Five Immortal Hearts

by Savannah Rose

  I remembered I did indeed have running shoes, Kane bought them for me. The ones with the orange stripe. I tossed my heels away and went back into the bedroom, returning with them. “And Raw? What does he do?”

  Slate hesitated a moment. “War,” he said.

  I thought about the monstrous Raw, and that seemed to have an obvious sense.

  “And Quinn?” I asked.

  He was clearly uneasy about answering these questions. “Am I breaking some kind of protocol?”

  His shoulders sloped slightly. “Only in the sense of possible prejudgment. If you were told that I specialized in politics, would you have envisioned what we did today?”

  I put my shoes on, using this as an excuse not to answer right way. I needed to think about this objectively. “I don’t think any simple answer could have given me today as a possible outcome.”

  He waited, and now it was my turn to droop my shoulders. “Fine, you’re right. It’s better to meet them and discover them without a precept in mind. I’ll try hard to forget what you told me about Raw.”

  “I would consider that a kindness,” he said. “You still look like you want to come with me.”

  “Oh, I’m coming. If you give me a minute, I’ll come up with a compelling reason, but I’m coming.”

  He laughed. “No, a compelling reason isn’t necessary, but I am curious. Considering the risk, what is your motivation?”

  I tucked my wallet into the pocket of a light jacket, and grabbed my computer pad. “Well, the first is I’m not ready to end my day with you. Second, because if the reason is a ploy to flush me out, perhaps you and whoever just called, might find a use for me in uncovering who or what this C-Source is — and because I don’t like being hunted. I’ll stay out of sight unless you decide using me as bait might snatch an answer. But if I’m not there, then you won’t have the opportunity at all.”

  He weighed this in his mind. “Alright. But will you trust me to call the shots please?”

  “If you kiss me like you did before,” I told him.

  ooh na-na (uh)…

  ***

  Never underestimate the power of a kiss performed by an immortal who has had serious practice. Oh my.

  I was going to be a very good girl if he continued to kiss me like that, and probably do anything he said, as long as he wasn’t asking me to leave his side.

  The only thing keeping me from full immersion with him was the memory of that last hour with Kane. The fear of that kind of backlash happening again, was enough to keep me sober. We rarely have any control over our emotions, but we can control our actions, and in many cases, our thoughts.

  In the back of the limo, the desire to slide up into his lap was compelling, but he nixed that desire by pulling out a laptop from a case and flipping it open. Frustrated, I leaned closer to see what was more appealing than me. He opened a document and began writing what looked like computer code — something I only have a passing knowledge of — meaning I recognized it, but nothing more.

  He rolled down the driver window, and in rapid Spanish asked the driver to stop at an electronics store. There, we went inside and came out in less than fifteen minutes with several stereo components and two huge sub-woofer speakers.

  “What ‘cha doin’, McIvire?” I asked when he pulled out a Leatherman tool and started installing the ad-hoc system we just bought.

  “Insurance,” he answered.

  “Oh,” I said, and decided to try to figure out the puzzle, before I pressed further.

  Our next stop was the jewelry store, where he purchased three sets of diamond earrings. Three carats each for the stones, all of them exactly alike. Basic stud earrings. I thought dangly ones would be better, but not after he used his Leatherman tool to pull the stones from the settings, and had me test them as earplugs.

  “Now you’re just showing off,” I chuckled and tested the size in my ears. I knew I could figure this out.

  Slate went ahead and gave a pair of the stones to our driver, and told him to wear them inside of his ears now, explaining he may not have time to put them in later.

  Again, I tried to figure out what was going on. But the more I guessed, the more confused I was. And so, I gave up.

  “Alright, fine. You win. What the hell is this?”

  “Like I said, insurance.”

  “For what?”

  “Ambush.”

  “Should I put them in now?” I asked.

  “No, but be prepared to for the rest of the evening. Keep them handy. In that pocket of your blouse would be good.”

  “Alright,” I said, deciding he could keep his little secret. “Where we off to now?”

  “There’s a hotel, East of here, where we set up a lure, hoping that C-Source would take the bait.”

  “What bait?” I asked.

  “We rented a large suite, and then put your essence in the room, and hid your essence at the place you’re staying, hoping he would find ‘you,’ and send someone or come himself.”

  “Or, herself?” I asked.

  “We’re fairly sure that C-Source is male,” he said, and then added, “But yes, we could be wrong. Every life form begins as female. This makes divining sex difficult even under the best of circumstances. As Ore is fond of saying, male is really a mutation, and the difference between woman and man, is only a matter of degrees.”

  Did I know that? Somewhere in the back of my mind, a high school class talking about chromosomes came to mind. I guessed I did know that, but certainly never thought about it to that extent before.

  “And, um, my essence?” I asked, unsure what to ask on a topic, which sounded clearly metaphysical if not outright magic in nature.

  He thought for a moment, made a correction in the code on his laptop, and then said, “Ever reflect light with a mirror? It’s something like that. You in your hotel was reflected and shown in this hotel. Walking, talking, eating, sitting. And when we went out this morning to the President’s house, your essence visited a newsroom downtown, and performed the physical tasks you did at the office.”

  “A smoke and mirror show,” I suggested.

  “Similar, very similar in fact,” he agreed.

  “And, what am I doing up there now?” I asked.

  “Sitting on the couch,” he said.

  “Alone?”

  “Yes,” he nodded, looking at his laptop screen.

  “Well, then,” I said, taking his laptop, setting it aside, and sliding up onto his lap, “This is going to look awkward, huh?”

  I didn’t let him say anything. Kissing him deeply I stretched out my legs, and leaned into him. His hands found my ass, and legs, and he began exploring the places I’d been fantasizing him becoming well versed in all day.

  For such perfect, flawless hands they were strong. Not as strong as Kane’s, but strength isn’t everything. Experience and willingness go a long way — and always further than raw power in my experience.

  The limo cruised through affluent nightlife districts, and up to an expensive hotel; the type, which doesn’t have regular rooms, but rather each is a luxury suite. Slate picked me up, and set me to the side with care.

  “You’re coming down in the elevator now,” he said. “Need to be ready.”

  “You can feel me? In there? Like you feel me here?” I asked.

  “Actually, no. It’s nothing to do with me. This is Ore’s work,” Slate said, and then cut off whatever it was he wanted to add to that statement, turning to focus on the hotel doors.

  Ore? I liked Ore. He tended to make me think about high school for some reason. Of the five, he appeared to be the youngest, but what’s a few years younger to these guys? Even a hundred years younger at this point would be meaningless.

  Also, what were appearances? Did they have any value at all with these guys?

  Turning to Slate with the intention of asking how much control they had over their appearances, I saw two streams of smoke fly over our limo toward the hotel lobby where Slate’s attention was focus
ed, and then the world turned into thunder and fire.

  RPG’s. Rocket propelled grenades. I knew all about these from my time in the Middle East and a few other hot-spots around the globe.

  The concussion hit the limo hard enough to lift it up off the passenger side tires a couple of inches, and rock us hard as the wave passed. This was followed by a hail of concrete and debris — some of it, people, I was sure. C-Source definitely didn’t care about me being alive, and I recalled the brothers were aware of this little fact. This attack in public, and the violence brought down on people who had nothing to do with this, railed inside of me, and my anger assented to the surface at all five of them.

  “You didn’t have a plan for that?!” I screamed at Slate. “That possibility didn’t cross your immortal minds?! Those people are all dead, Slate!”

  My anger was met by his rage, “What people? Did you see any people? See a head bouncing out into the gutter, did you? Do I appear to be an idiot?”

  Abashed, and verbally slapped back into my seat, I said, “No,” with a meek voice.

  “Put in your ear plugs. I don’t have time for this right now,” he said, his frustration with me high at the moment.

  I put in my $30k earplugs, and hugged my knees feeling foolish. Of course they would’ve seen that coming, and prepared for it. Why was I so quick to believe they wouldn’t — or was it that I didn’t believe they would care? I didn’t like what the second option said about me.

  “Gary,” Slate ordered our driver, “plan E!”

  Gary, slammed the limo in reverse, hit the gas and sent us rocketing backward, into a hard spinning turn. The car now faced out, across the street. Once blocking the road, Gary hit the high-beams, lighting up the parking lot across the street.

  Three men were standing there, one with a loaded RPG launcher. All of them lifted their hands to block the blinding light that just hit them.

  In the blink of an eye, three shots thundered from the side of the limo, and all three of the men were tossed backward, landing hard on the ground and not moving after. Then Raw walked past the front of the limo into the headlights, a large rifle lifted and held on his shoulder. He lowered the rifle, held it out to the side and fired the weapon again. A moment later a body hit the sidewalk in front of the dance club. People screamed, and ran.

  “These are just puppets,” Raw’s voice said, through the speakers of the limo. “Not even a real threat. He’s playing with us.”

  Slate nodded. “Gary, pattern C. Let’s get out of here.”

  Gary put the transmission in drive and hit the gas, turning back onto the road. He then made the first right, and then the first left then left again. Here, he floored the engine, pushing me back into my seat from the acceleration.

  Once the pressure eased I reached to pull out my diamond earplugs, but Slate said, “Leave them in. We’re not out of this yet.”

  “Ok,” I said, my voice still submissive.

  “No need for that,” he said, his voice softer. “I didn’t warn you, you were caught off guard.”

  I didn’t want to discuss my questionable motivation, and didn’t want to lie, so I said nothing and looked out the window.

  Gary drove five blocks, then made a left, and then another left on the next street. On my mental map, this put us heading directly back to the hotel. Gary slowed down, to just under the speed limit for the area.

  Ahead, I saw the flashing of emergency lights. It was a true measure of the affluence level of this area of the city, that the fire department had arrived and cops were already on the scene — or was this the work of the brothers as well?

  A block away, Gary pulled to the side, and parked. “I don’t see any activity, jefe,” he said.

  Since the firemen and people were definitely active up ahead, I guessed this meant, ‘interesting activity’.

  “Raw? You got anything?” Slate asked, but I couldn’t tell where the mic or phone he used could be.

  Raw’s voice came through the limo speakers again. “Nothing but puppets.” He sounded disappointed.

  “Shit,” Slate hissed. “Ore? Anything?”

  Silence drew out along the passing seconds, to almost a minute before Slate repeated, “Ore?”

  “I have him,” Ore’s voice said. “Give me a moment, he knows he’s being followed, and he hasn’t crossed over.”

  People began streaming out of the hotel in an evacuation effort. Just as they emerged, buses pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel, to get them out of the area, and transport them to some other place. That’s when I knew the brothers were at work with the emergency response. Evacuation buses arriving before the news media didn’t happen in the real world after a terrorist attack — which this would obviously be reported as.

  This thought had me grabbing up my own laptop, and pulling it from the case.

  “Terrorist strike?” I asked Slate, booting my laptop up.

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s going to take credit?”

  “Your pick.”

  “Gotcha. I know just the assholes to pin this one on,” I told him, and began my first creative news report writing. “So, what do we have, four dead, and maybe twenty-three wounded?”

  Slate thought about this for a moment “Raw?”

  “Eight dead, twenty-three wounded,” Raw replied, his voice a study in ‘disinterest.’

  “You killed four others?” I asked.

  “No, it just sounds better,” he said.

  “Oh, well, I guess it does, thanks,” I answered, mumbling into my chest.

  “He has a point,” Gary interjected from the front, without turning, “I mean, with two RPGs into the lobby, and rifle fire, only four dead doesn’t sound all that sensational.”

  Since this was my first fictional news story, I decided to nod my head. “Everyone’s a critic now. I see how it is,” I mumbled.

  White Sands

  He left me.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Sure, I planned on sending him off myself, but he just pulled up to my hotel, dropped me off, and left me.

  Fuck.

  That didn’t feel right at all. How was a girl supposed to react to something like that? Sure, I got into story mode, and pumped out a few cover stories for the event. Two hit the evening news, and all three would be in the morning papers.

  I talked with the firemen, and the police supervisor on the scene. The primary concerns focused on the building more than anything else. There would have to be structural tests before the hotel could be opened again — of course the lobby would need to be rebuilt as well. Gary got into the whole scene with me, asking questions, and pointing out some good perspectives. Slate seemed happy to play with his laptop, and talk to Ore.

  I finished up a fourth story on the way back to my hotel, and when I got out I thought he was following, but instead he closed the door, and said he would see me at eight in the morning — through the open window. Not even a kiss or hug or ass grab. Nothing. Just drove off, while the window slid upward, and closed.

  Double dub fuck.

  I stood there, with the open laptop in my hand, watching him drive off, and felt like an idiot without understanding why.

  I hated that feeling.

  After a minute of standing there, I took the three carat diamonds out of my ears, and went inside.

  In my room I took a long shower, then drew a hot bath, called down for every oil I could think of, and planned on a long Me-Time soaking. By the time the oils and soaps arrived though, I lost interest, and made a margarita to take out on the balcony.

  Yesterday I didn’t really want anything to do with these other brothers, and now I felt like a snubbed lover. What the hell? How could the world change at such a core level so quickly?

  This implied of course, there were normally time requirements, and I knew that wasn’t the case. Einstein proposed that nothing went faster than the speed of light. Well, I had news for him, the speed of thought left light in the dust, and the Speed of Emotions b
elieved Thought was too slow to worry about.

  When I was with Kane, I felt amazed, and part of something huge — and then I found myself being amazing with no limits that could hold me.

  With Slate I felt powerful, and more than equal to anyone around me – including El Presidente. These were heady emotions, and I had never felt like this with anyone else. I wasn’t sure who I would choose now either. If Slate turned out to be as amazing in bed, there was no ground to stand on and say, here is the better choice. But then, from my lesson given by Inanna, I wasn’t exactly choosing for myself.

  This brought my day back into perspective. I mentally thanked Inanna for her visit, because it was proving to be the touchstone I needed in these troubled waters. Margarita in hand, I leaned against the railing, and looked out across the lights of my favorite city in the world, and wondered about the people below. Which of these two men would these people best be served by? Perhaps the question should be asked as; which of them would do the least amount of harm?

  Stepping inside, I picked up my laptop, and wrote the question in both ways on a new document, and stared at the words. Both should be asked. Both needed the better answer.

  While staring blindly at these questions, my email indicator popped up, telling me I had a new message from inanna@sumeriangoddess.org

  I think I stared at that longer than I did the questions.

  Getting my brave up, I clicked the indicator, and opened the message. Only a hyperlink was in the message, so I clicked, and the website for the Union Tribune News for San Diego opened to an article about a major drug raid happening, which sources said hit the Cortez Cartel hard. Experts expected retaliation from the cartel. Over a ton of cocaine had been seized, worth nearly a half a billion in US currency.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed, remembering what Slate said about Kane’s current activity. Impressive, but … I didn’t think it would happen so fast. How was he going to tie this to the Loco’s? It wasn’t even a full week yet. Then I noticed the date on the web page — it was for five days from now – and the bi-line said I wrote the article.

  Leaning back, I took a sip of my margarita. Well, I guess if you’re a goddess, time is sort of a suggestion, and breaking its laws, little more than a local misdemeanor.