by Julie Kenner
I take a breath and continue. “We were lucky in the warehouse. Damn lucky. But it would have been better if you’d slit my throat or put a bullet through my brain.”
“Better?” he asks, echoing my word.
“Less risky,” I amend.
“The thought didn’t even occur to me.” From the tone of his voice, I can tell that it horrifies him now.
“I know.” I force a smile, trying to lighten the moment. “For thousands of years, that was your mission. Find me. Kill me. How quickly you forget.” I broaden the smile. “No wonder Mata Hari was such an excellent spy. A little sex and a man is completely distracted.”
I expect a reaction, though I know that laughter might be too much to hope for. But instead, I get nothing. No reply. No reaction. No emotion.
I press my hand against his leg, suddenly needing to reassure him. “I’ve disturbed you.”
“Yes.” He reaches down to take my hand, then pulls me to him. I curl against him, my thigh over his and my head tucked against his chest. “I don’t like having the truth shoved in my face when I’ve been trying to avoid it.”
I stiffen, his words surprising me. “Then you know I’m right?”
“You’re right.” He doesn’t sound pleased about it. I can’t say that I’m crazy about it either.
“So what are we going to do?”
“Exactly what I’ve been telling you. We get the weapon out of you. We save the world.”
“And if—”
“No.” He presses a finger to my lips then shakes his head. “Tomorrow you can tell me your fears. Tonight, you believe my promises.”
And as he bends to kiss me, I think that is a deal that I can live with.
Chapter 3
‡
I’ve never been one for yoga, but the lotus position seemed like a good choice for trying to get in touch with my inner map.
My eyes are closed. My wrists loose against my knees. I am not saying ohm, but if I don’t see something soon, I am willing to try that, too.
I’ve been sitting like this, listening to an album of rainforest sounds that I downloaded, for over thirty minutes. I feel like I’m close . . . and yet nothing has happened other than me getting bone-deep tired.
Thinking—focusing—is hard work.
I hear Mal’s footsteps, and welcome the excuse to take a break. “How was the meeting?”
“Productive. Phoenix Security has been hired to provide additional security to a number of high level government officials during an upcoming tour of the southern states.”
“That should provide some good intel.” Since I’d been off being either dead or someone else during the last few millennia, I was neither part of the creation of Phoenix Security, nor did I know anything about it until recently. But ever since Liam, the co-leader of the brotherhood with Mal, described it to me, I’ve been asking questions and studying up. Or, at least, I have in my spare time. When I’m not being kidnapped and used as kindling.
Basically, Phoenix Security is a legitimate business that provides high-level security and intelligence services on a global scale. The company provides a sort of rope through the years—an entity that is entitled to be immortal since it isn’t actually alive. Brotherhood members can come and go over the decades, changing locations to keep human neighbors from being suspicious of businessmen and women who don’t age.
More important, though, Phoenix provides an excellent source of intel. The brotherhood’s primary mission is to find and destroy the fuerie, and the company provides a perch from which to look out across the world.
Now, though, they have me. And if I can get my inner map to kick into high gear, I can provide pinpoint data on the fuerie.
At the moment, though, confidence is low.
“No luck?” Mal asks, moving to sit in the chair nearest me.
I shake my head. “I’m starting to get worried,” I admit. “The first time it happened, the image was crystal clear. Ever since then, it’s been hazy, even though I’ve been trying to find clarity. But today, I can’t seem to get anything at all. What if I was wrong and this ability isn’t going to stick around?”
The map had manifested one night after the weapon had almost gotten out of control. Arguably, I could recreate the circumstances, but that would be far too dangerous, especially as it had taken all of Mal’s efforts to pull it back that night.
“Does it feel like you’ve lost it?” Mal asks, moving to the floor to sit in front of me.
“That’s what’s so frustrating,” I tell him. “I feel like it’s right there—the way you do when you’ve lost someone’s name, but you’re certain that you know it. But I just can’t seem to bring it up.” I let my head fall back. “Honestly, I’ve been working on it for almost an hour. I had no idea that doing nothing but concentrating could be so exhausting.”
“Let me help.”
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t answer, just slides his hands under mine so that his palms are cupping my knees and the backs of our hands are touching. At first, I feel nothing. Then a slow tingle begins in my hands, like a pinched nerve coming back to life. It spreads, flowing through me like a sparkling web, and I close my eyes and soak up the energy that Mal is giving to me, this gift that I hope will help me see.
At first there is nothing but gleaming colors that I know come from the energy that Mal is pushing into me. But soon I realize that I’m able to focus. That the sparks and colors are power—a force I can use to draw forth the map. To paint it in my mind’s eye.
And though I do not understand how I know this, I realize what it is that I must do in order to make the map appear. After so many thousands of years in the proximity of the weapon that is the source of this power, I have to assume that some part of me has figured this out.
I breathe and focus, breathe and focus, and soon I see it. A map, spread out in front of me, filling the space inside my head.
I open my eyes, and the map seems to fill the world. I stand, and realize that I’m inside it, like standing in the center of a glass globe. It is lit up, sparkling like a Christmas tree, with random dots here and there.
I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in. “There are hundreds of them.” My voice is low. I am in awe of this power that I am generating. “They’re scattered all over, but there are two solid clusters that I’m betting are more than ten fuerie all holed up in one location.”
I’m not terribly good at geography, but I guess that they are in Chicago and Germany, and when I turn to Mal I say only one word. “Atlas.”
He doesn’t hesitate, but disappears into his office and is back in seconds. The map is starting to fade, but if I concentrate I can still make it out, though it is dim on the walls of this well-appointed room.
I flip through the atlas, comparing the dots I see with the lines and names on the map. “Chicago,” I confirm. “And the other cell is in Berlin.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I shift my focus back to the map. But it is gone now, just that small break in attention enough to send it shimmering away.
“I’m sure,” I say.
“Then we don’t need to waste time talking about it. Come on.”
Mal’s brownstone is connected by a small courtyard to 36 East 63rd Street, the location of Dark Pleasures, the members-only club that the brotherhood established years ago. Though only Raine and Callie live full time in the penthouse apartment of the five-story building, most of the members of the brotherhood can be found there, either in Dark Pleasures’ VIP room or in one of the offices that are located on the other floors and which the brotherhood uses as the headquarters for Phoenix Security.
We check the VIP room first and find Dagny sitting at one of the tables eating a club sandwich and listening to Raine, who is waving his own sandwich through the air as he illustrates a story.
“Chicago and Berlin,” Mal says without preamble.
Dagny puts a hand over her mouth as she swallows, but Raine drops his sandwich onto his plate, shifting immediately i
nto work mode. “Fuerie?”
“A cell, Christina thinks. At least ten.”
Raine looks at me, and I nod. “A clearer image than last time, too,” I say. “At least, once Mal helped me focus.”
“Do you know where in Chicago?” Dagny asks.
I have to shake my head. “Near downtown, I think, but I still have to figure out how to pinpoint.”
“What about the amulet?” Dagny asks, referring to the last of seven amulets that, together, have the power to draw the weapon out of me and bind it.
“Not even a hint,” I admit. I’d been hoping to see a flash of it, but for some reason the amulet is harder for me to see on the map than the fuerie are. But I know that it is possible, and I hope that with patience and practice I’ll be able to find the thing. And the sooner the better.
“That’s okay. We can work with this. One of the guys who used to be on my LA team is like Dante. He transferred to Chicago when he hit the mandatory twelve-year move date. We can use him to try to narrow the scope.”
The mandatory move date is the date that each member of the brotherhood changes offices in an effort to hide their immortal nature. As for Dante, he has the ability to tell if fuerie are near. Unlike me, though, his range is limited to a few miles.
“Won’t that be tedious?” I ask.
“Part of the job,” she says. “I’m on it.”
She nods to us and leaves, and Mal focuses on Raine. “We don’t have a seer on the German team right now. Can you get Dante briefed and on the first plane out of here?”
“Already on it,” he says, holding up his phone that clearly displays a text for Dante to get his ass to the club ASAP. “In the meantime, I’ll call Brian in Munich. See if there’s any intel to narrow the location.”
He nods at Mal, then hurries off, presumably to head back to his apartment and get on his computer.
I stand, then swipe my hands together as a cook might brush off flour. “Well, my work here is done.”
“Not quite,” Mal says, hooking his arm around my waist and pulling me close. I melt immediately, as I always do at his touch.
“No fair,” I say, pushing away with a laugh as he brushes his lips over mine. “You’re going to distract me.”
“Lover, I intend to spend the rest of the day distracting you.”
“Mmm. That sounds very tempting.” I hook my arms around his neck and press my body against his. I brush my lips over his neck, then laugh when he growls in response. “But,” I continue lightly, “I have to get dressed.”
He looks down at the maxi style sundress I’d tossed on before going to the VIP room, in deference to Dark Pleasures’ dress code, which doesn’t run to yoga pants. “I was thinking more along the lines of getting undressed.”
“Jeans,” I say. “A dress at rehearsal is impractical.” I want the freedom to sit on the stage and move around if Eric, the director, wants to engage in various acting exercises.
I watch Mal’s face, and I know what he is going to say even before he says it. “You’re not going to rehearsal.”
“You’re right,” I say in an overly cheery conversational tone. “I’m going to Bray’s, too. I want to pick up some more of my stuff and tell Bray that I’m staying here indefinitely.”
After our big showdown with the weapon two days ago, Dagny had brought me a suitcase full of my clothes from my roommate Brayden’s apartment. Technically, he’s no longer my roommate, but we haven’t had that official conversation yet, and most of my stuff is in his luxury apartment.
“You can invite Brayden over for that conversation, and he can bring another suitcase of your things with him. And as for rehearsal, you don’t need to go. Not today.”
“Actually, yeah, I do.” I start to head for the exit. “This is Eric’s first day back. I want to hear about his LA trip, but more than that, this role is important to me. How does it look when Juliet doesn’t show up for rehearsals of Romeo & Juliet?”
“From my perspective, it looks like she’s trying to stay alive.”
I’m in the lobby now, and Mal is beside me. He quickens his pace, then opens the door to the courtyard for me. I foolishly think that this means that I’ve won the battle, but when he takes my elbow and tugs me to a stop in between Number 36 and his brownstone, I know that nothing is yet resolved.
My shoulders stiffen with frustration. At him, yes, but mostly at my whole situation. “You said the other day that you don’t want to change me.”
“I don’t. But I also said I want to save you. You can be an actress, Christina. You can be whatever you want. But right now, what you need to be is smart. You’re a walking target. Or had you forgotten?”
“Theoretically, I could be a target for decades.” I don’t say centuries, and from the way he flinches, I know he understands why. Because if Mal doesn’t kill me and the fuerie don’t capture me and we don’t get the weapon out of me, then I am going to grow old. And then, unlike Mal, I will die.
And that, at least, will solve the problem of the weapon until I am reborn again.
He sighs and draws his fingers through his hair. This isn’t a position he wants to be in, not a conversation he wants to be having. He’s worried, and I get that. But I’m used to making my own decisions, and I came to New York to be an actress, not the focal point for world destruction.
“I want this, Mal,” I say softly. “More than that, I need it. I have to be something more than walking dynamite.”
His face remains totally expressionless as he considers my words. It’s one of the reasons he’s such a good leader—he can consider all sides without anyone on his team knowing what he is thinking until the decision is made.
“Next week,” he says. “Tell Eric you’re sick. That’s just a few days,” he adds to ward off my protests. “And in the meantime, we can practice control.”
“Not that I don’t really love our practice sessions, but didn’t we already establish that all the control in the world wouldn’t have helped me?”
“When you’re tied to a pole and drugged, no. But if you’re attacked walking down the street? You need the control so that you can gather yourself and get away safely.”
He’s not wrong. But even so…
“There are no fuerie nearby,” I say. “When I looked at the map, Manhattan was clear.”
He tilts his head as he meets my eyes. “Do you remember who kidnapped you?”
I do. Humans. Because not all evil is supernatural.
“That’s true,” I admit as I hook my arm through his. “But when they attacked me, I was alone.” I rise up on my toes and kiss him on the cheek. “If I’m going to live, Mal, I want to feel alive. So I guess that means you’re coming to rehearsal with me.”
Chapter 4
‡
Being back at rehearsal feels wonderful. It’s nice to play a role other than the Amazing Weapon Woman, and as I stand on stage facing Greg, the sweet-faced man who plays Romeo, I can’t help the melancholy that washes over me. Because I want this to be my normal. A life with Malcolm. A career on the stage.
I think about my mother, who despite her literal insanity managed to get one thing right: I’m not normal. There’s something dark in me. And until we get it out, I will spend my life looking over my shoulder and fearing my own emotions.
In front of me, Greg clears his throat, and I realize that everyone is waiting on me.
“O think’st though we shall ever meet again?” I ask, my mood adding meaning to the words.
“I doubt it not,” he replies. “And all these woes shall serve for sweet discourses in our time to come.”
I feel tears well in my eyes. Eric sees them and smiles like a proud director who has coached an actor to an Oscar, and I have to look away. Because there was more truth than acting in my words. All I could think of as we rehearsed the speech was the hundreds of times that Mal and I had been parted by death. And that instead of sweet discourses, we’d shared only worry and fear.
I tell Mal as much when
rehearsal is over. “Maybe Romeo is right,” he says gently. “Already it’s better, isn’t it?”
I think about the weapon and how little power I have to fight it. About the fact that if they capture and torture me again, it’s a good bet that I’ll end up destroying the world. “How the hell is it better?”
“We have each other now,” he says, and my heart swells with his words. He leans in to kiss me, not caring that everyone else in the company is staring. Honestly, I don’t much care either.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling warm and fuzzy and, yes, better. “That is definitely the good part. And once we find the amulet and get this thing out of me, then we can lounge around all day, sharing sweet discourses about our tortured past.”
“I can think of things I’d rather share.”
“I bet you can. Why don’t we go get my stuff, get home, and you can show me what you’re thinking?”
“An excellent plan.”
Dennis, the brotherhood’s driver, had brought us to the theater, but Mal told him not to wait. Rather than call him back now, we take a cab to Bray’s luxury high-rise apartment.
Although Brayden is engrossed in med school and fully intends to be a surgeon, he is also the heir apparent to the Kline family fortune, which includes the world-renowned chain of Kline hotels. As far as I’m concerned, he’s just Brayden, my best friend since childhood. But the hotel and money connection means that when he offered me a place to stay in New York, I was suddenly exempt from the typical actress angst of a one bedroom, roach-infested apartment shared with six other girls. And that was just fine by me.
I may want the New York acting experience, but I’m happy to leave that aspect of the cliché behind.
Mal and I greet the doorman, then take the elevator up to Brayden’s well-appointed apartment. I let myself in, then immediately freeze. The apartment is huge, but open and light-filled. When you enter, the door opens directly into the living area, beyond which is the kitchen, separated only by a half-wall.
All of which means that I have a dead-on view of Brayden on the couch in a very enthusiastic lip lock with Dagny.
