Black Heart

by Christina Henry

  I looked at him sharply. For a moment, I thought I’d heard . . .

  But the thought faded as the presence of the dragon filled my mind. Litarian was right. I could feel him approaching, like a flame-lit shadow that covered the night.

  “I know you,” I said into the darkness. I felt that inexorable pull that I had experienced in the dragon’s presence before, felt something buried deep in my blood that drew me toward the creature. I took a step forward.

  6

  LITARIAN GRABBED MY ARM, HIS VOICE ANGRY. “WHAT are you doing? Do not draw it to us. I told you to halt so that we would not attract its attention.”

  “It won’t hurt me,” I murmured, my head full of fire and darkness.

  I yearned for something, something elemental and just out of reach.

  Litarian came around to grab both my shoulders, to shake me. The jolt snapped the connection between the dragon and me. Litarian and I stared at each other. Something shifted behind his eyes, and just for a moment I thought the color of the iris changed.

  It must have been a trick of the light. Then he was speaking, more harshly than I had heard him speak before.

  “Are you mad?” he asked through his teeth. “That creature would destroy both of us in an instant. What were you thinking?”

  He punctuated this with another little shake, which made me angry. I slapped his hands away from my shoulders.

  A headache was brewing behind my eyes as the darkness in my mind retreated. It felt like this when I was first coming into my power, my legacy from Lucifer. There had been the same sense of a door opening just a crack before it slammed shut again. And because the door hadn’t opened all the way, pain streamed in its wake.

  There was a mystery here to be solved, something else I needed to discover before I left this place. And Litarian was keeping me from that discovery. He was preventing me from finding the source of fire deep inside me.

  “I told you, he wouldn’t hurt me,” I said.

  “But he would hurt me,” Litarian said. “He despises all of us.”

  “He wouldn’t if I asked him not to,” I said, still angry, still longing for the thing that was just out of reach.

  “Can you communicate with the dragon?” Litarian asked suspiciously. “I thought you said you had not been here before.”

  “I haven’t,” I said, now feeling defensive. “It’s just . . . a feeling I have when I see him.”

  “A feeling,” Litarian said flatly.

  “Look, I don’t have to explain to you,” I said, pushing past him.

  “I think you do,” Litarian said, following me. “I have a right to know if you’re going to draw the dragon down on my head.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “Look, just forget it, okay? The dragon isn’t coming anywhere near us right now. Let’s just focus on the Cimice.”

  He wanted to pursue it. There was a quality of expectation in his silence. But he didn’t. Maybe he’d decided to trust me. Maybe he’d decided not to pursue the issue so long as he wasn’t in immediate danger. All I know is that we did not speak another word to each other for all of that long night.

  The fae from the village did not pursue us; nor did we encounter any animals in the wood.

  I don’t know what was in Litarian’s head, but I was brooding on my seeming connection to the dragon. Had the dragon been left here by Lucifer, created by Lucifer’s magic long ago? Was that why I was drawn to him, and him to me?

  As the moonlight began to fade and the first rays of sunlight showed pink in the sky, I noticed the forest had changed. We were no longer surrounded by lush vegetation. Everywhere I looked the trees were stripped of their leaves, the underbrush similarly denuded. The back of my neck itched. I felt exposed.

  “I suppose we’re getting closer to the colony,” I said.

  “Yes, we are very near now,” replied Litarian. “We must proceed with caution.”

  “Let’s get under a veil,” I suggested. “We’re too easy to see here.”

  Litarian hesitated, like he wasn’t certain he wanted to be that close to me.

  “I won’t attract the dragon while we’re under a veil,” I said impatiently. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

  He stepped closer, his expression embarrassed. I summoned my magic, settled the veil over us.

  “Stay close to me,” I warned.

  “I remember,” Litarian said.

  We moved forward again, proceeding more cautiously. Neither of us wanted to be surprised by the Cimice. The landscape grew bleaker, more barren, as we walked.

  “They’ve completely destroyed this part of the forest,” I said. “I wonder if it will ever even grow back.”

  “We cannot allow them to encroach any further on our village,” Litarian said.

  I agreed, but I wasn’t thinking of the fae. I was thinking of Chicago, and what would happen if these creatures appeared in my city. They would destroy every thing, every person in their path. And when they were done they would move on to the next city, and the next. All the while they would breed, until their numbers were impossible to comprehend.

  Once they had wiped every last trace of life from Earth, they would move to another world, presumably through the power of whatever architect had brought them here in the first place.

  I gradually became aware of a buzzing sound that filled the air. It was like the persistent hum of cicadas, only a lot louder and after a while a lot more irritating. The headache behind my eyes spread. I found myself growing angry. I was hot, tired, thirsty. I hadn’t showered in a couple of days and I was desperate to get out of my clothes and wash.

  And my head hurt. And that sound was so pervasive, so damned annoying. It wasn’t just in my ears. It was in my teeth, and the sockets of my eyes. It vibrated up and down my spine, crawled over my nerve endings, made me madder and madder until I felt like I would explode.

  “Stop,” Litarian said, his hand going around my upper arm.

  “Quit manhandling me!” I shouted.

  The veil had fallen away at some point. I’d lost track of the magic, become preoccupied with the noise.

  “You need to stop. You need to breathe,” Litarian said soothingly, the kind of tone that you use on a child throwing a temper tantrum.

  “No,” I said angrily, wiping my face with my sleeve. I was covered in sweat. It poured from me like I’d just run a very long distance. “I don’t need to breathe. I need for this damned noise to stop. I need it to stop.”

  I scrunched up my eyes, covered my ears, but it was still there, inside me.

  “Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop,” I said.

  Litarian closed his arms around me. “You stop,” he said insistently. “Relax. Breathe. The Cimice will make you insane if you allow them to do so.”

  I kicked at him, flailed, but he was strong, much stronger than he seemed, and he held me fast.

  “Breathe,” he repeated. “Breathe with me.”

  The low, steady insistence of his voice was finally breaking through the haze of madness. I tried to push away the noise, to focus on the steady rhythm of his inhalations and exhalations. I let my breath go, let it fall into the same pattern as his.

  The buzzing of the Cimice continued, but it receded from my body. My nerves felt scraped raw. I was a hollow thing, ready to be born anew.

  I opened my eyes and looked into Litarian’s—and saw what he had tried to hide.

  “You!” I said, wrenching myself from his embrace as Litarian’s green eyes bled blue—the merry sapphire blue of Puck.

  “Are you not pleased to see me?” he said, grinning.

  I punched him in the face.

  Last time I’d hit Puck, he had tried to strangle me to death. This time he was so pleased with his trick that he just shook off my blow, still smiling.

  “I’d have thought you’d be pleased to see a family member in this strange place.”

  “What the hell are you doing here pretending to be a faerie?” I demanded. “Aren’t you supposed t
o be in Chicago with Alerian and Lucifer?”

  I had a sudden thought that chilled me to the bone. “Oh, gods above and below. You didn’t let him take over the city, did you?”

  “So many questions. Which to answer first?” Puck said, tapping his finger on his chin.

  “I don’t care which you answer first so long as you do answer,” I growled. “Are you the reason I’m here in this thrice-forsaken place?”

  “I may have given dear Nathaniel a little nudge,” Puck acknowledged. “Although when I did so I didn’t realize the dragon was here.”

  “What’s the dragon got to do with anything?” I said, my mind generating more questions before he could answer the first ones. “Have you been here all along, playing the part of Litarian? Or is that just something new for me? Does Batarian know who you really are?”

  Puck held up his hands. “I will tell you all.”

  “I doubt that very much,” I muttered. “But you will answer my questions.”

  “Or what?” Puck asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “We both know you can’t kill me.”

  “I won’t,” I said. “I’ll call the dragon to me.”

  It was a calculated risk. I was pretty sure that the panic I’d seen in Puck’s eyes was real when we had sensed the presence of the dragon.

  It was very satisfying to see him pale a little, even though he was careful to maintain his expression of merriment. “Ah, well, it suits me to satisfy your curiosity in any case,” he said offhandedly.

  But I had seen, and I knew. Puck was afraid of the dragon. I would find out why. But not yet. First I wanted to know why I was here, and why he was here, and what web he was spinning.

  “So start talking,” I said.

  “And where shall I begin?” he asked.

  “Tell me why you pushed Nathaniel into sending me here,” I said. I’m sorry for doubting you, Nathaniel.

  Puck feigned a look of surprise. “Why, to protect you from the Retrievers, of course. I knew they had no dominion here.”

  “Where is here, anyway?”

  “A planet that is light-years from yours, in time and space. Long ago a war was waged here between Lucifer’s armies and the fae that live here. Lucifer won, but he did not particularly care to keep the spoils. He simply wished to prove that he could win, that he was stronger than his opponent.”

  This last was said with no small amount of bitterness. I sensed that Puck had been on the losing end of more than a few conflicts with his brother.

  “After the war, Lucifer graciously agreed to leave this land to those he had defeated. He told them that as punishment for their defiance against him, they would not be able to pass freely from world to world, that they would be confined to this place always. He also told them that he closed all the portals between this and other worlds, so that none may enter or leave.”

  “But he lied,” I said, thinking of the portal across the ocean.

  “Yes, he does that,” Puck said. “He wanted to ensure that he had a way in and out if he needed it.”

  “But why?” I asked. “What could he possibly want from such an out-of-the-way place, from a people he’d already defeated?”

  “As you might say, do not ask me to explain what he is thinking,” Puck said. “And it was of no concern to me if he chose to have a bolt-hole on this planet. At least, it was of no concern until Titania chose this place as the launchpad for her invasion of Earth.”

  “Titania,” I said. “I should have known.”

  “Yes, you probably should have,” Puck agreed. “At any rate, once Titania chose this world, I felt it was a good idea if I were on the spot, as it were. Monitoring the situation. Since Lucifer closed the borders of this world, he might take Titania’s decision to open a portal here as an act of aggression.”

  “So you—what? Presented yourself to Batarian as his long-lost son?”

  Puck’s eyes twinkled. “Not exactly.”

  Mine narrowed. “How was it, exactly, then?”

  Puck shrugged. “I gave Batarian and all of his people a memory of Litarian. A memory that told them he was always here.”

  “And how do you explain your absences to Batarian when you must attend to Titania?”

  “I don’t have to. When I am here, they remember me as though I were always here. When I am gone, the memory of Litarian fades without a trace. I established the spell as such so that if I am unable to return, Batarian would not be haunted by the memory of a lost son.”

  “Very thoughtful of you,” I said sourly.

  I was very disturbed by the depth and breadth of Puck’s power. That kind of spell took more than strength. It took subtlety. It would also need safeguards built in so that the magic would continue even if Puck were not there to maintain it. I knew Lucifer and his brothers were strong, that their power was almost beyond comprehension. But it was one thing to know that, and quite another to be confronted with the proof of it.

  “Yes, I am thoughtful,” Puck said in response to my comment. He sounded perfectly sincere.

  “Does Titania know you’re here?” I asked.

  Puck shook his head. “My queen does not monitor my every move.”

  “Are you sure about that? If I were Titania, I would definitely keep a close eye on you.”

  “I am certain,” Puck replied with a touch of arrogance. “Powerful the faerie queen may be, but she is not yet as powerful as I.”

  And yet you pretend to be her inferior. Why? I had always wondered about this, but now was not the time to try to get the answer.

  “Okay,” I said. “Titania is using the Cimice to do what? Take over Chicago? Claim dominion over the Earth?”

  “Those are side benefits. If she releases an army on your planet, it would be tantamount to declaring war on Lucifer, as my brother believes that world belongs to him.”

  “Then why do it? Does she think she can defeat Lucifer with the Cimice?”

  “Yes, she does,” Puck said.

  I stared at him. “But she’s wrong.”

  “I know,” Puck said.

  “And if she brings her armies against Lucifer and he chooses to retaliate—”

  “He will,” Puck interjected.

  “Then there will be nothing left of the planet,” I said.

  “Precisely,” Puck said. “Which is exactly why I brought you here.”

  “And what am I supposed to do?” I said.

  “Just what you intended to do when you thought I was Litarian,” Puck said. “Destroy the Cimice.”

  “First of all, if you’re here, why can’t you do it yourself?” I asked. “And second of all, won’t Titania be pissed if she finds out you screwed up her plans? And finally, since when do you care if humanity is destroyed?”

  “I like people,” Puck said lightly. “Existence was so much more fun once you came along.”

  “That’s only part of an answer,” I said.

  Puck sighed theatrically. “Oh, Madeline, you know me so well.”

  “Why?” I repeated.

  Puck tapped the tip of my nose with his finger. “What if I said it doesn’t suit my purpose to have the two of them at war just yet?”

  “That, I would believe,” I said, although I didn’t like to think about what would happen once he did decide it would suit his purpose. Puck might think the world was more fun with humans in it, but if he could harm his brother, then people had just better watch out for the cross fire. Puck would certainly not be looking out for them.

  No, that’s your job. It was a little startling to think of myself in those terms, to consider that I might really be all that was standing between the monsters and civilized society. Especially since the civilized society seemed perfectly willing to throw me to the wolves to protect themselves, as was demonstrated when a bunch of kids had tried to turn me in to Therion’s vampire authority.

  I realized Puck was watching me with a knowing look. I wondered how much of my thoughts he could read on my face. Then I decided I was better off not knowi
ng. It would be nice to at least have the illusion of privacy in my own mind, especially since Lucifer and Puck and all of their brethren had infected every other corner of my life.

  “So?” I said. “How come you need me to hammer the Cimice when you have more than enough power to do it yourself?”

  “It’s better if I don’t make grand gestures,” Puck said. “It tends to draw unwanted attention.”

  “And it doesn’t draw unwanted attention when I do it?” I asked.

  “Well, yes, it might,” Puck admitted. “But when you do it, ancient beings don’t construe your actions as an act of war. They just think you’re flying off the handle—again.”

  “So lovely to know my reputation precedes me,” I said.

  Puck grinned. “It does. It really, really does.”

  “And what will happen to you if Titania finds out you’ve thwarted her?” I asked.

  “She won’t find out,” Puck said.

  I didn’t know whether it was extreme arrogance or that he had a fail-safe in place, but he seemed supremely confident that Titania would not discover his machinations. Fine. It had nothing to do with me, anyway. It was none of my business what happened to Puck, and I had no desire to make it my business. I had enough on my plate.

  “Will you continue on with me now and eliminate the threat posed by the Cimice?” Puck asked.

  I was angry that Puck had manipulated both Nathaniel and me, but I was going to help him anyway and Puck knew it. There was no way I could allow Titania to set the Cimice on my city.

  “Let’s go,” I said, and started forward again. And stopped.

  The buzzing of the Cimice had ceased. Good for my sanity, sure, but possibly bad news otherwise. I dropped a veil over myself. Beside me, Puck did the same.

  “Can you see me even when I’m veiled?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Fine,” I said. “Stay close to me, because I can’t see you.”

  “Will do,” he said.

  It sounded so strange to hear modern phrases coming out of the mouth of such an old creature, but both Puck and Lucifer were much more attuned to the modern world than most ancient things. All the faerie pretty much seemed trapped in the fifth century.