Council of Souls

by Jen Printy

  I stand still, concealing all repugnance.

  “Maybe I should make you prove it,” she says, brushing the back of her hand along my cheek. Taking hold of me by the collar, she yanks me toward her and presses her mouth to mine. My hands ball into fists at my sides. I feel her annoyance when her lips discover my passive resistance. She kisses me long and hard, biting my lower lip hard enough to draw blood before taking a stride back.

  I lift my chin in an attempt to look unfazed, but inside, nausea rolls in waves.

  “Colder than a witch’s tit.” She laughs. “You’d think you’d be better at convincing me with so much on the line.”

  I hesitate, but only long enough to disconnect my mind from my body. Then, giving permission to my lips, I kiss her with as much passion as I can fake.

  “So tempting,” Domitilla says, stepping away. “Pity it’s not worth the risk. Although I would have loved to see Artagan’s face when he realized what I had set in motion. But Father is not as forgiving of my transgressions as you think. On that note, I suppose we should get on with it.” Her icy glare returns to Grady. “This will hurt. Quite a bit, I’m afraid. Blame it on your loving sister.” She stalks toward him, and Grady shrinks back. However, with Muan at his stern, he has nowhere to go.

  I lunge, wanting to do something—anything—but Pacal’s hands catch me by the forearms, and he holds me in place. “Don’t touch him, you bitch,” I spit.

  Domitilla grins at me over her shoulder and raises her long, delicate hand. In a swirl of motion, the tips of her fingers alight on Grady’s chest. With that gentle touch, all strength leaves his body. He staggers sideward as if he might faint. Eyes springing wide, a hiss erupts from him—the sound of shock and strangled breathing—and he drops like a stone. While his fingers claw at his throat, as if he’s attempting to loosen some unseen grip, his body thrashes with sudden spasms. One violent lurch brings his face into view. Pain twists his mouth.

  With a laugh, Pacal releases me, and the three vanish into the shadows.

  I scramble to Grady and drop to my knees. After hoisting his head into my lap, I smooth the mop of hair from his face. His eyes are closed, but his lips move. I catch bits and pieces of disjointed words.

  “I’m here, Grady,” I say. Then, taking his hand, I begin to recite the Lord’s Prayer.

  Just as the last words leave my lips, another round of spasms hits Grady. His body contorts, muscles jerking involuntarily. I grip his shoulders and try to hold his thrashing body still, but my efforts do no good against his violent struggles. The pain-filled lines of his face ease as a laborious wheeze passes his lips.

  In a pool of sweat and piss, Grady lies motionless. Peeling back his collar, I feel frantically for a pulse. Nothing. My whole body begins to quiver. Through misting eyes, I stare in dazed horror at the body of my friend, knowing I’ll never be able to save Leah now. Her fate was sealed with her brother’s final gasp.

  “So for the first time in her vile existence, Dom was telling the truth. She told me in the shadows I was too late.” Artagan’s voice comes from behind me, making me jump, but I cannot pull my eyes from Grady’s pale face. Moving as silently as a shadow, he steps next to me. “We have to go.”

  My dampened eyes flick to him. “Leah? Where is she?”

  Artagan’s gaze falls away, his chin lowering to his chest, but not before I see his lips compress with regret.

  My vision goes black around the edges. I close my eyes tight. “She’s gone, then. Punished,” I choke out.

  With a trembling hand, I reach for my hemlock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Not so fast, Romeo,” Artagan says, gripping my forearm. “Leah’s not dead. Not yet, anyway.”

  I wrench myself free. “Where is she?”

  He glares into the shadows. “I’ll tell you. But first, let’s go back to my office and have a drink.”

  “I don’t want a bloody drink!”

  I do have a plan. His voice flows into my head. However, I need to know one thing. Whatever has happened between you two, are you still willing to die for Leah?

  I’m on my feet.

  “That’s what I figured,” he says, smiling grimly.

  Before we leave, I retrieve a patchwork quilt from the bed to cover Grady’s body. As he did with Gladys, Artagan begins his ritual, dabbing alcohol from the pewter flask onto his fingers. I stare down at my friend’s lifeless face, vaguely aware of Artagan’s movements around us.

  Memories lap at the shores of my mind, threatening to crash over me once again. I push the thoughts away to keep my mind blank. For me to be any help to Artagan and his plan, my numbness must remain. Eventually, the detachment will shrivel away, leaving me to the wolves of my memories, but I’m determined to hang on to it as long as I can.

  Artagan places a hand on my shoulder, jolting me out of my trance. “There’s nothing more we can do for him. We need to go.” While we can still save Leah.

  I nod, pulling myself from my stupor, and I follow Artagan into the shadows.

  Back in the privacy of his office, I toss my leather jacket over the back of the armchair and turn to face him. “Now, tell me where Leah is and what this plan of yours entails.”

  Artagan doesn’t reply. Instead, he moves to the liquor cabinet, where he sets out two tumblers. After pouring an ample serving of Scotch in each glass, he holds one out for me, his expression altering into a slight frown.

  I accept his offering. God knows I need it.

  “Leah is being held at the cathedral, awaiting punishment. She refused.”

  “But Leah made it very clear. She was planning to take her brother.”

  “It was obvious, at least to me, that Leah wanted to say yes. But some outside force was controlling her words.”

  My expression stiffens. “Domitilla.”

  “I suspect so. Or her henchman, Serevo.”

  I tighten my grip on the glass and take a long swig, draining it.

  Artagan refills my tumbler and leans back, half sitting on the desk, his eyes fixed on me with mild speculation. I remain stone faced, staring straight at him. Thankfully, after a moment of silence, Artagan continues.

  “Leah’s execution is set for tomorrow morning at dawn. Thus, before the sun rises, someone must smuggle her hemlock. It’s Leah’s only escape route now. You see that, right?” he says. The tentative tone in his voice is palpable.

  “I do.” I’m a little surprised by how calm my voice sounds. Any natural responses are strangely detached, such that I feel nothing. Death was the very thing I risked body and soul to save Leah from, but now dying is the only avenue to her salvation. Ironic. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. However, with Grady dead, I agree with you, it’s the only viable option. I even tried to make a similar deal with Domitilla today.”

  Artagan snorts. “I can imagine how that went.”

  “Desperate times.” I manage a small laugh. “What do I need to do? Leah’s being guarded, I assume.”

  “Yes, by Otmar. He’s never broken protocol for me before—a little white lie here and there, but nothing more. So I was a bit surprised when he agreed to help.”

  “How about Kemisi? Is she going to help, too?”

  “She doesn’t know what we’re up to. You’ll have to forgive me, but I’d rather not put her in harm’s way in case this all goes to shit.” Artagan takes a drink from his glass. “As you might expect, Leah’s cell has been smudged. But that works to our advantage because once you’re inside, the two of you will have complete privacy.”

  My eyes snap to his, and I shake my head. “I can’t do that. As you said yourself, things have changed between her and me. She won’t want to see me. I’ll help any way I can—life, limb, and blood—but you will have to take the hemlock to her yourself.” Not wanting to dwell on the subject, I ask, “Where are they keeping her?”

 
“The lower level. At the far end of the eastern corridor. Unfortunately, there’s no real reason for anyone besides Otmar to be down there tonight, which is a double-edged sword. The passageways are peppered with corners and alcoves. If someone had the inclination to keep tabs on people’s comings and goings, there are lots of places to hide.”

  Artagan pauses, taking his time to study me. His forehead wrinkles, a thin vertical line running between his brows. Then, sliding the gold-and-onyx ring off his pinky, he holds it out. “Here. There are two pills inside. One for her and one for you.”

  “I said I can’t.” I want my voice to be cold, controlled, but it quivers at the end.

  Artagan’s mouth twitches at the corner as a flicker of sympathy mixed with a gleam of humor forces its way past his seeming indifference. “I heard what you said. I just didn’t think you meant it. Things aren’t always how they appear.” He slides the ring back onto his finger and fishes an envelope out of his pocket.

  “This might change your mind,” he says, swaying it slowly and deliberately between his forefinger and his thumb, and he gives me a sidelong glance. “It’s addressed to you.”

  I glance at the window, not wanting him to see the heartache I’m sure has sprung to life across my face. I strive to hide the pain and say, “I’ve heard enough of her words today. Just tell me what you need me to do, and let’s get on with it.”

  “Aren’t you even a little curious?” he asks, still waving the letter in front of me. His lips produce a small, conspiratorial smile.

  “God help me.” I snatch at the envelope, making a low sound of exasperation in my throat. When I find the top flap already sliced open, my gaze darts back to his, heat flushing my cheeks. “You read it?”

  Artagan shrugs in answer, rubbing at the coarse stubble that has sprouted along his jaw. His face reveals only a mild interest, but his eyes glint with mischief. Then he gives a short laugh. “Are you going to read it or just glare at me the whole evening?”

  I remove the folded letter. My pulse rate quickens as I stare at Leah’s wobbly handwriting and the dots of smudged ink caused by tears. Then, taking in a long, labored breath, I begin to read.

  After reading the first word, my name, I stop. A nervous energy buzzes through my body, but I stifle it, and my hands start to shake. Trying to settle my nerves, I swallow hard and begin again.

  Jack,

  I’m sorry for everything I said. It nearly killed me. Please believe I had no choice. It was the only way I could think of to keep you safe.

  I had a vision. It wasn’t clear, just flashes, but from them, I knew Death would end up torturing and at best killing you for trying to protect me. Maybe it’s selfish, but I refused to let you suffer like that for me. I remembered what Artagan said about Death not being able to see the Endless. I knew I needed to get you as far away from here, away from me as I could. And I knew there was only one way you would leave. You had to believe I blamed you, hated you. You’d have never left me otherwise. But every word was a lie.

  A lie. All lies. A warmth blooms in my chest, and I continue.

  I hope you can forgive me. I love you, Jack Hammond, more than anything or anyone in this world. I don’t blame you for any of it. When you ran to the council to offer yourself in my place, there was no way you could have foreseen this. You had one goal, and that was to keep me safe. How could I ever blame you for that? I’ll repeat it because you’re too stubborn to believe me the first time. None of this is your fault!

  I have to go before I lose my nerve. We’ll be together again someday. Call it a gut feeling. I love you!

  Forever,

  Leah

  My fingertips glide over her words as the promise within them engulfs me, burning away the numbness and doubts. The feeling of hope glows beneath my ribs, and despite the array of uncertainties that lie ahead, my face breaks into a broad smile. I look at Artagan, and he pushes to a standing position.

  “Ready?” He holds his poison ring out again.

  I nod, accepting the ring and sliding it onto my finger.

  “I can take you as far as the entrance to the corridor. After that, you’re on your own. I almost forgot to ask, you have your hemlock on you, right?”

  “Yes, of course,” I say, still dazed. I slip the plastic bag from the pocket of my jacket and offer it to Artagan.

  “No, no. Keep it. It’s not for me. Otmar is stepping out on a limb for us. We’ll repay him with plausible deniability. He’ll search you and find your little stash. When the council finds out you and Leah are dead”—sadness touches Artagan’s eyes for a brief second—“Death will question Otmar. That little package will help him prove he did his job. And I, being the slippery little son of a bitch that I am, must have pulled one over on him.”

  “But what about you?”

  “Nah, nothing for you to worry about. I’ll be fine.”

  In the burrows of St. Joseph, Artagan is alert, checking around each stone corner and alcove as we go. Flickering pools of light from the wall sconces are the only sources of illumination. The corridors, lined with thick wooden doors, smell of dank earth. My heart beats in a jerky rhythm as I follow Artagan’s lead.

  “Leah is being held right down that hall, at the far end,” Artagan says in a low, level voice as he peers around the latest corner. “Remember you have until daybreak. Be gone by then.”

  I glance down the corridor. The knowledge that Leah is so close surges through me like a rush of adrenaline. I feel a new thump of excitement merge with nerves in the pit of my stomach as the longing grows. “Before I go,” I whisper, “something is going on between Dom and the Soulless. They’re working together.”

  Artagan’s brow furrows. “They hate one another. Always have.”

  “Well, it looks like they’ve found common ground. Take care of yourself. Watch your back.”

  Without warning, Artagan grabs me and pulls me into an embrace—quick and fierce—and then he’s gone, disappearing into the gloom. I stand stunned, realizing this will be the last time I’ll ever see him. I wish I had thought to thank him for everything he has done. Pushing the remorse away, I turn back toward the passageway that leads to Leah.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  At the far end of the corridor, I find Otmar, as promised. His hair tied back with a thin leather cord, he leans against the granite block wall, playing his iPod, humming to himself. He glances up. His expression, half-obscured by his beard, turns grave and sympathetic.

  “There you are. Artagan mentioned you might stop by,” he says, pushing from the wall. “I was out all night in Bangladesh, and now I pulled guard duty. Thanatos and Akio didn’t even have jobs today, but no, call in the Viking. Leah’s what, five-four?” He yawns, scratching his whiskers, but his eyes are alert and dart from corner to corner. Then he winks. “All right, hands up. Let’s get on with it.”

  I raise my arms in the air over my head, and he pats me down. With dramatic flair, he snags the plastic bag from my jacket pocket. Holding it high, he thrusts his nose within inches of my face. “Thought you were gonna pull one over on me, did you?”

  “I had to try,” I say, letting my shoulders slump, playing along with the charade.

  A small grin sprouts within the grove of whiskers. “I suppose you did,” Otmar says, stuffing the bag into the back pocket of his jeans. I’ll knock twice should a problem arise and you need to hurry things along.

  He gropes through his pockets. His hand soon reappears, a small wrought-iron key held between his steady fingers.

  “May I borrow your cord?” I ask, pointing to his ponytail.

  His eyes narrow, a tad suspicious.

  “Unless you know a good priest?” I add.

  A smile of understanding spreads across his face, teeth shining in the light of the sconces. He sobers as he pulls the leather twine loose, letting his thick mane fall free around his shoulder
s, and hands it over.

  With a nod of thanks, I shove the cord into my pocket.

  Otmar pushes the key into the lock. The massive door—close to three inches thick—squeaks on its hinges as it swings wide. A pungent scent of sage wafts from the room. Without a word or even a gesture of goodbye, Otmar grabs me by the arm and thrusts me inside. The door thuds closed behind me, and I hear the tumblers click into place.

  The room is narrow and sparsely furnished with only a single chair set by a small hearth. The dancing light from the fire dyes the chamber a soft light gold in the flickering glow. Leah sits on a bed of blankets laid out on the floor by the hearth. Curled into herself, she hides her face, but her hands, laced together and covering her knees, are tightly clenched. Waves of relief and anxiety wash over me simultaneously, and I stand in silence by the door.

  “I already gave you my answer,” Leah says in a cold, resolute voice, but she doesn’t look in my direction. Stray wisps of hair hang in her tear-stained face, and she wipes them back. After a moment, she peers toward the door and then stares without speaking. A tremor runs down her throat, but still she says nothing.

  “I got your letter,” I say, stepping forward.

  Eyes widening, she scrambles to her feet. “You shouldn’t be here. Get out!”

  Both hands outstretched, Leah bolts toward me and slams into me with all of her weight, all one hundred fifteen pounds of her. She tries to push me toward the door, but I make no effort to move.

  “Did you hear me?” she says. “You have to leave!”

  I seize her by the wrists. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Still struggling, her eyes lock with mine. I see longing there, and a suggestion of nervousness that matches my own, but no hint of anger or reproach. Both have vanished.