My Soul Immortal (20 page)

I straighten. My mouth twists into a grimace. “So, people are no more than chess pieces to you?”

His eyes stray from mine. “We don’t get our hands dirty, per se. We orchestrate death. From a distance, when possible. Nearby, when needed.”

“We?”
Who’s he going to blame now? Ed?
I growl.

“The Concilium Animarum. The council is made up of nine immortals. Seven of them are the actual sons and daughters of Death. One, the oldest of the Soulless, was invited because of his unique quality.” He rolls his eyes. “And the last is yours truly. This job was thrust on me. My ancestor, Brennus, was a son of Death—a pureblood. Unlike me, an adopted son, he is a biological son of Death himself, and he was raised by Death from the age of two. Before that, he lived with his mother. Like all Death’s children, he has a human mother. Despite his upbringing, Brennus’s duties of taking human life weighed heavy on his heart. Unlike his other siblings, he was not made for such sorrow. Mind you, I knew nothing of Brennus or this world until he ended his life with the help of his cunning twin sisters. Before that, I was happy, living in a small village with my wife in the midst of the Blackmuir Wood, completely unaware of what I was. A soul immortal.

“You saw one of the twins today—Vita. She’s the more brutal of the two. A purely sadistic creature. Let’s just say she enjoys her job.” Artagan’s face flares with loathing. “It seems Vita plotted Brennus’s death for years. From what I’ve been told, her hatred for him grew after he stood against her creation—the Plague. Back in the fourteenth century, she directed the Black Death toward Europe for fun because it would slaughter as many humans and soul immortals as possible. She believes they’re both inferior beings. All the council does in their way—well, except me. They call the soul immortals the Ignorant. But Vita’s hatred seems to run deeper than that. By the time Brennus convinced his siblings that Vita’s motives were tainted, half the European population was wiped out.” Artagan twists a gold ring with a black onyx stone around his pinky while he speaks.

“Vita never forgave Brennus for swaying the council against her. With help from her sister, she preyed upon Brennus’s weakness, his spirit, and his love of humanity. The twins systematically drove Brennus mad. Vita disguised her hatred of Brennus as pity, offering to help him find peace, but it was no more than revenge. In his fragile state, he accepted her help and, in turn, death. With his dying breath, he blessed, more like cursed, this legacy on me. Passing on one’s position and power is a privilege reserved for council members. Because of that honor, I received Brennus’s seat on the council and his duties. I became an honorary son of Death. Since then, Vita’s been secretly hunting down Brennus’s descendants, determined to kill off the whole family line. She’s been effective.” Artagan pauses, and his attention gravitates to the sidewalk. “I am truly sorry about your friend.”

I examine Artagan, looking for spuriousness in his solemn expression, but I find his apology genuine.

“Ed wasn’t my obligation. Vita received the assignment. I came anyway. She didn’t appreciate my company, but I didn’t give her any choice. My deal was too tempting. I knew you were close to him. As you can guess, Vita enjoys causing as much pain as she can to the person unfortunate enough to meet her at the time of their passing.”

“So a sadistic loon is wandering Portland, killing whoever she feels like.” I glance at Leah’s window.
How quickly can I get her out of this place?

Artagan chuckles. “If it’s Leah you’re worried about, she’s fine. Vita’s off on her next assignment in Africa. Swaziland, to be precise. She’s long gone. I only stayed to reassure you that Ed had an easy death.”

“An easy death? An easy death is when someone dies in his sleep at ninety years of age after living a full life. Ed died alone, crumpled on the floor, in a pool of his own blood.” Images of Ed’s lifeless body flood my mind.

“Ed died instantly. I promise you that. It wouldn’t have been that way if Vita had been alone.” His voice is authoritative, devoid of mercy and emotion.

My teeth clamp together in an audible snap. “He deserved better.”

“Deserving has nothing to do with it. Most don’t deserve it. Does a child deserve to die of cancer? Does a mother of three deserve to die in a car accident? Did a man deserve to be beaten to death for the shillings in his pocket? No. I hate it. If I could save them all, I would.” Artagan’s voice catches, and his chilled expression caves with regret.

His reaction to what he is breaks through my anger. I never suspected that an immortal who has brought death to so many could have a conscience or feel remorse. I slump onto the steps next to him, questions swirling through my head.
Brennus died. He was an immortal, and he died. And Olluna? Was that part of the fairy tale true? Maybe when the time comes—after Leah has died, of course—Vita would be willing to show me the door out of this life.
“Death for an immortal is possible?”

“Oh, yes, more than possible. I’ve thought about it, but I’m too attached to retribution to consider it. Or maybe I’m just chicken. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be going up there anyway.”

A smile breaks across my face. The longing for death in the foreseeable future vanished with finding Leah, but after her death, I never have to return to the life I had before her. No more pining for what could have been. No more flashbacks or searching for an escape as I had after Lydia’s death.

Artagan glances at the clear sky. “Not after that village incident and all. Eternity on earth is a far better choice than an afterlife in Hades. Self-interest is a family trait. Death’s perfected it.”

“How can an immortal die?”

“Hemlock mixed with a touch of salt.” His face contorts in suffering, as if he’s on fire. I recognize the pain. Instantly, I believe Artagan has known the heartbreak of his fairy tale. His expression clears, but a hint of suffering lingers in his eyes. “Enough of that.” He huffs, and his gaze drops to his feet.

When his eyes return to me, he’s locked away his pain. He stands suddenly. “I’m sorry you had to find Ed like that. Vita had already planted the plan in the boy’s mind when I came into the picture. There was no turning back then. I know the way he died must have reopened painful wounds. Sorry about that, too.”

Then he’s on the move, disappearing around a street corner.

Pressure builds in my head. My hands shake. I get to my feet, desperate for Leah’s reassuring touch. This memory isn’t one I wish to relive, not today. Stumbling to the top step, heaviness weighs me down, dragging me to my knees. I close my eyes, and I’m seven, a lifetime away, on a curvy dirt road on the outskirts of Lidcombe. I shuffle my feet, making clouds of fine powder behind me. The dusty earth grates under my leather soles. My brother walks several paces ahead, moving purposefully.

He stops abruptly, looking at me with exasperation. “Jack, keep up. No time for play.”

I sigh and run to catch him. Mother sent us to fetch Father from town. Mrs. Piler, the schoolmaster, has been ill for weeks, and today, she took a turn for the worse. As vicar, my father is needed. Despite the nature of our mission, I cannot contain my excitement, and I bounce along at my brother’s side.

Henry smirks and ruffles my hair. “I do hope you’re not pinning your hopes on Old Vile Piler’s death. Hasn’t her switch taught you anything? She’s too nasty to die.”

I screw up my face, shake my head, then smile. “It’s the gift for Mother. Father was buying it this afternoon.”

“Ah, yes, the remarkable music box.” He chuckles.

Another burst of anticipation charges through me, and I run ahead. Around the next bend, I catch sight of Father’s gray speckled mare grazing in the Edmunds’ field. I stop, and Henry halts at my side. “Look. Mags.” I point and look up at my brother.

He stares into the distance, paying me no attention. His face is a ghostly white.

“Jack, stay here,” Henry commands and runs toward a black mound lying in the middle of the road.

Instead of obeying, I follow him. Splintered wood litters the roadway. Sunlight glints off brass workings of a music box, strewn like rubbish in the dirt. I slow. Blood stains the ground. A pathway of crimson leads to a dark figure lying face down. My mouth goes dry, as parched as the dust covering my boots with a thin film.

Henry bends down. Grabbing the figure’s arm, he twists the black heap over. My father’s vacant eyes stare into mine. I scream, but no sound escapes.

The memory recedes. Trembling, I boost myself into a sitting position and slump against the iron ornate railing, finding my breath. With effort, I stand. The door swings open. A group of guys rush out in an explosion of laughter. The last boy catches the door for me. I look up to thank him, discovering Nathan smiling at me with mocking expression.

“Leah’s gonna love this, dude. You’re drunk.”

I ignore him and stumble in though the open door. Outside Leah’s room, I rest my forehead against the doorframe, regaining my composure before knocking.

“Hello,” she says through the closed door.

“It’s me.”

The door flies open. “Jack Hammond! If you ever pull a stunt like—” Her angry expression morphs into concern. “Are you hurt?”

I look down to discover a brownish-red smear along my fingers and across my palms—Ed’s blood. Still having trouble finding my words, I shake my head. She tugs me into her room, and I collapse into her arms, burying my face in her hair. “Ed died this morning.”

“Oh my God! How?”

“He—” My mouth is dry. I clear my throat. “He was murdered. It was hard seeing him like that.”

“You found him?”

I thrust away and rub my temples with my fingers, attempting to scour the images of Ed’s lifeless body out of my head. It’s useless. “Yes.”

“Go sit on my bed. I’ll be right back.” Leah slips out into the hall, and I stagger to the bed, dropping to the soft mattress with a thump.

She quickly returns, a wet washcloth and towel in hand. She sits beside me and begins to scrub away the leftover gore from my hands. “What happened?” she asks, keeping her attention on the task.

“It looks like a robbery.”

Leah’s posture becomes rigid. “Looks like? You don’t think it was?”

“The police are still investigating.” Neither fact is a lie. Both details are one hundred percent true. Ed’s death looked like a break-in gone wrong, and the cops are surely scrutinizing every clue, although I’m sure they’ll never discover the truth.

Leah clearly trusts what I say wholeheartedly, which triggers my guilt. Needling me at the back of my mind is the obvious
—
Artagan is a carrier of Death. My only solace is his obvious hatred for what he does. He is a stark contrast to Vita, who seems to consider harvesting souls no more than swatting a mosquito.
Yes, Vita is a completely different beast.
How am I ever going to keep Leah safe from the monsters like her roaming the world?

The days that follow are a blur, one bleeding into another. I miss Ed, his sense of humor, his and quirky ways, but most of all, I wish he hadn’t died alone. He must have been so frightened. The idea gnaws away at the pit of my stomach.

I watch Sally while helping her with the funeral arrangements. Each decision wears on her. My grief is merely a shadow compared to hers. Pale and forlorn, Sally’s exterior claims she’s as tough as nails, but her sharp brown eyes betray her. She’s still wearing Ed’s ring—a lost promise of a future cut short by a creature whose lineage I share.

The night before the funeral, Leah spends the night at my place.

“I feel so sad for Sally. I can’t even imagine how she must feel,” she says, crawling into bed next to me. “I mean, losing my dad was hard, but losing the one you’re in love with—I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. This must be dredging up some difficult memories for you.”

“I’m focusing on counting my blessings. You’re her now.” I coil my arms around her, squeezing her tight, and kiss the top of her head.

Leah smiles. “We’re lucky, if you think about it. How many couples are sure they’ll have a second, third, and even fourth chance?”

“Let’s not discuss this tonight.”

She looks up at me and rolls her eyes, forcing patience into her voice. “Seriously, do you really think I’m going to forget you?”

Not willing to rehash this argument, I keep my mouth shut.

She stares straight into my eyes. “You’re wrong, you know?”

“Please drop it,” I say firmly. The anger and fear I’ve been hiding over the past days bubbles to the surface, and I find myself practically shouting. “I don’t understand how you can believe we can beat the odds. It’s a naïve view. It’s not reality.”

She yanks away and stands. Anger flickers in her eyes like a green flame. “Listen to me. I know our odds. I’m not stupid. Our separation will be difficult, but it won’t be the end, not as it is for Sally and Ed. I know it in my heart, and there’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. The last time I checked, having hope wasn’t a sin.”

I take a deep breath and push the air out slowly, calming my emotions. “How can you be so sure?”

“Call it a gut feeling.” She plops down on my bed next to me.