Eye of Heaven

by Marjorie M. Liu

  “Neither can I. Based on what I saw, Santoso doesn’t need to ransom anyone. He’s got plenty of money already.”

  “You saw his operation?”

  “Some. Too much. He’s a sick man, Blue. Sick as anything I ever imagined, but the worst part is that he wouldn’t exist if there weren’t already hundreds or thousands of people just as disgusting as he is.”

  “Supply and demand. I wish I could have protected you from that.”

  “And you think I can’t protect myself?” Iris asked, though it was nothing but quiet bravado, because last night she had not been able to protect herself, not for all her gifts, not for all her precautions. Her life had been in the hands of others, and oh, what a failure she had been. Alive, yes. Unbroken, yes. But still in chains.

  No chains now. You have your freedom.

  Not really. Not until Santoso was dead. Not until she had her mother and Danny back, alive.

  Iris held up her hand and slowly shifted, watching Blue’s face as golden light shimmered over her fingers and wrist. Fur pushed through her skin, golden and black, sleek with round spots. Claws tore through her nails. Animal and human, together as one, and there was a part of her that watched the transformation in disbelief, even outrage, because she could not control her impulse to see Blue’s reaction, to see if he truly could handle what she was without fear or the awful lust that Santoso had shown. Her heart hammered, a little voice screaming inside her head—not right, not right—but her life was all gone to hell, anyway, and she wanted to know how deep she could go before striking bottom. She wanted Blue to prove himself. She wanted to see his eyes.

  And she did, and she watched him watch her, and she was there at the exact moment he looked away from her hand into her face, and said, “You don’t scare me, Iris McGillis.”

  “I’m not human,” she whispered, but Blue grabbed her hand, twining his fingers around her own, and he held them up—flesh against fur, palm to palm—and the sight mesmerized, terrified, exhilarated.

  “I don’t think I give a damn,” he said. “I think I love you just the way you are.”

  Iris let out her breath, watching as he dragged her hand—her furred, spotted hand—to his lips. He kissed her wrist, her palm, and she fought herself, struggled against her heart, because it was too damn wonderful and right now she did not believe in dreams come true. She did not know if she could trust the possibility.

  Then you’ll never be satisfied. You’ll have the world at your feet and you’ll kick it away out of fear.

  “We need to go,” she said softly.

  “I know.” He cracked open an eye. “My cell phone doesn’t work out here. We’re on our own, Iris.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It is for storming a castle.” His mouth curved, his thoughts clearly for a moment wicked. “Or did you have something else in mind?”

  Iris leaned close and kissed him. It was quick and awkward, but he did not seem to mind. He sat up when she pulled away, following her mouth with his, and she could not escape him as his free hand snaked to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair. His kiss was shockingly gentle, a light caress that was more breath than touch, but she could feel his body quake, his arms tense. Hunger, burning, and the fire in her heart swept into her stomach, pooling into an ache.

  The blanket slipped; her breasts rubbed against his chest. Blue broke off the kiss. His breathing was ragged, as was hers. Both their hearts were raging like thunder, together. He held her tight, crushed her in his arms.

  “Not here,” he breathed in her ear. “Not like this.”

  Not like what? Iris wanted to ask him, because really, she had the very strong suspicion that making love with Blue would be just as fantastic on the hard ground in the middle of the desert as it would in some fancy hotel with nice clean sheets. Although a shower first might be good.

  As would knowing that her mother and friend were not in the hands of a megalomaniacal psychotic pervert.

  Blue’s hand drifted from her hair down her spine, trailing lazy circles to the small of her back, lingering just above the crease of her backside. Iris swallowed hard. “I thought you said now wasn’t good?”

  “Give me a minute,” he muttered.

  Iris laughed and pushed him away, drawing the sheet up over her chest. Although, really, when she thought of it, modesty was almost ridiculous at this point.

  “Walking in the desert right now is a terrible idea,” she said. “The heat is bad enough in the shade.”

  “I think staying here might be worse.” He cleared his throat, glancing out at the bright world beyond the outcropping. “Santoso’s men let us go last night. I can’t imagine he’ll let that stand for long.”

  Iris thought of Broker, but said nothing. What did she have to tell Blue? That something else was going on in that facility? A power struggle, perhaps? She stood. “If we’re going, I need to shift shape. No clothes and no shoes will make for a very interesting walking experience on those rocks.”

  “Tell me about it,” he muttered, and Iris rolled her eyes, biting back yet another smile. Blue grinned and turned around, giving her privacy.

  Iris dropped the blanket. She prepared to shift, but as she did, memories racked her—of Santoso and his men, of the chains and Songbird, crying with a knife to her breast. She shivered, and maybe she made a sound, because Blue stirred, tilting his head just slightly, and said her name.

  She studied the strong lines of his back, the rough edge of his dark hair brushing his shoulders. Iris thought about his eyes, what they would look like watching her body, and defiance filled her, along with a deep, quiet rage.

  “Blue,” she said. “Blue, turn around. Please.”

  He did, his gaze flickering briefly on her body before focusing on her face.

  “Iris,” he said. “What—”

  “I want you to watch,” she said. “I want you to see me shift.”

  He frowned. “Not that I mind, but you don’t … There’s nothing to prove here, Iris.”

  You’re wrong, she thought, but did not say that, did not answer him at all. Iris let the glow rise off her skin, body shimmering into something liquid and malleable, and she watched him watch her, fighting to fill up her mind with memories of something better—memories of Blue—before anything darker could take root.

  No flinching. Not ever, not for her.

  Blue did not disappoint. She looked for his fear, his disgust—wondered if she would ever stop looking—but all she saw in his eyes was desire, an acceptance that was not forced or patronizing, but sweet, almost kind.

  You’re a good man, she thought at him, even when his gaze slipped to her breasts, and lower. His expression darkened with another kind of heat, and Iris had to fight the urge to lick her lips, to prolong the shift. So much for testing his tolerance; this was changing into something else entirely.

  “Iris,” Blue said in a hard voice. “Iris, you’d better do something about this. Or I’m going to do something.”

  “Really,” she said, her voice lowering as her throat shifted. Fur covered her body, a sleek coat that would thicken soon enough, but at the moment just dusted her skin. She had never delighted in the sensuality of her body, of her second self, but this … that look in his eye … the way his hand drifted down to his thigh …

  Iris went down on all fours, bathed in light. Her tail roped out from the base of her spine, her back arching as muscles expanded, grew long as her torso stretched and stretched—and still Blue watched, and still she felt his desire—her own, as well—and when she was finally leopard, fully cat, she padded close, moving between his legs.

  Blue ran his fingers down the sides of her face, and she saw his desire become wonder. His hands felt good. Her entire body felt good. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “I wish I could kiss you.”

  Iris shifted just enough so that her face was mostly human, body still sleek with fur. A difficult transformation, but she managed. Blue leaned forward, touchi
ng her face, her lips. He kissed her, slow and deep, then pressed his mouth to her ear.

  “Why?” he asked, not unkindly. ‘Why, Iris?”

  “Because I wanted to,” she whispered, curling even closer. “Because I had to. I needed you to see me. I needed … a better memory.” Because the next time she changed into a leopard, Santoso would not be the first thing she thought of. Maybe the second, but not the first—and that was all that mattered.

  That, and Blue had not turned away. He had not run from her.

  Blue went very still; deadly, quiet. “Santoso … hurt you, didn’t he?”

  “He hurt me,” Iris agreed softly, pulling back to look into his eyes. “But not like that.”

  He wanted to ask her. He wanted to know. She could see the struggle on his face, but he stayed silent, and Iris was glad. She would tell him one day, but not now. Not now. This was enough to dull the pain, to put her on the road to something better.

  Blue pressed his lips against her temple. “Have you ever shown yourself like this to anyone else? Shifted?”

  Iris nodded, closing her eyes, trying not to remember. “It was bad, Blue. It ended … bad.”

  He slid down beside her, pulling her body into his lap. His hands caressed her back, running down her fur, teasing warmth into her muscles. Iris clung to him, limp. “I was sixteen, still in Montana. There was a boy who hung around, a cattle rancher’s son. Tommy. I really liked him. I loved him, even. I thought he loved me. And I had these romantic notions of love conquering all. I was so stupid.”

  “No,” Blue murmured. “Different kind of love, that’s all. You were young.”

  Iris swallowed hard, laying her cheek against his chest. “Things got heavy between us. We were out in the woods, fooling around, and I shifted. I couldn’t help myself. And he … freaked out. He had a gun—he always carried a gun—and he tried to use it on me. I ran, he caught up, and I … fought back. I hurt him bad, Blue. I didn’t mean to. Later, when he could talk again, he tried to tell people what happened, that I was the one who hurt him, but his wounds were from an animal and no one believed him. They put Tommy away for awhile. And my mom and I left to join the circus.”

  Blue’s arms tightened. “And now Santoso—”

  “And now you.” She brushed her lips against his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, drawing his scent into her mouth and making it a part of her. His hands curled against the back of her head, pushing through fur, and he kissed her hard, making her dizzy as he surrounded her, spinning her into pure fire. She clung to him, desperate for the safety of his arms, his desire, fighting down the images of Santoso that suddenly flickered through her mind.

  Iris broke off the kiss, gasping. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I need a moment. Last night …” She stopped, unable to finish or explain. Blue pressed his lips against her forehead. His entire body trembled.

  “Iris,” he said, and there was something terrible in his soft deep voice, something dark and dangerous yet infinitely gentle. “You tell me what you want, what you need, and I’ll give it to you. Anything. All you have to do is ask. All you have to do is need, and I’ll be there for you.”

  From any other man it might have sounded like a joke—yes, need me, use me, please, oh, please—but she knew he was offering more than just sex, and it cut her, made her heart bleed just a little, because it was too good, more than she had dreamed for herself, and it made her afraid.

  “This is dangerous,” she murmured, feeling the echo in her mouth, the déjà vu of a conversation some lifetime distant in her past.

  The hint of a smile touched his mouth. “The most dangerous thing we’ll ever do. If you trust me.”

  “I trust you,” she breathed. “I don’t think I ever had a choice but to trust you. If there had been an alternative …”

  Blue grinned. “I would have been dumped at the side of the road by now?”

  Iris bit back a smile. “You got under my skin.”

  He laughed softly, though only for a moment. His eyes turned serious. “Maybe there’s something I should tell you now. About me.”

  “I don’t know if I like the sound of this.”

  “It’s nothing bad. Just … I have my own secrets. Things that I can do that aren’t entirely … normal.”

  She stared at him, hard. “What do you mean? You’re no shifter.”

  “I don’t have to be.” He almost looked sheepish. “I’m psychic.”

  She would have laughed, but the expression on his face was suddenly so serious that she swallowed it down with a cough. She took a moment to stare, to think about what he was saying. To weigh it in her head with all she knew about the world. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  “Don’t tell me you think I’m lying.”

  “It’s hard to believe.”

  “Because women don’t turn into cats?” Blue gently squeezed her hand. “Or am I imagining all this fur?”

  She tried to pull away, but he would not let go. Part of her was glad. The other part … just contrary.

  “Prove it,” she said.

  Blue snorted, laughing quietly. “God, you are stubborn.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Good.” Blue held up his other hand and showed her his watch. The gleaming face was a mix of both standard and digital—very complicated, no doubt expensive.

  “Look close,” he said.

  “What am I looking f—,” Iris began, then shut her mouth as the watch suddenly stopped. The digital read-out was blank, the hands were no longer ticking.

  “And now …” Blue whispered, and Iris felt another tingle run up her arm as the watch blinked to life. Iris grabbed his wrist, dragging the watch so close she fogged its face with her breath.

  “You turned it off with your mind?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Yes. I can do that with anything that uses electricity.”

  “Which is almost everything.

  “Almost,” he agreed, watching her with such intensity that for a moment she was reminded of herself. Testing him, judging him.

  Now he was doing the same thing to her.

  Iris squeezed his hand. “You don’t scare me, Blue. Not in the slightest.”

  The fleeting pain that passed over his face was not what she expected, but she chalked it up to the same old pain she lived with. Something bad had happened to him, maybe more than once. She understood.

  They packed up their things and left the outcropping for the desert sun. The heat was bad in the shade, but out, exposed: terrible. Iris watched Blue walk with a water bottle in his hand, counting the number of drinks he took, reassuring herself that it was enough. In this place a man dying of thirst might never realize he was in trouble until he dropped dead.

  She drank, too, coaxed by Blue into lapping water from a small cup stashed inside his backpack. Water tasted different as a leopard: richer, sharper, with nuances that she never noticed as a human. She had forgotten so much.

  They traveled east, following an indirect path toward the facility. Blue found the right direction by finding underground electrical lines. A nice trick. She wondered if he was more than just a detective; there was something about the way he acted—what he could do, the fact that he knew actual shape-shifters—that made her think he might be something just a little different.

  You still don’t know him all that well. You don’t know anything, really.

  But she could live with that. For now.

  Iris loped ahead of him, scenting the wind for threats. The land in this particular area was full of small hills and outcroppings made of red rock, dried riverbeds that felt like the beginnings of baby canyons. The world fluttered with sounds: insects hissing, a lone bird twittering a sparse song; the crunch of dirt beneath Blue’s shoes, and the whisper of his movement in jeans. The wind murmured. The afternoon heat did not dull; it magnified everything—including the sudden crack of bone.

  The sound was loud as a gunshot, and when she heard it again she could imagine t
he crunch of marrow, the wet sound of a tongue. It was close; she lifted her nose to the shifting wind and smelled something that was animal, and older: decay, human.

  Iris snarled at Blue, raking her claws in the dirt, and when she was certain she had his attention, she moved off their chosen path, bounding around over a low rocky rise. She saw a coyote chewing furiously. On a human body. An arm. And not just one. There was a long ditch filled with badly buried bodies.

  Iris charged the coyote. It ran immediately, hauling off the arm it had been eating. Plenty of torso left behind, though. Iris wondered where the vultures were, but when she got close the smell was not as strong as it could have been and the body itself was desiccated and picked over. Out for a while, then, with most of the good stuff gone.

  The corpse was female and naked. Long dark hair. Hard to tell if she had been pretty, but Iris thought the answer might be yes. She was covered in dirt from the waist down. No tattoos or birthmarks. Nothing to give a name.

  Iris shifted shape, going as human as she could while still retaining her sleek coat of fur. Blue joined her, and together they stared at the tangled rows of the dead. Numbers were impossible to tell, but Iris had to guess at least forty or fifty bodies.

  “Mass grave,” Blue murmured. “I’ve seen this before, Iris. In the Philippines. Santoso did something similar there, too.”

  It took her a moment to understand him; her mind still raged against the death in front of her. “Something similar? You … knew about Santoso? Before all this happened, you knew he existed?”

  His jaw tightened. “I’ve spent the past three months hunting him.”

  “Three months,” she echoed. “I suppose that means you knew he would be in Las Vegas.”

  “No.” Blue looked at her, eyes hard. “No, Iris. Two weeks ago I was injured and taken off the case. It was only in the past couple of days that my father asked me to find my brother. Which was I came here. The rest was … coincidence.”

  “Coincidence. There’s been a lot of that lately.”

  “If you don’t believe me—”

  “I believe you. But I’m beginning to feel manipulated, Blue.”