“We made examples of,” Casey sneered. He seemed more than happy to make that point clear. I assumed he had particularly enjoyed carrying out that punishment.
“So how do they survive now? They live on partial souls?”
“They take bits and pieces of their victims. Tiny parts of the light from each of them—a happy memory, a special feeling—not enough for that individual to really notice, although it seems whatever is taken is gone forever. I doubt the victims ever knew they’d had it to begin with. With all the darkness already in this city, we figured it was as safe a place as any to allow them to live, knowing that their food source would be scarce at best.”
“Ain’t much happy in Detroit anymore. It’s a great diet plan,” Casey drawled before getting up and walking away from our gathering altogether. Something appeared to be vexing him greatly.
“Until now, our agreement stood. The Stealers weakened over time to become what we now refer to as Soul Breathers, a sad and lesser version of their former selves. They look sickly from the lack of full and intact souls in their diet, their skin sallow and cheeks gaunt. Most humans assume they are either ill with a terminal disease or that they are junkies. Either way, they pass in society without scrutiny, and that is what we wanted.”
“What will happen if tonight’s occurrence is not an isolated one?” I asked, thinking that it was not an impossibility.
“Then,” Drew started, walking toward me slowly, “there will be war in Detroit.”
“How can we ascertain whether or not this is already the case?”
“We have ways,” Pierson stated, his tone haughty and superior. It was clear that he was not about to elaborate on his statement, and I lacked the energy or desire to demand it of him.
Drew stood before me, his hands resting gently upon my shoulders. A smile painted his expression pleasant, though I could sense he found nothing enjoyable about the conversation. It was all a show for my benefit; one that was neither necessary nor appreciated.
“It will all be fine. We’ll get to the bottom of this quickly so that we can get back to the bigger issue at hand here, which is figuring out what happened to you and how to keep you safe from whatever may be coming for you. Okay?” I nodded. “Good. Now I want you to sit and relax for a bit. I know you’re no stranger to violence, but witnessing the taking of innocent life is never easy or pleasant.”
“I didn’t let her see,” Kierson said SKie align=softly. “I made her go around the corner. I just . . . I couldn’t let her see.”
“Good thinking, Kierson,” Drew praised before turning to Pierson. “I need to make a call. I’ll be outside for a minute if you need me. I’m putting you in charge of rounding up intel on this. Don’t let me down.” With that, he left, walking toward the staircase as Casey had only minutes before, though it was clear Drew planned to return. Casey did not.
I looked around the vast balcony, only to see that the other member of our party, the one who liked to lurk in the shadows, was missing.
“What of Oz?” I asked, wondering if this was a matter in which the PC would find him useful.
“What about him?” Kierson replied, looking more perplexed than usual.
“Where is he? Should he not be a part of this?”
Kierson shrugged.
“Oz does what he wants, when he wants. There’s no counting on him for anything—other than being a bastard most of the time.” He smiled at me deviously, leading me to believe he was pleased at the insult he’d slung at Oz, who was conveniently not there to defend himself. I nearly returned his expression.
“So what are we to do in the interim while we await word from Drew?”
Kierson’s smile spread wider, containing more mischief than it had only moments before. His eyes betrayed him as he glanced over the railing to the dance floor below and the undulating mass of bodies moving with the pulsating rhythm that seemed to enliven the entire building.
“I do not like what you are insinuating,” I warned, taking a step back from him.
“C’mon, lighten up a bit. It’s not like we can do anything else about this debacle right now, anyway. Let’s have a drink. Relax. You know, have fun?” But I knew not of the fun he spoke. It was not a part of my life, and, judging by his response, that fact was inevitably written across my face. “Ugh . . .” he sighed, his shoulders rounding in defeat. “Fine, at least come get a drink with me at the bar. I need to unwind a bit.”
I watched as the sadness he held deep within surfaced, flashing in his eyes for only a second before it withdrew yet again. If companionship was what he needed, I could give him that much. He may have saved my life that night. For that, I would reward him with what he requested.
“A drink,” I replied tightly, making sure he knew that dancing or any other such nonsense was not going to occur.
“Excellent.” Taking my arm in his, he led the way to the stairs, not bothering to acknowledge Pierson before leaving. It appeared that he was busy anyway. “What’s your poison?” he asked when we reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Excuse me?”
“Your drink of choice? What will you have?”
I was uncertain how to answer him. While in the care of both Demeter and Hades, I primarily drank water and, on occasion, ambrosia. Nothing more. However, I was under the distinct impression that he was not suggesting either of those.
“You may order for me. Whatever you have will suffice.”
Our destination was on the far side of the mob before us, and I cringed at the thought of having to navigate through them all, their sweaty stench already offending me from where I stood. Without time to relay those concerns to Kierson, he took my hand and pulled me behind him as he cut his way through the mass with ease. Though I was loath to admit it, there was something strangely appealing Sly ed me behbeing surrounded by the dancing horde, swallowed up in their debauchery. I had not expected to find it so amenable.
It reminded me of home.
When we arrived, Kierson leaned forward against the waist-high barricade, and a scantily clad woman in black leather came over to him immediately, ignoring the protestations of the others attempting to procure a drink.
“How’s it going, Special K?” She was intoxicated by him, his mere presence alone enough for her to nearly fall to her knees in service of him. When he winked at her in response, she bit her lip and inhaled deeply.
“I need the usual, Trina,” he shouted to her over the music. “Two of them.”
It was only then that her eyes fell on me, and the change in them was instantaneous. Seductive desperation turned to pure hatred. I knew that look well.
“Who’s this?” she asked, barely able to keep the venom in her tone at bay.
“This? This is my sister, Khara.”
Again, the transformation in her expression took only a second.
“Oh . . . it’s nice to meet you, Cara,” she replied with a disingenuous smile.
“It’s Kah-ruh,” I said slowly in the hopes that her tiny mind could process my words.
“Right . . . sorry. Two whiskeys comin’ up!”
While she went about pouring the drinks, I turned my back to her so that I could better observe the crowd. I liked to know what was going on around me, and had learned long ago that it was best not to turn your back on the unfamiliar. It tended to have unenviable consequences. As I scanned the vast room, I saw Oz on the far end, making his way to the upper level. True to form, he was not alone.
I soured at the sight of him, still wondering what made him valuable enough to my brothers to tolerate his unwelcome presence. Everything about him was repugnant, from his disgruntled nature to his flagrant sexual exploitations. What made me wonder further was why his behaviors seemed offensive to me at all. I was raised around men like that. They were everywhere to be found in the Underworld, but there was something particularly off-putting about those behaviors when they came from him. Perhaps what caused them to be so disarming was the fact that they came from a Light One—a revered being, ac
cording to Kierson—who one would expect to be both noble and pure.
Whatever the reason, I did not enjoy the feeling at all.
“Here you go,” Kierson shouted, handing me a tiny glass containing an amber-colored liquid. “Down the hatch.” He lifted his strange little glass into the air before putting it to his lips and swallowing the contents of it in one drink. Sensing that it was a custom of sorts, I mimicked him, taking the entire mouthful of whiskey down in one swallow.
The fire I felt in response made me choke, gagging and fighting for breath.
“Jesus, Khara!” Kierson yelled, bending down to meet my face while I fought to purge myself of the liquid fire. “Have you never done a shot before?”
“Is that not obvious?” I wheezed between breaths.
I heard him bark at the woman behind the bar to get him some water quickly, and soon I found myself emptying the glass he handed me in only seconds. Feeling remotely better, I motioned toward the staircase that wound its way up to the second floor and started in that direction, pushing my way through the unrelenting crowd. The task seemed far more taxing than I had bargained for. Kierson had cut through it with such Sit ire ease and grace; I, however, did not.
I could hear him shouting my name as he followed me, but I did not stop to acknowledge him. I felt ill and wanted nothing more than to go to the restroom and expel the foul beverage from my stomach. Waiting for him was not part of my plan.
Once I made it to the stairs, I took them two at a time, feeling the burning sensation start to rise in my throat. Pierson eyed me strangely from the couch as I sped past him to the private bathroom on the far end of the space. Kierson continued to follow me until I waved him off, insisting that I was fine. His guilt was nearly palpable.
Without hesitation, I burst through the bathroom door, my brow starting to sweat, and I turned right around the corner in search of a sufficient outlet for what was about to escape me. Instead, what I saw stopped me dead in my tracks. Though it should not have surprised me in the least, I still had not expected the scene that played out before me. How quickly I had become sensitized to the normalcy of the human domain. Had I stumbled upon sex of that nature in the Underworld, as I so often did, I would not have faltered. But that night, I did.
One sweep of the bathroom door had hammered me with reality.
I looked straight ahead, beyond the two fornicating against the sink before me, to find a pair of intense brown eyes staring back at me from the mirror in front of him. As Oz thrust himself repeatedly and unrelentingly into the female of the evening, his gaze remained firmly fixed on me through the reflective surface. Unmoving, I looked on as he punished his whore, slamming her hips into the cold porcelain sink. He pushed her face away from him as she craned her neck around, seeking his mouth.
Never the mouth.
Expressionless and brutal, Oz embodied his very essence even in his sexual encounters. It made something in the pit of my stomach seize. He belonged in the Underworld with the rest of the depraved souls that served my father; such brazen acts were rampant there. I knew much about them, having looked upon those activities from a very young age. At times, I found myself involved in them. But something was different this time—something unexpected.
No longer able to engage his stare, I turned and left the sobering sight, returning to find a seat on the couch next to Kierson. I sat in silence, my whole body sweating. As I tried to calm my stomach, I found myself unable to erase the vacant yet hateful expression Oz had worn in the bathroom from my mind. Something about it was inexplicably puzzling and uncomfortable. My cells felt discordant, out of harmony with their neighbors, and my skin prickled and burned.
I assumed it was an effect of the whiskey.
“Do you feel any better, Khara?” Kierson asked, putting his arm around me. “I’m really sorry about that. I figured since you grew up where you did that, you know, you’d probably had worse than a little Jack Daniels before.”
“I am fine,” I replied, my words clipped and abrupt. A direct effect of my battle with the alcohol, no doubt.
“Okay,” he said cautiously. “But you don’t look so good . . .”
“As I said, I am fine, though I think I would like to leave, if that is permissible. My head is throbbing, and that infernal pounding reverberating through this building is making it worse. I hardly see how you can tolerate it on such a regular basis, let alone once you have imbibed such a hideous drink.”
“Take her home,” Pierson ordered, tossing the vehicle’s keys to Kierson.
“I’m on it!”
With more enthusiasm than the task warranted, Kierson bounded off the couch, extending a hand toward me, though it never made it to mine.
“I’ll take her home,” Oz purred from the darkness he seemed to shroud himself in wherever he went. Without awaiting a response, he stepped in front of Kierson, snatching the keys out of his hand. He loomed above me ominously, and when I stood up to meet him our bodies touched.
“I think I prefer Pierson’s initial plan,” I informed him, my face only inches from his.
“And I prefer mine,” he retorted indignantly. “Let’s go.”
Taking my arm captive, he ushered me around Kierson and toward the staircase.
“I have seen where your hands have been this evening, Oz. I would prefer not to wear your whore, if it is all the same to you.”
Again, my words were curt and heated. He seemed to find my tone amusing and let out a great laugh indicating so.
“I have the sneaking suspicion that you are not charmed by me, new girl. But how could that possibly be? I’m irresistible. You’ve seen the way women fall at my feet. Why should you be any different?” I could hear the mocking in his words. I would not take the bait.
“I’m weary of you already, Oz. Perhaps I should return and get Kierson so that I may at least have a buffer from your narcissism and inflated sense of entitlement.”
“Kierson is likely busy with sloppy seconds at the moment. I’m afraid you will have to suffer my company for one car ride. Could you deign to endure that, or shall I leave you to drive yourself? I’m wondering if you could even figure out how to get the damn thing in gear.”
“I find it curious that you think I have to suffer you at all. Suffering implies emotion—attachment. I possess neither of those things, especially not for you,” I snapped, educating him on the reality of our relationship with heated words. “Present or absent, I care not. Drive the vehicle or don’t; I shall find my way home regardless.”
His expression darkened at my words.
“Eager to serve yourself up on a platter to the bowels of this city, are you?” he asked, halting our exit just shy of the door. “You think you would survive? Shall we test that theory?”
“I have survived worse, I can assure you.”
“There are dangers in the unfamiliar, new girl,” he said softly, leaning in to deliver his warning directly from his lips to my ear. “You would be wise to acknowledge that.”
“And you would be wise to acknowledge that you are nothing to me. I neither want to fuck you nor heed your words. You have proven yourself to be little more than a self-indulgent leech that has attached itself to my brothers. They have honor—purpose. You have neither of those things. Why they tolerate you at all is an enigma. They claim you have skill as a fighter, though only when it suits you. I cannot imagine what scenario could inspire you to do anything more than unzip your pants and spread your seed.”
A flash of anger burned in his eyes momentarily before a serpent’s smile spread wide across his face.
“I think I will take you home, new girl,” he drawled, his face still near my own. “I can’t let you die just yet. You’re far too entertaining for that.” He pushed the heavy metal door open and led the way up the long stretch of staircase to the street above. When we stepped onto the street, the moon was still high in the sky. He looked at it curiously for a moment, inhaling the night air deeply. to m SdeeleraCan you smell that?” I lifte
d my nose to the air in an attempt to re-create his gesture. I smelled nothing beyond the stench of the city. Again, he leaned in close, his breath tickling the skin on my ears. “Desperation. Fear. They’re rampant in this hellhole, marking the path of evil. Learn the scent. Let it imprint on your brain so that it triggers the same response in you. If you’re lucky, your recognition will keep you alive.”
I pulled away from him and stared impassively.
“I am fluent in fear and desperation. It is the language of the Underworld. Do not presume to know how to keep me safe from what evokes it,” I cautioned, my tone as dark as his eyes. “Only moments ago you were all too happy to leave me to my fate. I think I preferred that
behavior.”
“Ah, but I told you that I find you entertaining. I’m not ready for you to succumb to the city just yet.” He turned in the direction of the vehicle and walked toward it, tossing the final words that he would speak to me that evening over his shoulder. “I’ll let you know when I am.”
7
I awoke the next morning to yet another heated discussion coming from the living room above. Unable to sleep any longer, visions of Oz in the bathroom still plaguing my mind, I decided to join my arguing brothers to ascertain what the problem was. I assumed that I was once again the cause of it.
“And they told you nothing?” Drew pressed as I quietly opened the door to the main part of the house. When I stepped through it, I found Drew staring Casey down, a clear and distinct tension having overtaken his reserved demeanor.
From Casey’s usual perch on the sofa, he looked up at Drew as though he could not have been less intimidated.
“Nothing. Nobody knows anything.”
The click of the door latching behind me alerted them to my presence.
“Khara, I’m sorry,” Drew apologized, coming to greet me with a faint smile. “Did we wake you?”
“No. I was already awake.”
“You got home all right last night, I see. I heard about Oz’s theatrics at the club . . .”
“He is a nuisance, though utterly harmless. He delivered me home as he said he would.”
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