Council of Souls

by Jen Printy

  “Listen,” I say with fierce determination, giving her a little shake. “There’s nowhere else for me to be. Our fates are intertwined. Always have been, always will be.” I lean down and press my lips to the top of her head, breathing in the tart sweetness, a scent I was sure I’d never smell again.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she says again, but her voice is unsteady, all fight gone. This time, she doesn’t attempt to pull away. Instead, she clings to me, her body trembling. “But I’m so glad you are. Grady’s dead.” She speaks into the folds of my shirt.

  The anguish in her voice makes my chest constrict. “I know, love. I’m so sorry.”

  “How do you know? Were you there? Was it painless?” She looks up.

  The memory of Grady’s pained face pushes into my mind. I’m unable to meet her gaze, but my silence speaks the truth when my mouth cannot.

  “My brother deserved much more. Oh God, Grady. Who was it? Who gathered my brother? I want to know.”

  A fresh wave of helplessness washes over me, and I tighten my arms around her. “Domitilla,” I say softly.

  “Oh God! I wanted to say yes… I tried to. Why couldn’t I just say yes?” Her words break into convulsing sobs. Her legs buckle, and we sink together to the floor. I hold Leah against me while her grief slowly drains, her tears soaking through the fabric of my shirt. Once her sobs diminish into muffled sniffles, I shift my weight to retrieve my handkerchief from my pocket and hand it to her.

  Leah dabs her eyes and cheeks. “You still shouldn’t have come.”

  “I’m right where I belong.”

  “No matter what it costs you?” Leah shakes her head. Her strained lips quiver upward into nearly a smile, and then the words flow out of her like a cascade of water over a broken dam.

  “You’ve sacrificed far more than me,” I tell her. “You never see yourself as others see you, you know. As I see you. You don’t think of yourself as brave and selfless, but you are. The courage you showed in the face of such tragedy is staggering.”

  Tears well afresh in her eyes. “A lot of good that did. Domitilla—”

  “Grady’s at peace now. Focus on that.”

  She nods, sniffling, and wipes at her nose. “I’m not the only one who doesn’t see myself clearly. I used that against you. Fed your insecurities. When I saw you believed me, saw the hurt in your eyes, I wanted to die right there.” She lowers her head.

  I brush back the tangled curtain of hair and bend my head to peer at her face. “We’re together now. I am a little surprised you haven’t asked me about my plan yet, though.”

  Her face jerks up. “Plan?”

  “You must have known I wouldn’t come to you without a trick or two up my sleeve.”

  Reclining on the blankets, I tell Leah about what Artagan and I discussed. She doesn’t speak, letting me talk freely, only nodding from time to time. Her face is a controlled mask, making her emotions hard to read. When I finish, I flip up the black onyx on Artagan’s ring, exposing two small green pills. “One for you, and one for me.”

  With Leah’s eyes fixed on the pills, I stay quiet and glance away, not wanting to increase her discomfort while she processes it all.

  “Jack,” she says a moment later. There is a sense of urgency in her voice, and I peer at her. She smiles at me, her eyes bright, filled with some emotion. “Kiss me.”

  I do as she asks, pressing my lips gently against hers.

  “No, dammit! Kiss me!” she commands, jerking me to her.

  Her lips crush against mine with a thinly disguised hunger, her teeth grazing my lower lip. I growl, pulling her tighter against me. I trail feverish kisses down her neck. Her hands delve under my shirt and run along the planes of my stomach. Despite the heat her touch causes, I tremble as if a chill wind caresses my skin. Her fingers drift along the waistband of my jeans, and she whispers into my ear, “Make love to me.”

  Body craving for her touch, I pull away.

  “No,” she says, the defeat in her voice palpable.

  I gaze into Leah’s pleading face. My thumb traces the outline of her mouth. Her lips feel like velvet. “I want you. I want you so much I can hardly breathe. Marry me first. Right here and now.”

  Her expression turns first confused then saddened. “I’ll always regret that we didn’t just elope to Vegas or meet up at City Hall one afternoon. The frills don’t seem all that important anymore.” She glances at our only company, a dust-covered statue of St. Joseph, his eyes raised to heaven. “But here? How?”

  “Is that a yes?” I smirk, giving her a sidelong glance.

  “Of course it’s a yes.”

  “Again, you underestimate me.” I stand, holding out my hands to her, palms up, in an invitation for her to join me. Leah slips her hands into mine. Her fingers are cold and quivering. I help her to her feet.

  “First things first,” I say, sliding my grandmother’s ring off my pinky. Leah extends her left hand, and I return the promise to its rightful place. Then, digging the thin strip of leather out of my pocket, I dangle it in the air.

  She stares with a skeptical eye first at the swaying cord and then at me.

  I tell her the story of Artagan’s wedding, how with no priest, Artagan and Olluna found a way.

  “I know there are no paper lanterns or aisle upon aisle trimmed with flowers, but under the circumstances, God will have to be our priest tonight.”

  Leah entwines her fingers with mine. I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it. Then, pressing our wrists together, my hand grips Leah’s forearm, and she does the same.

  “Hold this, please,” I say, offering her one end of the cord.

  Perspiration blooms across my palms, causing the cord to slip from my grip twice as I wrap it around our wrists. I swallow hard before speaking. “I, Jack Hammond, tether my heart and soul with yours. Before God, I take you, Leah Nicole Winters, to be my wife, because, for me, your love has made all the difference. What we share is rare. It survived separation and the passage of time. I love you, Green Eyes.” My voice may not shake, but my fingers do as together we tie the loose ends into a knot, binding our wrists.

  Leah looks up, tears beading on her lashes. “I take you to be my husband, before God and the whole universe. I know most people are never lucky enough to find what we have. You’re right. Our love is rare. And strong. So strong, it will survive death once again. I know without a shadow of a doubt I will love you forever.”

  Moisture pools in my own eyes. “Forever,” I vow, because till death could never be long enough. No matter where I end up—Heaven or Hell, or some gray space in between—one constant will remain unchanged. As in life and carried forth in death, Leah will be in my heart, woven into the very fabric of my soul.

  My free hand cups her cheek, and with a gentle touch, she places her fingers over mine. “You may kiss your bride,” she says, a seductive lilt in her voice.

  I fumble with the knot. It feels like an eternity before the looped cord releases its hold. All the while, butterflies take flight, fluttering in multitudes against the walls of my stomach. I lean in. Leah’s eyes close, and her mouth parts, welcoming mine.

  After a moment, Leah is the one to step away. She glances at the blankets, and then meeting my eyes directly, she says, “Now what,” an undeniable lilt in her voice.

  A shiver of mingled fear and anticipation shoots through me as I unbutton first the cuffs of my sleeves and then the top three buttons at the throat, only breaking my gaze from hers when I yank the shirt over my head. Leah studies me and then steps closer. She kisses my chest and tugs at the waistband of my jeans. With a firm jerk, they fall to the floor.

  I run my thumb along the silkiness of Leah’s cheek. Then, cupping her face in my palm, I kiss her. When our lips touch this time, all my nerves vanish, leaving only expectancy and desire behind. I attempt to be careful—God knows I try—but our li
ps move together with a feral need. My hands slide down her back and fist in the loose fabric of her blouse. I draw the length of her body hard against mine. Tremors of desire shoot through me as an electric charge explodes between us, and I begin to flounder at the small, dainty buttons of her blouse. The progress is torturously slow.

  “Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, pulling away to scowl at the infernal fasteners.

  Leah lets out a small giggle and takes pity on me. Her delicate hands are nimble, and I watch, swallowing hard, as each button undone exposes more lace and flesh. I bend and scoop Leah up in my arms and carry her to the makeshift bed.

  Clothes scattered around us, we lie together naked in the cocoon of blankets. I run my fingertips over the rose-petal softness of her skin, memorizing the gentle curves of her body, every touch savored and treasured because these moments will almost certainly have to last me an eternity.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I say, my voice hoarse.

  Leah bends upward, her mouth searching for mine. I draw back, not wanting to rush, kissing her first on the cheek and then at the corner of her mouth. I brush my lips along her jaw and down the curves of her body to the hollow dip of her stomach. Leah lets out little gasps as I place a kiss on each breast.

  “I love you,” I say. Then I move, covering her body with my own.

  Afterward, I lounge in the blankets, listening to Leah’s labored breathing as it slows to quiet breaths. She rolls onto her side, laying her head in the hollow of my shoulder, and runs her fingertips in small circular patterns through the sprinkling of springy hair along my chest. I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation.

  “Are you afraid?” she asks, breaking me out of my trance. “Of dying?”

  I turn my face toward her, kissing her on the soft spot in between her eyebrows. “I’ve been afraid of many things over the years,” I say, tightening my arm around her.

  “Somehow it’s hard to imagine you being scared of anything.”

  “Ah, well, I don’t know about that.” I don’t mention my greatest fear—the fear of losing her—knowing it will only cause her pain after the hours we’ve both been through. She hasn’t forgiven herself for the heartache she caused me, necessary or not. I see it in her eyes. “Discovery, mainly, I guess. Then there was the fear of what kind of immortal I was. And if I’m honest, I’m not too fond of pigs either.”

  Leah laughs. “Pigs? But they’re so cute, with curly pink tails.”

  “Trust me. They’re more sinister than they appear. One charged me when I was a boy. I haven’t forgiven them since.” I smile before growing serious again. “Compared to those things, dying with the one I love seems to pale in comparison. So no, I’m not.”

  Strangely enough, even with all the misgivings about where I’ll end up, this is the truth. A steadfast relief has settled over me, much like the tranquility that comes to a convicted man waiting his turn for the gallows. It seems once the fight drains away, all that’s left is finding peace and making amends with the things in your past. God may not be able to overlook my transgression, but I have asked him for absolution, anyway. The first step to redemption, my father always said. Although it’s probably too little, too late for divine forgiveness, surprisingly, at this moment, I find I have forgiven myself. Maybe that will have to do.

  Trying not to disturb Leah’s position, her head still resting in the dip of my shoulder, I stretch for my jeans strewn by my head and dig my watch from the depths of the pocket. I unlatch the golden lid, the decorative design glinting in the dim firelight. It’s a little after three in the morning. I watch as the second hand speeds its way toward the twelve and snap the lid shut. The metaphor “time is a thief” has never felt truer than tonight.

  “Is it time?” Leah asks.

  “No, not yet. We have a bit left.” I touch her hair, smoothing it out of her eyes.

  “Before paradise,” she adds, a smile fading from her face as she glances up.

  I nod in feigned agreement.

  It grows chilly in our small prison cell as the fire dwindles. I squat before the hearth, adding another log and stoking the embers until the fire blazes again. Returning to bed, I find Leah’s gaze trained on my handkerchief, her index finger lingering over the hand-stitched initials.

  I crawl back into the pool of warmth, and Leah curls into me. My muscles relax as the chill in my limbs thaws. I take a long breath. “Fitzwilliam. My Christian name is John Fitzwilliam.” I pronounce the name formally, each syllable distinct and slow. “Although no one ever called me John. Only Jack.”

  Leah pulls away, craning her neck so she can see my face. “But you hate Darcy.”

  “Hate is a little excessive,” I say.

  With a petulant set to her mouth, Leah stares up at me.

  I puff out my cheeks. “Fine. However, my mother didn’t name me after him, thanks be to God. My maternal grandfather was Fitzwilliam Algar Abbott.”

  “Algar?” Leah makes a small sound in her throat. “It could have been worse, then. Your mother could have named you that.”

  Unable to disagree, I let out a chuckle. “I never met my grandfather. I would have liked to, but he died well before I was born. My mother spoke fondly of him, though, saying what a kind-hearted, gentle father he was.”

  “We can meet him today then. Him and your mother.” She looks back to the handkerchief. “You should be proud to be his namesake.”

  “Yes, I suppose I should.”

  She shifts against my chest so she can see my face without craning her neck. “What’s your beef with Darcy? I’ve always wondered.”

  “I know it’s silly, holding a grudge against a fictional character.” I let out a short laugh. “But I knew a man very much like Darcy. You would have sworn he was Austen’s inspiration if there hadn’t been so many years separating the two. His name was Grandville Philips. You might recognize the name.”

  “Wait. Wasn’t that the guy Sir Robert wanted Lydia to dump you for?”

  “Yes. Philips was Lydia’s cousin.”

  “Ewww.” Leah wrinkles her nose as if she has just smelled something foul.

  “It was standard practice at the time,” I assure her. “And Philips was considered a most advantageous match. A lot more favorable than a marriage to the late vicar’s son.”

  “That doesn’t make it any less disgusting.”

  I shrug. “The college I attended was Philips’s alma mater. He had graduated a few years earlier, but the rumors of his rude, self-important reputation still lingered. I met him in person once, at a party in London. From what I could tell from our brief encounter, the rumors were valid. He had all Darcy’s worst traits tied up in a tidy little package. Although in the public’s eyes, his money trumped any personality flaws. I didn’t know Sir Robert planned to marry Lydia off to him until after her death, or I would have whisked her off to Scotland.”

  “But unlike Grandville Philips, Darcy changed.”

  I give a contemptuous snort. “Maybe, but that’s something people outside fiction seldom do.”

  She meets my slanting gaze with a long, level look. “You’ve changed.”

  “That’s because of you.” I give her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

  Over the next hour, our conversation drifts from one subject to another, neither one of us willing to admit that our time on earth is growing short.

  “What if I wasn’t running late that morning?” Leah asks, staring at the ceiling. “What do you think would have happened?”

  “Which morning was that? You running late doesn’t exactly narrow things down,” I tease.

  “Ha-ha. You’re funny. The morning we first met. You ran into me and shoved me into a puddle. Remember? Very ungallant, by the way.”

  “Ah, that morning.” I grin.

  “You were so shy, barely able to look at me. Let alone speak.” She laughs.


  “I wonder why,” I say, reaching to stroke her hair.

  “Then later, when I caught you peeking in the windows at Old Port Java, I knew it was only a matter of time before you’d wander in and introduce yourself.”

  I freeze. “You saw me?”

  “Of course I did. You’re kinda hard to miss, Jack,” she says then kisses the top of my shoulder. “I rushed out of the coffee shop once, you know. To find you. But you were gone. So I waited and waited.”

  “I was playing hard to get.”

  “No, you weren’t. You were just being you,” she says.

  I laugh, charmed by her honesty.

  “And when you worked up the nerve to kiss me, it was on the hand.”

  “I wanted you to know my intentions were honorable,” I interject.

  “Well, honorable or not, that kiss made my arm tingle all the way down to my toes. And none of my thoughts were very respectable either.” She lays her fingers on my bare chest and runs her feather-light touch back and forth in a path from breastbone to abdomen. “That was the moment I knew.”

  “Knew what?” I ask, my voice a little shaky.

  “That I was right.” She smiles at me. “That even though it made no sense at all, my dreams were of real events, and somehow we had known each other all those years ago.”

  I grip her about the waist, rolling us so I end up on top. I stare hungrily into her eyes. “Yes, I do.”

  “Do what?” she asks, a little breathless.

  “I believe we would have found each other. Eventually. Even if I didn’t run into you on that dreary morning. Even if I didn’t move to Portland. Despite my Doubting Thomas ways, I can’t deny we were always meant to be together.”

  I press my mouth to hers. Our lips slide together, untamed and eager. Her fingers grip my hair, trying to draw me closer, as my tongue skims the curve of her bottom lip. She groans, holding me tighter, and we make love once more, the finality of it all offering an edge to the passion.

  An hour before dawn, we dress. The anxiety has vanished, leaving behind only an air of inevitability. I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. “Are you ready for a new adventure, Mrs. Hammond?” I murmur into the golden cloud of her hair. I keep the sadness out of my voice, remembering above all else, Leah will soon be safe from harm.