My Soul Immortal (22 page)

The distraction works, and her enthusiasm bubbles over. She smiles—a real one this time. “Too much to name it all. Did you know the wall around York dates back to the fourteenth century?”

“Really?”

“Yup, and there are around sixty churches, museums, and historical buildings stuffed within that wall. It sounds like an amazing city with too much to see.”

I nod.

“The school where Grady works is in here.” She turns the booklet and flips through the pages. “Here it is. ‘Redding Boarding School for Boys is one of the leading year-round boarding schools in England, educating two hundred pupils per year from ages eleven to eighteen. The school was founded by Sir Thomas Redding in 1838…” Leah tilts her body toward me then whispers, “You’ve been to York before, haven’t you?”

I smirk. “Maybe.”

“Why am I reading these things? I’ve got you.” Leah shoves brochures in her carry-on and relaxes against my shoulder. Throughout the remainder of the flight, I fill her head with pictures of York, and for a shining, crystalline moment, my world is flawless.

Grady greets us with a wide, goofy grin at the baggage claim of Manchester Airport. He holds a small handwritten sign that bears our names. Giggling, Leah runs to him and throws her arms around his neck.

“I missed you so much!” she squeals.

Grady wraps his arms around her waist and whisks her feet off the floor. “I missed you, too, but I didn’t expect you so soon. I know I’m an amazing brother and all, but I thought you’d be able to wait at least until Christmas,” he teases, placing her back on solid ground. He glances at me with a hint of reservation clouding his eyes. Pulling one over on Grady is going to be as difficult as fooling his sister.

“Yeah, like I said on the phone, Leah missed you, and it seemed like as good a time as any for a visit, before her classes start up and all.” I look at Leah, silently asking for backup.

I half expect her to fold her arms across her chest and stand shoulder to shoulder with her brother, demanding an explanation, but she doesn’t. She nods, which seems to satisfy Grady’s unfailing curiosity for the time being.

“Hey, sorry about Ed. He was one of the good guys,” Grady says.

“Yes, he was.” A dull ache swallows the pit of my stomach. Leah captures my hand with hers.

Grady eyes her, throwing his arm around her shoulder. “We can talk in the car. You two must be exhausted. We have a bit of a ride ahead of us, about an hour and half, so we should get going. Ready, Lee-lee?”

Leah glares. “Only Mom’s allowed to call me that.”

Grady chuckles then grabs Leah’s suitcase before heading to the exit.

Lifting my duffel bag off the conveyor belt, I sling the strap over my shoulder and follow.

Leah leans to my ear. “If you ever call me Lee-lee, I will hurt you. You might not believe it, but I’ve got a killer right hook.”

“I can’t promise. You never know. I might slip.”

She cuffs me across the shoulder, then scowls, looking fierce. I grin and follow her out the door. The old Leah’s back.

In the parking lot, Leah climbs into the back of Grady’s new Volkswagen so I can ride shotgun. Once we’re on the road, I peer at Leah from the corner of my eyes as the hum of the engine coaxes her closer and closer to sleep while Grady rambles on about sports scores.

When Leah sighs softly, I know she’s fallen asleep. So does Grady; he immediately changes the subject. “I was going to wait until we were alone, but now is as good a time as any. Why are you two really here?” Grady’s eyes don’t leave the road.

“Leah missed you,” I say matter-of-factly.

“That crap might work on my sister, but not on me.”

“It’s the truth.” I shrug.

“Truth? Ha. You haven’t told me the truth since we met.”

I’m silent. At a loss for words, I watch the passing lights flicker across his stony face. Time passes slowly and deliberately. When he speaks again, his voice is more controlled.

“I like being straightforward, and I expect people to be the same with me. I’ve noticed something about you and my sister. The two of you seem like you’ve known each other a long time. But you haven’t, right?”

With a sideways glance, Grady evaluates the way I hold my arms across my chest, the tautness of my jaw.

I scrutinize him. His demeanor isn’t angry, only weary. “No, we haven’t.”

“That’s BS.”

I freeze. I can feel my control slipping, so I focus on the blurry lights of the landscape.

He forces a laugh. “You should’ve known Leah would confide in me.”

I look over at him. His smirk looks more like a grimace than a smile.

“When she was thirteen, she told me about her dreams—the strange ones about a long time ago. I chalked it up to a girl’s overactive imagination and too much Emily Brontë. When Leah was older, she told me about the man in the dreams. I’ll admit that it concerned me. I told her it was cute when she was a kid, but she needed to grow up. After that, she stopped talking about them completely. I convinced myself she’d grown out of them, but I never stopped worrying. For a long time, I think she was afraid I’d tell Mom, but I never told anyone. After Leah met you, everything changed, though. Her focus became you. Frankly, I was relieved. For the first time, she took interest in a real, flesh-and-blood man, and I encouraged her. When I found out she didn’t invite you to her art reception, I thought she might be pulling away from reality again. So I stepped in. I got to the reception just when you ran out.”

I shift nervously in my seat. The rough fabric of my jeans swishes against the upholstery. I glance at Leah—she’s still sleeping.

Grady continues, “You were pale, like you’d seen a ghost. I rushed in to find Leah teary-eyed and dazed. She showed me the portrait, told me she’d painted it before your arrival. That’s when I realized she thought you were the man from her dreams. To be honest, I understood your reaction. It was normal, and I didn’t expect you to come back that night… or ever. What man in his right mind would? The girl you just started dating claims to have dreamt about you for a better part of her life. Talk about red flags.” Grady clears his throat. “When I found you at Leah’s the next morning, it scared the crap out of me. I couldn’t figure out why you came back. I told Leah to stay away from you, that she didn’t know anything about you. Well, you can guess how well that went over. So, I spied on the two of you.”

I scowl at him with clenched teeth.

“A little stalker-like, I know,” Grady admits without remorse.

“A little?” I say, unable to hide the insult in my voice.

“I was worried about my sister. She and my mom are the only family I have. As I was saying, I watched from a distance. Everything seemed normal. I told you before. You make Leah happy, so I decided to leave well enough alone, but I did notice something else. You act different. Your manners, your actions, they aren’t from this time. We both know why. Don’t we?” This isn’t a question, but an accusation.

“Grady, I…”

“There’s more,” he says, his voice emotionless. “Soon after I got here, one of the professors asked me for a favor. I wanted to fit in, so I agreed. Newbie mistake.” His laugh lacks its usual warmth and enthusiasm.

“I spent two whole weekends, morning to night, sorting tintypes and other old photographs Musheer bought from local estate auctions for his living history class. Boring beyond belief. In the pile of faces, I found this.” Grady removes a thin, rectangular case from his pocket and tosses it into my lap. “Musheer said it dates from the early 1860s, and according to the elegant signature on the back, it’s a picture of a Jack Hammond. To a Ruth Hammond.”

In the dimming twilight, I study the decorative leather. With unsteady fingers, I flip open the two small brass clasps. From behind rippled glass, a monochrome image of me looks back. The photograph had been William’s idea—a gift for our sister. We traveled thirty miles to Banbury to G. Herbert Photography to have them taken, and as far as I’m aware, it’s one of only two photos of me in existence.

“Note the birthmark over the left eye. Same shape as yours. A bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say? Explain.”

I quickly piece together a story. The man is my great-great-grandfather. I’m his namesake. My grandmother always said I looked like him.
Believable enough, right?
But what about the birthmark?
I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. Of course, this will mean lying to him again. My guilt surges with thoughts of Leah’s words. “
I just wish we didn’t have to lie to Grady.”

Aw, dammit!
Instead of playing it safe, I’m going to rip open that can of worms. I can hear the truthful words assembling on my head. Because I know if Grady can accept me for what I am, Leah can keep him fully in her life. He’ll be the one person she’ll never have to lie to, like Ruth was for me. And like an idiot, I have to try.

My eyes slide to him. “Do you really want to know?”

Grady nods once, but his eyes cling to the curves of the road, and he grimaces.

“I’m the son of John and Helen Hammond. I was born in Lidcombe, Gloucestershire, England on January second, 1841.”

“1841?”

I hesitate. “Yes.”

“What does that make you? A vampire? Or some zombie undead child of the damned?”

I chuckle darkly.
Damned? Definitely.
“Nope, just immortal.”

His eyes narrow. “Immortal? How do you know? I mean, besides the not aging thing and all. How do you know you’re not the next Methuselah, and when you reach nine hundred sixty-nine, you won’t just drop dead?”

“I’m sure. I’ve tried quite a few times, unsuccessfully. My body’s resistant to injury.”

“What does that mean?”

“I heal quickly.”

“How quick?”

I look back to make sure Leah’s still sleeping. “It would be easier to show than explain, but you’d need to pull over.”

Grady looks over to study me for an instant. The car wobbles over the uneven shoulder and slows to a stop.

I open my door, stop, and face Grady. “Do you get squeamish?”

He shifts in his seat. His hard-set jaw and rigid pose show his nervousness. “I don’t think so,” he whispers.

“Well then, come on.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I shut my car door lightly, careful not to wake Leah. I open the hatchback and rifle through my duffel. I retrieve a slender pocketknife.

Grady’s footfalls shadow mine into the nearby meadow. Neither of us speaks as we wade through the tall grass. I rotate the knife repeatedly in my hand in an attempt to settle my mounting nerves. When I’m about twenty feet from the car, I stop and stand in the light cast by the headlights. Grady steps to my side. Taking a deep breath, I flip open the knife, and before I can change my mind, I slide the blade along my arm, slicing open the tender skin from my wrist to my forearm. I grit my teeth. Blood pours out of the gash and runs down my arm, but then it slows to a trickle.

As the wound begins to heal, Grady’s eyes widen, and he gasps. “You got to be freakin’ kidding me!”

“Shhh. Leah,” I say, squinting nervously into the headlights. All the moisture recedes from my mouth, leaving it as dry as a bone. I shift my weight from one foot to the other then turn back to Grady. His blank expression makes his thoughts impossible to read.

“How’s your arm?” Grady whispers.

“Almost healed.” I turn my arm over so the headlights illuminate the fading pink line.

The stillness returns.

“So you’re like one hundred and seventy years old,” he finally says, an airiness returning to his voice.

“I am.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Fire away.”

“Why did Leah see you in her dreams?”

I take a moment to find my words. For some reason, this isn’t where I envisioned the conversation going. “She didn’t tell you?”

He shakes his head.

“You should ask her.”

“You know.”

I don’t respond.

“But you’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“No, I’m not. It’s not my secret to tell.”

He sighs. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll ask her myself.”

“You’re taking this all very well.”

“Well, it’s better than what my imagination brewed up. You don’t suck blood, eat people’s brains for dinner, or grow wolf ears during full moons, right?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Compared to that stuff, you seem, well, normal.”

I choke back a laugh. I never expected to be called normal after showing off my freak show ability.
A first time for everything.

“So, you can’t die. Cool.”

“No, not cool. And I can die.”

Grady snorts.

“With that talent, there’s no way you can die. Well, maybe if you lose your head, but how often does that happen? It’s not like we live in the sixteenth century.”

“Not exactly,” I say.

“How?” Leah asks from right behind me.

Grady and I jump like twin grasshoppers in the darkened meadow. “Hey, sleepyhead, how long you been awake?” he asks, his tense eyes shifting to me.

“Answer me. How?” she says.

“Hemlock with a pinch of salt.”

“Seriously?” Grady sounds disappointed. “But that’s so… boring.”