of course. The other side of the coin. Something used as protection could also be a weapon. I keep my expression placid, although I’m sure I’m not fooling anyone. Leah knows me too well to fall for my little charade. Her gaze drifts in my direction. I look to the ground, avoiding her prying eyes.
Leah’s the one to break the quiet. “Whatever it takes. Like Jack said, if this keeps me safe, I gotta practice.”
“It might be best for all involved, including my jaw, for Jack to take that night off,” Artagan says then smirks.
I don’t respond.
“It’s a skill she needs,” he adds in my direction.
With a huff, I shake my head. “No, I’m no hypocrite. I’ll be here.”
The shrill ring of a phone wails from Leah’s sweatshirt hung over the dinette chair, driving her from the couch and me to my feet in an involuntary response. Rising when a lady rises is a habit I’ve carried with me through the years, ingrained into my very soul by repetition and my mother’s persistent reminders when I was young. Leah digs the screeching mobile out of her pocket. Glancing at the screen, she moans. “It’s my mom. I need to take this.” She presses the phone to her ear. “Hey, Mom. What’s up? … No, I’m at Jack’s. It’s really not a good—”
Leah listens, drumming her fingers on her thigh.
“Yup, I know,” she says.
Again, she listens.
“Yes. That’s what I said, Mom.” Leah rolls her eyes and signals she’s heading to my room.
After she disappears down the hall, Artagan reclines on the sofa, lighting a cigarette.
Clearing my throat, I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees. “You’re what, six hundred years old, give or take a few years? You’ve had centuries to master this skill, and Leah disarmed you in a couple of short hours. Peculiar, wouldn’t you say?”
“Stranger things have happened,” he objects.
“You let her win.”
“Don’t tell her. After everything, Leah deserves some fun, even if it was at my expense.”
