Two Polluted Black-Heart Romances

by Kevin James Breaux

  She leaned on her elbows and gazed between the gap in her pink satin curtains. She thought to call out for him, but she knew he wasn’t there. She would have sensed him. She could always sense otherworldlies nearby, and there were none around.

  Cade, you bastard, where the hell are you?

  She yawned and spread her butterfly-shaped wings. It always felt good to stretch them to their fullest first thing in the morning. Had her friend Mira still been around, she would have been at the door with some coffee and cereal or fresh scones by now. Mira always knew exactly what Sabrina wanted in the morning.

  “Even after all that’s happened, with Kintner and his false cure for nicotine addiction, I still want a smoke. What’s wrong with me?”

  She glanced at her phone and she saw the missed call that had just woken her, but the number was unfamiliar. Fuck ’em.

  Anxiously, she thumbed through her favorite contacts until she reached Cade’s number. She tapped the tiny picture of him looking like a young James Dean, but it went straight to voice mail. His phone’s off. Asshole.

  She didn’t know what to do next, so she called her friend, Moselle, but again, the call went to voice mail. Gah.

  “Hey, Moss, you okay? I was just calling to check in. And hey, if you’ve seen Cade, tell him to call me. Thanks, babe.”

  Sabrina huffed. Now what? It was almost ten in the morning. Cade wouldn’t be showing his face until sunset or after. Sabrina had no idea what to do in the meantime. With a frustrated grumble, she tossed the bedcovers off, flapped her wings, and lifted off the bed into a hover.

  All in all, she felt good, the best she had since that horrible night at Kintner Co. five days ago. She moved around a bit, reminding herself that all of her wounds were healed. Too bad the memories are still fresh—they hurt worse than anything else.

  Try as she might, Sabrina could not shake the images from her head, especially the horrible room full of severed fairy wings.

  Kintner killed so many of us. I need to know who they all were. I need to alert my father. He needs to know what happened, what Kintner did to them…what he tried to do to me.

  Her phone rang again, and she snatched it up. “Sabrina at your service.”

  “Sabrina London?”

  The man’s voice was unfamiliar, so she removed the phone from her ear to look at the number—the same number that had called earlier.

  “Yeah?”

  “My name is Sean Gardner. I’m Peter Rubie’s assistant over here at RCA Records.”

  Her heart dropped to the floor and took her lungs with it. She could not speak only gasp.

  “Hello, Miss London?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Oh, hello. Yes, I was saying, my name is Sean—”

  “From RCA Records.”

  The man on the other end of the phone laughed. “Yes.”

  “What do you want? I mean…” Sabrina steadied herself. “How can I help you, Sean?”

  “Well, Miss London, we received the demo your assistant sent us the other day.”

  “My assistant? Do you mean Mira?”

  “Yes, Mira. Is that not your assistant? I am sorry, your…mother?”

  “No,” Sabrina grumbled. “Mira’s my friend. When did you say it was sent?”

  “Not sure. I think it actually reached our mail department…I’d like to say several weeks ago? What matters most is that it arrived at Mr. Rubie’s office only days ago, and I just wanted to let you know that the crew in development, as well as Mr. Rubie himself, all enjoyed your sound.”

  “My sound? You liked my voice? My singing?” Sabrina’s voice was getting louder with each word. “You liked my singing?”

  “Yes, Miss London, I did. More importantly, my boss did. Mr. Rubie would like to see you in his office by the end of the week. Let’s say for about three or four hours. Can you fit that in on Friday?”

  Sabrina wanted to scream with joy but held back and replied calmly, “Yes, I can do that.”

  “Good. Mr. Rubie also asked me to set up some studio time—”

  Sabrina could not believe what she was hearing. “Studio time?”

  “I’m sorry. Did I not mention that?” Sean laughed again. “Very busy day here. Justin wrapped up his new album and we’ve been celebrating all morning.”

  “Justin…Timberlake?”

  “Yes. Now, I’m gonna be brutally honest with you, okay?”

  “Okay…”

  “Mr. Rubie thought your songs themselves were horrible. I believe ‘poorly written rubbish’ were his words exactly.”

  Sabrina cringed. She’d not made a formal demo, so she was unsure which songs the man was referring too. Mira must have recorded me when I wasn’t paying attention. They could be listening to me sing nineties metal for all I know…

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Mr. Rubie would like you to write three new songs and be ready to perform at least two of them. Can you be ready on Friday with some new songs, Miss London?”

  Sabrina calmed herself. This was what she wanted. “I was born ready.”

  “I do believe that. Cheers.”

  Sabrina hung up and stared at… Well, she couldn’t have said. Nervous sweat clung to every inch of her naked body. RCA wants me to write three new songs and perform two of them in…in how many days? What the fuck did I just agree to?

  She pressed the speed dial for Moselle first. Damn it, voice mail again.

  She went through her contacts, a list of old friends, new enemies (many who overlapped with the first category), and ex-lovers. Not wanting to believe she had no one to call, she went through the list again, this time thumbing through it slower.

  Sabrina passed one name but returned to it with a sigh. Maybe I should call her. Jessica might love to hear how good I’m doing…but then I might have to change my number again… She threw her phone to the floor. She wanted to call her parents more than anything.

  “I should be allowed to call you,” she said to the phone as if it were her father, then kicked it across the room with a scream. “You’re my dad! Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you forgive me?”

  She rushed across the room, not satisfied with the damage she had done. She snatched the phone off the floor and ran through her apartment, out past the indoor pool, to the balcony. Shouting, she cocked back her arm and prepared to chuck the phone over the railing, but before she could, she thought back to the night, years ago, that it was almost her sailing over the balcony.

  “No,” Sabrina said confidently. “No. I can’t do this.”

  She let out all her frustration in a loud grunt and then flopped down hard on the stone floor. She stared up at the sky; the sun’s rays felt good on her skin. Maybe today won’t be so bad, she thought as she closed her eyes.

  The sound of an approaching helicopter made her eyes spring open. Leaning on her elbows, she searched for it. It better not be another photographer. She covered her breasts with her hands when she saw it pass by but promptly realized it wasn’t a photographer. It was a medical helicopter.

  She watched the helicopter a moment, and that’s when she saw it—a large plume of dark grey smoke rising up in the distance. It was massive, growing above the high-rises. That doesn’t look like a fire.

  On her feet quickly, she gazed at the pillar of smoke. The helicopter was heading right for it. She dashed back inside and turned on the TV. Clicker in hand, she flipped until she reached KCAL9.

  The picture on the TV screen was of a giant hole in the ground. “No,” she breathed as she dropped the remote.

  It was hard to see more than the hole, as the camera was shaking and the air was filled with dust and smoke. But it was not the picture or the sound of panic in the reporter’s voice that shocked her; it was the words scrolling at the bottom of the screen: California Hospital Medical Center has collapsed.

  “Moselle…”

  Sabrina ran back out to the balcony and stared in the direction of the smoke. She felt like she’d been punche
d in the gut. She retrieved her cell phone and dialed Moselle’s again.

  “Come on. Come on. Come on.” Her heart seized when the call went right to voice mail again. “No!”

  She tried Moselle’s home, a number she’d not used in a long time. She wasn’t sure it was even still good anymore. While it rang, she ran back inside to get dressed, picking up a tank top from a pile of dirty clothes. She squeezed into the garment only to realize that it was not hers; it belonged to Mira.

  “Damn it! Moselle, pick up.” Once again, Sabrina was greeted with an answering service. “Moselle, you’re not picking up your cell or your home phone and the hospital you and Jackson were in just…just…I don’t know. Fucking blew up or something. Damn it, call me back if you’re alive!”

  Sabrina returned to the TV. The reporter was shouting over the noise of the helicopter he was inside. He repeated the earliest reports, facts shared by the police: the hospital was swallowed up by a massive sinkhole that was still expanding. Swallowed up. Still expanding… The words rang in her ears.

  Moselle and Jackson. Were they swallowed up too?

  The reporter’s words began to fade. Sabrina only heard her own thoughts. Moselle. Jackson. Gone. Dead.

  There were alerts across the bottom of the screen; text scrolling so fast it read as one long word. Sabrina shook her head and tried to decipher it. Evacuations. Emergency hotline numbers. An early death toll. There were over twelve hundred people in that hospital.

  Moselle and Jackson…

  Sabrina could not process any more than that. She could not handle another second of what was most likely the story of her best friend’s death. Eyes filled with tears, she gazed down at the remote and stepped on it, powering it off.

  A Woman Scorned

  It had been three days and Sabrina had not heard from Cade or Moselle. She hadn’t left her apartment and she’d hardly eaten anything—she had, however, drank all the alcohol that had been in her refrigerator and cabinets.

  Sabrina crumpled up a piece of paper, tossed it to the floor, and took another sip of wine.

  Never gonna fly. Never gonna fly like this. Never gonna…

  With every thought came the reminder that her friends were gone. For someone so used to feeling light, Sabrina felt heavy—she was crushed. No matter how hard I try to get high, I fall. Face-first, heavy as a stone.

  Sabrina nodded, unexpectedly catching a whiff of herself. She hadn’t bathed in three days. Her platinum blonde hair was tangled and her scalp itched, but she didn’t care—not until now.

  Tomorrow’s Friday. Tomorrow, I meet the bosses at RCA. Tomorrow could be the start of the life I’ve always wanted…

  Sabrina sighed; she felt like crying. So why do I feel like I want to die today?

  She tossed the now-empty wine bottle across the room, at a wall that was already speckled red with wine from the last bottle she threw. She haggardly pushed herself up in the puffy, white leather chair and shuffled to the bedroom through scraps of paper that littered her living room floor.

  Where did I put it? Her mind was so hazy. Where’s my notebook? She gazed back into the living room; there it was, on the chair she was just sitting on. Good. Can’t lose that too.

  In the mirror over her bathroom’s makeup vanity was the reflection of a woman she did not know. Sabrina hadn’t seen herself like this in a long time. She had spent the last few days riding a wave of ever-changing emotions, and they had taken their toll.

  Ugly. Why am I so fucking ugly? she asked herself, staring at the reflection. No, a nice, long bath will fix this, she thought, tossing her greasy hair. A bath, a good facial, some sun…maybe some—

  Sabrina’s thoughts were interrupted by a noise from the opposite end of her apartment. Was that the door? Sabrina wanted to think it was Cade slinking in or that it was Mira alive and well. She would have truly loved to believe it was her friend finally returning home after all this time—sadly, common sense wouldn’t allow it.

  She began to shake as she wondered if it was Kintner’s people again—his mind-salves, come to kill her—avenge their master. Or maybe it’s the wraiths here to erase me from existence. My father’s finally decided to do it, to get rid of me once and for all.

  Sabrina shut off the light in the bathroom and knelt slowly, listening to the sounds of the apartment. She was unsure what to do, but her foggy mind frantically worked for answers. A crash from the front of her apartment sobered her up.

  Shit, I gotta get out of here. Get to the balcony. Fly off. Fly off.

  Sabrina crept slowly out of her bathroom, her eyes searching for intruders. When she saw none, she glanced toward the balcony, the unfastened door, the fresh air, the open sky—safety.

  “Who’s here?”

  There was no immediate response. A chill ran across her skin. She could sense something, an otherworldly—but what kind?

  “Cade? Is that you?” Sabrina called out. “If so, you better have an iron-fucking-clad reason for leaving me. ’Cause I’m so fucking done with your bloodsucking ass.”

  She took another step forward and felt something wrap around her waist. Fear made her bite down on the tip of her tongue. Spun around by whatever had her, Sabrina expected to see the sharp-shiny end of a knife, another sick bastard wanting her wings, but what she saw was nothing.

  She tried to move but couldn’t. The sensation around her waist gradually moved, and she felt fingers, followed by a pair of thumbs digging deep into her hips.

  “You bastard!” Sabrina pounded into something invisible in front of her with her fists. “Do you always have to scare me like this?”

  She stared carefully in front of her, and the outline of a large, muscular man took shape. He was no more than a silhouette, only hazily colored a pale blue.

  “You know why.”

  Sabrina had almost forgotten how the air spirit’s voice sounded—breathy and soft, with a slight hiss to it.

  “Weston! Let go of me. I hate when you scare me.”

  “But it makes you so wet.”

  His boldness. Sabrina had not forgotten that.

  “And it makes you so hard.” Sabrina reached down, gripped his invisible manhood, and gave it a tight squeeze.

  “You got me.” A cool breeze blew over her face, as Weston laughed and released her. “Even invisible, you know right where it is.”

  “I take it you got my call.” Sabrina straightened herself.

  “And I gusted right here.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Same place I was when I last saw you.”

  “Portugal?” Sabrina asked as she recalled their good-bye years ago.

  “Porto.”

  Sabrina nodded as she looked at him. There were times he began to vanish further, defined only by his negative space.

  “I want to see you, Weston.”

  “Just see?” he responded quickly. “Your message sounded like you needed me for much…much more.”

  Sabrina twisted the jeweled silver bangle on her wrist; it had been years since she played cat and mouse with a man and playing it with Weston now felt odd. It made her feel like a child. His constant flirting…I was a different person back then. Different and the same.

  “You still do that? Fidget with that bracelet.”

  Sabrina stopped. “Weston, I need your protection.”

  “Just like old days, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She faked a smile.

  “Just like old days?” he asked more passionately. “Wait, what happened to your new bodyguard? The water spirit? Mira?”

  “She’s gone.”

  Sabrina saw him move, a slight shimmy to the side when he replied. “She left you?”

  “More or less.”

  “Just like the vampire, huh?”

  Sabrina had no idea Weston knew about Cade, and for reasons too complicated for her to unravel, it made her angry.

  “Yeah, he left me too.”

  “I never thought he was right for you,” he said, his form slightly m
ore defined. “I was glad to hear you buried him a while back.”

  “Well, I dug the bastard back up. And guess what?”

  “He left you again.”

  “He left me again.” Sabrina was so angry she wanted to spit.

  “So…no bodyguard. No boyfriend.”

  When Weston paused, Sabrina could see his head turn side to side.

  “What?” she prompted him.

  “Your place looks like hell, Sabrina…and you—”

  “Water’s running. I was just going to get a bath,” she interrupted him before he could say something she really didn’t want to hear.

  “Well then, I arrived just in time.”

  Sabrina humphed. “You sure did.”

  As she backtracked to her bathroom, she could feel his eyes on her, and when she walked, she swore there was additional wind shear. He always liked to steal a feel when I walked away from him, and he did know just how to touch me…

  “I felt that,” she said as she entered the master bath.

  “Felt what?” But she heard the guilt in his voice.

  “Look, I know better than to even ask an air spirit to turn around,” she said as she looked past herself in the mirror to what little she could see of Weston. “So try and at least control yourself, okay, Weston?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  Sabrina couldn’t contain a laugh. “Sure you do.”

  She took off her shirt and shorts and looked in the mirror again. I do look like hell.

  “Damn it, Weston. Form up. If you’re gonna stare at me naked, I want to at least know if you’re smiling or sneering.”

  She could hear him sigh and felt the cool air from his breath cascade down her bare back. “You really have grown up, Sabrina.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Sabrina felt his hand brush down her back like a gentle breeze. “No bumps. Smooth.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Your wings…you never used to be able to hide them so well. The lines were blurred, messy even. Did you molt recently?”

  His question made her think of how close Kintner came to taking her wings and her life. “Not long ago.”

  “Yours have always been the most amazing I’ve seen.”