The Echoed Realm

by A. J. Vrana

  Crowbar lounged on a stool behind the bar, sipping gin and reading some romance novel with two chicks on a purple and teal cover—Once Ghosted, Twice Shy. Head hanging, Kai slid onto one of the stools. He ignored her stupor when she peeked over the pages and took in his dishevelled appearance.

  “What the hell happened to you?” She slammed the book shut.

  Kai let out a shaky breath, his voice low. “I did a bad thing.”

  Crowbar plucked an ice cube from a tray, then emptied the remaining contents of a whisky bottle. She pushed the glass towards him. “Yeah, well, you seem like the kind of guy who does bad things.”

  Kai watched the tawny elixir ripple from the crackling cube. “What if that’s not the kind of guy I want to be?”

  Crowbar plunked down in front of him. The room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in on him. “Your fire’s going out, dude.”

  Kai threw back the booze, replacing one bitter taste with another. “Maybe for the best.”

  “Do you need some food?” she ventured. “Bastien—the chef you met—he’s not in, but I can whip up some mean nachos.”

  “I’m good,” Kai declined the offer, his gaze fixed on the counter.

  There was a pause before Crowbar asked the dreaded question, “Where’s your girl?”

  “Safe,” he answered automatically, but his mind was in tatters.

  Crowbar’s brow crinkled, her disbelief oozing from every pore, but her phone rang just as she opened her mouth—a merciful intervention.

  “Hang on.” She huffed and snatched her phone off the counter, then kicked her way into the kitchen where she took the call.

  “Safe?” a voice rang sweetly. “You have a low bar for safety, little wolf.”

  Kai’s breath halted, his stomach churning as the smell of acid and bog water washed over him. He could see her from the corner of his eye—the thing that’d nearly gotten the better of him. Her gibes had only been unwelcome static in his head, but now she felt real, indistinguishable from anyone else. In his periphery, she was a mass of grey lumps and slimy green tendrils, but he had little desire to paint a clearer picture of his tormenter.

  Maybe nearly was too generous. She had gotten the better of him.

  After Miya had left, he stayed crumpled on the floor, his every cell screaming. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even feel the tears streaming down his face until he tasted the salt. Why him? Why did every fucking demon on the block want a piece of him?

  “It’s because you’re such a sensitive pup!” She—Rusalka, he’d learned—rubbed a smarmy hand along his back.

  “Don’t touch me,” Kai snarled under his breath. He kept one ear on Crowbar’s conversation in the next room. “I got rid of that ghostly turd, and I’ll get rid of you too.”

  Sighing, Rusalka peeled the puckered flesh from her arms. “You got rid of Abaddon? Oh, honey, we both know it was that witch of yours that did that.” She leaned in close, her sour breath tickling his ear. “Your lamb did all the work, little wolf. You just reaped the rewards.”

  Kai’s heart seized in his chest. “How do you know that name?”

  “Spirits talk,” she shrugged.

  “Not inclined to believe a mouldy washcloth trying to kill my girlfriend.”

  “Why not?” she feigned innocence.

  “Abaddon loves dramatic entrances.” He glared stonily into his glass. “There’s no way he’d let his name slide by someone like you without an introduction.”

  She leaned her elbow onto the bar top and cupped her chin with her palm. “He sounds dreamy.”

  “You’d be a perfect match,” said Kai. “The devil and his siren.”

  He’d seen it all when they’d connected; he knew she’d bewitched Sydney Baron’s husband and driven him to murder. He wasn’t even the first. How many had there been before him? Their faces had flooded him, each of them indistinct. Did Rusalka even keep count?

  “How do you do it?” he whispered, clutching the glass to keep his hand from shaking.

  Her shadow slithered closer, her voice like honey laced with arsenic. “You’ll have to be more specific, pup.”

  His grip tightened when a small, ashen hand slipped over his calloused fingers.

  “It’ll break if you squeeze any tighter.”

  Kai bit the inside of his cheek and flinched away. “The men,” he growled. “How did you make them do it?”

  “It doesn’t take much.” She retracted her touch. “A seed of resentment needs only to be watered. I don’t plant the seed, pup. I fertilize the sapling. The men decided what must be done on their own.”

  “Then why the grief? They didn’t want to do it.” Kai mustered the courage to look, his eyes dragging up her waifish form.

  Pale blue lips curved into a cupid’s bow and tresses like seaweed framed her sallow face. Her dark eyes, bisected by green irises, bulged from beneath her brows like glass spheres, and her torso shimmered with iridescent scales that caught the light like silk. When she shifted her weight and crossed her legs, Kai didn’t know if he was seeing drooping skin or draped linens.

  “Men are fragile creatures,” she cooed. “When they can’t handle the weight of their choices, they shatter. Some forget entirely. Others blame their victim. Oh, she was a madwoman! An adulterous whore!” Rusalka threw her head back and unleashed an undulating cackle. “A psychotic episode, the doctors say! Such coddling. Those men knew exactly what they were doing while they were doing it.”

  Kai pressed his fingers into the rim of the glass, half of him wishing it would just break already. “Bullshit. I wasn’t in control.”

  “Ah, but you were!” Her hand snaked up his arm. “You crushed your basest instincts, your unyielding itch for freedom. You cut into your own body to protect your beloved.” She leaned in close, her vinegary voice dripping with ire. “People think men don’t kill women they love, but it’s always about love. The problem is that men hardly know the difference between a woman and a toy. They kill women as children break toys that displease them.” Her fingers spidered up his shoulder and splayed across his cheek. “Then they cry that the toy is broken. They beat their fists and scream that it wasn’t their fault. That they didn’t know. They want to take it back, but they can’t, can they?” Her face was so close that a shudder ran up his spine. “No one ever taught them the difference between love and possession. And the world even pities them for it.”

  Kai jerked back and swatted her arm away. “You’re still making them do it. You think I shanked my leg because it’s Tuesday?”

  Her mouth curled upward. “I can’t give you something you don’t already have.”

  “But you can twist it into something it’s not,” he observed.

  The smile crumbled from her face.

  Kai’s lips tugged into a triumphant smirk. Abaddon was a piece of shit, but he’d taught Kai an important lesson: even hell wasn’t black and white. That dick waffle claimed the pot of crap he was stirring had long been on fire. Of course, he was right. Black Hollow had a hankering for mass murder. The people weren’t blameless, but that didn’t mean Abaddon was off the hook.

  “You prey on assholes who can’t tell their heart from their nut-sack,” said Kai. “Instead of helping them, you mess them up.”

  Rusalka’s brow arched. “I can’t cure cancer, pup.”

  Kai gave her a withering glare. “If you know how to fuck with someone, you know them well enough to un-fuck them too.”

  “A fair point,” she conceded, “but not what I’m here for.”

  Kai washed down the last drops of whisky. He smiled darkly and gestured for her to come closer. “So, who broke your little black heart?”

  Rusalka glided forward until there was barely a breath between them. “What’s this? Trying to get to know me?” She chuckled. “I knew you were a sensitive one.”

  “Careful,” Kai flashed her a wolfish grin. “Something tells me you’ve got shitty taste in men.”

  “It won’t work,”
she warned him tenderly. “You can’t get rid of me with your opportunistic sympathies or your rakish charm…as much as I enjoy it.”

  “In that case,” he narrowed his eyes, “you should have nothing to hide.”

  Her mouth wrinkled, then quickly ironed out. Of course her baggage mattered; she was still a malicious spirit. They were vengeful things that acted out their traumas, again and again, multiplying their hurt until it ate them up and there was nothing left.

  The kitchen doors swung open, and the demoness’ scowl melted into a chorus of girlish giggles. Kai ignored her, his eyes following Crowbar as she clunked a brand-new bottle of Bulleit on the counter. She looked tired all of a sudden, shadows clinging to her face.

  “So, you going to talk?” Her fist curled around the neck of the bottle with surprising force. “Or would you prefer bourbon?”

  “Bourbon’s great,” Kai evaded. He wanted to tell her the truth. That he’d nearly killed his best friend. That he was sitting next to the demon who’d pushed Vincent to murder his wife. Sydney Baron’s death was on Rusalka’s hands, but did it really matter? Would it bring Crowbar peace to know Vincent hadn’t lost his mind? Would she move on, or would it drive the knife deeper?

  Crowbar pulled out the cork and poured him another shot. “So, what’s up?”

  Kai sighed, sloshing the booze around. He could hear Rusalka humming quietly next to him, though he resolved not to expend a single nerve on her. “It’s complicated, and I’m not good at talking about my problems.”

  “Bitch, please,” Crowbar scoffed. “People go to bars just to talk about their problems. All they need is some hooch to hold their hand through it.” She nodded towards the drink, the gesture more of a command than a suggestion.

  Kai cracked a wry smile. He raised his glass, tilted his head back, and let the bitter medicine burn down his throat. “You better not be charging me for these,” he said as he slammed the tumbler down.

  “You going to pay me for the therapy then?” she asked with a wide grin.

  “I didn’t ask for therapy,” Kai pointed out. “You’re prying.”

  “True,” she sighed, “but you look pretty wrecked, man. And who doesn’t like a good story when there’s blood, you know?”

  “Bleeding’s not as fun as you seem to think.” Kai glanced down at his lap. “Besides, I’m clearly not the only one here who’s got shit to unload.”

  When she didn’t respond, Kai looked up to find her turned away.

  “Give me a sec,” she said, then hurried into the kitchen as Kai stared after her.

  Salt and sorrow wafted through the air in her wake. Something had changed after she’d gone to retrieve the bourbon. Propping himself up on the bar, Kai held his mangled leg as he swung around to the other side and helped himself through the doors.

  Amidst the old grease and fried meat, Kai could still smell the death that lingered on Crowbar’s skin. He found her sitting on the floor by the sink, her knees curled into her chest and her face tucked away from sight.

  Kai leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, observing her with a tepid frown. “Crying in a dish pit is probably a health code violation.”

  “Shit!” Crowbar jolted, her eyes wide as her head jerked up. Her face was blemished with tears. “What the hell, dude! You’re not supposed to be here!” She pressed her palms to the tiles and jumped up, then grabbed his arm to turn him around. “You’re seriously sketchy, you know that?”

  Kai didn’t budge as she tried to usher him to the dining room. “Didn’t realize floors were so comforting. I’ll be sure to give them a try next time I feel like dogshit.”

  Crowbar’s jaw clenched as her thumb dug into his bicep. “It’s nothing. Just had a rough phone call. Your not-so-fun bleeding made it worse.”

  Kai’s brow shot up. “What was the call about?”

  “You know what,” a syrupy voice whispered. He ignored it.

  Crowbar’s hand dropped to her side. “Syd’s case.”

  Rusalka’s laughter reverberated in his ears. She relished the pain she caused. “And?”

  Crowbar’s face paled with grief, her voice quaking. “I haven’t said it out loud. If I do, it’ll become real, and I don’t want it to be.”

  “Whatever it is, drowning in a bottle of bourbon isn’t going to turn your turds into farts.” Kai knew the price of avoidance better than most, so he added begrudgingly, “You’ll just puke like a freshman, and you’ll still have shat your pants.”

  Silence followed; Crowbar’s reckoning was palpable before she answered.

  “Vince is dead.”

  Rusalka was ecstatic now, twirling through the kitchen and clearly pleased with her handiwork. Kai’s scowl could have been mistaken for a look of surprised disgust. “You seem upset about it,” he said. “I thought you hated him.”

  “Of course I’m upset!” Crowbar threw her arms out, the tears flowing freely now. “I wanted him to have a trial—a fair trial—and live with his mistakes.” She spun away, swaying left and right as she ran her hands through her hair and wiped the wetness from her face. “I wanted answers!”

  Kai choked on his words. His idea of retribution was so…simple. He thought the human impulse to imprison the guilty was merely sadism. Why not just put them out of their misery? End the pain for the victim and the perpetrator. It wouldn’t raise the dead, but it buried them for good.

  Or so Kai thought until he remembered that Alice never really died—not in his heart or his memories. He didn’t even remember what his family before her looked like, but they still lingered, their absence robbing little pieces of him every day. And their killers? They’d taken something Kai could never get back.

  He understood now; Crowbar needed meaning from the heartbreak. So long as Vincent lived, there was a chance he’d one day explain himself to the people he’d harmed. He’d feel the weight of what he’d done. Crowbar wanted a reason, a motive—anything to quell the horror that came with the absurdity of his crime. Now, she would never get that. Her sister’s death—a senseless tragedy—could never be anything more.

  At least, as long as she remained oblivious to Rusalka.

  The demoness ceased her chaotic twirls and sneered. “Don’t even think about it, pup. She won’t believe you. Even if she does, you’ll just get her killed.”

  “I’m sorry.” Kai lowered his gaze. He’d come so dangerously close to becoming the reason for another grieving family. Despite his cool exterior, his every vein pulsed with molten fury; the source of the sickness was right in front of him, yet he was powerless. He couldn’t bring Sydney Baron to justice, and he couldn’t say anything that would ease Crowbar’s pain. He wasn’t good with words, and Rusalka had effectively castrated him, stunting his ability to do the only thing he did well: violence.

  Grinding his teeth, Kai pushed past his impulse to flee. He lifted his arm and clumsily dropped it around Crowbar’s shoulders, offering her a consolatory pat. “My parents were murdered,” he said at last. “The people who did it…I never got to look them in the eye and ask why. Never even saw them again.”

  Crowbar pulled back to look at him, her face a mural of anger and grief. “They were never caught?”

  Kai shook his head, holding her steady as he led her to the dining room, his arm still slung around her. As a kid, he overheard the shrink using words like traumatized and socially withdrawn while talking to Alice. Then, when he got older, it became delinquent and anti-social. Abaddon’s voice was chalked up to auditory hallucinations from PTSD. He never believed it, though he’d taken his sweet timing admitting that he was, in fact, traumatized.

  “Fucked me up for years because I never talked about it. That made me a pretty shitty person, too. Did a lot of bad things—still do, I guess.” His arm slid away as he circled around the bar and found his stool again.

  After he’d attacked the hunters who’d shot his parents, he awoke to the blare of sirens, barely conscious with blood in his mouth and a shooting p
ain in his jaw. The sky was there, and then it wasn’t, replaced by the steel panel of the ambulance truck. In the end, Alice Donovan took him in. To everyone else, she was a crotchety, chain-smoking old woman with a bad hip and magenta lipstick, but to Kai, she was Superwoman with a walking stick—her weapon of choice.

  “Damn.” Crowbar sniffed and wiped her nose. “That why you’re so emotionally constipated?”

  Kai snorted, then broke into a grin. “If you think I’m constipated now, you’d have shoved an enema up my ass a few years ago.”

  Crowbar’s cheeks puffed like a hamster’s before she burst into laughter. “Gross, dude!”

  The tension left Kai’s body as he fell into the comfort of her mirth. The demoness was quiet, and Kai welcomed the momentary peace. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at talking about his feelings.

  The front doors of The Spade swung open, the hinges shrieking to announce the end of their brief respite.

  The intruder yelped as he stumbled in backwards and barely managed to untangle his feet. He muttered as the doors slammed shut behind him.

  “Clint!” Crowbar barked as she straightened up. “I thought I told you not to show your drooling mouth-hole until you cleaned yourself up!”

  Her words had little effect as Clint tripped to the bar and caught himself on a stool. “Just—give me a drink!”

  Kai wrinkled his nose and leaned away only to feel Rusalka’s mouth clip his earlobe. “This one’s in danger,” she hissed.

  Kai’s elbow flung back. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Rusalka skulking in the corner with awaiting eyes and a sly smile.

  “I’m not serving you,” said Crowbar, pulling Kai’s attention to the drunkard cascading over the bar.

  “Come on, sweetie, just one drink! I swear I’m not that soused,” he whined, his bloodshot eyes trailing down her body.

  Kai heard Crowbar’s pulse quicken as she cheated a step back. He could tell she was sick of Clint’s crap. Revulsion radiated from her as she quietly balled up a fist at her side.