The Red Heart of Jade

by Marjorie M. Liu

  “—dark that is sweet, my friend, because even the days now grow long and I count my life in moments, too many moments, and it is a madness to me because I know they will not end, not ever. Men have their deaths to use, but our kind must bear on like the mountains, the sea, and that is unnatural. If I could be as the wren, or some simple beast, and think every moment is fresh and new, then perhaps the burden would not be so, but I am a thinking mind, a feeling heart, and too much has been laid to waste before me while I go on.”

  “And so you will simply give up? You will turn your back on the rest of us? You cannot. Please. We need you. There is no returning from that place, you know that.”

  “No guilt. I will not wait. The Book is ready for me and if I do not act now, there will not be another time. I have seen that much. Please forgive me. I do not know what is yet to come, only that I will regret leaving you. But that is not enough to stay. Not anymore.”

  “And the power you will release? It cannot be predicted. There might be consequences you cannot yet foresee—”

  “No. No, I am done here. Now. I am done—”

  The words of the two men died. Pain flashed bright in Dean’s chest and heart—his burning heart—and he could not see. Darkness, he was trapped in darkness, rolling and heaving, and he did not know how long he stayed in that terrible place, but when he opened his eyes, he found familiar faces: Miri, wrapped in a thick white robe, and beside her Koni, his shoulders bare, bare all the way down—his nose bleeding.

  Dean saw the ceiling behind them. A moving ceiling, spinning and spinning.

  “Oh,” he said. “Bad.”

  And then he rolled over and vomited.

  Chapter Eight

  With some effort and much grunting, Koni and Miri managed to move Dean into the bedroom. They laid him down on top of the covers, and the entire time he kept his palms pressed against his eyes. His head—all the bits touching the inside of his skull—hurt like hell.

  He felt someone sit beside him and hoped to God it was Miri.

  “Dean,” she said, and he sighed as she touched his face. Her fingers were cool.

  “What happened?” It hurt to talk. His head was dying.

  “You tell us,” Koni said. The shape-shifter sounded distant, like he was on the other side of the room. Dean heard doors opening; the closet, maybe. The rustle of clothing. He thought about Koni naked. Koni naked in front of Miri.

  In spite of the pain, he took away his hands and cracked open his eyes. The first thing he saw was Miri, looking down at him with such concern that he thought, Fuck pain, I’m going to live forever. And then he glanced past her and saw Koni sorting through pants.

  “God,” Dean groaned. “Go away. I don’t want to see your ass right now. I’m in enough pain.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you,” Koni retorted. “You deserve worse. My feet will never be the same—they smell like your stomach.”

  “It was you or Miri. Have some class, man. And while you’re at it, put on some damn clothes. You’re in the presence of a lady.”

  “Your ‘lady’ has a mean right hook,” Koni muttered, touching his nose.

  “What did you expect?” Miri asked. “I come out of the shower, Dean’s on the floor, and you’re standing over him. Naked. You’re lucky all I had was my fists.”

  “So what stopped you from breaking other body parts?” Dean muttered.

  “I didn’t fight back.” Koni pulled on some slacks.

  “And he was naked and gross,” Miri added. “I have my limits.”

  Koni scowled, grabbing a T-shirt from the drawer. “I wouldn’t have come in, but considering everything that’s happened tonight, I thought a planning session might be helpful. If I wait any longer, you might be dead.”

  “So considerate,” Dean said. “Such an optimist.”

  “Hey,” Miri said. “How do you know what happened here tonight? I don’t remember seeing you.”

  “I get around,” Koni finally said. “I see things.”

  “So you were following us,” Miri said in a flat voice. “Naked.”

  “I had clothes,” Koni said, but it was a bad lie, and Dean thought it was a mark of desperation he even tried using it. Miri flashed the shape-shifter a thin smile: pure danger. Dean wanted to yell, Run, but frankly, he was on Miri’s side.

  “It’s okay,” she said, deceptively gentle. “Really. I seem to be a magnet for strange people tonight. Though yours is the first pair of eyes that glowed.”

  “My eyes don’t glow,” Koni said.

  “They did when I hit you.”

  Game over. A vein pulsed in Koni’s forehead. Dean, trying to break the tension in the room, blurted, “He wasn’t completely naked. He probably still had that air freshener you threw at him dangling over his naughty bits.”

  “What?” Miri looked at Dean as if he was insane.

  “This is my partner. Who I mentioned earlier? He’s a shape-shifter, babe. Like, human and crow.”

  “I—” Miri stammered. “I thought you were kidding when you said that.”

  Koni stood very still, like a statue, breathless, and for a moment Dean felt some sympathy for him. Koni did not know Miri like he did. He did not know she could be trusted.

  “Miss,” Koni said quietly. “Can you give us a minute?”

  She almost argued, but Dean looked at her, begged with his eyes, and she sucked in her breath. Stood up and walked out of the room. Her backside swished quite nicely beneath the robe.

  When she was gone and the door closed behind her, Koni said, “I’m going to kill you.”

  “Get in line. And listen, stop with the brooding. That woman out there has seen hell today, but she’s still truckin’ like a trooper. Not only that, she knows all about my gifts. She was right there when I first started having visions. She was the one who helped me control them. And she never said a word. Not one. You can trust her.”

  “You know each other.” Koni turned to stare at him. “Huh. I wondered why the two of you looked like you were making out in that alley. I chalked it up to sheer desperation.”

  “Just old times,” Dean said, uncomfortable that Koni had watched something so personal. “We haven’t seen each other in twenty years.”

  “But you still trust her.”

  “With my life,” Dean vowed. “There’s never been a person in this world I trusted more than Mirabelle Lee.”

  “Dean—”

  “No, Koni. Miri is smart. She’s a good person, too. Honest, brave, loyal, all those things for wonderful. So don’t you ask me to lie to her. I won’t do it. Roland can kick my ass from here to Timbuktu if he wants, but that’s it. Too much has happened to Miri. She deserves whatever truth I can give her.”

  “You’re in love with her.”

  “Well, yeah. For Christ’s sake, who wouldn’t love her?”

  “Well …” Koni began, but Dean shook his head.

  “Don’t answer that. Besides, she’s mine.”

  “Really? Have you told her that?”

  “All in good time, my man. All in good time.”

  “Well, good luck when you do.” The shape-shifter touched his nose, wincing. “Jesus, Dean. I don’t know why you have me around with her watching your back.”

  “You’re just jealous. But don’t worry. One day you too will have your very own little Amazon.”

  “I’ll just settle for a woman.”

  “If you’re lonely, you can have the inflatable sex doll Blue gave me for my birthday. I don’t want the two of you to miss out on an opportunity for love.”

  “You didn’t like her?”

  “I wasn’t man enough to satisfy her cravings. I’m sure you’ll be different.”

  “Wow. Your thoughtfulness astounds me, Dean.”

  “I know. I’m all teary-eyed thinking about it.”

  They heard a knock at the door; Miri poked in her head.

  “Um,” Dean said. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” A smile haunted her mouth. “I apologize
for interrupting you. Really. That was one of the most fascinating eavesdropping sessions of my life. But I’m still in a bathrobe and I saw clothes in that closet. Do the math.”

  Koni sighed, and Miri took that as her invitation to walk in—utterly confident, and looking, in Dean’s opinion, spectacularly hot. Long wet hair, delicate shoulders, and a profile to kill for. He wished Koni was gone.

  But the shape-shifter did not leave the room. He did not stare at Miri, either, which was good—the gentlemanly thing to do—but there was some tension left in his voice when he said, “Earlier tonight, in that alley, there was a man there watching you. I think you saw him. I assume that’s why you left, anyway.” Koni paused, still watching Miri. “He’s not human.”

  “What?” she asked, matching his stare. “You expect me to throw up my hands and scream? I give up, man. There is a whole other world running parallel to the one I’ve lived in for my entire life, and apparently, it’s just as messed up as anywhere else. So thank you both.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dean said. “We live to destroy.”

  Koni sighed. Miri looked at him again and said, “What do you mean, not human?”

  “He vanished in front of my eyes. And before that, he looked at me and knew what I was. Had the guts to say hello.”

  Miri shook her head. “Dean, I don’t suppose you checked on Owen again, did you?”

  “Who’s Owen?” asked the shape-shifter.

  “My colleague,” Miri explained. “He was kidnapped tonight by some of the same people who are after the jade.”

  “I tried tracking him earlier, but lost his trail.” Dean pulled the little brass statue from his pocket.

  “That’s been happening a lot lately.” Koni leaned close, frowning. “Huh. I have one of those.”

  “You own a miniature Glen Campbell? That you paid money for? Holy shit.”

  “Every man has a hobby,” Koni replied. “Even you.”

  “Dude, you got nothing on me.”

  Koni’s answering smile was distinctly unpleasant. Dean frowned and turned away, hunching over the statue. He opened himself to the lingering vibrations, holding tight to the golden hum within the brass. Owen. Owen.

  But nothing happened. All he got was a wall.

  Dean opened his eyes and looked at Miri. He didn’t need to say anything. She nodded, and stared at her hands.

  Koni walked to the door. “I’m going to get something to eat. You two … talk.” He closed the door behind him. Miri, chewing the inside of her cheek, went to the closet and began digging for clothes.

  “Um,” Dean said. “We can talk about this if you want.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” She turned and walked to him, abandoning her search. “I’m surrounded by people who aren’t human, I’m being hunted because of a mysterious artifact in my possession, my career has probably been blown to hell, and I’m standing half naked in front of you. This is what insanity feels like.”

  “Hey, now. Didn’t Indiana Jones handle all sorts of crazy shit? You never saw him complain when people were turned to ash or had their hearts ripped out of their bodies.”

  Miri sat down on the bed beside him and Dean touched her hand. Her face was very solemn as he stroked her fingers, but slowly, slowly, a smile touched her mouth and much to his shock and pleasure, Miri lay very carefully down beside him, tucking herself close against his body. Dean kissed the top of her head.

  “Things were easier when we were young,” she murmured. “We’d go to school, come home, play. Run on the streets and sometimes get in fights. Easy trouble.”

  “You remember that time we snuck out and watched Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom?”

  “You stole money out of your uncle’s wallet to pay for those tickets.”

  “It was worth it.”

  “I was fourteen years old.” Miri leaned her head against his shoulder. “That movie changed my life.”

  “You became obsessed with Harrison Ford.”

  “And then you went out and found every single one of his movies for me. We played hooky from school to watch them.”

  “It was the only time my uncle was at the mill. And then the lousy VCR my cousin rented for us wouldn’t work right. The audio and video kept playing at different speeds.”

  Miri laughed. “Good times, Dean.”

  He did not respond. It was hard to think. Miri smelled flowery, like shampoo. Warm and sweet and clean. He found his hand trailing down her back, following the line of her spine as his fingers danced lower and lower. Miri sighed. Dean asked, “Do you know how I feel about you? What it means to me that you’re here? Alive?”

  “Tell me again,” she said. “Pretend it’s old times.”

  Dean reached for Miri’s hand. Her gaze was stubborn yet sweet, and he thought about the locket on his chest, all those years spent pouring his heart into the thing, into memories and metal, remembering Miri as a teenager, in a time warp of Forever Sixteen. Old times, when they had never held back their feelings, when the word secret did not exist between them, and together they were an army of two. Two against the world, playing in an old woman’s kitchen, and later, older and wiser, running down greasy alleys in Chinatown, past those borders into the grittier, grayer, streets of Philly.

  But that was all twenty years past, and they were grown now, with full lives between them. He was holding sacred something that he could never have again.

  Not true. You’re holding the memory sacred, but you’ve got the real deal, right here, right now. You have a second chance. You’ve been given a miracle. Don’t waste it.

  He touched her face, tracing the dips and curves of every bone and muscle; Miri’s lips were soft beneath his fingers, her eyelids softer, and the line of her jaw arcing up behind her ear felt like magic. She murmured his name on a sigh, pushing closer. His headache faded as he relaxed into the curves of her body.

  “Hush,” he told her. “I’m talking to you. I’m telling you everything.”

  “You’re not saying a word.”

  “Then you’re not listening.” He grazed her cheek with his lips. A wry smile touched her mouth. It was different than he remembered. Older, wiser. Sexy as hell.

  “Are you trying to be a grown-up?” she asked, soft.

  “No,” he said, smiling. “But I am trying to be a man. How’s it working for you?”

  “It’s working. It’s working very well.”

  Dean pushed his fingers into her hair, skimming her scalp, twining warm. “I won’t pretend it’s old times, Miri. I don’t want to do that anymore. You got me as I am now. You can trust me as I am now.”

  Her smile faded. “Do you promise?”

  “Do my promises still mean something to you?”

  She hesitated. “Yes. Yes, they do.”

  “Then I promise,” he said. “I promise you can trust me.”

  Miri chewed on her bottom lip. He wanted to kiss that lip, but he reined himself in. Trust, he told himself. It’s all about trust now. Don’t screw that up because you want her.

  Miri held up her hand. He stared at her, questioning, and then she turned down her fingers until only her pinky curled up. Her mouth twitched. Dean grinned. He linked his own pinky around hers.

  “I swear it,” he said.

  “I swear it, too,” she said.

  And then, careful, they held each other and drifted off to sleep, a deep slumber that to Dean was full of darkness, bones, and sand, and somewhere nearby a woman weeping, moaning, and sobbing, and he could feel the pain of her heart in his heart, feel her suffering like his own, and he staggered across sand because now was the time, now and always, with her blood eternally on his hands—

  Dean opened his eyes, dragging in a deep shuddering breath that felt like knives in his throat, a pain that made him imagine what it would be like to scream for days. But he did not think he had been screaming; Miri still lay beside him, eyes closed and her breathing steady. He gently tucked away her long black hair to better see her face, which
was tucked and burrowed within the crook of his arm. He felt some drool on his skin, but it only made him smile.

  He wanted to touch her. He wanted to bury his nose against the hollow of her throat and just rest there. Listen to her heartbeat. Drink in the fact that she was alive. Dean did not think he would ever take that for granted; every breath she took was precious.

  For a moment, though, he heard the woman from his dream, her sobs, and a great uneasiness stole over him, a sense of déjà vu. Bones and sand were typical of his dreams, but the woman was new. He wondered if finding Miri again had anything to do with the new addition, although the possibility was disturbing. It was not a good dream, nor did it have a happy ending.

  Miri stirred, making small noises. Dean waited, patient, and finally she cracked open her eyes.

  “How long have you been waiting for me to wake up?” Her voice was soft and warm, making his stomach turn to fire. Sleepy talk. There was nothing sexier.

  “Not long,” he said, touching her hip, imagining what it would feel like to rest his hand on the warm skin there, so preciously close to such wonderful delicious spots. Miri pushed closer and Dean took it as an invitation to touch her some more, his hand exploring all those bits and pieces that were covered—until his fingers grazed actual skin and both he and Miri jumped. She laughed, low in her throat, which made the ache in his body even harder, stronger. Miri rubbed against him and he closed his eyes.

  “This is torture,” he said.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” she whispered, hooking her leg around the back of his thigh, which exposed all kinds of sweet skin as the edge of her robe fell away. Dean, holding his breath, touched her leg.