Sandra had her own demons. And somehow Justin felt that she alone might understand his.
“So what will you do now?” he asked the glass. He wasn’t sure whether he was talking to the Dragon or to himself. Certainly the master lacked a soft spot for the desires of one of his immortals. Justin knew what the Dragon thought. She was getting too close to the truth. And he was helping her. Telling her the old stories. What on earth had possessed him? Why was it so important that she know the weight of his burden? The source of his power?
Justin studied himself in the glass. He was human now. He wondered whether she would recoil in horror if she saw him in his Wyrm state.
He remembered his wife, Gwendolyne, as she’d been before the plague took her.
Despite their similar appearances, she and Sandra were nothing alike.
Oh, on the surface they could have been twins—their long, tumbling hair, their dark eyes, their elegant faces and pointed chins, the slight upward tilt of their noses. But inside, they were as different as chalk and cheese. He wondered about his memories—was he seeing Gwendolyne’s face on Sandra now? Or Sandra’s face on Gwendolyne? He didn’t know anymore.
One thing he did know—the Dragon had good cause to fear her. Sandra had almost all the pieces of the puzzle now. She was fighting her conclusions—and who could blame her? In the modern world, stories of marauding, murderous, man-shaped killers were the sort of things sold to tabloid journalists, not Chicago detectives. But she knew in her heart what was going on. She might have figured everything out, even by now, even in the intervening hour since he’d left her, and decided to move her wild theories to the forefront of her murder investigation. It would take only one tiny lateral leap in her thinking. After all, he thought, he had more or less given her the last clues she needed to buy into the story at dinner.
The phone rang.
The club phone. Someone downstairs needed him.
He crossed the room, past the dais with the mirror. There were only two reasons his manager was supposed to call him. One was in the event of some cataclysmic emergency. The other…
“Mr. Sterling?”
“Yes, Edward.”
“There is a young woman here to see you.”
“I see. Is she as I described her to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do not keep her waiting.”
“Yes, sir.”
Justin hung up the phone.
Minutes later, he heard a knock on his door. Justin was sitting in his chair in the dark, waiting. He stood.
“Come in,” he said.
Sandra opened the door. He watched her every movement. Every subtle shift of her body under the white Angora sweater she wore, every firm muscle encased in her snug jeans. She carried a small backpack in one hand and the wide neckline of her sweater had drooped over one bare shoulder. The hallway outside bathed her in soft white light. She glowed in it like an angel.
“What, no gentlemanly greeting at the door?” Sandra chided him. Her voice sounded calm, but he could feel her nervousness. She lingered in the doorway, delayed entering the room.
Her eyes adjusted rapidly to the darkness, and she looked quizzically at him.
“I wanted to watch you enter my dwelling,” he said. “Watch you coming to me.”
“You make it sound like such a big deal. Like crossing the threshold. Well, do you want me to come in?” she asked. “Or don’t you?”
“I can’t decide.” Yes, he wanted her. No, he feared her. Feared for her. Feared for himself.
“I fought with myself before coming over here,” she said.
“We have both been warring then. Has the war been won between us?” He got up and moved to greet her.
He was very close to her now. He could feel her breath. He thought he could hear her heart beating.
“Is this a war?” she asked. “Is that what we’ve got going here? Are we adversaries in some sort of battle?”
“Of course,” he murmured, so close to her, but still so far apart. “The oldest war in man’s history—the union between man and woman. It is always a struggle. A contest of wills.”
“Then let the battle begin.” She stepped over the threshold. “It’s dark in here,” she said. “I can barely see you. But I can see your eyes. I can always see your eyes.”
He reached a hand out toward her, then let it fall.
“I would touch you,” he said. “But where? Your lips…your throat…your hands…? They are all so tempting. I can’t decide.”
“Here…” Her voice was barely audible. She took hold of his hand, placed his finger on her lips. “Start here.”
He kissed her. Her eyes closed and shock flashed through them both like lightning, paralyzing them for an instant. The feeling that held them in its grip was overpowering. It was as if all the energy in the universe flowed through that single kiss. They abandoned themselves to it.
At last they parted. His heartbeat sounded loud in Justin’s ears.
Sandra, too, seemed overwhelmed. She swallowed, whispered, “My, my.” Her pack thumped to the floor. He took her in his arms again and kissed her thoroughly.
“I think, Justin…,” she whispered into his ear, “…we just won that war…”
Omar paused for a moment after he hopped the fence surrounding the safe house where the Drokpa agent masquerading as a psychologist in the Chicago police force had taken Tina Danforth. He was as careful as it was possible for one of his impulsive nature to be. No one heard the rattling of the chain links. Omar scratched at the stump of his arm and seethed. It would heal, but the newly forming nerves itched like crazy. It would be at least another couple of weeks before it was completely regenerated, Kalzar said. The infernal itching as it grew back was driving him mad.
Omar turned his attention away from his lost arm. A large black man in a white uniform walked around the corner of the brick building, wheeling a trash barrel out to the Dumpster. Omar stared at the man, then walked toward him.
The orderly turned when Omar was a scant few feet away. He jumped in surprise, then frowned. “Hey, man. You shouldn’t be here. Get out of here!”
Omar continued walking forward. The orderly retreated, got back against the Dumpster, and balled his fists, ready for a fight. He was a large man, very strong, and clearly sure he’d win any sort of confrontation.
“What the hell you doing here, anyway?” the orderly said.
Omar paused a couple of feet from the man. He narrowed his eyes and looked at the orderly. After a moment’s silence, he spoke.
“Trying to decide how to kill you without getting blood on your uniform.”
Tina awoke in the darkness of the strange room and sat up. Everything seemed odd to her—she’d been disjointed and confused ever since that terrible night. She had been dreaming about the dragons, some dreams terrible nightmares that dragged her screaming from sleep, others reassuring her that she would heal and times would change. She couldn’t remember exactly how the last dream—one of the lovely ones—had ended. She hadn’t wanted to wake up, but the dragons said she couldn’t stay right now, that she had to go back.
It was important, they said.
Now she just had to figure out where they wanted her to go.
As the reality of the dark room took hold, Tina heard something outside of her door. Fear tore through her. Now she remembered what the dragons had said and why she had to leave, leave now. The dragons said that danger would come for her tonight.
Do not be afraid, they had said, but be swift and prepare.
The door handle turned and a shaft of light fell across the floor. Tina slid her feet off the bed and stood up to face the intruder.
The man came in and closed the door behind him. He wore a white orderly’s uniform, but Dr. Shiang said the orderlies would not come into her room at night unless Tina called them.
The man paused. Tina could barely make out his features, but she saw enough to recognize him. He was the man who had attacked the Chinese kid ju
st after Zack’s murder, who would’ve killed her if she hadn’t run for her life. Tina had talked about it with Dr. Shiang. The doctor told Tina the man’s name was Omar.
“I know who you are,” Tina said, feeling a strange calm. Her dreams, while a warning, had somehow settled her nerves.
“Do you?” Omar narrowed his eyes. He lunged across the room, slamming Tina up against the wall. She gasped, completely unprepared for his speed and brutal power.
“Good,” Omar said. “Then you know I’m the one who’s going to rip that pretty face off your skull.”
Tina struggled against the iron hand holding her captive. She kicked at him, scratched at his eyes. Nothing worked. He was toying with her like a cat toys with a mouse, enjoying her futile struggles while he contemplated the best location for his killing blow. Tina felt herself unraveling. Her calm dissolved as if it had never been, and she felt herself returning to that dark place deep within herself, the place where Dr. Shiang had found her.
Then she remembered the dragons’ voices from the dream and she ceased her struggles. The dragons seemed to speak to her again and soothe her fright. If Omar really wanted to kill her, she would now be dead. Perhaps he would hesitate long enough for her to escape.
Tina swallowed against Omar’s relaxed grip and spoke hoarsely. “I’ve heard the voices of the dragons from Beyond,” she said. “I have heard their singing. I will never be the same again.”
“Then you’ve joined the wrong side,” Omar said, a snarl curling his lip. He threw her across the room. She crashed into the bed, overturning it. The lamp, the digital clock, and a box of tissues clattered down around her. She cried out, sprawling onto the floor. She pushed herself up and turned to look at him, crying, sobbing through the pain.
Omar’s eyes were glowing red. He stood over her, waiting for something. Tina noticed that he had an empty sleeve where his left arm should be. At that moment he looked even more threatening than if he’d been whole, his body and his expression twisted and malevolent.
Tina swallowed, steeling herself, and said the first words that came to her. “You are just a minor disciple. You can’t take the dragonling form.”
That seemed to affect him. His triumphant smile turned into a snarl. “Soon enough, pretty one, I’ll cross that threshold. I don’t know who’s been telling you so much, but they obviously haven’t told you enough.” He moved toward her and Tina scuttled backward.
A shaft of light tore across the room again, and a cool voice came from the doorway. “It will be difficult to rip apart your victims with only one arm.”
Tina melted with relief. Omar turned to face Dr. Shiang. The small Chinese woman stood quietly in the doorway, outlined by the glow of light from the hallway. Her long, black hair was unbound. She looked as if she had hurried here. Tina had never seen Dr. Shiang look hurried before.
“That will be a problem for you,” Dr. Shiang continued, stepping into the room between Tina and Omar.
“Who the hell are you?”
Dr. Shiang answered his question with a question. Her voice was a warm breeze in the cold room. “If they have already taken your arm, the rest will not be far behind, don’t you think?”
Omar responded by backhanding her sharply across the face. Dr. Shiang stumbled across the room, but did not fall. She righted herself and stood calmly once more, waiting for the next attack. She did not once look at Tina, but Tina could almost hear Dr. Shiang’s voice inside her head.
Run fast! Now!
Scrambling to her feet, Tina went for the door.
She reached the hallway at a dead run and heard Omar yell. Over the pounding of her own heart, she heard his footsteps crashing after her.
At the end of the hallway was the physical therapy room. Tina fumbled with the handle and threw the door wide open, rushed inside even as she slammed it in Omar’s face. Weight-lifting equipment in all shapes and sizes filled the room. Six-foot-tall mirrors covered every wall.
The mirror! Dr. Shiang’s voice whispered in her head. Into the mirror!
Tina’s rational mind couldn’t quite see the point of that, but her rational mind seemed distant and small in these circumstances. She had seen things in the past few days that defied explanation. Tina had only one certainty right now. She trusted Dr. Shiang with her life.
That was the only certainty she needed.
She leapt at the mirror. It rippled as she passed through it.
Omar’s fingernails scraped Tina’s nightgown as she plunged into the mirror. Her actions caught him off guard, and he missed her. He leapt after her, reaching for her disappearing leg. He caught hold of it just as his senses were overwhelmed by the mirror world. Keeping his grip firm, he thought of Kalzar’s mansion as his mind was forced into sleep.
When Omar’s consciousness returned to him, he knew something was wrong. The surface of the mirror at Kalzar’s house parted for him like water, and he stumbled onto the marble floor. The bright sun blinded him for a moment.
Omar looked at his hand. In it was a girl’s slipper. Tina Danforth was nowhere to be found.
With his mouth agape, Omar stared up at Kalzar, who had noticed his arrival. Kalzar rose from where he had been lounging on some cushions. His eyes narrowed.
“Where is she, Omar?” Kalzar asked in a quiet voice.
Omar shook his head. “I don’t know. I had her…I know I had her…I will return at once and—”
“So you have failed me again,” Kalzar said. “I don’t think returning to fetch her will be necessary.”
“But, Kalzar, it wasn’t my fault. The dragons from Beyond—”
“Yes, yes…” Kalzar nodded. “I know.”
Omar watched in terror as Kalzar’s face elongated. Teeth cracked and grew large in his jaws. Wings burst from his back, ripping through his shirt and spraying blood.
Omar screamed and leapt for the mirror.
His hand broke the surface just as Kalzar’s claw closed on his ankle…
But Kalzar captured more than a shoe.
Kalzar threw the bloody rug at the base of the steps. It fell open, revealing what was left of Omar. Already, the lesser disciple’s parts were trying to fit back together. Eventually he would reform, but there was a trick Kalzar had learned long ago when one of his protégés had disappointed him, and he had used it many times since.
I’d better hurry, he thought, before he assembles himself enough to start moaning again.
Kalzar crouched before one of the stone walls of the cellar and hit a hidden lever. A section of the wall moved and he reached within and pulled out a large, iron-bound trunk. Setting it aside, he pulled out a second, identical container.
A thump broke his quiet contemplation, and Kalzar turned. No shadow marred the light spilling from the stairway. The thump sounded again, and Kalzar looked down at the trunks. A slow smile curved his lips and he laughed.
Softly at first, then with growing strength, a voice came from inside the other trunk. Kalzar produced an ornate key and opened it.
Half of a man struggled within. His body ended roughly at the base of the rib cage. His wild eyes rolled and squinted at the light. “Please!” he cried, “I’ll do anything! Please!”
“Hassan,” Kalzar said pleasantly. “Do you know that I had completely forgotten where you were? You’re looking much better than when I put you there. Would you like some company? I’m sure you and Omar will become the best of friends.”
Kalzar scooped up roughly half of Omar from the rug and tossed it on top of Hassan’s upper body. It didn’t really matter what went in, as long as the spine was roughly in two pieces, and those two pieces weren’t allowed to touch. A lesser disciple would grow back any extremity in time, but if the spine was halved, the disciple would remain in two pieces. Kalzar wasn’t sure if that was the case with the Elders—he’d never had a chance to experiment—but he’d always been curious about it. Perhaps he’d have a chance to find out soon.
“Oh, dear God, no!” Hassan screamed.
Kalzar opened the second trunk and threw the rest of Omar on top of Hassan’s legs, which were kicking. He closed and locked the container, then turned back to the original trunk. Hassan had managed to push himself on top of Omar’s remains, and he was clawing at the sides, trying to drag himself out. He grappled with the edges of the trunk, but Kalzar patiently removed his hands and pushed him back.
“Hassan,” Kalzar began, “Do you think, after all this time, you have learned your lesson?”
“Yes, master. Oh, yes, master.”
“I don’t.”
Kalzar slammed the lid shut and locked it. The horrified scream from within afforded him a great deal of pleasure. He couldn’t even remember what Hassan had done to invoke his displeasure.
Perhaps Justin was right about one thing, Kalzar thought as he shoved the trunks—one moaning, one reverberating from desperate kicks—back into the alcove and closed the wall. Omar had turned out to be a bitter failure. Kalzar decided that he must be much more careful about the allies he chose in the future. Or perhaps he should do away with allies altogether, start tying up the loose ends himself?
Yes, that would suit him. The general would take the field again. Why should the lackeys have all the fun?
nineteen
The clacking of keyboards and the buzz of voices in the precinct made a comfortable, familiar sound as Sandra breezed into the Eighteenth District the next morning.
The station felt like home, and it was good to be home, even as difficult as it had been to leave Justin. The memory of the night she’d spent with him brought a smile to her face. But then, just about everything was bringing a smile to her face today. The rain had let up and the sky was robin’s egg blue with a few white puffy clouds—a very nice change from the unending storms of recent days. She’d even heard a bird singing just outside the garage as she turned off West Chicago.
She had wanted to linger beside Justin all morning, or do something stupid like make pancakes and fresh-squeezed orange juice and have breakfast with him in bed. After hours of lovemaking, each time sweeter and slower than the last, they had finally collapsed in exhaustion. The miracle wasn’t that she was late. It was that she’d come in at all.
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