The Book of Broken Creatures: (A Broken Creatures Novel, Book 1)

by A L Hart

  Should I have been curious to the passion in her voice? “I’m giving it in return of something more precious, though, right? Your sister. That’s got to count for—”

  “Stop with your irksome, incessant apathy. That faery will steal not only whatever memories are transcribed in your dark energy, but all of your memories. Every last one of them.”

  I merged onto I-135 and said nothing. It was the method I was content with implementing up until the very end, because I didn’t want to think about the intricacies of the matter. I didn’t want any reason to meet a point of reluctance when this was my burden to carry from the beginning. A price, even.

  “It could be argued,” I began. “That I might want her to erase it all.”

  Jera’s mouth hardened, her anger prominent.

  An anger I didn’t really understand. “You of all people should be happy about this,” I pointed out. When she didn’t respond, I elaborated, “I accidentally bonded us and now you think I’m out to enslave you or something. Well, now you don’t have to worry about it. If anything, I’ll be nothing but a husk for you to enslave, a vegetable even . . .”

  My voice trailed, replaced by a sharp pang in my chest. Fingers tightening on the wheel, pictures threatening to disrupt my vision, I shoved it away. The IVs, the heart rate monitors. Neurological activity monitors. Ma’s face gradually becoming grayer and grayer.

  That wouldn’t be me.

  Couldn’t be me. If anything, Jera could rewrite me.

  If anything, I could be better for this.

  “Our memories are what makes us who we are, Peter.”

  “And what if we don’t like who we are?” Before she could answer, I said, “I mean, I’m the guy who got us into this horrible mess.”

  “And you’re also the guy who got my sister and I out of the last one.”

  “If you wanted, you could have torched all of those men that night and saved her.”

  She huffed. “Oh, but you think I was just waiting on you to play hero? No, Peter, I couldn’t have. That night . . . my ability was short circuited.”

  “By what?”

  “Something you won’t understand. But it doesn’t matter. The point is, if you hadn’t come, I would have been dead.”

  The conviction in her tone was as close to a ‘thank you’ as I was ever going to get, but it did little to convince me a new start wouldn’t be for the best. Living with a hole in your chest was no ideal existence, and I was sure Walsh could attest. Most people decided to fill it—like those who imbibed emotion cocktails—but that was because there was no way for them to forget.

  Niv wouldn’t fill the hole of my past. She would remove the entire foundation.

  Where was the loss? Why wouldn’t this be an ideal exchange?

  The heat of Jera’s glare was a world above confusing.

  There were only two people in her life she genuinely cared for, so why give such consideration to me losing what she considered a most precious treasure?

  What more, “Why did you volunteer your memories if you value them so much?”

  That turned her attention ahead to the road. The silence scathed.

  But I couldn’t let this go. “If you care so much about your memories, Jera, why did you offer to take my place?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It kind of does.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Then to me. It matters to me. Come on, you might as well tell me. I won’t remember it anyway.”

  At this, she glanced over to me. Studied me a moment, and then the gray slates seemed to soften, mellowing out into a cooler glade. “I’m sure you’ve noticed it before,” she murmured. “How similar you and I are.”

  I nodded and waited for her to continue.

  She sighed, propping her feet up on the dash, eyes tracking the blurring trees from her window. “You think it’s your job to protect all of those who came into the shop because you protect what you care for. And it’s no dispute, you do care for them.”

  I didn’t deny it. I also didn’t like how gentle her voice was. As if she’d taken my words at heart value, realizing I truly wouldn’t remember any of this.

  “Well I too protect the things I care for. When my sister dragged me into your shop that night, believing you were the Maker and would assist her illness, I knew better. I knew what a cruel being the Maker truly was and that there was no way he would reverse her dark energy’s self-degenerative design. And then you saved me. You wear the Maker’s face, but you are not him. You’re Peter, and I’ve seen you put the creatures who came into your shop before yourself on clockwork, despite your past, despite the stakes the cases presented. There’s a light inside of you and I couldn’t stand to see it erased.”

  Hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, I had to instantly shut down my thoughts one by one, the way the twins had taught me to do before attempting to control dark energy. I then started to do the same with my emotions.

  “I wanted to hate you,” Jera whispered. “As it’s easier to hate someone than to be fond of them. To care for the things they do. Because now, when all is said and done, I’m stuck here. In your world.”

  My attention pinned strictly on the road. I forced static into my head.

  “Because it’s like you said with Danny, who’s going to watch the shop?” she said factually. “Who’s going to take care of those who comes through? Who’s going to take care of Danny? . . .Who’s going to take care of you?”

  “Stop talking,” I whispered even though moments before I’d prompted her to.

  “Who’s going to show you the kindness you showed others?”

  “Please stop,” I all but begged now.

  I’d expected a lot of things, but not this. Inside, my chest was opening, the heart valves pumping to the tune of her words. Hanging on every last one of them. Needing to hear them, and no matter the effort I put forth in shutting her out, there was no denying she was already inside of me.

  “When your memories are gone, I will kill that faery, Peter. I swear it.” Because she was honorless in the face of those who wronged her. Or someone she cared for.

  And with me . . .

  I stopped trying to fight the truth then, allowing the thoughts and emotions to pour forth.

  Jera cared for me.

  In some strange, unorthodox way, she cared for me.

  As much as I cared for her.

  I fought back the sting in my eyes. “No death, Jera.”

  “Try to stop me,” she said and I could feel the sadness as surely as I could feel the small smile on her lips. Was that how it was to be bonded? To read the other without even glancing at them?

  We rode in silence for a while, the highway lights moving over our glum profiles.

  Until she said quietly, “I will light your fire again, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  But I knew, the moment one went rummaging around upstairs, the mind, it just didn’t the work the same as it used to. There was no accurate rebuilding, rewiring.

  All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty back together again.

  The closest one could get to their former selves would be through direct retellings, but by then, the emotions, the welts and scars, they were removed with the rest of the foundation.

  Still, because seeing Jera in anything close to a depressive state was just so biologically wrong, I said, “I have journals of it.”

  After a moment, she turned to me. “Journals?”

  “Entries.”

  “Of?”

  “You. Everyone. The people I’ve met since you and Ophelia came. Of the things I’ve learned and all which I thought I would learn. I wanted to compile them and make a book of it someday. My mom liked to read and when I was little, she would push me to write things before I got into sports. Writing was never my thing until after they died.” There was no point in withholding details on my family’s passing anymore. “I started writing in Liz’s journals and reading all of Ma’s books. But
it wasn’t until I met you and Ophelia that I began documenting what I learned, and it wasn’t until I met Kyda that I figured a book of sorts would serve as a guide. Maybe a reference to help us in future cases. Or, I guess now, to help me remember past cases. If anything, I’ll definitely have a good idea about who you are and what you were to me: I wrote about you more than all of them.” I thought about that a moment. “Heh. Guess Niv was right, we do tend to dwell on beauty the most.”

  She watched me for a long moment, a thousand emotions moving through her eyes, then, softly, “I’m going to rip that faery’s heart out.”

  Ch. 32

  When morning came, I opened the door for Natalie.

  “Came as soon as I got your text,” she said, dressed in something I couldn’t discern from a dress and a grocery store bag. Her hair, as usual, was flawless as she regarded me, looking me over for some sort of injury. Which could have been because I’d used the word “emergency” in the text. “What’s wrong?”

  I crossed my arms and leaned back against the counter.

  Jera and I had only gotten back two hours ago. The woman was currently seated at the bar, inhaling what little readily accessible food the store was stocked with. She didn’t so much as glance at Natalie.

  “I have a favor I have to ask of you. It’s important.”

  “You mean you don’t call me for two weeks and then suddenly you need something from me?” she asked with feigned offense, right before she dropped into the stool beside Jera—only for the succubus to instantly rise, slide her food leftward, and move a seat away from the woman without breaking pace.

  I sighed and shook my head. “I know, Nat. I’m sorry. More sorry than I can express right now. But this is important and I didn’t know who else to ask.”

  You’ll get them both killed, Jera had warned me earlier.

  It’s not like we can’t keep bringing Elise and Vincent into this.

  “Anything,” she said, making guilt threaten from all the times I’d ignored her in the past.

  “I . . . I need you to watch someone for me.”

  “Watch someone?”

  “Babysit.”

  Her eyes widened before snapping over to Jera. “So you’ve been his secret lover for a while now and have a secret kid? Is he paying his share of child support? I know how stingy he is with money.”

  Swallowing the bite of a processed muffin, Jera declared, “I always told him our little Ferin would come back to haunt him.”

  Of course. I cleared my throat. “We do not have a secret kid—and even if we did, I wouldn’t be paying child support, I’d be raising the child myself.”

  Jera gave me a strange look, while Natalie gave me a questioning one.

  “Then who am I watching?” she asked.

  “His name is Danny. He’s a sweet kid. Helpful, but recently something . . . happened, and he has no one else he can stay with. I’m just asking for you to watch him until I get back to sort things out.”

  “Get back from?”

  “Some business I have to take care of.”

  Natalie put her hands up. “Got it. More secret stuff. But that’s fine. You know I’m always here for you.”

  That guilt grew stronger. How could I ever pay this woman back if I didn’t even remember to? It wasn’t like I could tell her the truth of it all.

  I looked to Jera and she gave a single nod. She’d handle it.

  “When do you leave?” Natalie asked.

  “Tonight. We should be back tomorrow morning.”

  She retrieved a protein bar from her bag and unwrapped it. When she caught Jera eying it, she retrieved another and handed it off. The woman narrowed her eyes at it for a moment before accepting, unwrapping and devouring it in two fell swoops.

  When the succubus predictably, inevitably, looked back to Natalie’s bar, the woman creased her brows before hesitantly handing it off to her.

  “Jera, stop acting as if I don’t feed you,” I chided.

  “No, it’s fine,” Natalie said, coming to her feet. “Camille does it all the time. But I’m guessing you don’t have much food here and since you’re obviously remodeling again, I take it you’re pretty broke right now.”

  “I—”

  She fanned me off. “I’ll be back tonight with food so the poor thing doesn’t starve. Food and patience.”

  With Danny, I thought, she was going to need a reservoir of the latter.

  *****

  We didn’t get on the road until 9 at night.

  I’d introduced Danny to Natalie, but I was certain I could have introduced the boy to a tree and his reaction would have been the same, eyes glassy and unconcerned. Which left Natalie both confused and awkward, but overall they’d been fine together.

  Unlike Jera and I.

  “I’m just saying, killing someone just because you disliked the deal they made, it’s not alright.”

  “And I’m “just saying” there is no scenario where that faery’s heart continues beating,” Jera said with certainty from the passenger side.

  I took a deep breath. “Killing people isn’t always the answer, you know.”

  “Then what do you suggest be done to those who set despicable bargain prices?”

  “Try to find the reason why they’re after what they’re after.”

  She gave a dry laugh, discarding the notion. “I am no one’s council or counselor. Their issues are not mine and I’ve no patience for digging around their minds—let alone a faery’s.”

  Which was the exact mindset I’d maintained when speaking with those who’d come to me for aid. But only through assisting them did I learn it wasn’t as debilitating as I’d originally made it out to be. Sometimes, it only took a willing ear and a slight nudge in the right direction to make a significant change. In the end, it was often worth it.

  “She’s a living thing with emotions.”

  “So are cows and humans slaughter them without batting a lash.”

  “I’m not trying to have the vegan versus carnivore talk, Jera. I only mean to say it couldn’t hurt to figure out why she wants my memories.”

  “You know why. There are vestiges of the Maker’s memories in there and who knows what kind of ancient spells or curses she can extract from them.”

  “But she herself said there was more. She wanted my memories because they were human and something else.”

  She glanced over at me, saw that I wasn’t going to budge and shook her head. “There is nothing more to it, but please, go on.”

  “She mentioned my family.”

  “We all know about it. You wear the dread in your eyes.”

  “Why would she want such a tragic memory?”

  She shrugged. “Masochist? It wouldn’t be unheard of from the specie.”

  “Or,” I humored her. “It’s not the tragic part she wanted.”

  “What other part is there?”

  I frowned, hating to revisit their faces, the emotions associated with them, but there was necessity this time. A reason that might better help us with this. “You saw the paintings she made.”

  “Hideous and weird.”

  “Sad and meaningful.”

  “Change of pace from when you branded them creepy.”

  I gave her a look, then, “But what if they were more than that? What if they were like tapestries?”

  “Then she has a very strange history.”

  I didn’t reject the idea. “I think she may have lost her family and is starting to forget their faces. What it feels like to have them. Immortals are, well, immortal. Don’t you all begin to forget what happened centuries ago?”

  Jera’s face darkened. “No.”

  I eased away from that front. “Okay, that’s fine. But we should at least take into account why she wants the memories, and if it’s because she’s lost her own . . . I don’t know, it seems rather drastic to murder a creature that, as you implied, is naturally cruel.”

  “Humans smash mosquitos all day long.”

  “That
’s different.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not about to have the mosquito versus humans talk, Jera.”

  “Regardless, the fae are neither human nor insect. They’re like maniacal wild animals and I won’t show mercy to those who stampede over what’s mine.”

  I.e., me.

  I knew there was no chance of talking her out of it anytime soon. So I stashed it for later.

  After we had Ophelia back.

  *****

  “Who are they?” Niv asked from behind the desk.

  Jera and I stood before her, her security posted at the door behind us.

  The burly man stepped forward just then and spoke calmly, “The succubus and human male you met with yesterday. You agreed to assist them with retrieving a demon from HB, and in return, they’ve agreed to give you this male’s memories.”

  Niv, dressed in leather black pants and a forest green blouse to match her eyes, cocked her head and looked at me intensely. “Mmm, yes, excellent memories he must have, but not enough to jeopardize my pact with that organization.”

  The man nodded. “Will you erase them, then?”

  “Likely.”

  What was going on? We’d literally just discussed our agreement last night. Had I actually been right in the memory loss theory?

  More importantly, what did they mean by ‘erased?’

  Before I could say a thing, before Jera could finish lifting her hand, the entire arm having turned a molten red, something hushed over us.

  A fog rolling into my mind, cool and misty, before billowing out and coating my entire consciousness. And just like that, having not been in the club for more than five minutes, I felt the night’s plan begin to crumble.

  Just as my mind did.

  It felt like the tingling residue of a sneeze, the coil of a ribbon coming undone.

  The removal of my memory.

  I knew then why there was little to no recollection of this club’s activities: no one remembered it. This woman, did she erase the memories of those who came but left behind just enough to keep them coming back for the emotion cocktails and tranced time on the dance floor?