Lord of the Last Heartbeat

by May Peterson

  Big brother—Tibario—narrowed his gaze and edged the blade closer. I rolled my eyes. Unless he had the strength to saw me in half with it, the silver wasn’t going to help. That did little more than annoy me; but through the paneled walls of the Imparviglio—which I had paid perfectly good cash to get into tonight—music tickled my ear. I was missing the fucking performance.

  That voice. It emerged in fortissimo, a bird in flight. Mio. Linking the name to the face, the voice, felt surreal. Standing him down in his dressing room, as he’d clung wounded and small to me, I hadn’t known how to reconcile him with that voice. Slim shouldered and lank limbed, he’d appeared too tiny, too hollow boned and ornate, to occupy the air of an opera stage. Yet out of that powdered-sugar face surged a song to command all the elements, thrumming chord after chord of supernatural power.

  I didn’t agree with castrating some poor boy to make him sing like a bird. But I had to admit it was a sound I wished to hear. They were said to surpass men, women, children all, higher than angels and stronger than storms. But that was wrong. Mio didn’t sing like any of that. His song was like a stab in the ribs. Only my immortality let me listen and stay intact.

  I smirked at big brother. I’d tried a polite exit. I was considering a polite punch into unconsciousness.

  “You think this is funny?” He waved the blade dramatically. “You think I don’t know how to handle one of your—”

  “No.” I pushed him forward, seized his blade in my fist, ignoring the sting. “But let’s talk about funny. What’s funny to me is that your precious little brother, the one you’re so eager to protect? He asked me to kill him. Can you explain that to me? Because the punchline went over my head.”

  “What?” Tibario’s eyes shot wide.

  Oh ho, fuck me. Little shit didn’t know. “Exactly. Care to know why I didn’t do it?”

  The two toughs glanced at each other. Tibario stared for a moment before his composure snapped back into place. “You weren’t hungry?”

  Heh. “Well, there is that. But really there were two reasons. One, I don’t kill for fun. Two, I know what happens when a person dies suddenly while surrounded by misery. Especially in a city full of ghosts where the supernatural is brushing up against everybody. Great way to get a hell of a curse, even for the living.” Properly, that was how all curses started. One part intense suffering or attachment, combined with one part supernaturally charged environment. Curses affected the living in unpredictable ways, but one way was very predictable—add death to a living curse victim, and pop—a brand new ghost, guaranteed. No wonder these streets were haunted as all hell.

  He wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was giving off a chemical cloud of anger—more than seemed appropriate, honestly, but obviously I was missing something. He stepped back. “Mio isn’t cursed.”

  “Maybe not yet. But give it a chance—anything painful enough, violent enough, to take on force in the Deep will eventually spread. And your crime rackets do not help.”

  Tibario’s pain was practically radiant now. He pawed for his firearm. “I am not listening to this from a predator who has never had to fear dying in his—”

  I shattered the silver blade in my fist. Tibario gasped, staggering back. With a growl, I wound bloody fingers in his collar, slammed him hard against the wall. The impact audibly emptied his lungs. I didn’t care. My whole mind had turned silver.

  “You want to know what matters to people who don’t die, shit for brains? Everything that’s worse than death.”

  One of the boys behind me started whining. I figured he was pissing himself, but then Tibario looked over my shoulder, and his face washed with such infant terror he lost about ten years.

  “Tibario,” the tough said, but the sound was unnatural. Scratchy, like how a marionette’s wooden throat might sound if it could speak. “I need you.”

  I whirled around, dropped ginger snap with a thud. The tough stood with his head back like his neck was broken, his left eye throbbing a poisonous red.

  “M-Mother?” Tibario coughed. The other tough bowed.

  “Mio’s turned on us,” the voice said. I couldn’t smell or sense a ghost anywhere, but holy shit. Everything in me screamed possession. “He’s run away. I need you to find him now.”

  My heart thudded to a halt. The only sound rising from the Imparviglio now was chaos.

  Mio.

  “Wait!” I shouted, but Tibario was up, knelt in front of red eye.

  “What happened, Mamma? Is he all right?”

  “He won’t last on the streets by himself!” The voice shrieked through red eye. “Catch him!”

  Maybe I hadn’t been helping him for any reason that bordered on honorable. But I had been right in his dressing room. A sudden vision of misery opened in me, following my footsteps. Mio’s plea looped in my mind. It wouldn’t take very long.

  Tibario’s head swiveled, down the alley and back at his possessed soldier. “He can’t, I don’t understand—”

  “Find him!” the voice hissed. “There isn’t time!”

  Well. Time for one thing.

  I punched the victim in the chest, enough to knock him back. Tibario exclaimed; the other fellow dropped his gun. I seized the victim before he fell.

  Come out, come out, whatever the hell you are.

  Moonlight rushed up in me, turned black. Black as my fur, blackness clear as sight. The red glow was an invading consciousness. Possession disgusted me beyond expression. My veins coursed with the holy darkness. Careful not to break his neck, I swatted his forehead with a palm.

  He lolled back, choking for an instant. And nothing happened.

  Oh, shit. This wasn’t a spirit. It was magic. The bear’s virtue had no strength against sorcery.

  “Leave him alone!” The soldier fired. A shell ripped through me, tearing the seam of my evening jacket.

  I grunted. “This is new, you pissworm!”

  Panting, I released the victim. Roaring again, I swiped the pistol from his grip. The pain in my side was mild next to the burn in my hand. Good; no silver bullets. Even for swordsmen, that would have been a tad garish.

  Tough number two dove for the gun, but Tibario caught him. “We have to head Mio off at the pass. Leave him!” They scurried down the alley, leaving me with a recently possessed youth blinking into awareness.

  A sigh rustled in my chest. Dammit, lemon drop.

  I whistled. “Cecilio! Early night!”

  I took off after ginger snap. Closing the gap was easy; soldier boy saw me lumbering behind them and yelped at my approach. But I didn’t want big brother. I needed to get lemon drop before they did.

  Tibario yanked his flunky round a corner. Speed wouldn’t help me, and I had no time to decide on a direction.

  Just then, Mio burst from the side door, a breathless blond streak hitting me in the torso. He looked like all hell was chasing him.

  “Lemon drop!” I had to grab his shoulders to keep him from fluttering away. The alarm in his eyes was bright as oil paint.

  His mouth opened and closed without sound. The sight chilled me. As with the red-eyed magic, I could not throw off the sensation of a possessing force in the air. Was this what he’d wanted saving from?

  I blinked. “What in hell—” Another bullet flew from the corridor, soldiers in chase. The silhouettes of two men materialized, jeweled with crimson eyes. Dammit. I released Mio, slammed closed the portal and secured my breadth over it. Whatever got through the door would have to go through me.

  A moment congealed of Mio staring at me in horror, wounded lights and shadows marring his eyes. I had time to give him what I hoped was a sympathetic smirk. Then swords snicked to our right. How many soldiers could one crime family have?

  The alley fed from the service doors out toward the street, now clogged with a mass of young men. They skewered me with scarlet-stained glares. W
hoever’s magic this was, it was appallingly strong.

  “Mio,” the possessed men canted in eerie synchronicity. “Stop this.”

  Mio, rocking with tremors, began gesturing wildly at me. It took a second to sink in—he couldn’t speak. But he was telling me to run.

  I grinned. Like hell.

  “That way!” I nudged him down Tibario’s path. No perfect solution, but facing ginger snap had to be better than a horde of possessed minions. Then I dug my heels into blocking the alley—I was running out of body to cover things with.

  The next few moments were a medley of hard lead and pure gold. The soldiers didn’t stand on ceremony, reducing the alley to a blizzard of shots. I gritted myself and held on—the metal tearing through me wouldn’t kill, but it hurt. Then the clatter of wheels and a harsh whinny cut the din. And brought a smile to my face.

  Cecilio overwhelmed the group like an avalanche. Well, Cecilio and a few dozen stone of polished ebony carriage, scattering the men. Smoky horse shapes filled the reins, Cecilio’s shadowy essence having merged with the vehicle. They had possessed soldiers. I had a possessed carriage.

  “So glad you could join us.” I waved. What a sight he was in the street on a rainy evening. The shadow horses reared, ignoring the plink of the soldiers turning their guns on the carriage.

  I turned to lay sight on Mio. He’d reached the alley’s end—and stopped. Because there was ginger snap with a fistful of reinforcements.

  His sword wasn’t aimed at his little brother, but the pistols of his men were. “It’s all right, Mio. Just explain to me what happened. I’ll talk to Mamma with you.”

  Guesses thickened in my mind: their mother was who held the loyalty; the sorcery was hers; she could remotely control her soldiers, but not Mio.

  Whatever lemon drop had done, it seemed more than a spanking was on her mind.

  “Cecilio, to me!” In seconds, the carriage barreled through the narrow alley. I had to pray its bulk would force the other soldiers to move around. The ghost horses at my back, I began pulling off my shoes and jacket.

  “What now, my lord?” Cecilio’s voice plumed murkily from within the wood.

  “Now I’m going to try to salvage my shoes. They’ve been through hell tonight.” I folded the jacket under them and slipped the bundle under the seat.

  “You’re not seriously going to—”

  I silenced him with a waggled finger. Too late. Mio was slipping. He tried to dart behind the soldiers at his side, roll out the other side. The men were faster; possession seemed to inure them to surprise. A couple toughs crushed Mio into the wall, pummeling out a gasp. His head bobbed, hair covering his face.

  Part of me became ice.

  I approached. If only I had a cigar in hand—it would have added atmosphere, and I really, really wanted to burn someone in the face again. His men turned on me with a whistle and loaded their barrels.

  “Walk away,” Tibario said. “You’re not a part of this. I’ll let you go if you turn around now. He’s my brother, this is my family, and my business.”

  His voice rose an octave as I neared. Casually, I unbuttoned my shirt, pulled it off with a flourish. Rain pattered coolly on my bare chest.

  My belt slipped off with a snap.

  His men opened fire. In the instant between trigger and impact, transformation filled me. Ta-ta, trousers. You’ve served me well.

  I surrendered to blackness, cool and sweet as night air, protective as armor. The bear was always within me; I was the bear. My noble spirit and I were not separate. But it was like a memory, or a mood. Always present, yet at times only part of the background.

  It surged to the foreground. The remainder of my clothing burst free. The pain of gunfire was nothing next to the wrench of my body opening up. Muscles tearing as they fought their own solidity, bones snapping into new lines. Of all that came with being a moon-soul, this was obviously my favorite part. Pain unmade me, nerves still alive as the rest of me became fluid darkness, expanding to fill the bear’s space. Fur covered me in black sheen, the dimensions of my limbs finding ursine balance.

  Bear-shaping felt like reliving my death, every time. I roared, drowning the street with that moment of violence. The men were shrieking, panicking, some of them clawing at each other to run. It was all a blur of prey-sign in the rain.

  “God in Heaven—” Tibario’s voice sounded muffled, gray, from the distance of my animal self. Two of his men that retained their wits kept firing; my change had forced the bullets out of me, and now the dull shells thudded off my hide. I spread my arms, an embrace of the night, sucking the moon into myself, and with no more effort than breathing I swept the men aside.

  Mmm. Their smell. How mealy and sweet they were. All this combat must keep their muscles nice and juicy. I lumbered forth, crashing the soldiers off the street, streams of star-studded darkness fuming off me. Now there was plenty of me for all the corners and corridors.

  My bear-mind was always strangely vivid, emphasizing the environment with a series of scent strokes and heat. I wished I could figure out how to smoke as a bear so I could delicately tap off ashes as I crushed things. Since I couldn’t be so dainty, I released a wave of roars, making the night flash. The soldiers abandoned their positions—loyalty could not suspend their mortality, or ward off the giant black bear that was reminding them of it.

  Ginger snap alone remained, sword drawn, trembling and thin in the rain, and for a moment it was sadly majestic. He had guts. But I swatted the blade from his hands, plucked him up with one paw. Because majesty wasn’t enough to temper my fury at how he’d turned on his brother. Mio had no sword, was slumped limply in the damp street like a doll with his stuffing ripped out.

  “Please,” Tibario gasped into the torrent. “Don’t hurt my brother.”

  Pity bear facial expressions were so different, because I wanted to narrow my eyes at him like there was no tomorrow. I was the threat? Disrespectful morsel. I settled for plopping him ass-first in a puddle.

  Mio lay against the wall, heartbreakingly tiny from the vantage of bear-shape. But the cadence of his heart pierced the distance, singing that he was alive.

  The only three minions left formed a semicircle around Mio, left eyes blazing like rubies. They linked their hands, heartbeats falling into rhythm as if chanting a spell.

  Sorcery or no, it was still possession. My virtue of hallowing may not be able to negate it, but it was nonetheless instinctually offensive. I unleashed a moonlit roar, star-streaked blackness tumbling over them. With a gasp, the men fainted to the stones. Heh. Easy enough.

  The rain plopped almost gleefully now, weighing down my fur. Ugh. I tottered over to Mio—he was going to catch cold in all this. I snatched the back of his collar in my jaws and, gently as possible, bore him to the carriage.

  Cecilio materialized out of the gray, solidifying enough to take Mio in his arms and slip the boy inside the coach. I mewled for him to watch Mio’s head. The injury was the greatest worry for now.

  I was going to be starving in human-shape, but the carriage wouldn’t fit both Mio and bear-me. I braced myself and let it go. Transforming back was harder. It was like swallowing a tune I had just learned to sing.

  Pain ripped up my back like fire. Everything shrank as the world grew bigger. I gasped for air, for darkness I was becoming too small for. Panting, I gathered the strength to climb into the carriage.

  “Drive,” I said, my voice rough with animal. “Just drive.”

  Chapter Five

  MIO

  I woke up on a shore littered with broken shells.

  “He’s waking up. The danger’s passed.”

  Hm. The danger’s passed. Somehow, that was the most beautiful phrase I had ever heard in any language. No more danger. Thank you, God. At least there was no more danger.

  “I’ll fetch His Lordship. And more blankets, besides. Poor
dear is probably frozen stiff.” The voices were alien, but they held themselves away from me, as if in respect for how frail I’d become. They did not intrude on my heart.

  Was I freezing? The air felt cool. Like ice pressed against a headache, draining all shades of red from me. There were no shells; I was lying on fabric. No sand, no waves. And—

  Was I wearing pajamas?

  I opened my eyes, and regretted it. An arm went over my eyes by reflex—and yes, that was definitely a pajama sleeve.

  Someone laughed. “Poor child. First light is murder for us all.”

  I squinted the speaker out of the hazy morning. A man’s shape, smirking olive face with shaggy brows. He wore livery, pocket filled with ink pens. Sun touched him through heavy curtains—hunter green, a color that seemed the motif of this new world. A world that expanded into a wide door. Dust particles in the sunbeams. A sofa under me.

  A world in which Tibario and Mamma had forsaken me.

  The thought stirred my heart back to a gallop. I shot up on the sofa. Dizziness cuffed me in the back of the head.

  The man tsked. “For heaven’s sake, lie back down. Get under those covers. That fireplace has been cold for years.”

  Weariness forced me to obey. And the blankets were so warm—once I disturbed them, the air assaulted me with cold. Much colder than it should be this time of year.

  Where—I began. Who are you?

  Clarity crystallized in me. I couldn’t speak.

  And the change on my face must have been plain, because the man seemed to panic. “Now, now, don’t start fretting on me.” He offered a teacup, after slopping some honey into it. “Why don’t you just wait for His Lordship?”

  His Lordship? Rhodry. The mention of him put ground under me. I nodded and took the cup, my hands trembling.

  “You may call me Cecilio.” The man’s smile was sour, sharp. “It’s not proper, but neither is His Lordship, so we may as well all be on first names. So you are... Mio?”

  I nodded again.