My Soul Immortal (19 page)

Grady is leaving for England in a few days. Though Leah’s eyes brim with tears, the firm set of her jaw and the small lift at the corner of her mouth tell me she meant it when she said she chose to stand by me. And my secret is safe with her—even from Grady.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“S
o what are you up to tonight?” I ask, flipping the store sign to CLOSED.

Ed grins and sticks one arm out, letting it hang in the air. The other rests on his stomach. He begins to sway, humming some old show tune. “I’m taking Sally ballroom dancing,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows. “You dance?”

“Yes. I’m old, not dead.” He huffs. “I’m taking her out for dinner, too.”

“Lou’s?” I swear I hear Ed growl as he glares at me. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” I laugh.

“If you must know, I’m taking her to Fore Street.”

“Impressive. You do know you’ll have to wear a tie to go to that place?” I grab the broom and begin to sweep.

“Wow. You’re full of smartass comments today. Nice to see you in a good mood, even if it’s at my expense.” He pauses. “I have to show you something, but only if you promise to behave yourself.”

I stop mid-stroke, put my hand on my heart, and grin.

Ed rolls his eyes. He reaches under the counter and resurfaces with a small black velvet box. He opens the lid. A flicker of gold dances in the light. Tucked in white satin sits a diamond ring. From the patina and irregularity of the hand-cut gems, the ring is obviously antique and probably older than I am. The facets sparkle with crisp white flashes. “What do you think? Do you think Sally will like it?”

“It’s beautiful. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“I can’t believe how nervous I am. This isn’t my first rodeo, so to speak. I should have done this months ago. Life’s too short to wait around when what you want is standing in front of you. Seize the day. That’s my new motto.” He snaps the lid shut and shoves the box in his pocket. “Wish me luck.”

“You’ll do great, gramps.”

“Thanks, kid.” Ed smiles.

On the way to work the next morning, I rush along. Somehow, I forgot to set my alarm, but luckily, the sun, which promises another beautiful day, woke me. In my dash to be on time, I’m actually on course to be early. My thoughts revolve around Ed. I wonder if he found his nerve. My pace quickens. My curiosity gets the better of me. I’ll be able to guess her answer when I step through the door. Ed’s face will tell the whole story in one glance.

As I round the corner, two figures step out of the doorway of Rare Books and walk down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
Ed’s opened the store early or—

My thoughts freeze midstream. I recognize the tall, lean man smoking a cigarette. A petite woman with cropped dark hair prances to Artagan’s side. I would have thought she was a young boy if not for her dark fitted suit that shows off womanly curves.

“Artagan,” I call.

He looks over his shoulder, his grave expression etched into every crevice of his face. He turns and keeps walking. The pale woman turns her head. Her wintery-blue, deep-set eyes pierce right through me. Her smile makes my blood run frigid and sends me rushing into the bookstore.

All the lights are off. The store is uncommonly quiet without the hum of the prehistoric computer or the chatter of Ed talking to himself in the back. The smell of rust and salt permeates the air. I call out, but get no response. I look over the open drawer of the cash register—now empty—and my search settles on a pair of legs sticking out from behind the counter. Waves of panic roll over me, threatening to bring my breakfast up. My body goes taut and rigid, and each step takes effort. I stop short at the counter.

Ed lies crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Trembling, I drop to my knees. I prod his warm neck, desperate to find a pulse. Nothing. Uncontrollable gasps force my chest into irregular heaves. Ed’s eyes stare straight at the ceiling, vacant, lifeless. I stand and stagger backward. Thoughts spin and thrash, trying to escape the reality lying before me.
He’s dead… murdered.
The horror of this certainty threatens to plunge me into darkness. Every ounce of air is sucked from the room. Without warning, my legs fail me, and I stumble against a shelf. The tower teeters, spilling books at my feet, but my eyes stay glued to Ed’s motionless legs. His blood pools, creeping its way around him. Rising acid sears my throat, shaking me from the shock and sending me tumbling out the door.

Outside, I lean against the cool brick wall and vomit then wipe my sleeve along my mouth. I want to wake up. This is just a horrible dream, right? This can’t be happening. A strangled sound escapes my throat, as though an animal is dying inside me.

Ed. Not Ed.

Dazed, I scan the street, but Artagan is gone. I slump against the wall and sink to the ground in a stupor, my head cradled in my hands. The initial shock wears off. I slip the phone out of my pocket and dial 9-1-1.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?” a woman asks in a monotone voice.

“My friend. He’s… been murdered.” A pain rips through my chest. I groan.

“Sir, are you hurt?”

“No, Ed. He’s hurt.”
By Artagan.
I wonder how much I really even know about him. He admitted to destroying an entire village without remorse. Then he had his reasons—revenge. Or was that an excuse?

“Sir, are you there? Sir!”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Your location? Where is it?”

“Rare Books. Exchange Street.”

“The police are on their way. Is the offender still there?”

“No, he’s gone.” Anger surges. I grip my phone tighter, longing for my own retaliation.
But where did he go?
Oh, God… no!
Fear shoots through me, freezing my breath in my throat. I hit the end button, cutting the operator off mid-sentence, and dial Leah’s cell. I check my watch, trying to remember her schedule.

After three rings, she answers. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” I ask, with a mixture of urgency and helplessness in my tone.

“Jack, I can’t talk. I’m running late,” Leah says.

“Where are you? Answer me.”

“I just left my place. What’s wrong?”

“Good. I need you to trust me.” My voice cracks.

“Is everything okay?”

The cop cars speed around the corner, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

“Listen to me and do exactly what I say. I need you to go to the dorm. Go upstairs. Don’t talk to anyone. Lock the door and window, then text me and let me know you’re safe. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

“But work.”

“When you get to your room, call Rachel. Make up some excuse.”

“You’re scaring me, Jack.”

“Everything will be fine. Just do it!” I snap, my patience spent.

A silence hangs in the air. “Okay. I’m going now.”

“I have to go. Remember, text me.” I hang up.

The police are out of their cars before my phone hits the bottom of my pocket. I explain to an Officer Jenkins what I found when I arrived, leaving out the details of Artagan and his friend. The other officers buzz around like a well-oiled machine. They cordon off the bookstore with yellow tape and barricade the street to hold back the swelling crowd. The whole ordeal feels like an out-of-body experience. I check my phone. No texts. My eyes flit across the crowd at the edge of the barrier. I’m looking for Artagan, but I see Sally. She’s frantically talking with one of officers, waving her hands and gesturing to the bookstore.

“Sir. That’s Mr. Growley’s girlfriend,” I say, pointing at Sally.

Officer Jenkins beckons her to pass.

Sally hurries to me with fear and confusion in her eyes. “Jack, what’s going on?”

“It’s Ed.” My body aches with the memory of what she will soon feel.

“Is it his heart?”

Officer Jenkins steps into the conversation. “No, ma’am. It looks like a robbery.”

“Robbery?” Sally asks.

“We believe so. The register was left wide open. All the cash was gone,” says the officer.

“He must be so upset. Where is he?” She takes a step toward the door.

I catch her arm.

“What’s wrong? Is he hurt?” she asks. Her youthful eyes scan my face then widen. “Oh no, no. He can’t be dead. He can’t be. I would have—” Her words break into a sob.

I fold my arms around her quivering shoulders, noticing the gold band of an engagement ring wrapped around her finger. “I’m so sorry.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Hammond.”

I look up to find a short towheaded man dressed in an ill-fitting suit, studying me. “I’m Detective Samuels. I have a couple questions for you.”

I release Sally and step to her side.

The detective clears his throat and removes a pen and notebook from his breast pocket. “What did you see when you arrived? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No. Not until I walked inside.” I pat my fingers against the phone’s silent bulge.

Samuels nods, scribbling down my every word. “What was different when you entered the shop?”

“The quiet.”

He thinks for a moment. “So there was no one else in the shop?”

“Like I told Officer Jenkins, no.” I shift my weight back and forth anxiously. “Just Ed.”

“Are you in a hurry? Do you have somewhere to be?” Samuels eyes me quizzically.

“It’s my girlfriend,” I say, keeping my voice composed. “I don’t want her to hear about this on the news.”

The detective’s posture relaxes. “Of course. Understandable. Just a couple more questions.”

I nod.

“Has anyone been hanging around the store?”

“No one I’d label suspicious, if that’s what you mean.”

“Do you know if Mr. Growley had any enemies? Anyone who’d wish to do him harm?”

“No!” Sally says.

“Sorry, ma’am. We have to ask.” Samuels studies his notes, flipping the pages. “Looks like we have everything we need for now. We’ll call you if we have additional questions. You’re free to go.”

I offer to walk Sally home, but she doesn’t want to leave Ed. She says she knows he isn’t with us any longer, but sometimes, feelings don’t have anything to do with logic. And people have to do what their hearts deem right. I know all too well that she’s right. I hate abandoning Sally, but Leah still hasn’t texted.

I scoot around the barricade and dial Leah’s cell first. I don’t get an answer, so I call her dorm room. No answer. I burst into a full run. The five blocks and congested sidewalk rob me of moments I don’t have to spare. The ticking minutes feel like a lifetime. As I approach Leah’s building, I see Artagan’s jet-black hair gleaming blue in the sunlight. He’s sitting on her front steps, holding something pink, flipping it into the air over and over again. Leah’s phone.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I skid to a stop in front of Artagan, my eyes transfixed on the phone while it rotates between his nimble fingers. Shivers of ice swarm down my back, and every muscle tenses, burning and tingling with the impulse to destroy Artagan. Without prompting from my brain, my arm swings.

Artagan catches my fist midflight. His sapphire eyes stare off into the distance, and he purses his lips.

In my head, the quiet voice returns.
Relax,
it says. My body rebels against the suggestion, and the icy burn spreads, slithering down each of my limbs. I jerk my fist out of his grip, debating whether to throw another punch or choke him out.

“I’m sorry about Ed.” Artagan’s voice is calm, almost casual. “If there was any way to stop…”

Ed. Dammit. The crazy, disorganized book-lover is dead. I can’t help him anymore. But Leah…
“What did you do to her?” I spit out.

His eyes shift to mine. “Her?”

“Leah. If you hurt her in any way—” My anger shuts down my speech, and I begin to tremble.

Artagan cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “What are you going on about? Leah’s fine. I saw her run upstairs about twenty minutes ago. In her hurry, she dropped this.” He holds out the phone.

I snatch the cell from his hand and dial Leah’s dorm room number. On the first ring, she answers. She’s home, safe. Relief sweeps in but doesn’t dissolve my burning tension and grief.

“Hi, beautiful.” I clear my throat and attempt to win back my composure.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain everything soon. I’ll be there shortly. Stay put, okay?”

“All right.” From the hardness in her voice, she’s clearly irritated. “But—”

“Later, I promise. Love you.” I close her phone with a snap. I stare at Artagan under heavy brows, while images of my dead friend parade through my head. A new wave of anger crashes over me. “Ed,” I groan.

“I know you think I enjoy this. You’re wrong. I don’t.” A frosty edge sharpens his tone, as if my pain wounded him. His fist lifts to meet his mouth, knuckles whitening against rigid muscles.

Artagan came to the wrong place if he expects my sympathy for his fate. My tightening jaw is my only response to this flimsy excuse.

“I didn’t kill Ed. Some twenty-year-old junkie did that,” he says.

I lean in so I’m an inch from his face. I stab my finger at his chest. “You were there. You had something to do with it.”

“My job is death,” he spits. “The unnatural ones. Time handles the rest.”