Hearts of Darkness

by Kira Brady

  “Apologies.” Leif glanced at him sideways. “I told you I’d never tried it at full speed. That’s not a fraction of what would happen if the Gate fell—”

  “You just need to find me a solution.” Norgard ran his tongue over his sharp teeth. Next time he would await the report instead of observing the experiment in situ. He would send an underling to play the damned guinea pig. “Mr. Nils,” he bit out.

  Mr. Nils’s face displayed no remorse at having tried to kill his master. He calmly climbed out of the now empty pool and stood silently next to Norgard. The only show of disturbance was the undulating edge of his ghostly form.

  “I’m a scientist, not a magician.” Leif turned to the machine, already lost in his calculations.

  Norgard resisted the urge to gut his brother with a carefully aimed claw.

  “Come, Mr. Nils,” he said, spinning on his heel and marching back down the cluttered aisle. “We’ve something to discuss. A few relatives of yours, who are—unfortunately for you—very much alive.”

  They wouldn’t be for long.

  Kayla woke with cotton balls in her mouth, sand in her eyes, and a hammer terrorizing the inside of her skull. She lay on something soft, but could see nothing in the absolute darkness. Entombed alive.

  Breathe. She had to keep breathing. Had to figure out where she was. Images flashed in her mind: grinding bodies beneath the red glow of gaslights; a striking blond man with a strange mechanical eyeglass offering dark sweets; leathery wings unfolding across the sky; claws; teeth; terror.

  Her fingers searched over her body, checking to make sure every piece was still there. Beneath a sheet she was naked.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  She couldn’t panic. She had to think clearly. Her body was sore. Shifting her legs, she felt gingerly between her thighs. Would she know if she’d been assaulted? She had to remember what had happened last night. The city had passed by in a blur while she clutched a hard warm chest. Hart’s face, frozen in an expression of surprise. Heat in his eyes. Heat in her core.

  God, the heat.

  She had to get out of here. Slowly she sat up and braced herself against the sudden rush of blood to her head. The sheet tangled about her legs. She wrapped it around her torso and waist like a sarong. Her legs didn’t want to hold her, but she pushed herself to a standing position by propping her shoulder against the wall. Her limbs were jelly. Her stomach wanted to reintroduce her to last night’s dinner.

  Kayla stepped off what she assumed was a mattress and felt a rug beneath her feet. Running her hand along the wall, she inched her foot forward, slowly feeling for obstacles. When her fingers found the end of the wall she turned, and two steps later encountered a rough door frame. Fumbling for the knob, she found a cold iron handle instead. Something old-fashioned, with a lock for a skeleton key beneath it.

  The door wouldn’t budge.

  Behind her the blackness thickened. She felt eyes on her back. Imagined a cold breeze teasing the skin on her neck. The darkness felt alive.

  Nonsense. She wasn’t afraid of the dark. Except she’d gotten the proof she asked for last night, and suddenly ghosts were real. Shape-shifters. Dragons. Aptrgangr. Who knew what waited in the dark?

  “Let me out!” She banged on the wood. She clawed at it with her short fingernails. “Please!” There wasn’t enough air. The walls were closing in on her.

  On the other side of the door, heavy footsteps approached. Someone was coming for her. She banged louder. The door opened, and she fell into a hard body. A bare chest. Muscular shoulders. Strong arms wrapped around her. She buried her face against his hot skin and breathed deeply, smelling the astringent mint of shaving cream and pine.

  She recognized that forest scent, and, damn it, he smelled so good. After the fear and the darkness, all she wanted was to lean into that strong, familiar embrace, to cling to Hart’s muscled chest and let her racing heart calm. But she couldn’t kid herself for long—he wasn’t her friend and he wasn’t safe. And the blood galloping through her veins didn’t slow at the soothing scent of him; it just moved south to call forth other arousing and unwanted desires.

  Her cheeks burned. Yet again, he saw her at her weakest. Her coworkers back in Philly had nicknamed her “The Rock” for her solid, steady nerves. Not in Seattle. She’d never felt so out of control. Never struggled beneath the weight of so much fear, uncertainty, and doubt. She liked things black-and-white, but nothing here was clean cut. Everything was lost in shadow.

  Steeling herself, she pulled away from his solid chest and pressed back against the door. “Please tell me there is a logical explanation for this.” She indicated the sheet.

  “Calm down. Nothing happened.” Large bruises—new since she had seen him last—purpled his ribs and chin. His face was freshly shaven, and a dab of shaving cream clung stubbornly to his ear.

  “Nothing?”

  “Norgard didn’t have time.” He turned abruptly, giving her space, and strode across the cramped living room to an open door where a small pedestal sink was partly visible. He examined his face in the small mirror above the sink and wiped the shaving cream off his ear.

  “And after?”

  He glanced at her in the mirror. Hurt flickered deep in his eyes, but was shuttered so fast she might have imagined it. He covered with a sardonic grin. “That good, was I? Memorable. Just what a guy likes to hear.” He pulled a green and brown plaid flannel shirt off the bathroom door and stiffly slipped it on. He met her eyes as he did up the buttons.

  Somehow she believed him. “Thank you.”

  His gaze shifted, and he shrugged one shoulder. “You should get out of here. Norgard will be looking for you after I finish this job.”

  Norgard. She remembered a spiked tail slashing through the alley. Norgard was a dragon. It still seemed so unreal. “About that—thanks for the warning. Upstanding businessman? Pillar of society?”

  “Hey, I never said that.”

  She glared at him. “Forget the fact that he’s not human. He sells opium, pushes prostitutes, and drugs women—minors even. How does he get away with it?”

  “He’s the Drekar Regent. He owns half this state.”

  “Fuck.” She ran her hands through her tangled hair. “Listen to me asking the wrong questions. I’ve clearly lost my mind. What’s a little crime, if the big secret around here is that he’s a dragon?”

  “Most people don’t know that.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “That he’s a dragon. Only a small group of humans are clued in.”

  That made her feel marginally better. “Why do you work for him?”

  “None of your business,” Hart growled.

  Maybe not, but she wanted to know. Wanted him to have a good excuse, or some proof that he wasn’t a bad guy, despite his employer. She shouldn’t care, as long as he helped her find Desi’s necklace. But, she realized, she wanted to trust him. Around him, her body developed heated desires of its own; it didn’t care what he did or who he worked for as long as he took his shirt off a couple more times in front of her. Gawd, what a mess she was. As if his motives could somehow justify her lust.

  She needed to get her head on straight. She hadn’t held out this long to throw herself at the first guy with nice cologne and a really big gun.

  She glanced around Hart’s small living quarters, which were sparse but clean. With a single chair in evidence, it didn’t appear he did much entertaining. In the corner, a small puddle of water collected beneath a mini-fridge. A bookcase overflowed with tattered paperbacks. Science fiction, thrillers, classic literature, nonfiction treatises. The man might act like a thug, but he was well read.

  “Joseph Conrad?” she asked, changing the subject. “And here I had you pegged as the Jane Austen type.”

  “Oh, I’ve got Austen.” He walked to the bookcase and pulled a novel from the top shelf. The cover showed Jane Austen with half her face ripped off. “The zombies add a little realism. You want illogical? Illogical is h
appily ever after.”

  “You’re a cynic.”

  “A realist. Nothing lasts. But back to the subject. You should leave.” On the floor, his weapons lay spread out on a thick woolen blanket. He picked up a curved six-inch knife and began sharpening it.

  Trying to intimidate her? Yes, weapons made her nervous, but he knew diddly-squat about her if he thought she would run now. “I’m not going anywhere. We need to find that necklace for the Kivati—”

  The knife scraped along the sharpener. “We’re even.”

  “Who’s keeping track?”

  Disbelief flashed across his angular features. “I don’t need your help. Go home.”

  That hurt. She steeled herself. “You think you’re a one-man army. I get it. But I need your help to find out what happened to my sister, and I made a promise. I don’t break my promises. Ever. The Kivati will—”

  “You don’t get it.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  He inspected the sharp edge of the knife. “Forget the Kivati. This is bigger than both of us. The Drekar worship an ancient Babylonian goddess named Tiamat. You heard of her?”

  Kayla shook her head. Mythology had been Desi’s specialty, not hers. She’d never bothered with the stuff until now.

  “Goddess of primordial chaos. She takes the form of a monstrous dragon. She and Apsu gave birth to the gods and goddesses of ancient Babylon, but when one of them offed Apsu she swore revenge. She birthed the monsters of the world—dragons, giant sea serpents, maelstrom demons, shark men—you name it. Then she gave her lover Kingu the Tablets of Destiny and, with this army of monsters, he waged war on the younger gods, decimating the world.”

  “But someone stopped him,” she guessed.

  “Another god slew Tiamat and trapped Kingu and his horde behind the Gate to the otherworld.” Apparently satisfied with the knife, he set it back on the blanket and moved on to the rifle. He unloaded large silver-tipped bullets, the surfaces etched with strange markings. “Imagine that happening again. Imagine Kingu gets released from his prison. He’s had a few millennia to plan his revenge. He’s become stronger. He’s got cooler toys this time around, thanks to the humans.”

  “Like—”

  “Atomic bombs. A world population of six billion. That’s a big army for his demons and wraiths to inhabit.” He removed the bolt and scope from the rifle, inspected the interior, and wiped it down with a handkerchief. His movements were gentle, caring even.

  “A zombie army,” Kayla said.

  “Yeah, you imagining that? Genghis Khan had nothing on this guy. Kingu leads his army of monsters across the globe, leaving nothing alive behind him. The slaughtered get back up and join his forces.” His large hands caressed the pieces as he reassembled the rifle. A man and his gun. Go figure. “Nothing could stop him.”

  “Then what?”

  “He declares war on the gods, retakes the Tablet of Destiny, and uses it to wake Tiamat.”

  “The goddess of chaos.”

  “You got it.” Hart smiled and popped a bullet into the rifle barrel. Even though his words were terrifying, his smile drew her closer.

  “And that, I assume, is the end of the world as we know it.” Her voice came out flat. She didn’t want to believe him.

  “Knew you were a smart girl.”

  She took a deep breath. His story sounded like tales of the bogeyman, but she couldn’t afford not to believe him. “Let me guess, this necklace of my sister’s plays a part?”

  “It belongs to Kingu. I’m pretty sure it’s the key to open the Gate.”

  “Then you need my help more than ever.”

  He blinked. She liked that she could surprise him for once. He had shocked her quite enough.

  “Desi left me more clues. I know it. It’ll be something only meaningful to me. Something you would overlook. We’re wasting time.” First things first. “Where are my clothes?”

  He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Shirt and panties should be in the bedroom. Last night you couldn’t get naked fast enough. Your pants are ruined.” He grabbed a pile of black fabric off the armchair, and tossed it to her. “Catch.”

  She caught the bundle before it hit her in the face, but dropped the sheet. “Don’t look!” Her knees crumbled under her, and she frantically grabbed at the sheet on the floor. Mortification flooded her from her roots to the tips of her toes. “I said don’t—”

  “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” Hart took a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it into his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully, not looking away.

  Kayla felt her cheeks flame. She clutched the sheet to her chest. “Some gentleman.”

  He pulled his lips back in a grin, displaying even, white teeth with sharp, pointed canines. “Didn’t say I was.”

  She licked her lips, and his intense gaze rose to her mouth. She suddenly felt like Little Red Riding Hood facing the Big Bad Wolf, and—wow—for the first time in her life she understood why Red had succumbed. Beneath the sheet her nipples tightened.

  What was wrong with her? Werewolf, remember? Violent, weapon-toting maniac. Not to mention Armageddon looming on the horizon. Sex was not on the agenda.

  A rebellious little voice asked if she wanted to die a virgin.

  She ignored it. She was good at that.

  The fabric bundle he had thrown her was a pair of huge sweatpants. She quickly pulled them over her legs beneath the sheet. They hung from her hips like pantaloons, but stayed up. She raised her head to find him watching her sideways. His eyes were half-lidded and secretive, but he couldn’t hide the hunger in his gaze. His grip on the rifle barrel was white-knuckled. His nostrils flared.

  That look made her feel naked again. Her pulse hummed beneath her skin. “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Just stop it.”

  He smirked.

  She turned her back on him to retrieve her shirt from the bedroom. When she emerged, he was tucking the last of his weapons into the holster on his back.

  “We need all the facts so that we can make a logical plan of attack,” she told him. “Why did Desi have the necklace? How did she get it? Who knew she had it? Would someone have killed her to get it? Why did—”

  “Hold on there, Sherlock. One at a time.”

  “I’m serious. You need to share all your information with me. Otherwise I won’t be able to help.”

  He stuck the toothpick out the side of his mouth and thought for a moment. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay.” He settled into the armchair and stuck his long legs out in front of him. “Your sister was scrogging Norgard—”

  “Please—”

  “Hey, you wanted the facts.”

  She didn’t want to talk about scrogging, not with Hart lounging in front of her, muscles bulging beneath a soft flannel shirt. His tongue flipped the toothpick end over end between his lips.

  Hart continued. “Don’t know how she found out about the key. Norgard kept it on the D.L., but who knows what he said in his sleep? He was hung up on her.”

  “Did you ever meet her?”

  “Maybe.” His eyes shifted away. “Hard to keep track of all Norgard’s bitch—er, lady friends.”

  She let that slide. “She wanted me to give the key to Corbette. But Rudrick said she was bringing it to him. Do you think that’s the truth?”

  “Could be. Kivati can lie, but they’ve got a strict code of honor. Unlike the Drekar, who can’t lie, but bring the art of deception to a whole new level.”

  “Is there anyone else who wants the key, besides the Kivati and Drekar? Any other factions I should know about?”

  “The power to open the Land of the Dead? Plenty of people would want it, if they knew about it.”

  She hesitated. “With this key, a person could bring the dead back to life?” Adam and Caroline had hinted that Desi was searching for immortality. Perhaps Desi had a different goal in mind: with the power to raise the dead, she could resurr
ect their parents.

  Hart frowned. “Not life like you mean it. You can bring them back through the Gate—necromancers do—but it’s unnatural. They aren’t ‘alive,’ not like you and me. Which reminds me.” He stood and approached the bookcase. He rummaged around until he found a pencil hidden between the pages of a book. “The rune on your sister’s wrist is ancient Norse: Raidho, reversed. It anchors her spirit here.” He drew the strange marks on the back of the book cover.

  “Desi’s still here?” Kayla didn’t know whether to be happy or horrified. “Can I talk to her?”

  “Maybe. Spirits trapped on this side of the Gate become warped. If we can find the ghost, it won’t be your sister like you remember her. She’ll be a shade. A shadow of herself. Depends on how strong she was.”

  “Who would want to anchor her spirit here?” She imagined Desi stealing the necklace and running, with Norgard hot on her trail. If he caught her and killed her, wouldn’t he want to silence her permanently so no one would know? “You think she did it to herself.”

  “Could have, to pass a message on.”

  “She could tell me where the key is hidden.”

  “That’s our best-case scenario, but sometimes it’s done as punishment. A wraith finds no peace in the grave.” His jaw tightened. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. “Another possibility: in ancient times, warriors were sacrificed and their souls anchored at tombs and treasure holds as undead sentinels. Her ghost could be guarding the key.”

  “But she wanted me to find the key and give it to Corbette. Wouldn’t she hand it over, if that’s the case?”

  “Maybe, but wraiths become twisted. They forget their humanity, their living connections. She could just as easily attack you. Hard to fight a ghost. Hard to kill something that’s already dead, or wound something with no body.”

  Kayla shivered. Desi wouldn’t hurt her, would she? It had only been two days. How quickly could her sister forget their bond? She hated the idea of Desi’s corroded ghost haunting the streets of Seattle. Her sister deserved peace.