My Soul Immortal (21 page)

I suck another gulp of air. “I have to admit, I like your take of the future better.”

“I’m not saying there aren’t rough roads ahead. I’m just asking you to trust my view.”

“I will,” I lie and let the argument drop. What good is convincing her I’m right if the truth leaves her miserable? Leah will never know if she is. I will be the only one suffering in the end, and I’ll handle that burden in my own way.

The next morning, I dress in the black suit Leah helped me pick out two days ago. After the third attempt at tying a half-Windsor, I chuck my tie into the sink. Dreading the day, I’m already wearing thin.

“Can I?” Leah says from the open bathroom door. “I used to have to tie Grady’s all the time.”

“Thank you.” I hand her the strip of black silk. Leah lifts my collar then twists and turns the fabric a perfect knot. “You look handsome,” she says, rolling up on her toes and pecking me on the cheek.

Hand in hand, we walk into the church at one o’clock. Having her here with me will keep all the old pain at bay, but these events have raised a new, unpleasant debate that I’m sure will revisit us again. I wish I could share Leah’s hope, but I can’t.

Like me, the old gray stone church is a piece of the past in the midst of the present. Towering redbrick buildings around it overpower the aged structure. The center steeple barely reaches its companions’ top-story windows. Three black arched doors stand open to welcome the mourners. Small clusters of people stand near the altar. The hum for their chatter echoes off the bright-white walls.

Leah and I slide into a pew halfway toward the front. Ed’s picture is sitting on a dark mahogany coffin. His smiling face looks back at me. Again, I wish I could have been with him in his final moments. I close my eyes and bow my head. Faces of all the people I’ve lost parade pass my eyelids. The weight of their loss feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders, and the ache is vivid today. Tears trail down my cheeks and drip onto my crisply pressed pants. Leah twines her arm around mine and leans her head on my shoulder. She whispers, “I love you, Jack. It’s going to be okay.”

“We here today to celebrate the life of Edwin Growley.”

I look up to see that everyone has taken a seat. A tall, wispy priest talks about Ed as if they were long-lost friends, portraying him as a saint, even though anyone who really knew Ed could confirm he was not.

“Is there anyone who’d like to share a story about Edwin?” The priest smiles and waits.

A short man with a receding hairline stands and shuffles to the front. He straightens his glasses before he begins. “I’m Roy, Ed’s younger brother. I’d like to start by saying my brother hated the name Edwin, and if he was here right now, he’d kick your ass for calling him that.” Roy chuckles and glances at the priest then dabs his eyes with a wad of tissue. “Ed moved to Maine following a dream and opened the bookstore. I’ll admit, I thought he was crazy, and maybe he was a bit. But he loved it here and always said this place felt like home. Thank you for always making my brother feel like he was a Mainer.”

Next, a man as bald as an egg stands. “Ed used to tell me about Vietnam while I was cutting his hair. He never complained once, either, that bald guys don’t know how to cut hair.”

The mourners continue to stand, and the stories continue to flow. The church falls silent when Sally stands and makes her way to the front. When she trips on the first step of the platform, I begin to stand, but Ed’s brother helps her to her feet. “I have a poem I wanted to read by W. H. Auden. He says it best, besides he was one of Ed’s favorites. I can’t remember the poem’s name right now.” Sally fiddles with her papers. “And it seems I didn’t write it down. You’ll have to forgive me.” After clearing her throat, she begins. “‘Stop all the clocks, Cut off the telephone.’”

I know this poem. I’ve lived it. In unison with Sally, I recite the dark, hollow rhythmic words in my head, focusing on the tempo to keep my mind occupied and stirring emotions at bay.

After the service, Sally goes to the coffin, places her hand on the lid, and stares at the framed picture of a smiling Ed.

Leah nudges me forward. “I’ll be right here. She needs you.”

I walk to Sally’s side. Saying nothing, I place my hand on her shoulder. Sally reaches up and pats my hand. “Thank you.”

I remember how my mother spent hours alone in a room with my father before she permitted the undertaker to bury him. “I can leave if you’d like to be alone with him,” I say.

“No. Stay.”

For a long time, we stand in silence with Ed, until with a weak smile, Sally gestures for Leah. “Let’s give Jack a moment.”

Leah extends her arm, and Sally’s shaking hand loops around it. “I’ll see you outside,” Leah says, walking with Sally toward the door.

I notice how old Sally looks today—the stress of the last few days is evident on her face. Her rich brown hair has begun fading to a lusterless white.

I run my hand over the smooth mahogany. “Good-bye, Ed. Thank you for your friendship.”

I turn to leave, brushing at a tear that threatens to escape. The tall arched double doors moan as I shove them open and step into the empty foyer. A movement catches my eye. A shadow—small and unthreatening—leans against the wall in the far corner.

“So, there’s a riddle to solve. How do you know him?” a sweet voice sings from the shadows.

My eyebrows knit together as I step closer. All I can make out is a pair of frigid aqua eyes bearing down on me, then Vita walks into a shaft of light, an unreadable expression stretched across her face.

“Vita,” I say.

Her mouth parts, then she grins. “He’s told you more than I thought. Even more interesting,” she says quietly. “It’s really too bad Artagan didn’t leave Ed and me alone. It would’ve been much more fun.” She pauses and gives me a little wink. “Strike that. I would’ve had more fun. Ed, not so much.”

My chest tightens. I clench my hands into fists. “I was taught never to hit a woman, but for you, I might make an exception.” Vita laughs.

A low growl reverberates deep within me.

“You see, I knew from the start that Artagan must have his reasons for wanting Ed Growley’s death to be pleasant. We can all be civil from time to time, no matter our motives, helping one another with assignments, and I couldn’t complain. The trade was a good one, a swift death for coordinating a disease of my choosing in northern Swaziland. Hmm, I couldn’t resist. Which I’m sure he knew. He’s a clever one. I’ll give him that. But not as smart as me.”

I take a step toward her. “You killed Ed.” My words are rigid. My voice is hoarse from fatigue and tears.

“We’ve established that already. Now keep up,” she says, unmoving. “You see, I was sitting on the bank of the Mbuluzi River, watching people drop like flies, and I started thinking. What if Artagan’s reasons revolved around you? And if that’s true, why?” All humor has vacated her face, leaving her expression stony and full of…

What? Hatred? Maybe.

As her eyes bore deeper into me, a pain stabs my skull like fiery daggers piercing my eye sockets. My stomach heaves.

“I know Artagan can be very persuasive, but so can I. Now answer my question. What are you to Artagan?”

I stumble, pitching forward. I fight the wooziness and keep my glare locked on Vita.

“Tell me!”

I remain silent. She clenches her jaw and bears her teeth. I cringe inside, readying myself for more pain.

A door creaks, followed by footsteps. The unexpected sounds distract Vita, then she slides into the shadows. “Not to worry. I’ll figure it out for myself,” she whispers. Then as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone. The pain dissipates.

The priest, looking concerned, walks out of the sanctuary. His long black robe swishes along the floor. “Are you all right, my son?”

I nod and step out into the garden to look for Leah and Sally.

Later that evening, I force myself to stay awake because the alternative is unbearable. Every time I even close my eyes, scenes of Ed’s death and Vita’s cruel smile materialize behind my lids. The night wears on, and my hallucinations grow more elaborate. Ed and Vita join forces with all the people I’ve loved and lost. Like an army of zombies, they hunt Leah down. By the time I get to her, Leah is aged and pale, staring at me with vacant eyes.

Two quick raps on the door cause me to jump and pull me from the newest horrors. I slowly stand. Each small movement is an achievement. I open the door and am surprised to find Artagan outside. His eyes dart around before he steps inside.

“Vita hasn’t left. She’s still here,” he blurts in a deep husky voice.

“I know. I saw her today.”

“Where?”

“Ed’s funeral.”

He groans. “It seems you’ve sparked an interest.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you called out my name. She thinks she knows why.” His eyes shift away in thought. “Always looking for a way…” he mumbles.

“So, why all the concern? What’s this all about?” A thought hits me. “Wait. Is she after Leah?”

His sapphire eyes snap to me, a hint of amusement hidden in the blue. “No, not Leah. She’s after you. You’re one of my descendants. I’ve lost count of the greats, but I’m your distant grandfather. And I’m afraid Vita’s on the verge of figuring that out.”

My eyes widen, and his words roll over me.
Family?
Over the past weeks, everything I’ve wanted so long for—love and family—has been handed to me on a silver platter. The pessimist in me realizes that it’s just more to lose, but I banish those thoughts and concentrate on positive ones.

“Are there others? Can I meet them?”

“No,” he says solemnly. “Only you and I are left.”

I sigh, glancing away.

“I can tell you all about them another time. For now, it would be best for you to take off until I can convince Vita she’s wrong.”

“But she’s not wrong.”

“True, but it’s best if she doesn’t know that.”

“I’m not worried. I’m not that easy to be done away with. Believe me—I’ve tried.”

“It’s not only yourself that you should be concerned about.”

My throat tightens. “Leah?”

Artagan nods.

My high crashes in around me. My eyes darken. Icy fingers trace up my spine. Hatred and terror clutch my spirit with viselike grips, both wrestling for control.

He continues, unfaltering. “Vita’s MO has always been to strike at what her target idolizes most. She’s skilled at figuring out the chinks in a person’s armor. Death is singularly motivated, and it appears we are also. For Brennus, it was his love of humanity. For me, family. This is a tactic that would work easily on you.” His eyebrows lift as if he’s daring me to disagree. “Right now, Vita doesn’t know about Leah. If she did, Leah would be dead. However, eventually, she will, so you need to leave and take Leah with you. She’s not safe here, either.”

I hesitate.

“Still don’t trust me?” Annoyance grips Artagan’s voice.

“No, I trust you. I’m just—if being with Leah has put her in danger, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Everything will be fine. I’ll trail Vita, but I’ll need to know where you are. If she gets close, you’ll need to know so you can move on.”

“We’ll start in York, England. Her brother’s there. I can get Leah to visit him without suspicion.”

“That’ll work for the time being, but if Vita catches wind of Leah, you’ll need a place with no connection to either one of you—past or present. Tickets will be delivered in the morning.”

“But…”

“Get some sleep. You’ll need to be at your best tomorrow. Leah will be safe tonight. I’ll see to it.” Then he’s gone, out the door like a breath in the wind.

Thoughts whirl in my head.
Can I trust him? Do I have a choice?
I slip the phone from my pocket and dial, ignoring the international charges.

“Hi, Grady. It’s Jack. I was wondering how you’d feel about a couple visitors?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A flight attendant walks down the aisle, reminding passengers to buckle up for the landing. She takes my cup and gives me a polite grin. I whisper in Leah’s ear. Her golden hair sways with my breath. “We’re almost there. Are you awake, love?”

Her eyes flutter open, and she smiles. But to my disappointment, worry is still evident in her rich-green irises. She must know I’m keeping something from her. In truth, anxiety eclipses her every feature, from the deep creases of her forehead to the hard set of her lips, which never fully commit to a smile. Very un-Leah.

The realization of what I’m costing her tugs at my conscience. I never should have called out Artagan’s name. So many emotions race through my veins that nailing one down is difficult. Regret. Vengeance. Fear. I made a conscious decision not to tell Leah the truth, believing her knowing would be worse. I already feel trapped in one of those nightmares, as though I’ve just crawled out of the deepest, darkest hole to find the exit locked tight. Then I wake, only to find that the bitter effects linger for hours. How can I justify dragging her into the darkness with me?

“Is everything okay?” She takes my hand. Small and cold, hers clutches mine.

“You’re freezing.” I frown and take her other hand, then rub them both. The gooseflesh of her arms is like an army of tiny soldiers all standing at attention.

“Maybe a little,” she says with a reluctant sigh. Her lips press into a white slash, and she scrutinizes me.

Attempting to ignore her penetrating gaze, I release her hands and shrug out of my sweatshirt, which I wrap around her shoulders.

“You’re avoiding my question, you know?” she says, her eyes never leaving my face. “You’ve been doing that for the last two days. What are you keeping from me?”

I shift away, readjusting the position of my knapsack. “Everything’s fine.” I pause, attempting to retain my lighthearted exterior. Lying to Leah is becoming increasingly difficult.

Leah pinches her lips together. Her eyes are still glued on mine. “I’m hoping Grady’s overprotectiveness hasn’t rubbed off on you. Against popular belief, I’m not a porcelain doll that can be smashed into a million pieces by the slightest bump.”

“Nothing to worry about, except the possibility of lost luggage. We’re on holiday… a first for me.” I smile. “So, what do you have planned for us in jolly old England?” I let the back of my fingers skim the stack of travel guides piled in her lap.