Dark Heart

by Margaret Weis;David Baldwin

  Then Justin tried heroin. He’d been in San Francisco in the late 1960s, in the Haight-Ashbury. It was a time and place unique in his long experience. He soaked up the gentle atmosphere of the flower children, and along the way tried a few of the drugs from the pharmacopoeia the kids were experimenting with. Most had little or no effect on him; they were metabolized by his immortal body long before they affected his mind. Two of the drugs he tried were different. The first, LSD, was a mistake of epic proportions, one that cost several people their lives. But heroin, though a filthy habit, saved him from his personal demons, if only for a little while. The drug sang to him and the ghosts could not follow.

  And the terrors and addictions that were the drug’s deadly downside didn’t affect him. His immortality and healing powers kept him safe. Even as he watched the children who’d introduced him to heroin’s joys waste away and die before they reached adulthood, destroyed by the drug’s embrace, he realized he’d found at last the release he was looking for.

  Most men only had eighty years on this earth before they departed for whatever paradise they believed awaited them in the afterlife. He had been doing hard, brutal work for the Dragon—for all of humankind—for nearly seven hundred years, with no end in sight. Justin tried to believe he deserved his chosen form of oblivion. He knew better, of course, but there were days when his self-loathing was outweighed by his need for release.

  He didn’t know how long he floated in heroin’s liquid arms before something brought his senses back. At first, he wasn’t quite sure what awakened him. Usually, while he was in a heroin haze, the roof could fall in upon him and he would barely notice it. But then, sometimes, a breath of air touched his skin and he would come back to full consciousness. As he did now.

  The ornate mirror on the dais shimmered, as if the glass was dissolving. At first, he thought it was a fantasy induced by the drug. He forced his eyes to focus on the mirror. The glass shimmered again.

  No. This was real. Someone was coming through.

  When his master used the mirror, there were no preliminary signs, nothing to indicate that his presence was near. One moment, he was not there, and the next moment, he was the whole world. Though after all his years as the Dragon’s servant, Justin was still unsure of what the Dragon looked like. He saw him only as the Dragon wanted to be seen. Sometimes the Dragon was smoldering eyes in the darkness. Sometimes he was a voice speaking from Justin’s own reflection in the mirror. Once he’d even been a blonde beauty decked out in shimmering samite, complete with wings and a harp.

  None of the disciples could control the mirror as the Dragon did. They could use the mirror, of course, at the Dragon’s request—sometimes they used it, too, without the master’s direct consent but never without his knowledge.

  Again the mirror shimmered, and again. Justin watched with detached interest. He knew he should either stand to greet whoever was coming through or throw a black cloth over the glass to indicate that he did not wish to be disturbed. At the moment, all he wanted to do was to remain still, let time flow past him, enjoy the lingering afterglow of the drug. And so instead of doing what he knew he should do, he merely watched.

  The shimmering intensified, then the surface rippled as though someone was skipping stones across it, as if the mirror was now a vertical plane of water. Features formed just on the other side of the mirror’s surface, those of a dark-skinned man, his jet black hair cropped close to his head. Deep-set black eyes gleamed on either side of an eagle’s beak of a nose. He had a face resembling that of a bird of prey. He seemed to stare at Justin from the moment he appeared in that shimmering other world.

  The man wore a gray wool three-piece business suit and a hand-sewn silk shirt, both fresh from Saville Row, masterpieces of British single-needle tailoring. They fit him perfectly, like a second skin. The clothes were a disguise, giving the man the appearance of a top-flight corporate raider, a very successful businessman, a modern robber-baron at the peak of his form. But Justin could smell the dung heap behind the surface polish. The man concealed beneath the natty wool was an Arabian street thief from the fifteenth century. And all the suits in the world would never change it.

  The mirror embraced the man as he stepped through its gleaming surface like a knife cutting through quicksilver. He looked about the room, his long, bony nose wrinkling in disgust.

  “It smells like a charnel house in here,” he said. He spoke with a perfect American accent, colored with shades of an Oklahoman’s drawl.

  “Does it remind you of the prison cells of your youth, Kalzar?” Justin asked. He straightened up in the chair. He tried to force his thoughts into order. Steady and calm, keep it steady and calm, he told himself. He cursed the remains of the narcotic in his veins, slowing his thought processes, making his reactions sluggish and fuzzy.

  “Ah,” Kalzar replied, “now that you mention it, it does have the stink of fear.”

  Kalzar stepped down from the dais, away from the mirror he’d just traveled through. He frowned as he stepped over the skins and fluids from Justin’s recent transformation. Once on the carpet, he paused to wipe his shoes.

  “You really should show more care, Justin. Doesn’t this shock the cleaning lady? Cause her to ask embarrassing questions? Or do you simply murder them and then hire new ones?”

  “That would be more your style,” Justin said, still trying to see clearly through his heroin haze—and failing miserably. He sat back in his chair, waiting to see what Kalzar was up to, looking for a hint of the devious plan or uncontrollable urge to gloat that had led Kalzar here.

  “There are too many people in the world, Justin. You wouldn’t know that because you’ve spent your entire life in Europe and America. The East is different. If you’d spent time where I come from, you’d realize that the majority of people on this planet should be squashed like roaches.”

  “That doesn’t sound like one of the five pillars of Islam. The Prophet would be disappointed in you.”

  “He’s not my prophet anymore. I know who my god is. I know in whose jihad I fight.”

  Kalzar’s vulture-like gaze flicked about the room, lingering on nothing except the drawings and the drug paraphernalia. He snorted.

  “The weakness that surrounds you…” Kalzar said, venom dripping from each word, “after all of those years I put into you, after teaching you everything I know, this is where you end up.” Kalzar waved a hand at the pictures on the wall, then gestured at the heroin vial, syringe, and rubber strip scattered on the small table by Justin’s chair. “I suppose your raw talent must be quite impressive for the Dragon to turn a blind eye to all of these weaknesses. Once I thought you showed promise, but you’re no disciple. As you are now, Omar could best you.”

  “Omar is a worm,” Justin said, annoyed to hear a slight slur to his words; he resolved to keep his mouth shut until he was sure he could control his voice.

  Kalzar’s gaze flashed to Justin. All the old hatred, centuries in the making, was there. None of it had been mellowed by the decades they had been kept apart by the Dragon. Then he smiled suddenly, though the smile looked like a snarl.

  Crocodiles look like that before they sink their teeth in, Justin thought.

  “Remember how we used to fight together, Justin? Side by side, I mean, in the early days, before you took from me what was rightfully mine?”

  The acid he’s putting in those words must burn his lips, Justin thought, but said nothing.

  “We would run down those pathetic druids in the forests of Scotland, back when Scotland still had forests fit to run in. You and I, we grinned at our own reflections on the swords of the Knights Templar before we slaughtered them like lambs. Together, we could have led a successful charge on all the armies of the world and won. And now look at you. See what you’ve become. I taught you everything, and look at how you waste it.”

  Justin levered himself to his feet, met his old enemy’s gaze, saw the hate in Kalzar’s face. Justin’s jaw tightened but he forced himself t
o speak. This time, his voice came out low and deadly.

  “Your arrogance stifles your tiny brain,” Justin said. “Your memories are a delusion. We never fought side by side, Kalzar. I followed behind you to clean up the messes you made. To bury the whores you lost control with. To squelch the rumors you started with your endless bragging to the wrong ears. I did not steal your favor with the Dragon, Kalzar. The Dragon sent me to cover your tracks. I’m surprised the Dragon hasn’t sent me to kill you. Perhaps our master is more forgiving than he seems. At least, so far he is…” Justin let out a disgusted breath. “Yes, you taught me, Kalzar. Everything you know. I could never have compiled a finer manual on what not to do as a disciple!”

  For a moment, Justin thought Kalzar would attack him. Kalzar’s smile disappeared. The Arab’s thin lips formed a straight, rigid line. Veins throbbed at his temples and against his white silk collar. His face was flushed, his eyes narrow. Justin waited, ready.

  Kalzar mastered himself. His left eyelid twitched, and then he smiled again. “And you are such a fine disciple that the master has banished you from your homeland. Perhaps you are not so secure in the Dragon’s favor as you think.”

  “Perhaps,” Justin said. “Or perhaps you don’t know the workings of the Dragon’s mind. My stay here is for a reason, one which will become clear to me over time. Just as we could be ordered to kill a man today for what he will do in ten years, the Dragon’s decision to keep me here is most likely to hold me ready for some coming task. I follow his orders. I have the intelligence and subtlety to understand what is at stake. That’s the difference between you and me, Kalzar. You are the Dragon’s bludgeon and I am his scalpel. That’s the way it has always been.” Justin walked forward, nearly nose to nose with Kalzar. “No matter how well you dress yourself, no matter how many accents you affect, you will always be a mere butcher. Not just because you’re an idiot, but because you enjoy the slaughter, not the grand purpose behind it. You are a wretch, a festering sore on the face of the earth. I tolerate your continued existence because the Dragon can use you.”

  Kalzar narrowed his eyes. He was so angry he could barely speak. “You prancing peacock.” Kalzar’s voice was low but deadly, echoing throughout the room like a gypsy’s curse. “You dance on thin ice, Justin. And one day you will fall through. It’s only a matter of time.” Justin could practically feel the heat of Kalzar’s fury seeping through the fine wool of his impeccable suit. “And on that day,” Kalzar spat, “I will be waiting to swallow you. Then I will tear your flesh!”

  But the game grew old. Justin finally asked the question he should have asked the moment Kalzar stepped through the mirror. “What do you want here, Kalzar?”

  No reply. The urge to fight was strong within both of them, and could explode into violence any second. Each lusted to shed the other’s blood, to pour it out until the floor was lost beneath the crimson tide, until the enemy was too weak to stand, too weak to run, too weak to live. One day, each of them knew, the Dragon’s edict forbidding them to fight wouldn’t be enough to keep them apart. And each knew that day was getting closer, that the Dragon’s long-standing edict wouldn’t hold for much longer. And, Justin thought, that brought up a very interesting point. “The master ordered us to remain separated. How do you come here?”

  The flames in Kalzar’s eyes flickered. He flashed a smile. “I wish I knew for certain. I was standing in front of my mirror, and I wanted to look in on you. Of course, you know that has been impossible for decades now, divided as we are by the mandate. Imagine my surprise when it actually worked. I wondered what would happen if I stepped through. And here I am. What do you think that means, Justin?”

  “It means the master will speak with you, Kalzar, and I will enjoy the aftermath. If you think you’ve found some way to travel the mirror without his knowing it, you’re a fool.”

  “I really don’t think so. I’m telling you the truth, you see.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Kalzar smiled thinly. “But you’re growing more sloppy every day, and the master knows it. Perhaps he hoped I would check up on you. Your recent actions endanger us all. Even I, isolated from you for a century, far away in Libya, know this. Imagine my surprise when I received a report from Omar saying that some female detective has been tracking you, and you have not yet killed her.”

  “I know about the detective,” Justin said. “She knows nothing I don’t want her to know.”

  “Oh, she doesn’t, does she? How pleasant. Omar says she knows more than she should. So when are you planning to kill her?”

  Justin shivered with rage. “Your oaf Omar has given the Dragon and his disciples a far bigger risk of exposure than I ever will. Like you, he talks about things to others who should not know. I have covered for him so far. His murder of Carlton Wheeler, which I planned for him, was flawless in every way, or at least it would have been if Omar had been capable of keeping his mouth shut. But he babbled about it, a piece of carelessness that would have led straight back to the Dragon had I not taken steps to prevent it. The woman detective knows nothing compared to the information Omar has dropped. I have followed Sandra McCormick’s progress on the Baxter case closely. She’s gotten nowhere with it, but tonight Jack Madrone, the policeman investigating Omar’s murder of Wheeler, almost discovered everything, thanks to Omar’s loose lips!”

  “Omar is young, Justin. He is learning. It is your job to train him.”

  “If he does something stupid like that again, he’s not worth training. I will kill him then. Lesser disciples must obey or the punishment is death.”

  Kalzar’s eyes flashed and he gestured to the needle. “You have no room to talk. You are the one who lacks discipline. You have too many weaknesses. Serving the master, spreading his lesson should leave you no time, no room in your heart for your needles, your pitiful drawings, or your women.”

  “If the master had not decreed against it, I would have your heart in my hand, Kalzar, and I would squeeze it to dust before your eyes as you passed from this world. Perhaps the master has eased his mandate about this, too. Shall I test it?”

  Justin walked toward Kalzar.

  The Arab’s eyes narrowed but he held his ground. He wanted the fight, but he wanted Justin to start it.

  “I want you out of Chicago,” Justin said. “And I want you to take Omar with you.”

  “Omar is here to learn, and he will remain here. Those are the Dragon’s orders, not mine. I have, however, sent him on a small errand tonight, one needed to clean up the loose ends you left behind.”

  “What I do, I do for a reason,” Justin said. “If Omar interferes with anything I have set in motion, I will destroy him. And then you. We shall see which one of us the master chooses to burn when he takes us both beyond the mirror.”

  Kalzar paused, waiting for something, perhaps a sign from the Dragon. No such sign came. Turning, he stepped on the dais. The mirror shimmered as he walked through it and was gone.

  six

  Sandra woke up for the third time that night, chased from sleep by nightmares. As she sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes, sirens screamed beyond her windows. She looked at her clock—it was 4:45 in the morning. Her white gauze curtains glowed, lit by the flashing red lights of emergency vehicles. She kicked off the covers, winced as her bare feet hit the cold oak-planked floor, stood up, and stretched. Finally she walked to her window and pushed back the curtains.

  Her bedroom faced the street—she’d chosen the room for its southern exposure and large expanse of glass. Fire trucks were parked at the greasy spoon across from her building. She could see flames and smoke billowing from inside the diner. Three firemen with axes were chopping a hole in the roof of the restaurant. More firefighters were on ladders, spraying the roof with water, while others worked on the ground to keep the hoses straight.

  She ran her hands through her hair, massaging her scalp. No relief from the headache caused by too little sleep and too much tension. She won
dered why so many fires seemed to start at night. Maybe they were just more obvious in the dark…

  She let the curtains fall closed, wandered back across the floor, and collapsed limply onto her bed. Between working late, the murder, and her nightmares, she knew she’d never get back to sleep. Maybe that was a good thing. She was afraid the nightmares would return.

  They’d been the same for the last several days. Something was chasing her, hunting her. Closing in, even though she was running hard, faster than she’d ever run before. Just as it caught up with her, when she could feel its breath on her back, its sharp teeth on her neck, its claws brushing her skin, she’d wake up, heart hammering like a steam engine.

  She shook her head, exasperated. I don’t jump at shadows. Not anymore.

  Not since she’d left her ex-husband. She’d left that waking, walking nightmare far behind. Chuck was out of her life. Permanently. And that was fine.

  Anyway, the dreams she used to have about him were nothing like this. In those dreams, he would hold her underwater until she drowned. She could never break his grip, no matter how hard she struggled, and the more she screamed, the more water filled her lungs.

  The highlight of tonight’s nightmare had been that disturbing beast, sharp-toothed and armed with claws. When she woke up it slithered into the shadows of her mind, its precise shape forgotten. But though she couldn’t remember a single clear detail, the dream still left a lingering chill in the air, a darkness around her heart.

  Blinking her eyes, she crawled out of bed, opened her door, and, yawning, walked down the hall. There was a light on in the kitchen. Benny was up. The smell of brewing coffee filled the air. He swiveled his wheelchair around as she came into the room and raised one quizzical eyebrow.

  “You’re up early,” he said.

  Sandra focused her attention on his eyes, not on the scars where half his nose was scraped away. She knew the skin there wasn’t wet, but it always looked that way, slick and shiny, so smooth it glistened in the light.