Hearts of Darkness

by Kira Brady

  The Kivati had their fancy steam cars. Biodiesel fueled the fire that heated water for steam. They could start on the flat no problem in a battlefield full of ghosts. Steam, wind, and the sun powered most of the fancy machines that did their dirty work, all designed and built by Kivati hands. But the stingy bastards didn’t share their technology. Not with the humans, and not with the likes of him.

  The drive north to Desiree’s apartment took half an hour. Seattle crowded a narrow strip of land, squeezed between the salty Puget Sound to the west and the freshwater Lake Washington to the east. The Ship Canal cut through the earth like a gouge from the Sky God’s staff, connecting the two bodies of water. Salt meets fresh. West meets east. A dividing line splitting gritty downtown from the peaceful residential neighborhoods of the north. Four drawbridges and two soaring freeways spanned the canal like gear and steel rainbows.

  Just north of the Ship Canal, Desiree’s apartment crouched beneath two massive fir trees. It had a beaten-down look, with old fieldstone siding, missing shingles, and a slick patina of moss. It clashed with the surrounding artsy neighborhood, where steel sculpture clung to buildings like metal spiders. Corner coffee shops abounded, each proclaiming, WE HAVE LOKI CHOCOLATES! in the window.

  Hart pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine.

  “I’m not even going to ask how you knew where my sister lives,” Kayla said.

  “Babe, I’m a thief and a murderer. You do the math.”

  She swallowed, but shook off her fear. “Right.”

  Part of him admired her persistence. Part of him wondered what god he had pissed off to get stuck with her trailing his ass. She shouldn’t trust him. The beast prowled around the barrier of his skin. Growling. Growing violent by the minute. It had Kayla in its sights. Her scent filled its nostrils. Her lush curves beckoned. Hart didn’t know what the beast would do if let free, but he couldn’t take any chances. The curse hung about his heart, heavy as the gold manacles that bound his upper arms. Blood coated his memories—the drapes of the small apartment hanging tattered and dripping red-brown, the sodden carpet squishing beneath his feet, the red stain creeping up the sides of his white sneakers. His fault.

  He unleashed his claws into his thigh. The jagged pain brought him back to the present. The Lady help him. He had to find the necklace, and he needed Kayla alive to do it. Desiree Friday had left her sister clues to the hiding spot, he was sure of it. He would make Kayla find the thing and he would steal it from her. Wouldn’t be the worst black spot on his record. Not by far.

  Opening the car door, he pushed himself out and almost fell.

  “Let’s get you cleaned and taped up,” Kayla said, sounding genuinely concerned. “You won’t make it farther in that condition. You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m fine,” he snapped. He was in rough shape, but a little R and R would do it. He didn’t want to waste the Drekar blood he had left; Norgard extracted too high a price for refills. Inside him the beast crouched, ready to lash out if she made any threatening moves toward him.

  She didn’t. Instead, she gave him her back and led the way into the building. She thought him honorable. He wasn’t, but her regard warmed something deep inside him. He found himself wanting to prove her right.

  He took a moment to admire the way her damp jeans molded to her curvy backside. She had a real figure, the kind a guy could grab hold of. That kiss flashed into his mind. He had meant only to snap her out of her shock, but it had backfired. He could still taste her, and wanted to again.

  Three crows perched on the telephone line outside the apartment building. One flew off when he and Kayla approached the building entrance. He didn’t give it another thought. The Kivati always had crows tailing him. Sometimes he amused himself giving them the slip. Sometimes he just shot ’em.

  He caught the scent of Fox, Crow, and Thunderbird, and followed it inside and up the stairs, straight to Desiree’s front door. At first he thought they’d left the place in shambles, but the lay of the mess wasn’t quite right for that. He realized Rudrick had put everything back the way he’d found it—Desiree had been a pig.

  He quickly swept the two-room apartment for surprises Rudrick might have left behind. Desiree hadn’t been in Seattle long, but she had jumped in with both feet. Posters covered every inch of wall, advertising the Drekar’s Babylonian New Year festival, anachronistic punk bands, Rainier Beer, and the Port Townsend Victorian Fair. A stack of essays sat on her bedside table, Raven and the Spirit World, Thunderbird and the Whale, and Prophesies of the Spider, next to two hurricane lanterns and a mob of candles for the frequent blackouts. She had matches from Butterworth’s and a Thunderbird feather tacked above her bed. Unlike her sister, Desiree Friday hadn’t been scared of the supernatural.

  He returned to the kitchen. Kayla had rolled up her sleeves and attacked a dirty pot in the sink, brows knit in furious concentration as if banishing grime could make sense of the madness her life had become.

  “Place reeks of Kivati,” he said. “Rudrick’s been here, but didn’t want you to know. He slipped up. Didn’t count on me tagging along.”

  She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “He didn’t find anything, or he wouldn’t have gone to the morgue.”

  Hart shrugged. “Or he found another clue your sister left you. He agreed to your bargain pretty quick.”

  She turned away, but not before he caught the sudden sheen in her eyes. He should comfort her or something. Lure her in, Norgard would say. Gain her trust. Act sympathetic even as he plotted her downfall. There was no room for pity in his empty shell of a heart.

  Apparently Hart still had room to feel like a jackass. Naively, Kayla had gone to bat for him and promised to give Norgard’s necklace to Rudrick. Hart couldn’t let that happen. His freedom, and his life, depended on returning Norgard’s treasure. But maybe he could soften the blow. Keep her safe until they found the necklace. Convince her to get out of Seattle before Norgard discovered she was here.

  He could smell her grief. The wraiths, too, would smell it, like blood in the water, and come circling. “You need to get your shit together,” he told her.

  “Excuse me?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and turned. A few strands of hair had worked their way free of her ponytail to wave chaotically about her face. His fingers itched to free more.

  Banishing that wayward thought, he pulled a medallion from under his shirt and over his head. “We’ve got a real wraith problem in Seattle. They’re the reason electricity doesn’t always work here. Why you’ll see gaslights and steam engines and coal bins.” He ran his fingers over the comforting silver disk, worn smooth as a polished stone over years of handling. His mother had given it to him. The protection rune carved into the surface tingled as Aether poured through.

  “What is a wraith?”

  “An evil spirit. Some people just don’t want to go when it’s their time. They cling to the Land of the Living. But the dead can’t taste. Can’t touch. Can’t experience any of life’s little pleasures.” His eyes ran along the curve of her lip. “Can’t let go, either, like they should. They need a body to feel alive again, so they hunt for weak beings to take over.” He tossed her the medallion before he could change his mind. She needed it more than he did.

  She fumbled, but caught it. “Like a zombie?”

  “You got it. The Norse call them aptrgangr—those who walk after death. Nasty things. Hard to kill. Your emotional mess paints a big red bull’s-eye on your forehead.” Stepping forward, he pulled the medallion from her limp fingers. Her soft skin smelled lightly of lilac. He wanted to run his tongue between her fingers and taste her delicate flesh. Wanted to bite the soft pad of her thumb.

  Was it the beast’s desire, or the man’s?

  He shook himself. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong woman. She wasn’t his type. He liked Ishtar maidens who asked no questions and expected nothing in return but hard coin. Mercenaries. They spoke the same language.

  The last thing Kayla n
eeded was a tumble with a guy like him. He’d lie, steal, and cheat, but he didn’t mess with good girls. Maybe he had a smidgen of honor left after all.

  He quickly slipped the leather thong over her head before he did something stupid. The disk landed smack between her lush breasts. They cradled it, the silver contrasting nicely with her smooth latte skin.

  He tore his eyes away. “It’ll protect you from possession. Don’t take it off.”

  She seemed about to thank him, but he interrupted her. “Let’s search this dump.”

  Kayla rubbed the smooth metal disk. Energy sparked off it, but that was impossible. She didn’t want to ask Hart. He blew hot and cold. One moment he was telling her not to trust him, the next he was offering her protection. She was still unsure about his crazy story. As the minutes ticked by, it was easier to explain away what she had seen. Stress could make a person hallucinate like that. She was almost sure of it.

  Desi’s living room was a mess, but it didn’t take long to search. Her fingers itched to clean it. A galley kitchen took up one wall, opposite a battered couch and coffee table. Hart seemed determined to keep her at arm’s length, avoiding eye contact, but they kept bumping into each other in the small room. Every time she turned around his broad back blocked her path.

  Her mind wouldn’t stay on the task at hand. It kept jumping back to that kiss on the street. He hadn’t meant anything by it. Couldn’t. The scene replayed in her mind: his warm mouth pressing against her own, the shock of heat ricocheting down her spine, the arousal pooling low in her belly.

  She would chalk it up to another symptom of emotional strain. It couldn’t mean anything else. He was alpha—arrogant, overbearing, aggressive—the type of guy who would use her up and spit her out. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. She had enough on her plate without adding sex to the mix.

  Kayla pulled herself from the low kitchen cabinet and hit her head on his as he leaned over her. He was too close, invading her space. His wide shoulders blocked out the light, until all she could see was his intense gaze piercing her own. Something wild flickered within. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

  Run, her instincts screamed.

  The wild thing in his eyes heard, and urged her on. He would chase her, and he would catch her. She had to be strong. She would not back down.

  “I don’t need you checking up on me,” she said.

  Slightly chagrined, he straightened abruptly. “I can smell better than you humans.”

  Kayla pressed her back against the cabinet. “You’re not human?”

  His lips pulled back from his teeth. “Hell no.”

  “So what Rudrick said about you ‘rejoining the fold’—”

  “I’m Wolf. But not Kivati. Not anymore. They leave ‘damned’ kids like me on Rainier for the elements.”

  His story was getting weirder and weirder, but all she could think was how terrible that must have been for him. Betrayed by his own people. “Who could do such a thing?” She put a hand out, but he brushed it aside.

  “They had good reason. I’m moon-marked. See?” He tugged at the stripe of white hair over his brow. “I can’t control the beast. Think of the bloodiest Hollywood werewolf movie and multiply it by ten.”

  His anger boiled in the air between them, warding off any pity she might feel for the child he’d been. She didn’t know how to read him. He was either serious or trying to scare her off from asking more questions. What kind of man had she allied herself with?

  “Forget it,” Hart said. “The only thing that keeps the Kivati alive is their secrecy and self-control. Imagine rabid animals with human cunning running around killing people. Hard to cover that up for long. If an adolescent goes through the Change and comes out moon-marked, he’s sacrificed to the gods.”

  “But you escaped.”

  “My mom disagreed with the ruling.” He pulled a dagger from a pocket and threw it. It flipped end over end, the silver blade glinting in the lamplight, and embedded itself to the hilt in the wall. “I don’t need them or their straitjacket rules. Don’t fancy asking every time I want to sneeze.” He strolled across the room and yanked out the blade.

  She shivered. Werewolf. She didn’t want to believe it. Show me, she wanted to say. Prove it. But she could imagine a werewolf, and she had no wish to see one in the flesh, if it was true. It was hard to discount his obvious belief in his story. She thought she’d seen the beast lurking behind his eyes. Hart might not hurt her—at least he hadn’t yet—but she didn’t think a werewolf would be so accommodating.

  His cell phone rang, breaking the tension in the room. He dug for it in his pocket and snapped it open. “Hart,” he said, no emotion in his voice, his face once again impassive. The dagger disappeared into his jacket.

  She stood, walked to the window, and pulled back the cherry-print curtains. The top of the Space Needle and the downtown skyline peeked over the building across the street. Streaks of color lit the clouds above. It was hard to imagine giant animals running wild through the city. Hard to believe wraiths and zombies stalked the alleys, or dragons, with or without souls. Hard to understand a culture that would sacrifice its children.

  A beautiful land, hiding such deadly secrets.

  “The mountain is out,” she whispered. Desi used to say that when the clouds parted enough to reveal the view of Mount Rainier from her window. How many times had her sister stood like this while chatting to Kayla on the phone? Desi had wasted precious time describing the scenery. She should have told Kayla about the monsters that hunted in the mountain’s long shadow. Kayla felt her grief give way to anger. Anger at her sister for coming here on some harebrained whim. For keeping secrets. For getting herself killed.

  Anger at herself for not helping Desi before it was too late.

  “Yeah. Understood.” Hart snapped shut the phone.

  Her pulse sped as she felt him approach. Fear . . . or excitement? He claimed he was a werewolf. A crazed killer. She forced herself not to scoot away as he glanced over her shoulder at the view.

  “The Lady watches even through the mist,” he said.

  “The Lady?”

  “Our Goddess. Her milky-white breasts, from which She nurtures Her people.” He pointed to the two snow-covered humps of the mountain. Offering information freely was an apology of sorts. She was more than willing to make peace.

  “Your cell phone works?” she asked.

  The edge of his mouth kicked up. “Seattle gives ‘dead zone’ a whole new meaning, but, yeah, it works when there are no ghosts around. We need to find that necklace.”

  The sooner they found the necklace, the sooner she could go back home. “Time to tackle the bedroom.”

  “After you, darlin’.” Hart waved her forward, making sure she caught him staring at her backside. The flirtation released the tension of his earlier anger, but the lust in his eyes was unfeigned. The werewolf probably wanted to eat her. The man definitely wanted to.

  The knowledge made her uncomfortably aware of his every move. She swallowed, hard, and threw herself into searching the bedroom, trying to ignore the way his eyes followed her.

  Next to her bed, Desi kept a framed photograph of their parents’ wedding. Kayla couldn’t help picking it up. They looked so happy. So young. Her father wore a stylish three-piece suit. His shoulders were straight and proud, not bowed with the weight of grief that he carried in her memories. He turned from the camera to look at his new bride, as if he couldn’t get enough. The love shining from his face punched Kayla in the gut. Would a guy ever look at her like that? Her mother was gorgeous in a high-necked white gown, lace-covered buttons up the side. She smiled infectiously at the camera. Desi had inherited that wicked gleam in her eye and exuberant spirit. Kayla was more like their father: patient, meticulous, serious.

  How different would her life have been, if not for her mother’s accident?

  “Who’s that?” Hart asked.

  She quickly put the picture down, slightly embarrassed to be caught mooning over t
he past. “My parents.”

  “They’d worry if something happens to you. You should go—”

  “They’re dead.” She turned away before he could start the argument again.

  It seemed almost sacrilegious, tearing apart Desi’s things like they were so much garbage. Overturning her drawers and unearthing her secrets. Kayla knew she couldn’t keep the apartment untouched—a museum to her sister’s last days—but she desperately wished for an hour or two to sit peacefully among Desi’s things and reflect on her life. A life that boiled down to a closet full of dirty laundry, a pile of old receipts, and a missing piece of jewelry that someone would kill to possess.

  “Desi was always the dreamer,” Kayla said as she dug under the bed after an hour of searching every drawer, loose floorboard, and shoe box with no luck. Nervous energy made her overly loquacious. “Head in the clouds, following rainbows and butterflies—that was my sister. She had a dream one night about Mama, and bought a plane ticket to Seattle the next day.”

  Desi should have listened to her and stayed in Philly. Nothing good came of Seattle. Nothing good came of following silly dreams instead of rational plans. “That was a year ago.” Kayla pulled out a last box and wiggled out from beneath the bed. She could feel Hart’s gaze boring into her back.

  “Why Seattle?” His voice was gravelly, even deeper than before. She imagined the Wolf trying to get out.

  “Mama was born here, and she died here. I barely remember it. I was five, Desi three. My dad packed us up the same day and moved to Philly. Haven’t been back since. I used to have these nightmares of my mother bursting into flames. The fire didn’t kill her. Only burned her flesh as she screamed.” She hadn’t told anyone that story, or about the dreams. And here she was telling her deepest secrets to a stranger. There was something compelling about him, as if she knew he would understand and wouldn’t call her crazy. He had known stranger things.

  “Did that really happen?”

  “I don’t know, but the dreams never made me want to come back here and find out.”