Eye of Heaven

by Marjorie M. Liu

  “You okay?” she asked him.

  “Fine, though I’m beginning to think this was a stupid idea.”

  “We should be safe here. It’s crowded.”

  “That’s part of the problem.” He gave her sharp look. “I’m sorry, Iris. I forgot how much you dislike these places. We can go if you want.”

  She sighed. “We’re here. Let’s just try and make the best of it.”

  But by the time they reached the restaurant, nestled on the other end of a long and rambling walk through a ringing casino maze, Iris was not in the mood to eat. Daniel was still too quiet, the discordance of his scent putting her on edge. She also missed Blue.

  You still don’t know him. Not really.

  And yet, he always smelled the same as his words. Scents never lied, while it amazed her just how many people did, and over the smallest things. Blue, however, had never shown one side of his face and then exuded another—no wolf in sheep’s clothing was he. He was holding back, yes—she could read that as easy as breathing—but the irony of it was that in his own way he was still straightforward. Even if most of his life was still a mystery, he made her feel as though she knew him better than almost anyone—a heart knowledge, a gut instinct, a tiny voice whispering yes, he’s the one.

  Iris knew she had a funny way of showing that. Knocking him across the room, running away to have a nervous breakdown? Acting like a terrified idiot, because she really was just that frightened?

  Very romantic. A sure sign you guys will last.

  The Golden Nugget’s restaurant had nice clean lines and dark wood details, neutrals everywhere—probably to make up for the crass exterior.

  Iris had her own deal with the Miracle management when it came to her food: meal tickets for the buffet anytime she wanted to eat there, fresh fruits and vegetables from the chefs themselves at the restaurants. It wasn’t just charity; there was simply too much food.

  The air smelled like grease and beer. The line to get in was long, and even though Daniel had reservations, the hostess directed them to the bar to wait while a table was found and cleaned for them. The bar was not Iris’s idea of predinner relaxation. Too many people, and the air was hot. Men jostled her, covered her in their scents. Gazes dipped to her breasts. Mouths smiled.

  Iris managed not to kick anyone in the testicles. Daniel gave her the only seat available, angling in beside her so that he could lean against the slick counter. There was a TV above the bar. CNN was on, which did not seem like good television to get drunk by, though Iris knew she wasn’t much of an expert on the subject. Everyone else appeared to be enjoying themselves.

  “What would you like?” Daniel signaled the bartender.

  “A Coke would be fine. Nothing special in it.” A drunk shape-shifter, after all, was not a smart shape-shifter. She had enough trouble controlling herself when she got excited.

  Daniel ordered himself a beer. He traced circles in the polished countertop while they waited for their drinks. Outside, slot machines dinged in discordant symphony while the low murmur of voices, drunk and sober, rose and fell, rose and fell—that was the heartbeat of the city, which also had a scent: cash, excitement, arousal, desperation. Harsh, rough smells—they would never get prettier or gentler, no matter how nicely Las Vegas dazzled her eyes.

  “You get out often?” Iris asked Daniel, unsure what else to say, knowing only that the silence was heavy, awkward. This was not supposed to be a date, but it sure as hell felt like one. Not that she had any experience. Face it. You’re twenty-four years old and you might as well have been raised in a nunnery.

  Yeah, some nun.

  “This is the first time I’ve been away from the circus since we got here,” Daniel said.

  “It’s been months, Danny. You’re worse than I am.”

  He smiled, still tracing circles. “I was just getting my feet under me. I had a lot to think about. I didn’t much feel like exploring.”

  Their drinks arrived in glass steins large enough to drown in. Iris hefted her Coke and toasted him. “Here’s to getting out and getting a life.”

  “How about just keeping the life we’ve got?” Daniel smiled, rueful. “I’d give a lot just for that.”

  “Things change,” she said, thinking about her own life. “Maybe you don’t want them to, but that’s the way it is.”

  Daniel sipped his beer, watching her over the rim of his glass. Iris felt uneasy meeting his eyes—too intense, too much scrutiny.

  “You’re in love with him,” he said. “Blue.”

  Iris shook her head, cheeks flaming. “No.”

  A sad smile tugged on his mouth. “It’s okay if you are.”

  “This from the person who hated Blue from the very beginning.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I hated him. I’m not sure what I feel anymore, though. Jealous, maybe?”

  Iris shook her head. “It’s no secret you both know each other. Care to explain?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “I didn’t press. And I’m not going to press you, either.”

  “You’re too nice, Iris.”

  “Not particularly.” She smiled and sipped her soda. “So, Blue?”

  “We’re strangers,” Daniel said. “And that is the truth. I just … happened to know of him, that’s all.”

  “His reputation precedes him?”

  “Something like that.”

  “He told me he’s a detective.”

  Daniel nodded, his scent spiking with tension. “I knew that.”

  Iris stared, clarity hitting her so hard she almost gasped. “Oh, my. He was looking for you, wasn’t he? He was sent here for you. That’s why you started talking about your family.”

  Daniel grimaced. “Iris … he is my family.”

  She almost dropped her glass. Daniel’s hand shot out, steadying it, but soda still sloshed over both their wrists. She tried to talk, but her voice would not work. Daniel’s face reddened. He grabbed some napkins and dabbed her hand.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I should have guessed that would take you off guard.”

  “No shit,” she snapped. “What are you? Brothers?”

  “Half-brothers.” Daniel shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “This is the first time we’ve ever been within spitting range of each other.”

  Iris slumped against the bar counter. “I can’t believe this.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when I saw him,” Daniel muttered darkly. “The only reason I recognized Blue is that our father likes keeping pictures of him around to taunt me.”

  Iris raised her eyebrows. “Taunt you?”

  “It’s a game my father plays. He likes to make people feel like shit.”

  “And pictures of Blue would do that?”

  “It’s not the pictures. It’s the fact that my father uses them as a constant reminder of my … inferiorities.”

  She needed something stronger than soda. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Everything, anything.” Daniel shrugged, shoving his glasses up his nose. “I don’t think Blue has any idea. As far as I know, the old man never had anything to do with him.”

  Iris closed her eyes. Brothers. Daniel and Blue were brothers. Which … made sense, in an odd sort of way. Or at least, it explained the similarities of their scents, and how every now and then she thought they resembled one another.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “How much weirder is this day going to get?”

  Daniel bit back a short laugh. “I’m afraid to find out.”

  So was Iris. “Have you talked to Blue about this?”

  “No. We’ve been … dancing around each other.”

  “More like ripping each other to pieces.”

  “Given our family, you don’t know how appropriate that really is.”

  “O-kay,” Iris said. “Do you at least know why he’s here?”

  “I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure. He’s not what I expected.”

  “No,” she murmured. “He’s not.”r />
  That same sad smile flitted over his face. “Again, love.”

  “I don’t love him. I barely know him.”

  “I’ve watched you for months, Iris. You’re funny, sweet, probably the most delightful, talented, woman I’ve ever met, but you don’t go out, you don’t have any close friends, and you never touch anyone. Never, not even by accident.”

  “I’m not the huggy-feely type. So sue me.”

  “This goes beyond huggy-feely, Iris. At first I thought you had a phobia, but after awhile I realized that you were just … closed off. So used to being alone you couldn’t even think of the alternative. Not that I’m criticizing you. I’m the same way. Just … not quite as extreme.”

  “Thanks,” she said dryly.

  Daniel shrugged. “Types like us … it takes something special to bring us out of our shells. We’re too used to being on our own. Maybe too afraid of what will happen if we’re not. So when I see you with Blue, touching him, letting him touch you …” He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Red flag, Iris. Big screaming red flag.”

  “You make it sound as though I’m doing something wrong.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not wrong. What’s wrong is that you can’t even admit out loud that you like him.”

  “I do like him. I probably like him more than you do.”

  “Probably,” Daniel muttered. “Question is, what are you going to do about it? What are you going to give yourself permission to do?”

  Iris narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like it when people psychoanalyze me, Danny. It requires a level of arrogance that I don’t much appreciate. And, frankly, my feelings toward Blue are none of your business. Really.”

  “Arrogant is my middle name, Iris. And I’m not psychoanalyzing you. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “For your benefit or mine?”

  “Both.”

  “So we have issues. We have trouble trusting people. Big deal, Danny. Why are we even talking about this?”

  “Because Blue is the one person we both can’t stop thinking about.” His mouth curved, bitter and wry. “The one person we can’t ignore. And if neither of us can scratch together the balls to confront what his presence does to us, then we’re both screwed.”

  Iris looked down at her drink. “You’re being melodramatic.”

  “I’m feeling melodramatic.” Daniel slid his empty beer bottle away from him. “But I’m right and you know it. I was raised to hate him, and the fact that I don’t, not anymore, feels wrong. Like I can’t trust myself.”

  “Because you’re afraid he’ll hurt you,” she said. “Or that you’ll hurt him. And you don’t know whether or not to trust the way you’ve been raised, or what your heart is telling you.”

  “Poetic.” Daniel’s hand inched toward hers. “You can never plan the future by the past.”

  “And why would you want to?” Iris added, hesitating for one long moment before patting his hand. The contact was brief, his answering smile soft.

  “I waited too long to ask you out,” he said. “But even if I had, you probably would have said no.”

  “Hard to say,” Iris told him. “And I’m still not convinced about Blue.”

  “Neither am I. Our father has enough charm to convince angels they should be devils, and if Blue is anything like him, he’ll get what he came for and then leave you. Build you up and tear you down until all that’s left is a shell, until even your memories of the life you had before will hurt so bad you might just take a razor to your wrists rather than deal with the living anymore. Men like him—like our father—do that to women like you. They do not know how to love.”

  “Jesus.” Iris looked at him, horrified. “Take some happy pills, will you?”

  “Sorry. I’m just saying, that’s all.”

  “Right.” Iris pushed her drink away. “Thanks for the lovely night. I think I’ll skip dinner.”

  “Wuss,” he said, but that was all. His gaze, already roving everywhere but her, settled on the television—and froze.

  Iris turned to look. All she saw was a photograph, the face of a man who, even aged and weathered, was strikingly handsome. He had a strong gaze, deep-set eyes that were piercing and blue. Beneath his picture was a date of death, a headline that mentioned heart failure and loss and how the world would grieve.

  Maybe some parts of the world. Not the one Iris was from. She had no idea who that man was.

  But Daniel did. She could see it in his face. His expression was terrible, awful—shell-shocked and twisted and pale.

  “Danny,” she murmured, but he did not seem to hear. On the television a journalist appeared. She said a name—Felix Perrineau—and spoke about a funeral that had taken place just yesterday, rattling off an impressive list of attendees that included celebrities, business moguls, and one former president. More talking heads appeared, commentators, all of whom smiled like nasty little sharks as they began the distasteful discussion of the old man’s wealth, how Mr. Perrineau’s considerable estate would be distributed, and how all those assets were destined to fall upon the young shoulders of his only child, a son only recently discovered, a son that no one knew about, and who could not be reached for comment.

  None of which explained why Daniel seemed so torn up over some dead rich guy. But as she watched the television, marveling at CNN’s bombastic journalism (wondering, too, what those talking heads would think of her secrets), the network showed a photograph of Felix Perrineau’s son and heir … and he looked exactly like Daniel. Exactly like him.

  “Oh,” Iris breathed. “Oh, my God.”

  “Shit,” Daniel said. “Shit.”

  He looked stricken, horrified. Iris tried to reach out to him, but this time he was the one who flinched, shying away like a child expecting a hard blow. He hunched his shoulders, his glasses sliding down his nose, trying to hide, to become less of himself.

  He smelled like fear. He smelled like pain. He smelled like all those things that would have sent Iris running had it been any other man. Breakdown coming, crazy on the street. Not good. Not good at all.

  Speak of the devil, Iris thought, recalling all they had just discussed. What terrible timing.

  “I’m sorry,” Daniel mumbled, still staring at the television. “I haven’t watched the news. I haven’t read any papers ….” He stopped, looking at Iris. “My father is dead. I can’t believe it. That son of a bitch is gone.”

  “Danny,” she murmured, but he squeezed shut his eyes and shook his head. His shoulders shuddered. Tears, thought Iris, and Daniel did begin to cry. But instead of sobs—instead of something broken—

  He began to laugh.

  It took a moment for Iris’s brain to register the truth. It was too unexpected, utterly bizarre. Daniel clapped his hands over his mouth, and still he could not swallow the sound that bubbled out of his throat. Hysterical—he was close to hysterics—but the laughter was real. Painfully, astonishingly real.

  Iris said his name. Daniel stumbled away. People were watching them now. Iris wondered whether, if everyone recognized him, that would be a bad thing.

  She tried to follow, but Daniel shook his head. His hands fell away from his mouth, clenching into fists that he jammed against his stomach. Beneath her the floor began to vibrate—the glasses on the counter rattled. Iris braced herself as the shaking worsened. People cried out, afraid.

  Iris was not afraid. She watched Daniel, a vein standing out on his forehead as he stared into her eyes. She felt as if she were observing a ceiling descend upon him—a great crushing pressure.

  Slowly, slowly, the tremors eased.

  “I’m sorry,” Daniel whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry, Iris.”

  “No,” she said, but it was too late. He turned and ran, barreling his way through the crowd; reckless, almost violent. Iris tried to follow—made it as far as the slot machines—but a strong hand shot out of nowhere and fastened around her arm, hauling back so hard she staggered. Breathless, startled by the strength of that gri
p, Iris turned.

  The man holding her was small, dark, and very familiar.

  “My love,” he said, smiling. “It is time.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Las Vegas, burning in neon. Blue’s brain felt as if it were on fire as he leaned against a narrow strip of wall beneath the striped turquoise awning and facade of the Horseshoe Casino. His right leg buckled—just slightly—and he slid down into a loose crouch that offered more psychological rest than anything real. Blue wanted to stretch on the sidewalk, cool his body and aching head, but this was Fremont Street, downtown, not as free or gritty as the Strip, and he could already feel the nearby police watching him from the corners of their eyes.

  So he just sat, head down, surveying from under his eyelashes the crowded entrance of the Golden Nugget, situated in all its brass glory directly across from him on the other side of the packed pedestrian walkway. He tried not to think about how much he needed a soft bed, some shut-eye—a good long rest away from anything more powerful than a battery.

  You stay here much longer and your shields will buckle.

  Tough luck. Two weeks ago, before the bomb, this wouldn’t have been a problem. But that blast, the lingering pain inside his head …

  Iris.

  Blue gritted his teeth. He could barely see the Golden Nugget’s doors through the crowds, most of whom were waiting for the light show to begin again on the Viva! Vision screen arched above them. Twelve million lights, hundreds of thousands of watts, all pounding like jackhammers against his skull. The casinos were little better; the Horseshoe and the Golden Nugget felt like volcanoes ready to explode: fire into electricity, electricity into the inferno, burning, burning.

  The power spoke to him; just one touch, one whisper of desire. One thought, and the world would go dark. Las Vegas, dead.

  Do it. Do it and see what it feels like to bring a city to its knees.

  Blue shifted uncomfortably. A nearby elderly couple glanced at him, gazes turning uneasy before they looked away and pushed through the crowd. He wondered what they saw in his face, and decided that he didn’t want to know. There was a darkness in him tonight, a hard edge that had been getting sharper and sharper ever since he’d left Iris, and he could taste its bitterness on his tongue like blood.