Heart Seeker (The Fire Heart Chronicles Book 1)

by Juliana Haygert

  Satisfaction filled my chest and I smiled—and didn’t notice when Tonia leaned back on the sofa, not hiding me anymore.

  One of the guys dancing with Wonder Woman spotted me. Shit, it was the guy who was with Theron and Wonder Woman at the garage. They froze. I froze.

  I saw him mouthing, “Hey.”

  Wonder Woman stopped dancing and asked them something. They pointed to me and she turned. Her stare pierced me, almost hurting. One of them raised his hand and grabbed Theron’s attention, who was still leaned against the wall. The guy pointed to me and Theron’s eyes swept around, settling on me. He had recognized me.

  So had Artan. I glanced up and saw he had noticed the commotion and had found me too.

  My blood became cold in my veins, and for an instant, my mind didn’t work.

  They walked toward me. All of them.

  8

  I shot to my feet and marched to the exit. Tonia called to me, but I didn’t waste time. I ran. For a quick second, I stopped, taking a deep breath of the cool air from the night. After being inside a crammed, hot club for so long, it felt reinvigorating and helped clear my head.

  I searched the street outside the club. Where was Phillip? Was he really on a work call, or had he left?

  Shit …

  I could wait here and find out what they wanted, or I could go home. All I needed to do was find a taxi to take me home. I would never come to Muévete again.

  I walked as fast as I could in my heels, ignoring the perplexed stares I received from people on the street.

  Feeling like a criminal running for her life, I reached the corner and cursed. The side street was calm and dark, but I could see some cars and lights coming from the next one, on the right.

  Glancing back, I saw both groups walking toward me, just now exiting the club. Shit.

  I pulled off my heels, made a right around the corner, and ran toward the other street.

  Twenty feet down the sidewalk, the pendant inside my bra warmed up against my skin and lights exploded in my mind. Momentarily dizzy, I tripped and would have fallen on the sidewalk. But a hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the buildings, a second hand clamped my mouth before I could scream. I was thrown against a door, under the large portico of a store. The doorknob stabbed me in the back. Pain rippled through my back and spread into my ribs. I groaned and jerked against the hands holding me.

  The hands belonged to a man dressed in black with bald head, pale skin, and a black mask over his mouth and chin.

  The blood drained from my face, from my core. I tried scrambling back and away, but two more masked men stood beside me and held my arms, immobilizing me. I screamed, but nothing came out. My whole body trembled in fear.

  “Give her the elixir,” the one on my right said, his voice a thin shrill.

  “If I let go of her mouth, she will scream and alert the others,” the one muffling my mouth said.

  “Then knock her out and slip the elixir in her mouth,” the first one said.

  “She’s small and thin,” the third one said. “Tie her and gag her mouth. We’ll carry her. No need to waste time with the elixir now.”

  “Okay,” the one on the right said as he let go of me to grab a rope and a piece of cloth under his tunic. Quickly, the hand over my mouth was replaced by the cloth, tight and firm, hurting my face. My arms were pulled back and tied together around the wrists. They held my legs down, but I kicked and jerked. A fist connected with my cheek, and I slumped back as darkness played at the edges of my sight.

  Someone threw me over his shoulder. I tried but failed to take everything in, to think over the dizziness, and come up with some way to escape, to call for help.

  Carrying me, they stepped out of the portico and ran along the shadows of the buildings.

  I heard distant shouts and my captors increased their speed. The shouts grew closer. I tried to look up, but received another punch to my face. My vision blackened and my head spun.

  The shouts were close now. One of my captors was slammed into the pavement, then another. Someone attacked the man carrying me, and I fell off his shoulder onto the sidewalk, hitting my back first, head second. The air was stolen from my lungs, and pain exploded everywhere.

  Strong arms cradled me, lifting me from the ground.

  “I’ve got you,” a voice said.

  Darkness around the edge of my sight spread and overcame me.

  I opened my eyes and the world spun. I closed them again. The sickness in the pit of my stomach surged up, but I held it back with a few deep breaths.

  What had happened? Where was I?

  Then it came rushing to me. The club, Phillip, Artan, Theron, Wonder Woman, the run, the masked men ...

  Slowly, I peeked through my lashes. I was in my room. Relief washed over me. If I was home, I was safe.

  Wait? This wasn’t my home.

  I sat up—pain coursed through me, making me hiss—and I looked around. It was my bedroom, but it wasn’t. My old full size bed, my old comforter, my old dresser, my old vanity, my old cushioned stool, my old armchair, my old curtains, but in a different room.

  I was in my mother’s house. In Broken Hill.

  Shit.

  With another deep breath, I smelled my mother’s incense. Vanilla, sugar and honey. She remembered the ones I liked. I glanced around and found it sitting on my vanity, already halfway burned.

  Pain assaulted me again. My back, my face, and the back of my head. Gently, I patted behind my head and found an enormous bump, then touched my cheek and felt a bruise where the man had punched me. Damn, I hoped it would go away soon. I didn’t want to have a black welt when I went to my classes.

  With cautious steps, I walked to the mirror behind the bedroom’s door while I glanced out the window. It was still dark, but the sun was starting to give signs it was on the way.

  I examined myself in the mirror. I was still wearing the dress from the club, but it was ripped along my thigh and dirty. My shoes and my purse were on the floor beside my bed.

  I turned my attention to my wounds. The bruise was beginning to purple. Thank goodness I had no broken teeth or nose. I turned around to look at my back but couldn’t see anything abnormal besides the pain.

  Questions popped into my mind. How had I escaped those men? How was I at my mother’s house?

  Shit, had my mother seen me like this? With a dirty and ripped dress? Only one way to find out. I walked out of the room, and in two steps, halted before the staircase.

  Voices came from downstairs.

  “You raised your daughter without her knowing anything?” a man said in a rough, loud tone. “Are you ashamed of us?”

  “Of course not,” my mother said. She sounded so small, so fearful. “But the past is too painful.”

  “Do you have any idea what could have happened last night?” the man asked.

  “Stop harassing her,” a woman said. Her voice was powerful and authoritarian. “Even with her limitations, Risa did a fine job.”

  Risa? Who was Risa? My mother’s name was Marisa ... could this woman be talking about my mother?

  The man continued, “She should have brought the child to us when she realized she was one of us. We co—”

  “Enough,” the woman exclaimed. They became quiet. A few seconds dragged by, and I held my breath, wondering what they were doing.

  The woman appeared before me at the base of the stairs. Her face was serious and severe, but she opened a gentle smile when her brown eyes rested on mine. The heavy makeup didn’t conceal all the wrinkles that adorned her eyes and lips, and I thought she was older than she seemed. Her dark gray hair was neatly arranged in a long braid. She wore a long and flowing skirt, a thick golden necklace over her white blouse. Her arms and fingers had more bracelets and rings than I owned.

  “Come,” she said, beckoning me. I gulped and held my breath. “It’s okay, dear.” She beckoned again.

  Slowly, I walked down the stairs and let her guide me to the living room. I ha
lted in the doorway. It was odd seeing the furniture and decorations I knew from my childhood in a different house, one I didn’t recognize. One I didn’t help my mother move in to.

  An older man in his fifties was seated on the couch, his eyes set on me and shone with superiority. He wore dark slacks, a classy shirt, and a thick belt.

  My mother sat in the armchair across the room, her eyes fixed on the dusty carpet, avoiding me. The old lady rested her hand on the small of my back and pushed me into the room. After a few steps, I broke free of her and turned to the man.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Sit down, dear,” the old lady said. “We have much to talk about.”

  “And who are you?”

  “I’m Darcy,” she said as if it should have made sense. She gestured to the man. “I’m Oscar’s mother.”

  Oscar. The rom baro of my mother’s former enclave.

  “Hello, Mirella,” he said, his words stinging like a bee.

  I crossed my arms, suddenly a little embarrassed I was still dressed in my short, ripped dress and barefoot. “What are you doing here?”

  Darcy sat down beside her son. “Well, dear, you were attacked by our enemies and saved by our warriors twice. As a tzigane and member of our enclave, we need to talk about—”

  I lifted my hand. “Wait. I’m not a member of your enclave.”

  “Your mother was and—”

  “Exactly,” I interrupted her again. “She was a member of your enclave. You banished her, which means her children were also cast out.”

  “I …” Oscar started. I glared at him. “You’re right. Your mother was banished, which means so were you, but usually tziganes who are banished keep a low profile and know how to hide from our enemies. In your case, that’s not true.”

  “I’m very low profile.”

  Oscar nodded. “For the most part, it seems that way, but our enemies are on your tail now. They know there’s a lone tzigane and they won’t stop until they find you. You’re creating a nuisance in our town, and that makes you our business.”

  Their town? My mother had said they lived out of town. I sighed.

  “Dear,” Darcy called. Fighting the desire to roll my eyes, I looked at her. Her words were sweet, but something in her eyes, a mysterious shine, made me wary. “Your mother told us you haven’t used your powers yet, that you don’t even know what they are.”

  I shifted my weight. “I’m … I’m not sure.” I paused. “I can sense some things, but that’s it.”

  “No other abilities?” Darcy asked, eyes narrowed.

  “No.” It felt odd to be talking about powers, about my powers. Despite my acute sixth sense, I had nothing really.

  “That could cause trouble,” Oscar said.

  I didn’t look at him.

  Darcy continued, “If you’re not properly trained to use them, your powers can flare up, causing problems.”

  “I only have my senses. I’m fine.”

  “Usually, tziganes have more than just a strong sixth sense.” She smiled at me as if she could see through me. “You’re a dance teacher, am I right? What if your powers flare up when you’re teaching your class? You don’t want to hurt the gadjos around you, do you?”

  “The gad—what?”

  “Gadjos,” my mother said. She looked at Darcy, then Oscar with an apologetic expression. “That’s what we call non-tzigane people.”

  Oh my … this was getting to be too much.

  “Yes, the gadjos.” Darcy turned her sympathetic smile back to me. “You don’t want to hurt your dancers, do you?”

  I groaned. When she put it like that …

  But it wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right. They banished my mother, and then came after me—and they still ignored her the entire time they were talking to me, even though she sat right in front of them. And the way Darcy was looking at me? Sort of creepy. I was kind of wary of the old hag.

  More importantly, I didn’t have any special powers. I would know if I did.

  “Nothing will happen,” I said, my voice firm. I pointed to the door. “You can go now.” They didn’t move. “All right, then I’ll go.”

  I raced upstairs, grabbed my purse, my shoes, and one of my old jackets, put it on over my torn clothes, and went back down. They were still seated in the same spots.

  My mother stood. “Mirella, please stay. Have breakfast with us.”

  I swallowed hard. “Sorry, but I have plans already,” I lied.

  I walked out of my mother’s house.

  9

  Two dark blue SUVs were parked in front of my mother’s townhouse. Artan and two other guys, who had been with him at the club, leaned against it.

  They straightened the moment I walked out of the house.

  Sighing, I resumed my walk down my mother’s driveway, avoiding their stares. My gaze swept over her flower beds. Of course, my mother had planted the golden shrubs here too.

  “Where are they?” Artan asked.

  “Inside,” I muttered. “Probably making tea.”

  He stepped in my way, and I halted before I ran into his chest. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re still inside. Talking, I assume.” I looked at him. God, the guy was tall. Well, with me being only five-four almost anyone was tall, but this guy had to be at least six-two, maybe six-three. “Excuse me.” Artan gestured to the SUV. “I’m not going with you.”

  I walked around him and onto the sidewalk. It was impossible not to look around and take in the new place my mother lived in. A little subdivision of cute townhouses. With lush green lawns and well-manicured, colorful flower beds.

  It seemed like a good neighborhood.

  The entrance of the subdivision came into view, and I pulled out my phone from my purse. There were several missed calls from Ellie, dozens of texts from her and from Phillip.

  Shit.

  I would deal with that later.

  I opened the Uber app and started making my request.

  A blue SUV pulled over beside me.

  I kept walking, pretending I didn’t see it as it followed me and the passenger window rolled down.

  “Get in,” Artan said.

  “I’m not going to your enclave,” I muttered, looking ahead.

  “I know.” He kept the SUV rolling slowly to accompany me. “If you want to go home, then I’ll take you home.”

  I halted on the sidewalk and looked at him. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “If you were my sister, I would hope a friend would take her home.”

  I frowned. “You’re not my friend.”

  “No, I’m not, but so far I’ve saved your life twice. Why would I have done that if I wanted to harm you?”

  Well … that was true.

  It was either get a ride from Artan, or call Uber. Or walk until I found the nearest bus stop or taxi spot, and I didn’t know this neighborhood that well.

  I sighed before getting into the SUV.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, putting on the seat belt.

  “No problem.” He sped up and took us out of the subdivision.

  For the first five minutes, Artan drove quietly, eyes on the road, while I glanced out the window. I didn’t even feel like checking Ellie’s and Phillip’s texts. Not yet.

  “I bet you still have lots of questions.”

  I snapped my head toward him. “And would you answer them?”

  “If I can, yes.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. I heard them say he was a warrior. He looked the part. Tall and strong, with a chiseled jaw and proud chin, attentive eyes. And he was good looking too. I wondered if he broke many hearts.

  I shook my head, embarrassed by the direction of my thoughts, and focused on his offer.

  What game was he playing? It didn’t matter; my curiosity got the best of me.

  “My mother mentioned tziganes have enemies, and Darcy and Oscar said something about your enemies. Who are they?”

  One of his brows perked up. “Our enemie
s,” he corrected me. “Didn’t your mother tell you all about us?”

  “She told me a little.” I sank in the seat. “Let’s just say every time my mother and I start a conversation, it doesn’t end well.”

  He glanced at me, his eyes intent as if he was trying to read me. “I thought she would be your best friend.”

  “If only,” I mumbled. “Haven’t you noticed we don’t live together?”

  “But she’s always at your place.”

  “Because she imposes herself.” I groaned on the inside. “So, who are they?”

  “We call them alchemists,” Artan said after a few silent minutes. “They learned how to extract our powers and use them for their own purpose. Our powers flow through our blood, so they extract every drop. They also learned that certain body parts have unique properties, and they can be used as ingredients in their experiments and elixirs.”

  My stomach knotted and a lump formed in my throat. “You’re saying they capture tziganes and kill them?” He nodded. “That’s terrible.” I shuddered. “This may sound a little dumb, but if they’re so evil, why don’t they just raid your enclave and capture all of you? Or are their numbers too small?”

  “On the contrary, their numbers are far larger than ours. But, when we’re together and when we use certain resources, our powers are strong, and we can keep them away from our enclave. It’s like there is an invisible wall around our home.”

  Artan turned the SUV into my neighborhood. We were close to my place now.

  A knot formed between my brows. “What about the other group at the club. Theron and his friends. What about them?”

  Artan turned wide eyes at me. “How do you know Theron?”

  “I sort of bumped into him a few days ago.”

  “And?”

  “That was it. I bumped into him, apologized, my friend tried to charm him, and he told me his name. Then my friend and I left.” Artan’s hands tightened around the wheel. “Are they tzigane too?”