My Soul Immortal

by Jen Printy

  Forever in Death’s arms

  With you, my love, I long to be

  All eternity always with thee

  Forever in Death’s arms

  My heart forevermore your keeping

  My soul for you always be weeping

  Close your eyes, love, time for sleeping

  Forever in Death’s arms

  When the angels come to greet me

  In the clouds with you I will be

  Forever in Death’s arms

  My heart forevermore your keeping

  My soul for you always be weeping

  Close your eyes, love, time for sleeping

  Together in Death’s arms.

  With the final word of his lullaby, a golden butterfly appeared and carried Olluna’s soul to heaven. In anger and anguish at the loss of Olluna, Artagan in his cloak of death, hunted down the men who had pursued her. He found them celebrating in a pub and killed them all instantly. He then took revenge on the rest of the town that had cast Olluna out. All the men, women, and children fell dead in his presence. Not even one animal in the town was left alive.

  Artagan never saw Olluna again, but his love for her never faded. And to this day, one might catch a glimpse of a black-cloaked man in the shadows, as he roams the world searching for a love he can never find.

  Grady closes the book and sets it on the sofa next to Leah.

  She’s leaning forward, her hands clasped, a spellbound expression on her face. I wish could read her mind. She catches me watching her. And I’m the first to look away.

  “That was one creepy-ass lullaby,” Grady mutters. “I mean, who would sing that to a kid?”

  “Older brothers who like to scare their little sisters before bed, is my guess,” Leah says with a smirk.

  Grady tries to look innocent. “I’d never do a thing like that.”

  Without warning, Leah tosses her arms around Grady’s neck. “Thank you for my present. I love it.”

  “You’re welcome, Lee-lee.” He leans in to peck her on the top of the head. “Wouldn’t have happened without Jack, here.”

  Again, an unexplainable expression flits across her face. “Thank you, Jack,” she says then looks at the floor.

  Over dinner, I turn the conversation to Leah, trying to learn all I can about her. “How do you like working at the coffeehouse?” I ask as I sip my Coke.

  She shrugs. “It’s a job. I work there to pay the bills. I’m an artist, or at least that’s what I go to college for. I paint, mostly oils.”

  “Do you have a favorite subject?” I ask.

  “Landscapes. Sometimes, I paint portraits, but they aren’t good. I can’t capture the eyes. Windows to the soul, you know.” She pauses, and her careful gaze darts away.

  Embarrassed or self-conscious?

  “Her paintings are beautiful. Don’t let her fool you,” Grady says. “Although, she won’t let me see her latest work.” He flings her an irritated glance.

  “I painted you once, not that long ago. You hated it.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Hey, I loved the painting. It was the process I hated.”

  “Here we go again,” Leah says as Grady’s attention shifts to me.

  He huffs. “She made me sit in the same pose for hours. Leg cramps, arm cramps, whole body cramps, nothing mattered to her. There was no moving. Did I mention the lack of bathroom breaks?”

  “You’re such a baby. It’s called a sacrifice for art,” Leah teases.

  A robust laugh escapes my lips. Is that me? It doesn’t sound like me. I haven’t laughed deep and pure like that, well, since Lydia. I glance at Leah, and the look that passes between us sends warmth pulsing through my veins. Neither of us pulls our eyes away. A flaming tingle stirs deep in my gut, and I imagine how soft and tender her lips would feel under mine.

  Grady clears his throat. “Leah mentioned you moved here from LA.”

  I break the stare and nod.

  He inhales through his teeth. “Some change. Trading in the big city lights for fresh air and pine trees.” He chuckles.

  “Yeah, I guess. My uncle died last year,” I lie. “He was the last family I had. Needed to live somewhere new.”

  “What happened to your parents—sorry, that’s prying,” Leah says.

  “I don’t mind. My dad was a vicar of the C of E.”

  “C of E? What’s that?” Leah asks.

  “Church of England,” Grady says.

  I nod. “He died when I was seven. Heart attack. Eight years later, my mum, brother, and sister were killed in a car accident. My mother’s brother took me in.”

  I’ve told this story before. The dates change, but the general falsities stay the same. I’m at least able to offer bits of truth mixed with lies. I did lose my father at age seven, but he didn’t die of natural causes.

  One afternoon, he went to town to buy a music box for Mother’s birthday. I’d begged him for days to go. And on his way home, he was accosted and killed for the shillings in his pocket. My brother, Henry, and I found him face down in the dirt, the smashed music box by his side. His murder scarred us all, but I blamed myself. If I had not insisted he go buy the present that day, my father would have survived.

  “We lost my dad at age ten. Not an easy thing, is it?” Leah smiles at me understandingly.

  I shake my head.

  “Okay, enough of the morbid stuff. This is supposed to be a party,” Grady says. “Which part of England are you from?”

  “The Cotswolds. Lidcombe.” My truthfulness catches me off guard. Self-conscious, I let my stare drop to my plate, and I pick at the pizza crust with my fingers.

  “What’s it like there?” Leah asks, a faint hint of excitement in her voice. I look up to find her smiling.

  “Lush rolling hills and farmland. My favorite time was spring with the blooming hawthorn and dog roses. White and red flowers everywhere. Stunning against the backdrop of golden limestone buildings.” Dammit. Stick to the script. I look at my glass. Did she slip truth serum in my drink?

  Grady looks at Leah, his forehead puckered. “Hey, the Cotswolds? Isn’t that where you said our ancestors are from?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “She’s been obsessed with Ancestors.com. It seems we’re related to some dead, rich snob. Sir Robert Ashley.” Grady twirls his finger in the air.

  “Ashford,” Leah corrects, sounding annoyed. “Besides, we’re descendants through Robert’s youngest daughter, Elisie, who was broke because she married for love.” Grady rolls his eyes, but Leah ignores him and continues. “She had three sisters and one brother. Two of them died before they reached your ripe old age of twenty-four. So keep being annoying, and you might meet their fate.” She grins at her brother and cuffs him across his chest.

  A sudden wintriness strikes my core and traps my breath in my lungs. Well, there it is—the reason for the resemblance. The likeness followed the twists and turns through the tangled branches of the Ashford’s family tree through Lydia’s baby sister to Leah. Mystery solved. But does that explain away the other similarities? The laugh? The way she chews at her lip when she’s thinking? Her sense of humor?

  “Whatever. See, obsessed.” Grady chuckles. “Anyway, I’m trying to talk her into visiting while I’m over there. I’m moving to York to teach history at the Redding Boarding School for Boys this summer. I went to the University of York for a couple of semesters and made some good contacts. I’m trying to talk Leah into visiting while I’m over there.”

  “You should. York is farther north than the Cotswolds, but within driving distance for a weekend excursion. Besides, York’s enchanting. You’ll believe you’ve stepped into that storybook.” I point to her present.

  “Have you ever been there?” Leah asks.

  I nod, but I keep my mouth shut in case more truth attempts an escape.

  “When I can go, you’re taking me to the Cotswolds,” she says, raising her chin slightly.

  Grady rolls his eyes. “Sure, I guess.”

 
Images of Leah strolling down the streets of my hometown drift through my head. The mental pictures send a warm shudder through my body.

  Leah yawns and looks at the time. “This has been fun, but I need to call it a night. Work comes early tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Let me grab my coat, and I’ll drive you.”

  “No need. I’m a big girl. I can walk myself,” she insists.

  “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Grady lifts his eyebrows.

  “I’ll be fine.” Her tone is forceful and brisk.

  I peer at her. That same lightning from long ago surges again. Pure pleasure. Throughout that evening, I felt myself waking up from a long hibernation. Over time, I’ve shut away much of who I am. I don’t want this new feeling to end. Not ever.

  “I can walk with you if you’d like. That way, you can walk, and your brother’s protective nature will be satisfied,” I say.

  “That would be perfect,” Leah agrees. Then she snaps her attention to her brother. “There, does that satisfy you?”

  “Thank you, Jack,” Grady says and then looks at his sister. “Can I have a word with you before you leave?”

  “Thanks for the pizza, Grady.” I glance at Leah. “I’ll meet you in the hallway when you’re ready.” After bowing, I leave the apartment. Leaning by the door, I can overhear their discussion and debate with myself whether I should move farther down the hall, but stay where I am.

  “You do know him, right? I’m not sending you out the door with a serial killer?”

  Not a serial one, at least.

  “A serial killer? Really? That’s the scenario you’re going with?”

  “I know. I know. I’m overreacting. And honestly, he seems like a good guy, but I’m sure that’s what Jack the Ripper’s victims thought right before he slashed them to pieces.”

  “Nice. So you’re saying you invited a man you think is a homicidal maniac to my birthday party?”

  A chilly hush hangs in the air.

  “Exactly,” says Leah. “He’s fine. I know him from the coffee shop, anyway. He’s a friend of Rachel’s.”

  “You never mentioned that. And I’m not sure that fact helps your argument. From everything you’ve told me about her, Rachel sounds like she’s friends with a lot of dirtbags,” Grady says.

  “Well, Jack’s not like that.”

  Why is Leah lying to her brother to be alone with me? Grady has every right to be concerned.

  Grady chuckles darkly. “Uh-huh. That’s what they all want you to think.”

  “Tell you what. If I’m not home in a half hour, you can call the National Guard.”

  “Deal.” Grady laughs.

  Leah walks out into the hallway, passing me. The back of her hand skims my arm. The touch is undoubtedly an accident, but it ignites an old, dormant heat. Just my body reacting to the physical contact it’s been deprived of for years. That’s it. Nothing else, nothing more.

  “Ready?”

  “Yup.” I smile, rubbing my forearm and savoring the dwindling sensation.

  We walk through the shadowed streets, past dimly lit windows. The shops soon give way to apartment houses. We talk, but I’m just rambling, trying hard not to notice how much I like the way she looks in her tight-fitted jeans. Eyes up!

  “So the movie we’re seeing tomorrow night, what’s it about?” I ask.

  “Same old, same old. An undead creature attacks a small town, kills all the promiscuous teens and anyone who wanders off by themselves. That’s rule number one in horror movies, never stray out alone. The monsters will slaughter you for sure.” She grins. “Anyway, the effects are awesome. Great blood splatter.” She attempts an evil grin, but her beautiful features can’t master it. It comes across sexy.

  “Sounds… interesting.” I grimace. My possible future played out on the big screen. Fantastic.

  She laughs at my reaction. “It won’t be that painful. I promise.”

  “I’m sure.” I grin. “So, where have you been the last few days? You weren’t around.”

  “Why? Looking for me?”

  Deny? Lie? Turn tail and run? I clear my throat. “Maybe.”

  She smiles as if pleased with herself. “Well, if you must know, I was sick. The flu’s going around.”

  A haunting fear rises from my depths. Influenza stole Lydia from me. I swallow the reaction to draw her close and keep her safe, hoping I’ve hidden my instincts well. “But you’re okay now, right?”

  “Yes. I’m not contagious, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Leah walks along, drawing her hand along the uneven bricks of the nearby buildings and gnawing on her lower lip. “Do you think fate has a plan? Or do you think life’s just random?”

  “Geez, where’d that come from?”

  Leah shrugs.

  “Well, if it does, it hasn’t shared it with me.”

  She scowls, seeming unsatisfied with my answer.

  I search for the witty response that will bring a smile to her lips and break the uncomfortable silence that’s fallen between us, but I come up empty.

  Leah stops in front of a redbrick Queen Anne-style home. I scan the familiar romanticized architecture, including the sweeping steps. A decorative cast-iron fence leads to a carved-stone doorframe.

  “This is me.”

  “Beautiful home.”

  “It’s college housing. My room is more like a closet, but it’s better than living under Grady’s watchful eye twenty-four, seven.”

  “Speaking of Grady. Don’t forget to call your brother to let him know you’re not lying in a ditch on the side of the road. We wouldn’t want him to call the National Guard.” I smirk.

  She frowns. “You heard that? Sorry about him.”

  “Don’t be. He’s right. You should be careful.” Especially of me.

  She ignores my comment. “See you tomorrow night. State Theatre. Seven, sharp.”

  “I remember.”

  A craving nags at me. One touch, it whispers. My intense scrutiny doesn’t cause her look away, making the longing all the more difficult to resist. The need swells with the thought of her soft skin and lips. I shove my hands into my pockets. “Good night, Leah.”

  As she walks away, I resist the need to follow her. Only my vision trails up the stairway after her, to caress her shapely form. Halfway up, she pauses for a second, but doesn’t turn around as I expect and hope. Instead, she bounds up the rest of the steps. I stand, staring at the closed door before heading for home.

  Sleeping is impossible, but not because of nightmares or regrets, as it is most nights. This insomnia is brought on by the unfamiliar feeling of happiness—an emotion I barely remember. Maybe I should have stayed away from her, but I know I can’t now. Desire has crept through a crack in my resolve and opened a part of me that hasn’t seen the light of day in almost one hundred fifty years.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  To my dismay, Ed calls early the next morning. I’ve just hopped out of the shower. Wrapped in only a towel, I stand in the middle of my living room. I drip all over the carpet while Ed prattles on about burnout and how Sally mentioned I had worked every day since he’d hired me. I argue, but Ed dismisses each attempt. By the end of our conversation, thanks to Sally’s interference and Ed’s generosity, I’ve earned myself a day off, whether I want it or not.

  Since I don’t have any plans, the day drags, and I find myself counting the hours until seven. I debate stopping by Old Port Java to see Leah, but that reeks of desperation. The last thing I want to do is scare her off. I’m completely out of my depth. Times have changed, and I’ve adjusted, but not in this area. Courtship in the nineteenth century was so different. There were rules to follow. While I despise the prejudices that accompanied them, I miss the manners and the courtesy. So instead of going to the coffeehouse, I spend the morning reading, or rather, trying to read. By noon, I give up and focus on forgotten chores. After I make my bed, I think of her. I think of her while I’m doing the week’s worth of dish
es and while I throw out the trash.

  I carefully choose my clothes for the evening, settling on dark-washed jeans and my blue-and-black striped button-down. Finally, close to six thirty, I roll my sleeves up to my forearms and tuck in my trailing shirttails before running a comb through my hair. I show more concern with my appearance tonight than usual. With summer hinting at its arrival, I leave my leather jacket hanging over a kitchen chair.

  Hustling down the four flights of stairs, I skip every other step. The man who lives in the apartment across the hall clings to the banister on the second landing. As I barrel past him, I call out an apology but keep going. His grumbles follow me. The protest doesn’t end until the front door swings shut behind me, leaving nothing but the city hum in the air. I catch myself whistling. Nothing can change my mood. Not tonight.

  Winding through the streets with purposeful speed, I round the next corner, and the theater comes into view. Waiting patrons spill out the double doors and onto the crowded sidewalk. I weave through the swarm, eagerly scanning the faces for Leah’s. When our eyes finally meet, Leah breaks into a wide, eager grin. On its own, my gaze dives to the hemline that just touches her knees.

  Stop gaping at her like the village idiot. “Is everyone else inside already?” I ask, glancing around.

  “No. Rachel and her boyfriend, Tom, decided to go clubbing, and Grady is home sick with some bug. So, it’s just you and me.”

  I swallow hard as a flock of seagulls replaces the butterflies in my stomach. Catching sight of a pair of tickets in Leah’s left hand, I grimace. I notice the other women around us have followed the same practice. Rule change. Back in my day, the game of courtship came with a different set of rules. Leah’s simple gesture would have sparked gossip, and the scandal would have blackened the girl’s fragile reputation for life. However, those days have long passed, and if I hope to have a chance in hell with this modern-day woman, I need to learn the new etiquette and fast.

  “Ready?” Leah asks.

  I look up to find the crowd filing into the theater. “Sure.” I can’t disguise the apprehension in my voice.

  Leah laughs. “I told you. It’s not going to be that bad.”