My Soul Immortal (23 page)

A scowl planted on her face, Leah glares back and forth between the two of us and mutters.

“Well, it
is
boring, but it’s not like he’ll ever need to find out,” Grady says. “I can’t imagine a reason anyone in Jack’s situation would choose to die anyway. Lucky bastard.” He slugs me in the arm.

My brow furrows. My eyes meet Leah’s then flit away. I can imagine. My plans are set—when Leah dies, so will I.

Grady’s gaze shifts from Leah to me. A knowing look crosses his face.

The rest of the trip is uneventful. Grady babbles on about sports, while Leah rides in silence, lost in space. Finally, we arrive at Grady’s small brick flat on Bartle Garth, close to the middle of town with a view of York Minster. Great Peter, the bell of the massive northwest tower, tolls the hour. Its clang reverberates off the building and rolls through the crooked streets, overpowering all other sound. I breathe deeply, taking in the smells of the modern city. Smoke and soot blended with the muddy river water of the Ouse have all vanished. Car exhaust and the homey fragrance of baking bread from a corner bakery have replaced it, commingling with the sweet scent of flowers from a garden along the westward wall of Grady’s new digs.

Grady grabs Leah’s suitcase from the hatchback. I sling my duffel over my shoulder and follow him and Leah up the two flights of stairs to his apartment. Grady’s place is sleek and modern—a white box filled with black, glass, and polished chrome, decorated in the minimalist style. Leah freezes in the entryway, her mouth an adorable
O
of surprise.

Grady drops Leah’s bag and smiles. “Don’t say it. I know, not my style. The place came furnished.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking slowly around the room. “Understatement of the century. It’s really… clean.”

Grady’s smile slips into a pinched expression. “Wow, glowing compliment.”

“The place is just not what I expected.” She glances toward the windows. “You’ve got a great view of the city.”

“And an interesting choice of décor,” I add, pointing to a painting hanging over the dining table—five dogs playing poker.

He grins at Leah. “That’s all mine. Right, sis?”

She groans. “You still got that damn thing.”

“Yeah. That’s Americana at its best,” Grady says, walking into his small galley-style kitchen. He opens the refrigerator and stoops to examine its contents. “Are you two hungry? There isn’t much. Let’s see… I could make grilled cheeses, or there’s some leftover Chinese from last night.”

“Chinese,” Leah and I say in unison.

“Hey, my cooking has gotten better. I’ve been practicing,” Grady grabs four white square boxes and tosses their contents in bowls before shoving our meager feast into the microwave. Leaning against the counter, he studies me. “So, 1841, huh? Did you meet Queen Victoria?”

I laugh. “No. We ran in different circles. After my father died, my family was poor, living off the generosity of others.” I pause. “Where are your plates?”

Grady gestures to the upper-right cupboards. “The Crimean War. I’m teaching that conflict this semester. You would have been what? Thirteen, fourteen.”

“Thirteen. Believe it or not, that was enlistment age back then, but I was too immersed in my studies to consider it.” I grab three plates from the cupboard. “I wanted to be a teacher like you, not a soldier, and Sir Robert offered to pay for my education as long as I kept my grades up.”

Grady out a little sigh. “Okay—” He drums his fingers along his lips, obviously thinking.

“Jack’s not your private encyclopedia, Grady,” Leah says, taking the dish out of my hands and walking to the table.

“Sure, sure,” he says, not looking in her direction, keeping his gaze on me. “However, he is a walking, talking, living history museum.”

Fantastic, here comes Dr. Grady and his mental probe. Why didn’t I see this coming? History teacher, duh.
I fake a laugh. “England was in a skirmish every other minute back then, at least that’s how it felt. Do you remember much about the Afghanistan War? Or the Iraq War?”

He thinks for a minute then nods. “Point taken.”

Over dinner, Grady’s list of questions grows along with his eagerness to pump me for information. With a tensing stomach and dry mouth, I shrug and nod, giving bits of accurate information accompanied by a copious amount of lies. Leah grows quiet, focused on her pork-fried rice, picking at each grain.

“Sounds like you traveled around a lot,” Grady says. “What countries have you lived in?”

“I trekked around England for a while. Around 1875, I left and headed to Ireland, then France and Spain. After my sister died, I went to the States.”

His eyes brighten. “Ireland. How about the Famine of 1879? I know that famine is considered the smallest of the three, but were you there? What was it like?”

“I probably know less than you. I remember hunger and overcrowded slums, but that’s the year I developed a fondness for whiskey.” I chuckle with my lie. Actually, that was the year I attempted starvation. By the end of my little hunger strike, I looked like a walking skeleton. I passed out in the street and woke up in a neighbor’s home. Mrs. O’Callaghan–a mother of seven and, for all intents and purposes, a drill sergeant–forced broth down my throat for weeks until she was satisfied with my
plumpness
. “Honestly, I wasn’t paying much attention then.”

Grady’s face tightens, and he rubs the back of his neck. “So let me get this straight. You’ve lived through countless wars and some of the most life-changing inventions and events in human history, but you’ve pretty much lost the whole twentieth century and parts of the nineteenth—how does my friend James put that? Oh, yeah—you useless wanker.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Grady! Geez!” Leah shoots her brother a harsh squint.

“What? I was joking,” he says. “But as a side note, he’s going to need to write down anniversaries and birthdays, ’cause he’s got a piss-poor memory. I mean, I thought mine was bad—”

“I remember the Great Exhibition.” I grin.

“You were there?” Grady’s eyes widen.

“Yeah. I was ten. Sir Robert took William and allowed me to tag along. It seemed like the whole world was cramped into that ornate building of iron and glass.” I look at Leah. “Artwork around every corner.”

Her mouth slacks. “Really?”

I nod with a smile. “My favorite was
Richard the Lionheart
by Marochetti. The sculpture was so large, it had to be placed outside the Crystal Palace. Inside was filled with exotic people and inventions from all over the empire and the planet. The songs of colorful birds and the trumpets of elephants rang over the drone of the crowd. And the smell of flowers mixed with foreign spices. A pink glass fountain stood in the middle of it all. To me, it seemed like a hundred feet high, but Sir Robert claimed the structure was only thirty. The whole day was filled with one amazing sight after another.”

He sucks in a quick breath. “Wow, now that must have been something to see.” Grady drifts into his own world.

Leah gives me a sidelong glance. Her mouth opens then closes again, and she drops her attention to her plate.

“What’s up,” I whisper.

She shakes her head. “Not now.”

Grady stands, seeming satisfied with his small taste of the past. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m beat. I left a pillow and blanket on the sofa for you, Jack. Sis, how about I show you your room?”

Leah pecks me on the lips. “Night.” She grabs her bag and follows Grady down a hall past the kitchen.

After putting the dishes in the sink, I sit on my makeshift bed, wondering if I’ve made the right decisions tonight. Grady seems to be taking all I’ve handed him in stride, but maybe that’s just for show. Maybe when Leah said she felt she should tell her brother, her impulse was a pipe dream and not something she thought was a good idea. I try to sleep, still second-guessing myself.

Well past two o’clock, I’m wide awake, my feet hanging over the edge of the stone-hard sofa. I’d blame my sleeplessness on the different time zone or the uncomfortable accommodations, but I know neither is the case. I fluff my pillow for the hundredth time, roll to my side, tuck my arm under my head, and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep.

A door creaks open, then the patter of Leah’s footsteps crosses the wooden floor. She pokes my bare shoulder a little harder than necessary. My eyes flick open.

Leah’s face is so close that we’re practically touching noses. She draws away, and I roll up onto my elbow. My brow creases.

“We need to talk,” she whispers. “I know something’s going on. Something you’re keeping from me. We didn’t come here because I missed Grady.” She plunks down on the edge of the sofa.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

She shoots me a pinched expression and huffs out of exasperation. “Why are we here, Jack?”

“Well.” I rub the back of my neck. “Because I thought you needed to see your brother. Whether you realize it or not, you missed him.”

“That’s a load of crock, and you know it!”

“You didn’t miss Grady?” Pressing my lips into a fine line, I tilt my head, one brow arched.

“Of course I did, but that has nothing to do with the reason we’re here.” She throws her arms in the air. Her cheeks flush red. “You don’t tell me you can die, and now this? You’re confiding things to my brother that you’re keeping from me. How do you think that makes me feel?”

She’s right. I want to say I’m sorry and that I meant to tell her about the hemlock. With everything swirling out of control around us, I forgot. Finding a way to die was my focus for so long, but then when I find it… Leah really has changed everything. But I don’t say any of that because my reasons would sound like excuses and lead the conversation to why we’re really here.

“Everyone always thinks I can’t handle things,” she mutters in disgust.

“I know you can.”

“No, you don’t, or you’d tell me. And the last time I checked, having hope isn’t a sin,” she says, pulling farther away. I don’t like the distance, but from her sweeping arm gestures and reddened face, I can tell Leah isn’t ready for my apology. I look away.

“I can handle a lot more than anyone gives me credit for.” Leah ticks them off on her fingers. “My dad’s death. Cancer. Near-death experience. Weird dreams. Soul immortality. I’ve handled a lot, and look, still in one piece.”

I stay quiet.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” she says.

“Leah, I…”

She pushes off the sofa and storms out of the room. Moments later, I hear her bedroom door slam and then her crying.

I let my head fall into my open hands. I’m not sure I know what I’m doing anymore. I’ve been twisted into an impossible position. I’m damned no matter what, and the worst thing is: my actions put us here. If I had just kept my mouth shut—
No, what’s done is done.
I need to tell Leah the truth.
But first…

I stand, slide on my faded jeans, and tug on an old, holey Adidas T-shirt. After grabbing my phone off the coffee table, I dart to the door.

Grady eyes me from the hallway. His forehead puckers as his sandy brows pull together. “What the hell’s going on! She’s crying, and you’re leaving?”

“Just for a bit. Need some fresh air. She doesn’t want to see me right now.”

He nods once and turns, heading toward Leah’s room.

Out in the crisp night air, my fingers trace circles along my temples, fighting off an impending headache. Maybe keeping Leah in the dark isn’t the same as keeping her safe. What good has lying done? Shielding her from the truth has brought her more distress than peace. However, before I tell her anything, I need to know what’s going on with Vita.

I haven’t heard from Artagan for almost a week, when he warned me to get away. I wonder why he hasn’t called. Leah would say no news is good news. However, my thoughts fill with disturbing images, all revolving around Vita coming face-to-face with Leah, her sinister smile celebrating Leah’s approaching death. I flip open my cell. No missed calls. No missed texts. If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain. I dial his number.

It rings twice.

“Jack. What’s up?” Artagan answers.

“I need an update. Any changes?”

“I’ve sent Vita on a wild-goose chase. Planted a couple clues in your apartment hinting that you’re on your way to the land down under.” He chuckles.

“Thanks. The farther the better. You should know, I’m telling Leah everything tonight.”

He’s silent for about three seconds then asks, “Do you think that’s wise?”

“I don’t know. The secret seems to be doing more harm than good. She knows I’m lying to her about something. Honestly, I’m not sure what else to do.”

“If you think it’s best. I’ll call in a few days with an update, unless something changes, but I’m sure it won’t. Between her day job and searching the whole of Australia, she’ll be pretty occupied for a while,” Artagan adds.

“All right.” I hang up and shove the phone into my back pocket. Artagan seems to have Vita well in hand. Staring aimlessly, I inhale deeply through my nose to calm the queasy feeling in my stomach. In the gleam of a streetlight, a feathery plant with clusters of white blossoms catches my eye.
Hemlock.
I step toward the garden and pinch off a sprig of the lacy leaves. Rolling the stem between my forefinger and thumb, I survey the small, seemingly innocuous greenery.
So all this time, all I was looking for was you.
The solution to this new crisis stares back at me. Coerce a little salted hemlock down that vile throat of Vita, and Leah and I will be free. I smile, picking more and shoving the fern-like plant deep into my pocket, then I head back to the apartment.

Inside, I quietly rummage through the cabinets, pawing a menagerie of cooking utensils until I find a small box of plastic bags stashed in the far corner of a bottom drawer. I place the hemlock into one then sprinkle salt into the bag. The granular crystals fall over the leaves like snow. I seal the bag then slip the small packet of liberator into my pocket on my way to Leah’s room. On the other side of her half-open door, I hear a soft murmur.