Five Immortal Hearts

by Savannah Rose

  Inanna didn’t send this to me just to show off, however. She was giving me a heads-up, and likely this article had something to do with the questions I had just been staring at.

  I knew I was connected to Kane, and that connection continued to exist. Also, I felt connected to Slate. I felt that if I concentrated on either of them, I would know where they were, and perhaps even glean an idea of what they were up to — perhaps even how they were feeling. I didn’t do this, because I wasn’t comfortable with the thought. It felt intrusive, and I didn’t want them doing it to me.

  Inanna was different. Obviously we had a connection. We were somehow the same, in a way. I didn’t feel like she had invaded my space. It was closer to feeling like I had been shouting, and she couldn’t help but overhear, and had sent this as a way of getting me to quiet down.

  “Sorry,” I said, looking up into the stars. “Didn’t mean to keep you up.”

  My indicator dinged again. Opening the email, I read the words, “No worries.”

  I laughed.

  Body Electric

  Mexico City has some of the coolest modern architecture in the world. The buildings are amazing, just about as amazing as some of the foods available everywhere, and in some of the oddest places.

  Often, I have wondered if new chefs, after creating an artistic menu, don’t spend their time looking for bizarre and unlikely places to open up their restaurant. It’s a theory.

  In June of 2017, close to the middle of the city, a huge Aztec temple was unearthed in a place where construction had started for a new hotel. Of course, the hotel was nixed. While dominantly Catholic in their religion, even the Pope didn’t put the citizens of Mexico into the position of choosing between their Aztec heritage, and their Catholic beliefs. This was a wise choice. Popes these days were smart men.

  I was in Pakistan when the temple discovery was made, and a large part of my decision, once I completed that story, to move onto the Cortez Cartel story, had to do with seeing these ruins if an opportunity arose. Now here I was, inside the ruins, a place where few others, even anthropologists and professional historians were allowed to come. With digital media being so clear and available, there was little reason to allow full access to the fragile ruins themselves. Digital, however, was not the same as standing where I now stood with Slate at my side, and the President of Mexico’s full attention on our every word.

  “This is true?” the President asked. “Seven hundred years? This feels so, preordained.”

  That was likely the highest praise ever given for any written work I’ve ever composed.

  After I was done with the presentation, El Presidente was quiet for some time, as he soaked up the atmosphere of the ruins. I understood his attraction to them, though I doubted I felt the same connection he was feeling.

  He turned back to us after several minutes. “I have worries, however.”

  “In what regard?” Slate asked.

  “Religious feelings are strong with my people,” he said.

  “You worry about the Vatican’s feelings about the project?” I asked. We had not mentioned any religious perspective, but like me, it seemed this was his first area of thought as well. Couldn’t fault him there.

  “Si, I do. I worry about that a great deal. Such a ripple could be a serious dilemma if it arose.”

  “I’m working on that,” Slate said, stepping toward one of the rooms that had been excavated. “Or rather, I have someone far more qualified than myself, working on that angle. He’s in Rome now.”

  One of the brothers? I wondered, and instantly Quinn’s Spanish pirate face floated up into my mind, complete with a devil-may-care grin. That couldn’t be right, could it? I thought of him leering, without embarrassment, at my breasts, as though his eyes could lick my nipples and enjoy the feel of them hardening on his tongue. No, it couldn’t be Quinn, right? Sending Quinn to the Pope seemed…

  “More qualified than you?” The President laughed, interrupting my thoughts.

  Slate turned, and smiled. “I only act like I know everything, when in fact, what I have are experts I let advise me. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll get in touch with you. But, if Rome has neutral or positive views on the subject, what would your feelings be?”

  “My feelings? My whole being is in a state of excited wonder! If it is possible at all, I would go to great lengths to launch this project. I would risk my next election to see it succeed,” he said with an earnestness I didn’t believe he possessed. “But I would hate to push something so important too soon, without the right support in place. It could … It will change Mexico forever. I just would like to be assured this change would be for the good, and not devastation.”

  He said, devastation, with the same tone most people said ‘abomination.’

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I told him.

  Slate lifted an eyebrow. “That’s good, because you’ll be going to Rome soon to help Quinn with the details.”

  “I will?” I asked, astounded.

  “You will,” he said, and smiled with silent laughter filling his eyes.

  Quinn? Was he serious? It really was Quinn in Rome right now? Shit, we’d be lucky if he wasn’t telling the pope a dirty joke.

  “You must be far more able than Senior Slate has let on,” el Presidente said to me. “Perhaps you might like to attend a party I’m having this weekend. Several people will be there, who would be most interested in meeting you.”

  “I’d love to, if my responsibilities allow the time. I’m not sure about these travel plans, or my schedule for the next couple of weeks. This is a large project,” I demurred. “Such a large project often has the unexpected involved.”

  “Of course, of course, and I know exactly what you mean about the unexpected,” el Presidente said, with a serious expression. “I am often caught by surprise during such projects. I will send the invitation, and will have no hard feelings if you find your responsibilities don’t allow you to attend.”

  “Gracias, that is most kind,” I said.

  “De nada, I am honored to have met you.” There was a smile on his lips and honesty in his eyes.

  ***

  “What will I be doing this weekend?” I asked Slate as we walked back to our limo.

  “I believe you’ll be attending a party with the President of Mexico.”

  “With you?” I asked, thinking about him driving off last night.

  “That would be nice. I hope so.”

  “Do you? You seemed a bit anxious to drive off last night. I thought you might come up.”

  Slate shook his head then looked down at his feet. “I apologize for that, and hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “What is there to forgive?”

  “Ore discovered where C-Source was, and I went with him to check out the place. We didn’t find anything. He hasn’t crossed over, so it is doubtful we could have done much even if we did.”

  “Raw used the term, puppets, last night. I’m guessing these are people that C-Source has either duped or controls.”

  “In this case, controls is the better description,” Slate offered.

  “Which has its own level of horror.” I shuddered. “Did they have any control over their actions at all?”

  “Doubtful,” Slate answered, looking as disturbed as I felt.

  “Shit,” I breathed. “But, alright, if that’s the case, what is this ‘crossing over’ stuff?”

  Slate looked around, but then waited until we were in the back of the limo before answering. “This is the physical world or perhaps, dimension is a better term. There are many dimensions, but the ones we deal with most are spirit in nature and this one, the physical dimension.”

  “Why bother with the physical? Especially if what you implied is true, that the spirit world would be safer, easier to hide in?” I asked.

  He thought about this, his brows knitting together. “It seems trite to say, but if it doesn’t happen here, it doesn’t happen. In the spirit world, there is thought and energy
, but no matter. Not as we think of matter here; what you think of matter. Thoughts are not form. Thoughts and spirit can be and frequently are disturbed and over-written — changed without warning or even intent, really. All is in fluidity and altering constantly. Only here, do thoughts take form and become something stable.”

  I had questions pouring into my head on top of other questions, but then I realized my desire behind all of them was to understand this thing’s motivation. Was that even possible? We appeared to be discussing something that was immortal and not native to the world of form or the physical world I lived in. Could I, a mortal, less than thirty years old, comprehend the motivations of a being like C-Source?

  Whether or not the answer was yes, or no, could I understand Slate’s motivations? Or Kane’s? Or even Raw’s?

  “Why do you want me, Slate?” I asked, looking out the window as we passed by some of the most beautiful women in the world, out for their day of shopping or business. “Look at these women, out here on the street. They’re gorgeous. Far more beautiful than I am. Some younger, some older. Many with far more life experience. Sure, I’ve lived a few, but look at them. How do I measure up to be important to you? Is it just this war between you and your brothers, with me as the prize this time, that makes me attractive? What real value do I have for you?”

  He turned from me, his voice low as he looked out toward the front of the car, low and nostalgic, “…in some other life we are standing, side by side we are laughing, that in some other life — we are apart…” he said, as if quoting from a half remembered age.

  “That’s oddly pretty,” I said, struck by his countenance and mood. “Who wrote that?”

  “You did. Another you. Another time.” He turned to face me. “You ask what’s so amazing about you, but you are asking in your sleep, and I can’t answer you until you wake up.”

  My heart fluttered when his blue eyes peered inside me, while a chill touched my spine. In that moment, I would have kissed him. Wanted to kiss. Wanted more than anything to be in his arms. To hear the beats of his heart as they sync to the beats of mine.

  In that moment, the last thing I expected was chaos. But chaos isn’t planned or expected. Chaos comes without warning and right now, it jerked me away from Slate. A freight truck coming out from an alley slammed into the passenger side of the limo, sending me flying, a shower of broken glass raining just as hard as the chaos.

  ***

  Gary was dead.

  Something hard, and chrome impaled Slate’s chest.

  The roof of the limo was torn away by hands that were not human, and tossed over the thing’s shoulder like it was used deli-wrap paper.

  And all I could think was, “Well, fuck you too!”

  I had never in all my years felt such blood boiling rage. It was not blind rage, or chaos. It was so much more deadly than those emotions.

  My blood boiled in a body of stone and ice. My thoughts were clear, precise — diamond crystal inside glacier. Diamond thoughts lead to diamond memories, and diamond memories, sent my eyes to my lover’s laptop, and his program, which I now understood, as if I read computer code as a native language.

  The thing was metal, robotic, but there was a man inside. A man with a beating heart. Inside that heart, was C-Source.

  Snatching up my lover’s laptop I brought up the code and fingered the key combination to compile and run.

  For a moment there was a vibration, and then the screaming started.

  The more they screamed the more I laughed.

  Subsonic bass at 20mhz. You can’t hear it. Oh, but you can feel it. Right down into the bowels of your mind and ass, you feel it, and what you feel is terror.

  Anything with a spine in effective range ran from me screaming, as I came out of the top of the limo, and ripped the weapon out of the thing’s hands. It backed away, lifting its hands, the human inside begging for me to stop. I tilted my head, looking for C-Source inside that mind, but it was gone.

  “I’m sorry,” the man in the metal suit mumbled. There was dribble pouring out of his mouth, like I cared for his oral apologia or for his weak mind, which allowed C-Source to use him like a puppet.

  I turned, and there were two more metal men, both of them shaking violently.

  “You want to live too?” I asked them, lifting the weapon in their direction.

  “Please!” and other shit came out of their mouths.

  “Where did you get those outfits? Got any more?” I asked.

  They told me, and I listened, but what helped most was their thoughts and the visuals they flashed across my mind while they tried to explain how to get there.

  Cortez Cartel purchased these military mech-suits for nine million each. They had five — well, two now. I had three. I wondered if the re-sell value was going to be worth taking them. Then I wondered if my ass would look good in one.

  “Get undressed, and run before I eat your hearts,” I told them.

  They thanked me as they ran, but I had already dismissed them from my world. I only had eyes for Slate.

  “Slate, you need to wake up, lover. Your little ambush surprise is too good to sleep through darling. Wake up, and look at how wonderful you are,” I whispered, as I ran my fingers through his fine platinum hair, and then kissed his lips. Energy passed through me, into him as my lips sucked his lower lip, and his eyes fluttered open. The blue of his eyes turned to fire, and then forge.

  “Easy there, lover. It’s my first time. Be gentle,” I smiled.

  “The hell with that,” he said, but then his eyes landed on Gary’s body. “Shit. Gary.”

  I nodded. “I couldn’t help him. He was gone before I could get there,” I said, and now I heard my voice — but not my voice. It reverberated across the air as hard and unyielding as the sub-sonic bass pouring out of the woofers in the trunk.

  Inanna, she was in me, looking through me, healing Slate, and ready to kick ass.

  Hope you don’t mind, you’ve kissed him before, she thought to me.

  Mind? I laughed, You just saved my life.

  No, but I did save Slate. You were going to be fine. You just would have woken early and it would have hurt, more than you can imagine, but you would have lived.

  Too many questions, too many answers with ten more questions attached.

  “What do we do now?” I asked Slate, and my voice sounded more like my own.

  He looked North. “Wait. Ore will be here soon, with Raw. In fact, Raw is already here.”

  I looked over at the freight truck that rammed us, my attention drawn by the sound of Raw ripping off the driver’s door, and pulling the driver down.

  “He’s wasting his time,” a calm voice said behind me, and turning there was Ore. “C-Source has already fled.”

  Slate pulled his laptop over, and keyed off the sub-sonic assault, and as soon as it stopped, Inanna left me. I crumpled as if all the energy I had, left me as well. Slate caught me before I hit the ground or bashed my head on something.

  “Is it safe to take a nap?” I asked, but I couldn’t recall his answer.

  I woke in a bed not my own, to the scent of Slate. The desire to linger inside his sheets, all nude and warm was strong, but hunger ravaged its way across my mind as soon as sleep receded.

  As soon as my toes touched the thick carpet my stomach clenched. “Dear god I’m starving.”

  The door opened, and Slate rolled in a cart with food. I could have eaten all I saw, including him. “If you are attempting to seduce me with food, you win. Just let me get through fourths, and I’m all yours.”

  “To do what with? Roll around the room?” he asked.

  But I already had my mouth full with some kind of bread roll, stuffed with meat, cheese and spices. Who cared what it was? Then some kind of juice — oh, no, that was some kind of wine, the juice was this one — and then this rolled up tortilla with more meat, cheese and spice. Oh, this has tomato too… nice touch that.

  Chin dripping hunger is not sexy. Alright? Not sexy a
t all. But, the more I ate, the less I wanted clothes on Slate.

  “This is why she’s not supposed to do that,” Slate said, sitting down on the bed beside me.

  “Hunger?” I asked, between the fist thrusts stuffing my face.

  “Two of you in the same body uses a great deal of energy,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I’d explain that, but it takes a lot of math.”

  “I gotta D in math, so, never mind,” I said. “Let me see your chest.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I ripped his shirt open, tearing the fabric to find no flaw on his muscles and perfect skin.

  “All better,” I mumbled, pointing at the healed area where he was pierced through his body in the car, and then I snatched up — could have been a danish, maybe. Might have been the napkin. Who cared?

  “Yes,” he said, looking perturbed at his ruined shirt, “she’s good at that.”

  “Huh. And, my raging libido?”

  “That’s all you, I’m afraid,” he said.

  “About fucking time something was all me,” I growled, and pushed him back on the bed, climbing on top of him.

  If you ever get the chance to ravage a beautiful man, I highly recommend the experience. It’s quite entertaining, the confusion and conflict crashing in his eyes as instinct struggles to defend, while his libido screams, Why?

  Sweet mercy he was gorgeous. I couldn’t separate my hunger, and nibbled at his ear lobe while I pulled at his belt and pants. Feeling him harden underneath the fabric was heaven. Foreplay had been going on for two days. There was no need for more. I wanted him inside me. Deep inside. The feeling of his cock spreading me open caused a gasp of desperation to escape my lungs, and I thrust my hips to push myself down his length.

  “Oh my god, yes,” I whined, my voice lava.

  He said something inarticulate and then grabbed my waist just above my hips and impaled me with a thrust of his own. I squealed and clawed at his chest and the bed cover.