Council of Souls

by Jen Printy

  As Otmar heaves himself to his feet, Kemisi commands him to remove his shirt. Without objection, Otmar does as he’s told, pulling his T-shirt over his head and tossing it onto the sofa. Then, folding his arms behind his back, he waits for further instructions. However, once Kemisi turns her back to him, engrossed in explaining the finer points of hand-to-hand combat with a blade, Otmar begins posing like a prizefighter, flexing his muscles and twitching his brawny pecs independently of each other. Leah purses her lips, hiding her amusement, while I attempt rather unsuccessfully to keep my attention on Kemisi.

  Otmar grins upon seeing our reactions but exchanges the smile for an expression of bland detachment as Kemisi’s glare turns in his direction.

  “I can see your reflection, you know.” She gestures to the bay window across the room. “Now, quit fooling around. I need you to be serious for thirty seconds.”

  Otmar bobs his head in agreement, even if it is a bit grudgingly.

  Satisfied, Kemisi continues. “There are a few sweet spots I want you to aim for. Here.” She points the tip of her blade at the center of Otmar’s chest, nicking the skin just under the breastbone. A single red drop trickles from the cut before it heals. “Drive your blade straight up as hard as you can to hit the heart, but the lungs are good, too.” She then makes Otmar spin around, and she points to the spot below his ribcage to the left of the spine. “Into the abdominal aorta. Or here, from either side of the spine”—she drops the blade to his lower back—“you can stab upward into the kidneys. All these spots will send a man to his knees, immortal or not. It will give you time to seize his weapon. Or give you time to escape.”

  Then, to demonstrate, Kemisi jabs the blade into Otmar’s lower back with a forcible thrust, sinking the knife up to its hilt into the muscular flesh right of the spine.

  Otmar drops like a stone, letting out a loud, lengthy groan as he falls.

  “See?” Kemisi yanks out the crimson-covered blade. Then, crouching in front of him, she says with a smile, “That’s for eating my lunch.”

  With Kemisi’s retribution exacted, we spend the rest of the morning teaching Leah how to fight. Kemisi works with her on hand-to-hand techniques, while Otmar and I take turns being the training dummies.

  The following afternoon features a similar training session. This routine continues as days become a week, then two, and Leah’s time becomes less and less her own. When she isn’t working on her mind control with Thanatos, she’s with Kemisi, working on one fighting technique or another. On these days, I serve as a training dummy. I watch with relief as Leah consistently improves. At this rate, Leah will be able to protect herself against the Soulless in no time. However, I fear not enough training in the world can guard Leah against the dread of Christmas break and the arrival of her brother.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Leah stares at her purple-polished nails, picking at the cuticles in silence as we wait on a bench in baggage claim. Close to nine, Portland Jetport is quiet, caught in a lull of the wax and wane of traffic. Every now and again, Leah takes a quick peek first at the clock on her phone then at the arrival-and-departure monitor, her leg bouncing more frantically with each passing second.

  “With everything you’ve been through, you can handle Grady,” I say, placing a hand on her bobbing knee.

  “Tell that to my flip-flopping stomach.” She steals a sideward glance at the monitor once again.

  A small chuckle rumbles through my chest. “He’s your brother, which means he loves you, and he misses you.”

  “You’re right. I’m sure everything will be fine,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  Craning my neck to see past the luggage carousels, I peer at the row of automatic doors that leads to the parking garage as a mother with two children in tow walks in. “I expected your mum to be here by now.”

  “Oh, she’s not coming, thank God. I think one interrogator is all I can take.” Leah blows a puff of air through her lips and looks at her feet. “She texted me. She got a bunch of last-minute orders. A lot of vases and bowls, by the sounds of it. She said they’d keep her busy until Christmas.”

  “Well, then, no reason to be nervous,” I say, reaching out and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Grady’s a piece of cake. Just stick with the story. Besides, didn’t he say he was bringing Charlotte in his last email? He won’t be able to give you a hard time with her around.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. But I can’t stop hearing my mom telling me lies are complicated, and the truth is easier because you have nothing to remember.”

  “You’re telling the truth. Mostly,” I add, smiling at her worried expression. “You’re just leaving out some of the details. Besides, you’ve done this before, with the dreams of me.”

  “That was different. That was personal.”

  “And this isn’t?”

  Leah mumbles something and looks back to the monitor.

  “Remember, we’re staying at my apartment while Grady’s here. Since your brother knows Olluna and the Golden Butterfly by heart, it’s best we don’t mention the story’s lead character, at least by name.”

  She bites her lower lip and glances at me.

  “Don’t tell me,” I say. “You already mentioned Artagan, didn’t you?”

  Leah blushes. “I might have added we were living with him at Westward Mansion. You said you’d told Sally Artagan was your uncle, so I figured it wasn’t a big deal.”

  I run a hand through my hair.

  “Before you freak, I told Grady his name was Art. Arty, actually. Are you sure I didn’t tell you any of this? I could have sworn I did.”

  “No, you didn’t. I assure you I would have remembered the name Uncle Arty.” I laugh once without humor. “Although I’d love to see his face when he hears you renamed him, maybe it’s a good thing he’s not around.”

  I exhale, ignoring the pang of irritation in the pit of my stomach that sprouts to life every time I think of Artagan’s untimely departure. Nearly three weeks have passed, and none of us has heard a word from him.

  “I’m afraid you’ve made this more complicated than it needed to be, though,” I continue with a sigh. “Grady already knows about the immortal world. And now you’ve exposed Artagan.”

  “Grady won’t tell anyone,” she says, overemphasizing the last word. “Besides, you saw all those servers at the dinner. Obviously, some mortals know about us.”

  “But it wasn’t your secret to tell. It was Artagan’s. I’ll let Kemisi and Otmar know we might have a visitor.”

  “First off, I didn’t actually tell Grady Artagan is immortal.”

  “Your brother’s not a fool. If Arty”—I smile—“is my uncle, it’s implied. Secondly?”

  “You don’t need to tell Otmar and Kemisi. Grady’s heard the stories of Westward Mansion, and he won’t set a toe inside the place. Haunted houses have always freaked him out. He’ll be heading to Mom’s in the morning, anyway.”

  “Are you sure? I assumed Grady would stay around here, close to you.”

  A rumble of voices draws my attention from Leah’s taut expression. Luggage in tow, a group of passengers meanders toward us from the direction of the gates. I catch sight of Grady’s shaggy blond head bobbing over the throng. I stand and hold out my hand. “It’s showtime.”

  “Lee-lee!” Grady sweeps her off her feet into a bear hug. After a beat, he releases her and steps back, his lips turned up into an all-encompassing smile. “Boy, did I miss you!”

  “I missed you, too.” Leah looks over Grady’s shoulder. “Where’s Charlotte? You said she was coming.”

  “She was,” he says, “but family calls. Her mom fell a couple of days ago while hanging some Christmas lights. She broke her leg in three places. They say she’ll be all right, but she has a long recovery ahead. Charlotte decided to go home and help out over the break.”

  �
�Glad her mom’s okay.” Leah gnaws on her lip and looks at the floor.

  “Don’t worry. Charlotte will visit this summer. You and Mom will have plenty of time to make sure she’s good enough for your big brother.”

  “It’s the other way around,” she says, straight faced. “I’m still trying to figure out what she sees in you.”

  “Ha-ha,” he says, ruffling her hair.

  A buzzer blares, and the carousel to our left groans and squeals as it revolves. A tense unease falls between the siblings while we wait for Grady’s luggage.

  “Do you need a ride in the morning? Or are we driving you to your mom’s tonight?” I say to break the silence.

  “No, you can drop me off at the Holiday Village over on Spring.” Grady smirks, mischief flickering in his steel-gray eyes. I stare at him, and he ignores me, yanking a black suitcase off the carousel. “I’ll probably visit Mom over the weekend, but other than that I’m staying in Portland until Christmas Eve, then I’ll head to Mom’s and spend a week with her before I go back to York. Surprise!”

  Leah stiffens. “I don’t need you keeping an eye on me,” she says in a disgruntled tone.

  “It’s not all about you. I want to catch up with some of my buddies.”

  Leah glares at him suspiciously.

  “Besides,” he goes on, “I still have lesson plans to go over for my new class, The Culture of Medieval Times. Exciting stuff. Just my luck, the academic board approved the class a week ago, so if I stay with Mom, we both know what will happen,” he says, pulling up his collar around his chin as we head out the doors to the parking garage.

  She nods. “She’ll have you cleaning the barn, delivering orders, and doing every odd-job she can think of.”

  “Which would leave me no time to put the finishing touches on any of my lessons.”

  “You don’t have to stay in a hotel,” I chime in. “I kept the lease on my apartment. It’s not much, but I can guarantee no bedbugs, at least. You’re welcome to it.”

  “Are you serious? That would be awesome! Thanks, I owe you one.” Grady smiles and gives me a thump on the back.

  During the drive, Grady prattles on about his students and Charlotte, only needing the slightest nudge from me to keep the conversation moving. However, once we cross the threshold into the apartment, Grady’s mood changes, shifting into a serious tone. The siblings’ eyes lock as if in a private conversation. Unfortunately for Leah, she looks away first, emboldening her brother.

  “Jack, I need a minute alone with my sister. We have some things to sort out.”

  I exchange a quick glance with Leah. Her expression flashes with a momentary stab of panic, then struggling to compose herself, she gives me a reluctant nod.

  “You sure?” I say. Stubbornness is a major component in both their characters. This little exchange is bound to turn into a contest of wills, a competition between two immovable objects.

  She nods again, this time with more confidence.

  “All right, I’ll make the bed and see if I can scrounge up some clean towels.”

  Once in the bedroom, I sit on the corner of the bed, lifting a forgotten glass from the nightstand. I need something in my hands. I shift the glass from palm to palm, my feet tapping with nervous energy. From here, all I can do is hope Grady isn’t heaping a new pile of guilt onto Leah’s already-full plate.

  I stand and begin to pace, too anxious to stay to put. The walls in the apartment are paper thin, and as their mumblings turn into a lively debate, I find I’m able to hear the complete conversation, not just a word or phrase here or there. I feel like an interloper, but I listen just the same.

  “Between missing Thanksgiving and quitting school, Mom’s still worried about you. When you avoid her like that, it makes things hard on her,” Grady says.

  “I had to work on Thanksgiving. I told her that.”

  “Sure you did, because Old Port Java is a hotspot for holiday dining. I know they were closed. I called Rachel.”

  “You did what?” Her voice bubbles over with exasperation.

  “She told me you’d been missing a lot of work lately.”

  “A lot? Try five days in the past six weeks,” Leah says, her tone rough with stress.

  “For you, that’s a lot, and you know it.”

  “Back off. I’ve been busy.”

  “With planning a wedding, right?” He snorts. “I’m disappointed. I thought I taught you to lie better than that. You had to know Mom would see straight through it. In high school, she watched you juggle being president of the art club, the drama club, not to mention that part-time job at Ames. And you still graduated with honors.”

  “That’s because I got the math tutor.”

  “No, that’s because you worked your ass off. So why in the world you thought Mom would buy that feeble excuse, I have no idea.”

  “She pushed, okay?” Leah says, her voice devoid of any real emotion. “It was the first thing that popped into my head, so I went with it. Since we’re rehashing things, though, I have a bone to pick with you, too.”

  “Oh no, here we go,” he observes, sarcasm saturating his voice.

  Grady’s tone irritates me, but I fight the urge to barge into the living room.

  “You had no right to call Jack and ask him if he got me pregnant,” Leah says.

  Grady laughs with a notable lack of humor. “He told you that?”

  “Of course he did.”

  “Okay. I overreacted.”

  “You think?”

  I hear a rustle of fabric as someone stands and begins to pace the room. From the weighty footfalls, it’s Grady. “Look, I’m worried about you. Mom’s worried about you. As I told Jack, she was convinced you were sick again. And when you refused to return any of my calls—”

  “You flipped out,” Leah says. “And you know why I didn’t return your calls? I knew what you’d say. You’d do what you’ve always done—tell me what I should do. Tell me I’m silly. At some point, I have to make my own decisions without your input, and that time is now. Ever since Dad died—”

  “I have opinions because I care,” he says. “If you’d called me, told me what was going on, really going on, I would have tried to help. But all I knew, because you wouldn’t talk to me, was that you were giving up a dream you’ve had forever.”

  “Just because you’re five years older doesn’t mean you get to boss me around. Everyone is telling me what I can and can’t do. I’m sick of it!”

  “And what am I supposed to do if I see you doing something stupid?” Grady fires back.

  “Shut up. Let me make a mistake without your endless commentary. Besides, I haven’t given up my painting, just school. For the time being.”

  I hear him sigh, and I imagine his anger deflating like a balloon. “I can see how that might be pretty annoying. Remind me to tell you about Charlotte’s mom. It seems I can’t do anything right in her eyes.” A hush hangs in the air before his gaze returns to his sister. “So immortality isn’t as easy as it is in all those fairy tales, huh?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.”

  “Did you seriously just use a Mom line?”

  “Yeah, I guess I did.” Grady laughs. “I still can’t get over you two staying at Westward House. How do you sleep? With everything that supposedly happened, the place must have bad juju.”

  “We see a ghost about every night,” Leah says with the utmost seriousness.

  There’s a long silence, and then she breaks into laughter. “I’m kidding. Geez. Has Charlotte figured out what a wimp you are?”

  “Wimp or not, you won’t get me near that place. Just walking by it used to give me the creeps.” He pauses. “Don’t worry about Mom. I’ll take care of it. I’ll tell her something, like you’re working on an exhibition for a London gallery or som
ewhere exotic. But it’s not a sure thing, so you don’t want anyone to know.”

  Leah snorts and then lets out a long sigh. “I hate lying to her.”

  “Well, unless you plan on telling her the truth, it’s our only option. Besides, someday your work will be in exhibitions all over the world. We’re just putting the cart before the horse by a year or two.”

  I can tell from their tone the storm has passed. Returning the glass to the dresser, I head for the living room. I lean against the doorframe, peering back and forth between their faces. “Safe to come in?”

  Leah smiles but stays silent, only bobbing her head.

  As I walk to her side, Grady jabs me playfully in the arm. I grin, my hand flashing out to cuff him across the head.

  Laughing, he looks to his sister. “So is this doofus treating you right?”

  “I couldn’t make it without him,” she says, slipping her hand into mine.

  “Good. Wouldn’t want to beat his ass,” Grady says.

  I give him a look, one that dares him to try.

  He laughs again, and then his joking demeanor turns earnest. “When you’ve gotten a handle on everything else, Lee-lee, you need to go back to school.”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “I am, aren’t I? This is going to take some practice. Let’s try it again.” Grady pushes up his sleeves like he’s preparing to do manual labor. “Once you have everything under control, are you planning to go back to school?”

  Leah tries not to smile but fails. “Yes, I promise.” She looks up at me. “Jack’s uncle said he might be able to get me into the École des Beaux-Arts. How cool would that be?” Her voice sparks with laughter. All the weight of the previous conversation has lifted from her face.

  “Right, Uncle Arty. Immortality runs in the family,” Grady says.

  I shrug.

  “Lucky bastard. All I got is high blood pressure and the promise of hereditary baldness.” He pushes his mop of shaggy hair out of his face. “But the École des Beaux-Arts. Wow. That was always your dream school.” He smiles at Leah. “This uncle must have connections, not to mention money. I suppose when time’s on your side, you have plenty of opportunities to invest. I can’t imagine the stories he could tell.”