Authors: Jen Printy
“Yes.”
He stands. “All right. Let’s get moving.”
Over the next rise, a remnant of a once-magnificent building juts out of the horizon. Squinting into the wind, I study the ruins. Half the west wall has crumbled away, leaving the overcast sky in full view through the tall arched windows.
“There,” he says, pointing in the rubble’s direction.
“Is it an old castle?”
“Monastery,” Artagan corrects.
As the ruins grow closer and closer, Artagan falls quiet. The last quarter of a mile, neither of us talks. His head hangs low, and he stares at the uneven ground. I welcome the silence, which gives me time to say my good-byes. I let the memories of Leah swirl in my head. Thousands of rainy days led me to her, and I would gladly suffer any pain just for one second with her. Regardless of the deep ache brewing in my chest, I remember everything and hope I can take each moment with me. The simplest details surge to the foreground—how her golden hair dances in the breeze, the way her hand felt in mine, and the sparkle in those emerald eyes.
Artagan clears his throat. “This way.”
As we walk beneath the great stone archway, birds taking refuge in the crumbling crevasses fly off all at once, creating black silhouettes against the clouded sky. My feet trace Artagan’s steps across the flat green lawn inside the perimeter of the rock walls. He ducks beneath a smaller archway guarding a stairwell that leads into the earth. We descend the stone steps, which are damp and slippery with moss. The cool underworld greets us, chilling me to the bone. The stairway curves and opens into a dimly lit room dug out of the dirt and rock. Torches line the earthen walls and cast flickering, elongated shadows along the cavern floor.
“Good. Some of them are here already,” Artagan says, pointing at the lights.
As if on cue, a small figure saunters out of the darkness. Firelight dances strange patterns across her face and reveals the smile from my dream. Vita’s hands remain tucked behind her back, and she flits to Artagan’s side.
“I hope you’re not up to your tricks again?” Vita’s intense aqua eyes slide to me then shift to Artagan.
He snorts. “It’s not all about you, Vita.”
She squares her shoulders but keeps her hands hidden. “You’re not going to take as long to gather Leah as you did Lydia, are you? Honestly, your soft heart for him is getting tiresome.”
Artagan peers at me from the corner of his eye for a brief second before returning Vita’s scowl.
Her lips bunch into a small
O
. “Doesn’t he know?”
“I’ve heard enough from you.” Artagan’s tone is firm but still soft.
“You don’t think Jack should know which one of us he should really hate?” she asks.
I stare Artagan down. He was the one who took Lydia, and I’ve trusted the same man to save Leah.
“Enough!” says Artagan.
“Fine. I almost forgot… I got you a little present, a peace offering of sorts. Aren’t these your favorite?” She reveals a bouquet of deep indigo, almost-black flowers she was holding behind her back.
Artagan’s facade doesn’t crack, but sadness touches his eyes for an instant before they become steely again.
“Here.” She thrusts the spray of blossoms toward him.
Artagan’s jaw tenses. He turns his back on her, and Vita lets the black flowers cascade to the dirt floor. Quiet laughter echoes from the dark recesses. Vita’s twin emerges from the shadows. Beautiful and alluring, she’s the spitting image of her sister, except for the long hair that flows freely down the curve of her bare back. Her silk royal-blue dress hugs her elfin figure. She’s a siren capable of seducing any man she wants—even into his own grave.
Vita crosses her arms and smirks. “I remember you—you and your Lydia. If I’d known you were coming, I would have brought daisies… or has that changed? The difference must be so hard to keep track of. First, your father, then Lydia, Ed, now Leah. Seems sorrow follows you wherever you go. Have you ever thought the problem might be you?”
The fury building in my gut explodes, forcing me to lunge forward.
Artagan catches my arm and brings me to his side. He whispers in my ear, “I understand your reaction, but under the circumstances, I don’t think sending her arse over tit is the best course of action.”
Artagan’s icy tone sends the hairs on the back of my neck straight up. I nod then shrug free from his grasp.
“I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sure you have so much to talk about.”
Once she’s gone, I step forward, stopping an inch from Artagan’s deadpan stare. “You!”
His head falls, hiding his expression. “I am sorry.”
“Was this your plan? To lure me away so Leah is easy pickings?” My words catch in my throat, and panic sets in.
“No, I’m not double-crossing you. Betrayal is not what’s going on here. But as I’ve said, gathering souls isn’t by choice.”
“Your excuses sound very much like a cop-out.” I need to keep him talking so I can think.
His icy stare snaps to me. “To refuse an assignment brings punishment. If I’d found any other option, believe me, I would’ve taken it gladly.”
“What could be worse than this?” I gesture at the crypt surrounding us.
“Shadow Death. I’d be forced to drink a mixture of the juice of deadly nightshade and immortal blood. The combination turns an immortal into mere vapor, stripping your soul from your body. The ultimate pain for anyone.”
I shrug. “Sounds like death.”
“Shadow Death is far worse than your run-of-the-mill death.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for any deception. Please believe me. Nevertheless, if I told you about my involvement in Lydia’s passing, would you have trusted me enough to come?”
I glare.
“Remember why you’re here. Leah.”
The creak of the large wooden door interrupts us. Without a sound, six individuals walk into the room. Vita and her sister saunter behind them. Each pair of gleaming eyes rests on me. No matter what I think of Artagan, the kindness on his face stands out in stark contrast to the cold indifference on theirs.
“So, Artagan, who do we have here?” asks a tall man with olive skin as he studies Artagan’s vacant expression.
“Good day, Thanatos.” Artagan bows deeply.
“Who?” Thanatos’s smoky topaz gaze stays glued to Artagan. Obviously, he has no patience for politeness.
Artagan smiles respectfully. “He’s Jack Hammond, an immortal that requires an audience.”
“Proof, Kemisi,” Thanatos says flatly.
A woman with high cheekbones, amber eyes, and caramel-colored ringlets that extend down to her waist steps forward and removes an ornate golden dagger from her belt. Kemisi grabs my arm. I glare and pull away. Artagan whispers for me to hold still. I reluctantly present her my arm. She grips my wrist then places the chilled blade against my forearm. With a quick motion, she slices into the tender skin. I keep the pain from my face, not wanting to show weakness. Kemisi then counts to ten and bends my arm to display the healing wound to Thanatos.
“He’s pure. An audience must be granted,” says the flaxen-haired man at Thanatos’s side. A tattoo of flames snakes up his neck and disappears under a closely trimmed beard.
“Very true, Otmar,” Thanatos says, turning his attention to me. “Why do you want to speak to us?”
“Leah. Leah Nicole Winters,” I say, disdain bathing my voice. Artagan clears his throat in warning. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I restrain my hatred for these immortals and attempt to bury my fear.
Thanatos’s face creases into a puzzled expression. “Leah Winters?”
Artagan steps to my side, placing his hand on my shoulder. “My latest job.”
“Ah, yes.” Thanatos’s attention flashes to Vita then to me. “What about her?”
The callous tone of his voice sends renewed fear coursing through me. I glower at him as scenarios of the murders of each of the assembly members play out in my head. The fact that none of these acts would have the desired effect doesn’t matter. They manifest on their own.
“Temper,” Artagan whispers.
I ball my fists at my side and rein in my rage. “I want to save her.”
“Impossible!” says a curt voice.
“Not impossible, Mosi, but unlikely,” Thanatos corrects.
Hope first flickers then blazes with new urgency. I speak clearly and loudly. “If the proposal is unlikely, that means it’s negotiable. Right?”
A burst of laughter rumbles through Thanatos, then he looks to Artagan. “He must be one of yours.”
Artagan glances at me, a knowing grin slides across his lips, then he looks to Thanatos with a raised chin. “What would give you that idea?”
Thanatos snorts and faces me. “So what can we do for you, Jack?”
“I’m here to offer my life in exchange for Leah’s.” My voice peals above their mumbles so all can hear, even the brawny, heavily tattooed bull of a man leaning against the far wall. His face is hidden by shadow, but the others’ displeasure is plain to see. Vita and Domitilla are smiling like sinister bookends.
A slender honey-skinned man with a long inky ponytail gasps and steps forward. “Your immortal life for a human?” he asks with disbelief.
“Jack, this is Akio,” Artagan says.
Arms straight at his side, Akio bows, never losing eye contact with me. I dip my head in return.
“She’s soul immortal,” I correct. “Not that her status would make a difference to me.”
Vita snorts. Domitilla whispers in her ear, and Vita laughs, shaking her head in agreement.
“You would truly sacrifice yourself and throw away your precious gift so easily for one of the Ignorant?” Akio asks.
What a heartless ass.
I square my shoulders. “Yes, sir, I would for her. I love her.”
Artagan bends to my ear. “Be polite, but don’t waste your breath on him.”
Akio scowls before returning to his place in the crowd.
“What if we agree and our decision gets out to the others? Any immortal unhappy with their life could show up on our doorstep, asking for help,” Mosi says. “We don’t have time for this kind of foolishness.”
“Our brother makes a good point,” Akio says. “Do we really want to open this door?”
My heart sinks. Another no, I’m betting.
“We take payment from mortals all the time to
forget
their names for a while,” Otmar says, raising his voice. “Shit, half of Hollywood has a running tab with us. Why won’t we consider a bargain with one of our own?”
Thanatos and Kemisi nod in agreement.
“You know as well as I their money helps buy the clothes on your back and the food in your belly, Otmar. Granting Jack’s request serves us nothing,” Mosi says.
Otmar heaves a sigh. “True, but does that imply we can’t do something humane once in a while?”
“There should be a vote,” Artagan says.
“Let it be known that Artagan has called for a vote. And I second that motion,” says Otmar, his deep voice booming against the cavern walls.
Please, in the name of all that’s holy, let my plan work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
As Vita strolls past, followed by the rest of the council, her frosty gaze glints with anticipation. Artagan steps in line behind the others. He gestures for me to follow. I walk down the narrow corridor into another cavernous hollowed-out room, larger and brighter than the previous one. The stale, musty air is frigid and penetrates to the bone. Thin streams of water trickle down the uneven stone walls. In the middle sits a stone slab balanced by smaller blocks at each end. The makeshift table is encircled by nine ornate chairs. Each member takes a seat, and Artagan offers me his. I slide into place and rest my folded arms on the chunk of rough stone. Artagan stands behind me, one relaxed hand on my shoulder.
“Before the vote, I have more to say.” Akio turns to me. “Most all of us have felt loss. Kemisi lost a husband. Otmar, two wives. My whole family died in a flood, and I’m sure Artagan has shared his tale with you. The pain will pass. I cannot stress this fact enough. Throwing your life, your immortal life, away on a whim is foolish.” Every inflection of his voice carries indignation.
“We’ve loved each other for over one hundred and fifty years,” I say. “I love her in the same way as you love immortality. I wouldn’t call endless love a whim, sir.”
Akio’s eyebrows dip low. “I thought you said the girl was Ignorant,” he says with distaste clear in his voice.
“She is. Not was.”
With a jab in my ribs, Artagan growls under his breath.
“Sir,” I add. Artagan is right. I need to control my anger. If I continue down this road, I will lose all control and possibly any chance to save Leah.
Akio shrugs.
Kemisi’s focus skips to Artagan. “She remembers him?”
“Yes, she does,” Artagan says.
“How do you know?” she asks.
“She told me,” I say.
“Evidence,” Akio demands, leaning forward on one elbow. “Not just mere words from a silly girl. The brain can be easily tricked into believing many things. Truth or falsehoods, the mind can’t tell the difference.”
I take two long breaths to steady my irritation. Artagan’s hands weigh on my shoulders.
“There are paintings,” Artagan says.
I freeze as my posture goes rigid. How does he know about the paintings? My hands stay folded on the table. I concentrate on my breathing, maintaining a steady rhythm. I try to appear calm on the outside, even though my insides are whirling apart. Splinters of ice stab into the scruff of my neck. I let my teeth sink deep into my cheek’s fleshy tissue.
“Paintings?” Otmar interrupts my contemplation.
Artagan’s voice invades my mind.
Tell him. The detail could gain us a vote.
I look directly into Otmar’s amethyst-flecked eyes. “Yes, she painted scenes from my past, our past.”
Mosi rolls his eyes. “Trivial. You told her your memories. She painted them.”
“Leah created them before she knew what I am, before I even arrived in Portland. Before she met me.”
“So it’s happened again.” Otmar sits back in his large chair, tapping his sizable fingers along the limestone surface, and looks at Kemisi, but her gaze has fallen to the floor.
“Again, yes,” Artagan says.