From Darkness (Hearts & Arrows Book 3)

by Staci Hart

  She bristled and trained her eyes on the sky. “I have lost much in my life. I have been through hardship.”

  “But have you felt a loss so great that you measure time by it? A loss so deep that you count each day since it passed and every day in the future, knowing the pain it will hold?”

  Her brows furrowed. “I do not understand.”

  His words were soft when he spoke. “Artemis, you have never lost one dear to you. Not your mother, much to Hera’s dismay, nor your brother. You have Eleni. You have me.”

  She turned to find him looking down at her with his head propped on his hand.

  “Yes, and I always will. I will never let harm fall on any of you,” she answered simply.

  “Artemis, you cannot stop fate.” He reached for her cheek and pushed her hair behind her ear, his fingertips trailing fire across her skin.

  “Do not speak of this, please. You are immortal as well, in a way.”

  “In a way, yes, but I can be killed, and there are ways to kill you too, few though they might be. Death will find us as life did. It is a thing in which we have little choice.”

  “Please,” she whispered. “You mustn’t leave me.”

  “I will be with you as long as I am able.”

  The tenderness and sadness in his words unraveled her as she looked into his eyes. The moonlight shone on his face, carving shadows and angles that her fingers ached to touch. She reached for him, winding her arm around his neck, drawing him close, and when her lips pressed against his, she was forever lost.

  A tear fell, and she brushed it away as if it had been a nuisance. She drained her goblet as Eleni unseated another Oceanid, and the nymphs roared their joy.

  Artemis set the empty chalice down and stood, banishing her sadness, and the din grew louder, her name echoing in her ears as she jogged to the unicorn of the fallen nymph. She pulled herself onto his back, wishing to erase her past, to banish her thoughts, even if only for a moment.

  She was handed a lance and shield, and her nymphs ran back to the crowd, the excitement electric and heady. But when she turned for the track and braced herself, her mind did not turn its attention from Orion, did not quiet Aphrodite’s voice ringing in her ears.

  Eleni charged, and Artemis kicked with a, H’ya, but as they approached each other, Artemis faltered.

  The jolt from Eleni’s lance to her chest hit her like lightning. Artemis landed flat on her back in a cloud of dust, her eyes snapping open and lungs frozen and empty and burning. She gasped, starving for air, staring at the blue sky above.

  Eleni’s face appeared over her, and she held her hand out.

  “How rare, goddess,” Eleni said, alarmed, though smug enough at winning.

  Artemis coughed, her voice rough. “Do not taunt me.”

  “Whatever has gotten into you?”

  She ignored Eleni’s hand and stood on her own. “Nothing. I’ve had too much wine is all.”

  Eleni eyed her.

  “I said I was fine. Please, let’s not be dramatic.” Artemis dusted off her robes with more force than was entirely necessary.

  “As you say,” she said tightly with a small bow before turning for her steed once again.

  Artemis’s skin crawled as the noise from her nymphs grew all of a sudden too loud, the sun too bright. She made her way to Calix, hopping onto his back as the Oceanids turned their eyes to her.

  “Carry on, friends. I am weary and wish for solitude.” They mostly looked concerned, so she added, “The first of you who dismounts Eleni will receive a weapon of their choice from my personal armory.”

  Eleni scowled from the other end of the field, but the expression shifted into a suppressed smile as the nymphs laughed and whooped, the tension broken. Artemis took the opening and fled, her tears streaking her face at angles as she rode as hard and fast as Calix would take her.

  Dita stretched out on her side in her library, running her hand down Bisoux’s back as she watched the fire from where she lay on her sheepskin rug. The flames danced and jumped, the glowing ashes floating up into the chimney and logs burned bright orange, flaring when the air hit the hot wood, phasing bright to dark, and she stared, hypnotized.

  The next thing she knew, Heff called her name. She blinked and propped herself up with a start to find him in her doorway, his dark hair pushed back from his face, his eyes bright with concern. Two wooden boxes rested in his arms.

  “Dita, did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t even know.” Dita rolled onto her back and stretched as he sat down on the couch.

  His worry melted into excitement. “I made you something. Two somethings actually.”

  She sat, smiling when Bisoux trotted over to him and licked his hand. Heff passed her the wooden boxes and picked up the little dog, scratching at a spot on his side that always made his leg thump.

  Dita laid the boxes down in front of her and ran her hand over the top of the larger one. It was deep chestnut with mother-of-pearl triangles inlaid on the surface to form an image of a dove, like a tangram. There was always a trick to his boxes, and she felt for a switch across the inlay with the pads of her fingers. The shape over where the dove’s heart would be clicked, and the triangles sank and slid under each other until the lid was gone.

  She reached into the box and pulled out the machine inside. It was a triangular terrarium, a pyramid made of glass, joined at the seams with copper metal. Inside were shells in pinks and creams, sliced to show the curves and angles and shapes of the chambers, displayed on a bed of white sand.

  Heff watched quietly as she inspected the device, turning it around in her hands, running her finger up the dark seams. When she found the small button at the top of the pyramid where the panes met, she pressed it.

  The sound of the ocean filled the room, a steady rhythm, a crash and hiss of the waves as they hit the sand, and when she closed her eyes, she imagined she was in Greece.

  “Press it again,” he said.

  She opened her eyes and did just that. The device filled with black, and small, uneven stars floated inside, spinning slowly, shining silver. The sound the machine made was binaural—two tones weaving in and out of each other, soft and soothing. She sighed, relaxing instantly.

  “There’s one more.”

  Dita pushed the button again, and the scene transformed to a miniature mossy landscape with miniature mountains. A waterfall rushed out of the face of the stone and into a pool at the bottom. The sound of thundering water filled the room, and she beamed up at him, amazed.

  He smiled back. “It’s set to your biorhythms, and it will adjust its settings to meet what your body needs. It’ll speed up your REM too, so you should dream less, if at all.”

  “It’s brilliant,” she whispered as she turned it around in her hands.

  His eyes were full of comfort and pleasure. “I just hope it helps.”

  “I have a good feeling that it will. Thank you.”

  They locked eyes, the silence hanging between them for a stretched out moment before he spoke, breaking it with the warm rumble of his voice“Open the other one.”

  Dita remembered herself and blinked, setting the sleep machine next to her. She reached for the smaller box. It matched the larger box in design but was a fraction of the size, about the width of her palm, the geometric inlay on top in the shape of a star. She turned it over in her hands and gave it a shake, noting that three of the points of the star were an almost imperceptibly different shade than the others. She pushed all three, and the points retracted, revealing a long chain with a small rose gold pendant, stamped with the letter D.

  “It’s beautiful, Heff,” she said, her face flushed, “but what’s the occasion?”

  “Well,” he deposited the dog on the floor and moved to sit next to heron the floor, taking the chain, “it’s more than just a necklace—or bracelet, if you want.” He held her hand tenderly as he wrapped the chain around and around her wrist. “If you’re ever in trouble, click the p
endant. It’s a button, see?” He mashed it, and she heard a small click. “Pressing it once won’t do anything, just in case you hit it by accident, but if you click it three times, it will shoot a chemical from right here.” He showed her the hole at the base of the pendant, along the rim.

  “You made me god mace.” She laughed.

  His smile was bright, a flash of white in the dark of his beard. “Perry told me. Although I couldn’t come up with any egocide.”

  “I’m pretty sure his ego is unstoppable.” Dita twisted her wrist, the firelight catching the metal. “What will it do?”

  “It will make whomever you shoot it at pass out for at least five minutes. Long enough for you to get away or for me to come to you.”

  “How will you know if I need you?”

  He held up a medallion made of silver, engraved with flames, a hammer, and a solid H. “If you press your pendant twice, it will call me.”

  Relief slipped through her, warm and comforting as wine, and she shifted, throwing her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek, whispering, “Thank you,” into his ear with the smell of wood fire in her nose and heart and soul.

  Heff squeezed her tight and released her, looking down at her as he pulled away. “I hope they help, Dita.” He cupped her cheek before standing to walk around the couch. When he reached the doorway, he stopped to look back at her.

  “I can’t even tell you what this means to me,” she said, wishing for him to stay, knowing he couldn’t forfeit any more of his heart than he already had.

  Heff’s eyes burned, his face strong and intent and body solid and alive and real. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

  Dita nodded, her throat tight. “I know.”

  “Sleep well, Wife,” he said in parting.

  “I will, Husband.”

  Dita watched him walk away with longing deep in her chest, and when he was out of sight, she picked up her terrarium again and pressed the buttons to cycle through the settings, stopping on the shining stars that spun slowly to the strange tonal sound. She stood and made her way to her bedroom where she set the machine on her nightstand and reached for her window remote to close the curtains and dim the lights. The room was cool and quiet other than the odd and soothing sounds of the machine.

  And when she climbed into bed, she wrapped herself in her soft, heavy blankets and fell into a deep, quiet sleep.

  Day 9

  JON LEANED BACK IN his desk chair that morning, running a hand through his hair helplessly.

  He’d spent the morning working on his evidence spreadsheet, however irrelevant the task had become. He’d thought it might help him get him into Rhodes’s head, and frankly, he just hadn’t been sure what else to do, what else he could do.

  Yesterday, Jon had called in every favor in his arsenal, and today, there was nothing left to do but wait. Rhodes’s picture and info were hanging in every border station from Maine to Seattle, though Jon didn’t think he’d cross to Canada. Maybe to Mexico, but he hoped to God that wasn’t the case.

  If it was, they might never find him.

  Really, he’d hung his hopes on Jimmy digging up something on Rhodes. If he didn’t, they were probably all well and truly fucked.

  So, with nothing to do, Jon buried himself in researching and logging the kills, which was the most menial task he could attend to. He had to keep his hands busy, needed something he could pour energy into. At least he felt productive.

  When his phone buzzed in his pocket, adrenaline flashed through him. It was Jimmy Li.

  “What’s the good word?” Jon answered casually, the clamp on his throat tight.

  “Oh, man, are you in luck. I know the forger who got your guy his papers, sent him the dude’s picture, and he remembered, no problem. Better still…I’m pretty sure I know where he’s going.”

  “Holy Christ, Jimmy,” Jon said in disbelief.

  “Grab a pen, bro.”

  Jon snapped to and picked up a pen, flipping to a new page in his blue notebook. “Shoot.”

  “The IDs were for the name Gabriel Reilly, who died in a car accident about six months ago in Seattle. Nobody alerted the Department of Social Security.”

  Jon’s pen stopped moving. “That actually happens?”

  “Yeah, more often than you’d think. Smart ghosters stick to the state where the ID is from and get a new ghost identity every ten years, max. Even that’s pushing it. Anyway, if you’re going to take over someone’s life and you have fake papers, the best way to keep getting away with it is to not rock the boat. Don’t go to a new state and try to apply for a license because that’s just asking for trouble. You’ve gotta use the IDs of the dead guy.”

  “So, you think he’s going to Washington?”

  “If he’s smart, yeah. Let me give you all his numbers.”

  “You guys keep all this information on file?”

  “Hell yes, we do. We don’t want to double book an ID. Plus, sometimes when we put in favors to guys like you, it can keep us safe from the long arm of the law. You ready for the rest of the info?”

  “Yeah.” Jon jotted down the information for the license and Social Security number with his mind on Josie. He had to get to her.

  He stuffed his phone and the info on Rhodes into his pocket, grabbed his keys and jacket, and ran out the door.

  This time, he was ready. He’d made a habit of not pressing his point, but that time had passed.

  He couldn’t walk away again.

  Josie paced the length of her apartment. Everything else was at a standstill.

  She’d barely slept, and through the long hours of the night, her thoughts had run away like a freight train off a broken bridge. Rhodes had disappeared without a single trace, and every minute that passed carried him further away from her. She’d hit the end of the line, scraped the bottom of the barrel, and there was nothing left to do.

  She stopped in the middle of the room and stared at the photos of all the women he had killed.

  And in that moment she knew they would never be redeemed.

  There was no Hail Mary, no last shot, no final play. He was gone, and they wouldn’t find him.

  Her eyes lingered on Anne’s photo and welled with tears.

  It’s over.

  For the first time since Anne had died, she felt the truth of those two words sinking into her, dragging her down, down to her knees in front of the wall that meant nothing. And she folded in on herself, the pain so deep, so intense, she pressed her hands to her heart, as if they could alleviate the feeling of her ribs splitting.

  She had lost.

  It had been her one tether to her life, and she had lost her grip on it, felt it slipping through her fingers, too fast and hot to hang on to.

  Her eyes closed, but her tears found their way down the planes and curves of her face, her breath too short, lungs too constricted in her grief to do more than sip the air. But she did; she sipped it until she could drink it, cried until there were no more tears, burned until she was ash.

  Josie pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, the wash of emotion finally receding, leaving her bare and empty.

  And then she grabbed on to that tether again just before it was gone.

  Don’t give up.

  She knew one thing to be true above all else; she could not keep doing this alone. She needed someone to help her, someone who understood.

  And only one person could help her.

  Jon.

  She had to put her fears aside, put her worry away. She had to call him. Because none of this was about her.

  Her heart pitched, her hands numb and cold, when she really understood just how right the decision was. Jon could not only help, but he was willing and offering. Offers she’d refused simply because of her pride.

  But she was alone. She’d been alone since Jon left her, but she’d been in hell since losing Anne.

  And now, she would ask for his help, and he would give it to her because that was what he did. It would put her in his proximity, f
orcing them to work as a team, when she’d spent so long stoking the fire of her hatred and anger. The last time they’d worked together, they had been together.

  And so she’d have to try to remind herself how he’d damaged her and hope it would be enough to protect her heart.

  Josie took a fortifying breath, pulled up his number, and hit Send.

  Jon’s phone rang from his pocket, and he almost tripped over his own feet when he saw Josie’s name on his screen.

  “Hey, Jo,” he answered.

  She took a deep breath in his ear and said in lieu of a greeting, “Does your offer to help still stand?”

  A lazy smile crawled across his face. He’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, the relief instant and complete. Because even with the information he’d gotten from Jimmy Li, he hadn’t been convinced she’d accept his help without a serious fight. And now he wouldn’t have to convince her of anything.

  He threw on his charm to cover up the truth. “I thought you might come around.” He started walking again.

  “Oh?” It was just one tight syllable.

  “Well, I was hoping,” Jon said, smiling but soft, the words whispering an apology.

  She paused for a split second. “I’ve hit a dead end, Jon. I’ve done everything I know to do, but I can’t find a trace on him. His accounts aren’t moving. I canvassed salvage yards and came up empty. I searched his house, and he didn’t leave anything behind. He’s smart, Jon, and now…there’s nothing left. Nothing. And I need help.”

  His smile fell away, his heart aching at her hopeless, frantic words. But he kept up his front, his armor, his charm. “You told me to leave it alone, but lucky for you, I’m a terrible listener. Did you think I wasn’t gonna dig around on my own?”

  “No,” she said on a small laugh, “I guess I didn’t really believe that.”

  “Smart cookie. Listen, I’m right around the corner. I can be there in just a couple of minutes. I’ve got something.”

  “What?” The excitement in her voice fluffed his ego, and he smiled.