Dark Heart

by Margaret Weis;David Baldwin

“A long time ago? What exactly are we talking here—decades, centuries? Are you going to tell me next that you live forever?”

  Justin said nothing.

  Sandra choked on the truth. “I don’t believe this!” she cried. “This isn’t happening. What are you, a vampire or something?”

  “No.”

  “Worse? A demon? One of the devil’s creatures?”

  “No.”

  “What, then?”

  “You remember the story I told you and Benny at dinner the other night?”

  “Of course, I remember. I’ve been thinking about it since…tonight. What does that make you, then?”

  “One of the Dragon’s disciples.”

  “You’re a dragon man?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then that was you tonight, fighting with…that other…dragon man.”

  “Yes. His name is Kalzar.”

  “I shot my pistol at both of you. Did I hit you?”

  “Yes.”

  Sandra swallowed. “But you’re okay, of course,” she said sardonically.

  “Weapons can only kill me if they are appropriately blessed. I am not mortal,” Justin replied. “They hurt, but aren’t fatal. I was impressed, however, by your calm in being able to shoot me at all.”

  “You’re not mortal. Of course not. What self-respecting demon would be?” She started to laugh, heard the harsh hysteria in it, and stopped herself. “Did the gunshots hurt badly?”

  “Yes.”

  Again, she swallowed, but said nothing.

  “Sandra—” Justin began.

  “How do I look like her?” she interrupted him. “In what ways?”

  He paused, then, “If you took your hair down, and looked into a mirror, you might see Gwendolyne looking back.”

  “Gwendolyne…Gwendolyne’s Flight. You named your club after her? That was her name?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she flee?”

  “This life. Too soon.”

  “And I look exactly like her?”

  “Yes. She was beautiful, inside and out, as you are. Her beauty took my breath away every time I looked at her. But in other ways, the two of you are nothing alike. She was quiet, soft-spoken. She moved through life gently, like a murmuring brook over smooth stones. You’re a fighter who challenges the world to come and meet you. Everything you touch, you ignite with your passion.”

  “How did she die?”

  “We were taken by the plague, both of us. We were at death’s door. The Dragon came to me in a silver mirror. I was swollen with pustules, lying on the cold stone floor in a puddle of my own urine. The Dragon offered me immortality, and the strength to change the world for the better, to fight for his cause. I accepted. Someday the world will be safe for the Dragon to return, and that day will usher humanity into a new and brighter age of evolution. The Dragon cannot come back as long as there are people who would hunt it, people like Saint George.”

  “Why didn’t the Dragon make the same offer to Gwendolyne that he did to you?” Sandra asked, still staring at the Virgin Mary, still unwilling to turn around and let the plea in Justin’s eyes threaten her resolve, steal her strength.

  “The Dragon did make that offer to her.”

  “I see,” Sandra said softly. “She refused.”

  “You must understand,” Justin said, “she was a child of the Dark Ages, raised on stories of witches and devils. Like all superstitious people she thought anything she could not understand must be evil in nature. When she saw the Dragon’s face, she saw only its intimidating appearance. She did not hear the wisdom of its words, could not know the wisdom of its years, its benevolence. Her fear of the Dragon was greater than her love for me.”

  Sandra paused. It was all so strange, but she had seen enough evidence to convince herself that he spoke the truth. She nodded slowly.

  “There’s something I don’t understand. Who killed that girl’s boyfriend? What great purpose could that possibly serve?”

  “Does it matter? He hurt her. He deserved to be punished.”

  “That girl looked like me. Like your wife.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you slept with her, too?”

  “No!” Justin’s reply was vehement. “She was just a child.”

  “Then what? You watched her? Spied on her?”

  “Protected her,” he insisted.

  “Those sketches on your wall—you didn’t tell me the truth, did you? You said they were of me, but they’re not. Only some of them are me. Some of them are that girl, aren’t they? And some of them are other women. Centuries of women who live in your memories…yet all the same…”

  “Sandra, please understand. You cannot know what it is like to live so many years and never have the chance to live a normal life. Through the years I choose people to watch and I live my life through them vicariously. My normal life. From them, I can taste what it would be like to grow up, to have mortal concerns, to love, to die…”

  “By chance, are all of these people you watch young, pretty women with wavy hair and brown eyes?”

  Justin paused. “I am afraid so. We all have our eccentricities.”

  “Do your eccentricities include ripping people’s hearts out of their chests, by any chance? Trying to kill me? Killing my partner?”

  “That was Kalzar’s doing.” Justin’s voice was firm.

  “Why?”

  “You cannot understand a mind like Kalzar’s without first understanding the conditions under which he was raised. He was born on the Arabian peninsula in a time of holy war and vast ruin. Everything is a jihad to him, a divine battle. He believes my need for a personal life jeopardizes our mission. He has taken it upon himself to rid me of what he sees as my weakness. He is a shortsighted soul who cannot appreciate the beauty at the end of the road we travel. He can only appreciate the necessarily bloody work we must do to get there.”

  “And you tolerate that?” she asked.

  “Believe me, I would kill him if I could. But we do not die easily. And our master forbids us to fight among ourselves. That is one of the Dragon’s few laws.”

  “And you broke that law tonight?”

  “I did.”

  “For me.”

  “For you. I would break it again. Kalzar knows this. It may make him wary of coming near you. On the other hand, it may make it more tantalizing to him to try. I do not know.”

  “And your guardian Dragon, doesn’t it care that Kalzar is a bloody murderer?”

  “You cannot judge the Dragon by human standards. The Dragon is over four thousand years old. It carries the memories of every other Dragon before it. To the Dragon, a single human life is nothing. The Dragon cares for the whole of the human race, not the sum of the parts. It cannot afford to lose sight of the long view for momentary compassion. It is not a generous master, but its purpose is the highest possible.”

  “And the end justifies the means?”

  “Of course. You know this as well as I do. You’re that kind of detective. Your own police force has people trained as snipers for SWAT teams as well as those officers who travel to grade schools and teach bicycle safety. The city needs all kinds of law enforcement officers. So does the Dragon.”

  “Kalzar just killed my partner. Somebody killed Jack Madrone, Baxter, and Zack. And Omar, Kalzar’s buddy. Is he one of you, too?

  “In a way.”

  “Would he have killed me if you hadn’t intervened that night in front of the jazz club?”

  “You know a great deal about us now,” Justin said softly. “That makes you a liability…or an asset.”

  Sandra finally turned around, looked into Justin’s vibrant blue eyes. If he was hurting from the fight, he didn’t show it. It was impossible to believe she’d pumped nine bullets into him and the other dragon man. But then, this was all impossible to believe.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I want you to join me,” he answered. His eyes entranced her. “I beg of
you.”

  “Become what you are?” She heard her voice as if from a great distance away.

  “Yes. It is the safest option for you.”

  “Join you or die? Is that it?” she asked bitterly.

  “Sandra, I can’t always be around to protect you from Kalzar. If he is determined, he will kill you. And he is a zealot. Few thoughts enter his small mind, but once they do, they never leave.”

  “You’re serious…,” she said. Suddenly she laughed. Laughed even as she realized she was crying. This morning she’d been a cop. She lived in Chicago, a city in the United States in the twentieth century. Now she didn’t know who or where or even when she was. She felt a horrifying lack of stability, as if the cathedral was made of the smoke rising from the altar candles.

  “I am serious, Sandra,” Justin pleaded. “I want you with me forever. I love you.”

  Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She loved him, too, but she couldn’t say it. There was…too much between them. She couldn’t just…an ocean of blood roiled between them. McKenzie’s death. Madrone. Zack. Baxter. Wheeler. Who was Justin, really? Who was this Dragon who was prepared to grant her immortal life? And for what price?

  “I want that Arab’s head on a plate,” she said. “You may be able to tolerate him, but I can’t. I don’t care how he goes down, but I want him down.”

  “The end justifies the means?”

  “Damn straight!”

  Justin smiled. “You see? I knew we were the same, you and I.”

  She said nothing.

  He reached out and took her hand. “I have answered your questions. I have but one for you.”

  Sandra nodded.

  “You left, that first night we spent together. Why? It was lovely. Why did you leave?”

  Sandra licked her dry lips and averted her gaze from his. “I was afraid,” she said. “Benny got that right. I had a husband once…” She told him everything. The beatings, the verbal abuse, how she kept coming back for more of the same…

  “I’ve been afraid to trust my emotions since then. After I escaped that whole fucked-up situation, I always felt that I had damned myself with my own lying heart. I…didn’t want to do that again. I couldn’t bear to lose myself that way again. When I spent the night with you, I let down my guard, and you crept in.” She paused, looked up at him. “I didn’t want you to be there. I didn’t want to admit that I…”

  “What?” he asked softly.

  “That I’d fallen in love with you.”

  He reached out a hand and touched her cheek. “How could anyone strike such a wonder as you?” he whispered. “Of all the sins I have seen, that must be the greatest.”

  She bowed her head, then looked at him. “Your friends Omar and Kalzar have been taking turns sinning, then, since the day I met you.”

  “Sandra…” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “I would never do that.”

  She nodded. “I don’t think you would.”

  He rose, still holding her hand. She looked up at him.

  “You need some time alone,” he said. “I think it’s best if I leave for a while.”

  “Yes.”

  He let go of her hand and began walking quietly down the aisle.

  “Justin?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  He turned. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “For saving my life back at the club.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  twenty-three

  Sandra pulled into the District Eighteen lot and parked close to the door. After the events of the last few days, she saw danger in every shadow. Any little noise sent a spike of adrenaline racing through her body. She was exhausted, but she didn’t want to go home. She knew the moment she touched her bed, she would fall asleep, and she couldn’t afford to sleep now. Not while Kalzar still walked the earth free, in whatever form he chose. She wanted to trust Justin, but she had wanted to trust him before, and now Mac was dead.

  Sweet, loud-mouthed, dependable Mac. Sandra dreaded talking to Linda more than anything else. And she hadn’t, not yet, at least. She had her own pain to deal with first.

  Sandra spent another hour at the cathedral after Justin left, trying to pull herself together. Somehow, she felt he was watching her the entire time. The sensation left her with conflicting emotions. Was the dragon at the door to protect her from other dragons? Or to devour her the moment she stepped outside?

  She went up the stairs to the precinct and to her desk. She didn’t see who was working graveyard, and she didn’t care. She had only two purposes here now.

  Her fingers felt numb as she scribbled out a note and signed it. She had no idea what time it was. Looking at the windows, she realized it must be near sunrise. The night was giving way to day along the eastern horizon in the faintest of pastel glows.

  After folding the note, she searched through her desk for an envelope. Not finding one immediately, she started toward the captain’s office. She was too tired to be bothered with details.

  “Sandra,” the captain’s voice stopped her. She looked up to see him standing in his doorway. He was a stocky man in his forties, a little taller than she was. His dark red hair had a few streaks of white in it. She had always been impressed by how muscular his forearms were, all covered with that curly, crimson hair. His face had always seemed old to her, which was odd because he had almost no wrinkles. Only a few at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps it was just the way he looked at her. It seemed like he knew more than anyone alive. He appraised her, checking for injuries.

  “Captain…” She blinked, swallowed, and tried to think of something to say. She hadn’t expected him to be in the precinct at this hour. “You’re here early.”

  He nodded. “I told you not to come in, unless IA called. You’re on med. leave, Sandra. Why the hell are you here?”

  She held up the note. “I’m sorry this isn’t couched in official language on the proper form, but I just can’t handle going through all the channels right now.”

  “What is it?” He raised a bushy red eyebrow in inquiry.

  “Request for a formal leave of absence. Of indefinite length.”

  “Sandra…I’m sorry about Mac. He was one of my friends, too.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I know.” She passed him the piece of paper.

  “You sure you want to take this kind of leave right now? A medical is understandable, but people will talk about this. It might not be so easy to come back.” He paused. “There’ll be questions about you…about your mental health.”

  “I know. I don’t care.”

  “Will you at least bring Johnson and DeWitt up to speed on where you and Mac were with your cases?”

  “It’s all in my files—every bit of it. Though I think I can guarantee they’re not going to like my conclusions.” She thought for a minute. “If you want, I’ll write it up now.”

  “Later is fine.”

  “Good.” She turned and started walking away. The captain didn’t say anything. As she passed Mac’s desk, she looked down at all his paperwork, scattered about. She could hear his phone ringing in her mind. She could see him picking it up, talking to Linda with that patient expression on his face. Grunting and nodding and shrugging at Sandra as she waited.

  The tears threatened to overwhelm her again, and she turned away. The captain had followed her. He was talking to her, but she hadn’t heard a word of what he was saying.

  “—they can call you if they need help or background on your conclusions, right?”

  She shook her head.

  “Don’t you want us to catch this guy, McCormick?”

  She shook her head. “Yes, sir. I want him caught. Just, maybe, not the way you think…” She cut herself off and began walking away again.

  “Sandra.” The captain’s voice carried across the room. It had that tone she had heard so many times when he was warning an officer away from a course of action. “Don’t try anything
on your own. We’re cops, not vigilantes.”

  She kept going. Following the hall she’d walked so often with her partner at her side, talking about nothing, him teasing her, getting on her nerves. She couldn’t get his voice out of her head, so she just listened to it and remembered. Mac smiling. Mac laughing. Mac talking to Linda.

  Yeah. Yeah, okay. Yeah, I gotta go. Look, Sandra’s here, I gotta go…

  Sandra got in her car and drove to the coroner’s office.

  She pushed through the door and went inside, followed the darkened hallway to find an attendant.

  He was a tall young man with a big nose, bony and a little bent to the side. She’d seen him around. He’d been working here for more than a year. He was handsome in a lost-little-kid way.

  He glanced up from a microscope and smiled hesitantly. “Hi,” he said, “how can I help you?”

  “You worked on the Zack Miller case with Dr. Benson, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “A little.”

  “Can you help me? I need to know some things about the Miller kid.”

  He nodded back. “Sure…uh, what, exactly?”

  “I want you to see something. Pull the file and meet me in the examination room.”

  “Okay.” He seemed confused, but he went to get the file and Sandra continued into the examination room. One wall was all stainless steel, covered with twelve square doors, each about the size of a dorm refrigerator’s. The meat lockers. Bodies were kept here, chilled and waiting, until the police were finished with them, and then they were sent to the city morgue. Miller’s body would be long gone, but that was all right. The coroner kept extensive records, videotapes, and photos.

  The young doctor returned a moment later with a file. Sandra had looked it over before. Among the contents were photographs of Zack Miller’s grisly wound, and a few suppositions as to what could have caused it. Nothing concrete. But now Sandra knew what could rip a hole in a man’s chest like that. She had felt those claws rip into her own body.

  The young man was shuffling through the photographs. Looking up at her, he said. “What exactly did you want me to review?”

  “The wound.”

  “Oh. Okay. Yeah, I remember. Unknown puncture wound, punched through the rib cage. Probably a steel mechanism. Powerful launching device.”