Dark Heart

by Margaret Weis;David Baldwin

  “Right.” She paused. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Joe,” he said.

  “Okay, Joe. I want you to look at something for me.” Sandra began unbuttoning her blouse. Joe actually took a step back, gulping and turning red to his hairline. He blinked several times, and seemed to be searching for something to say, and something to look at far above her head. Finally he just closed his mouth and tried to look elsewhere as Sandra removed her blouse and then her bra.

  She ripped the bandages off her breast and shoulder to reveal the wounds. “I want you to identify these for me.”

  Joe coughed nervously, turned his head to look at her while keeping his body facing the other direction. “Um, well, that is…where did you get those marks?” He looked into her eyes, unwilling to look lower.

  Sandra’s gaze turned flinty and she closed in on him, took his hand, and put it on her shoulder just where Kalzar’s claws had rested.

  “Can we get on with this?” she asked.

  “Y-yeah, sure,” he nodded. He craned his neck to look. “Um, maybe you should, uh…maybe you should lie down. I’m sorry. All the people I’m used to working on tend to be, um, lying down.”

  Sandra hopped on one of the tables. Joe grabbed some latex gloves out of a cardboard box and pulled them on. He did seem more relaxed once she was on her back, although he got a little flustered every time she moved. The fact that her chest rose and fell as he examined the wound seemed to unnerve him a little. But she waited patiently, and finally he was finished looking over her injuries.

  “Okay…,” he began. “I…well, what did you want to know?”

  “This was obviously done by some sort of claw, correct?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Imagine that what killed Miller was also a claw.”

  “Okay,” Joe said.

  “Is it the same claw that made this mark on me?”

  Interest lit in the coroner’s eyes and he shuffled through the photographs of Miller’s chest, pulled a few out, and then focused on one in particular. Sandra remained still while he probed at her again, looking at each of her small wounds in turn, and then backing up and looking at them as a whole.

  He held the photograph he’d chosen up against her chest as he looked. Slowly he shook his head. “No. Not the same.”

  Taking the photograph from her belly, she handed it to Joe as she sat up. Immediately he was nervous again. She put her bra on.

  “Why?” she asked, pulling her blouse on.

  “Well, um, do you mind if I ask you where you got that wound?” He indicated her chest.

  “Yes. I mind. Why are they different?”

  “Oh, well, Miller’s killer’s claw—if it was a claw—was larger. The incision points were wider than the claw wound around your…on your chest.”

  “And that’s all? It’s larger? Are you sure it wasn’t the same claw simply opened up wider?”

  “Well, no, because it’s not just the size that’s different. Miller’s claw had four incision points. Three and one—like an eagle’s talon. Three claws on one side and one directly opposite on the other side. Yours is like a human hand would be if it had claws. Well, more so than an eagle’s talon, anyway. You’ve got four wound points on your chest. Three and one, except the opposing claw isn’t directly opposite, but off to the side like a human thumb.”

  Sandra slid from the table as she finished buttoning her blouse. Looking him straight in the eye, she asked, “You mean there is absolutely no way these two wounds could have come from the same claw?”

  “No. If they were animals, I’d say they were similar, but a different species. Close, but definitely not the same creature.”

  Sandra made a fumbling, dazed attempt at tucking in her shirt.

  “That’s not the answer you wanted, was it?” Joe asked hesitantly.

  “No,” she said as she headed for the door, leaving the rest of her blouse untucked. “No, it wasn’t.”

  twenty-four

  On a normal day, Sandra would race up the stairs to her apartment at a steady pace, giving her legs their daily workout. This time, she plodded. Using the elevator would have been faster, but she had no intention of being trapped in a closed space right now.

  Mac was dead, Kalzar wanted to kill her, and nobody around here was safe—including Benny. Even Justin had said he couldn’t protect her from Kalzar forever. And why had Justin dragged Benny into it? Had Justin made that connection with Benny just to have something to hold over her? Or did he like her brother for himself—Justin would certainly be able to see beneath the scarred surface to the real man inside. Sandra couldn’t help wondering why Justin had taken such an interest in Benny. She worried that it wasn’t a good sign for Benny’s continued health.

  Could she just grab Benny and drive to another city? She doubted it. But she had to try. He was the only person they could use against her now. She wouldn’t lose him like she’d lost Mac. Once she had Benny safely hidden, she would come back.

  It was past time for a reckoning. Kalzar would pay for killing Mac. But Benny had to be safe first.

  And Justin? What about Justin?

  It was too confusing. Her thoughts whirled. She could find no clear resolution for the situation. There was a part of her that would gladly spend the rest of her life with Justin, but the rest of her immortal life? Serving a master who could, and did, force his servants to murder the innocent? Could she reconcile the part of herself that loved Justin the man with the part of herself that loathed him for what he became at the master’s hands? He was a killer. She’d spent her adult life bringing killers to justice. How could she possibly still love him? Did she?

  Sandra’s fatigue pulled at her. She wanted to sleep, but she didn’t dare. She didn’t have a moment to spare. Kalzar was still out there, walking free, and Mac was dead. She knew she wouldn’t find rest until that situation ended, either with Kalzar in jail—or dead. For Mac’s sake. For Benny’s sake. And for her own sake, and her unshakable belief in the power of justice.

  She entered the condo and found Benny looking out the window. Awake again, despite the early hour. It was unlike him. The lights were off, but the sun was just up, pink dawn light streaming into the room throwing long shadows.

  She wondered if he’d awakened because he was worried about her. She didn’t know if she could face him telling her how happy he was that she had loosened up and spent another night at Justin’s—tell her that she needed to trust men again. If only he knew…

  “Benny,” she said wearily, closing the door behind her. He didn’t move. “We’ve got to leave. We’ve got to leave Chicago. Today. Now. In half an hour or so. I want you to—” Her brother still hadn’t moved. His back was to her, and she couldn’t see his face.

  “Benny?” she cried, her voice going tight in terror. “Benny!”

  She crossed the room, shoving aside a table that blocked her path. Grabbing his wheelchair, she spun it around.

  Benny jumped up out of his chair. His arms encircled her in a big hug and he lifted her off the ground, laughing.

  Inside her, something went over the edge. She heard herself screaming. Terror filled her heart. Ducking low, she broke the grip of Benny’s arms and shoved him, hard. He landed in a tangled sprawl of arms and legs. She stepped back from him, shocked at what she’d done, fighting to get herself under control. Benny was lying on the floor, looking bewildered. He shook his head a little.

  “Whoa, ace, remind me never to surprise you.” He stood up. He was standing!

  “B-Benny?” she said, her breath coming fast.

  “Isn’t it great?” He laughed and leaped into the air, pointing at his nose. His perfectly straight nose. It was completely normal, healed. All the scars on his face were gone. All the deformities wiped away as if Benny had stepped from the distant past into this present day, whole and well.

  “What…what have you done?” she asked, backing away from him. She bumped into his wheelchair, stumbled past it, and leaned
up against the wall.

  “Me? I’ve become whole again. I’m walking! I’m jumping! I’m sparring with you, I guess! I don’t know! Look at me, Sandy! I can walk! ” He started toward her, as if to prove it.

  “Stay away from me,” she yelled. Her wide eyes flicked from him to his wheelchair and back to Benny’s face.

  Benny stopped dead as if she’d shot him. His smile vanished. “Sandra…,” he said, concerned. “It’s all right. I know it seems strange, but…”

  “I’m going crazy,” she whispered. She shook her head, closed her eyes to see if the strange new world she’d walked into would vanish when she opened them again.

  “Benny…tell me how this happened.”

  “You won’t believe how wonderful it is, Sandra. You can’t imagine what it’s like to go from being able to walk to not being able to walk and then back again. I feel like I could kick the walls down. No more pity and disgust in people’s eyes. Fuck that. Fuck them!” His eyes radiated a strange combination of joy and contempt.

  “Benny…” Sandra heard her voice go flat, as the truth began to dawn on her, the only truth it could be. “How did this happen to you?”

  “Justin showed me a mirror. I looked into it and—”

  “A mirror! No, Benny! When?” Sandra gasped.

  “A little while ago. He came by and—”

  “He did this to you?” Sandra’s throat tightened. She couldn’t move. Despair settled around her like a black cloak, followed by a searing, white-hot rage.

  “Did this to me? You make it sound like a sin, not a blessing.” He paused, staring at her, then shook his head. “No, it was the Dragon.”

  “Where is he? Where’s Justin?” she snarled.

  “He’s not here now. He left, but Sandra, don’t be angry. He told me what happened at the club, about Mac. I’m sorry about him, but look…just look at me! Sandra, he showed me the mirror. Inside it…you wouldn’t believe. The Dragon was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. That story Justin told us at the restaurant, it’s all true! It was the Dragon in that mirror, and he’s everything Justin claimed he was. The Dragon looked inside me, said it could see the strength trapped there, and it asked me if I wanted to be released.”

  “Save me from this…,” she whispered. Sandra’s mind filled with images of Benny slaughtering Zack Miller, of Benny punching a hole through Jack Madrone’s chest.

  “I said yes,” Benny’s voice lowered, awed, “and he gave me my life back.”

  “Oh, no, Benny!” Sandra pressed back against the wall. “God, no, Benny…!” When the Dragon decided to kill her, would it send Benny after her?

  She felt herself falling, and Benny was there, holding her up, just as he’d done when she’d fled from Chuck. Just as she’d done for him after the accident.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said. She felt herself sliding down the wall. Benny grabbed her, held her upright. His arms were incredibly strong. “Please, no….”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said unhappily. “It’s still me, Sandra. Your crazy brother Benny. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said, breaking his hold and shoving him away. He stumbled backward a couple of paces and she tried to run past him. She bumped into his wheelchair. She picked it up and hurled it to one side.

  He watched, stricken, as she ran from him. She clutched and fumbled at the front door, flung it open, and lurched out, slamming it closed behind her.

  Benny walked the few steps to the door and stopped before it, tragedy written in the lines of his face. An elegant figure emerged from the hallway. The man laid a hand on Benny’s shoulder.

  “What happened, Justin? Why did it go wrong?” Benny asked, his voice trembling. “I did what you said.”

  “She is only frightened, my friend,” Justin replied. He, too, was disappointed.

  “I wasn’t frightened.”

  “Everyone reacts differently. Give her time. She’ll come around.”

  “I guess so.” Benny sounded dubious. “I just don’t understand why she wouldn’t be excited for me, at least. This is so amazing.”

  “She has not had an easy time of it lately. Keep in mind—you didn’t see Mac’s dead body, or feel Kalzar’s claws rip your flesh. She’s had reason to fear us in the past. Give her time to deal with the changes.” He paused, and then spoke again. “She is still in very real danger. She is not yet one of us. We must protect her. Take a cab and follow her.”

  He withdrew a small, folded piece of paper. “Here is my cell phone number. I will keep the phone with me at all times. The moment you see Kalzar or any other suspicious person near her, call me immediately. Do not hesitate, because they will not allow her to live unless she accepts the change. The Dragon’s disciples are many. She’s in the greatest danger of her life right now. We must give her our help, whether she asks for it or not.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Justin. Sandra means more to me than any of this. They won’t get to her without going through me.”

  Justin gripped Benny’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Yes, Benny, they will. I know how you feel. Strong enough to beat down mountains, but it’s not enough. Don’t try to be a hero. You’ll fail. You cannot withstand Kalzar. He will tear you open and then let you watch as he guts her. Call me.”

  “Okay, Justin,” Benny promised. “You have my word.”

  twenty-five

  As soon as Benny shut the door, Justin set Benny’s wheelchair upright, walked to the windows, and stared out at the city. He was tired, far too tired. Perhaps it was the wounds he had received. He had never fought with another of the Elder disciples. Never. Perhaps the weariness he now experienced came from that. Or perhaps it was the Dragon’s punishment for his continued disobedience.

  Justin did not know. He had not come close to a mirror since the fight. He could feel his master’s desire to speak to him, but he refused to respond. He felt rage surge within him. Rage at Sandra. But it was the Dragon’s rage, not Justin’s own. As a consequence, he did not dare change into his dragonling form for any reason. Hiding while Benny and Sandra argued had been torment for Justin. He’d had to clench both hands to keep from bursting through the door. He’d been terrified he’d end the conversation with Sandra’s heart in his hand. Why couldn’t she just look in the mirror and accept her fate?

  Justin looked down at the sapphire ring on his finger. For some reason, it gave him comfort. It brought Angela to mind, and how he had not wanted to kill her, either. It reminded him of how terrible he’d felt afterward. He did not want to stare at Sandra’s bloody corpse—the feelings he had for her were so much more intense that he knew the aftermath would be unbearable. Somehow, the thought of Angela eased his struggle with the Dragon’s wishes.

  He would have to face Sandra soon. The Dragon had promised Justin a day to convert her, but it seemed that the Dragon was not willing to be patient. The incessant longings for Sandra’s death were proof enough of that. Why was she resisting the choice? She loved him, he knew that, sensed it in her every move. Gwendolyne, too, had loved him…

  Justin sank down on the couch. He closed his eyes. In the darkness he saw a flash of a dream. The same dream as before. Of him, doing battle with a great, fiery shape, wielding a sword of light. Was that what it meant? His subconscious throwing up a graphic scene representing his own situation now, in essence battling the master he had obeyed for so long?

  And he thought he knew what the sword of light was, too. The knowledge frightened him. Because that sword was real. Did it mean the dream might become real as well? But that would be…

  No, it would be impossible.

  He opened his eyes and sighed. How long could he wait? He would have to face her soon, convince her or…

  Justin shook his head. Each moment he delayed was one more moment Kalzar would have to exact his revenge. Kalzar had finally found Justin’s weakness—Sandra—and he would use it. He wouldn’t be able to help him
self. Kalzar would never forgive Justin for besting him.

  Justin let out a breath, relaxed, felt his eyes closing. It felt so good simply to rest a moment. Just one moment…

  The vision began the same way as every vision he’d had since his pact with the Dragon. Justin cried out against it, cursed himself for relaxing his guard, but there was no escape now. The red eyes of his master opened and Justin saw through them.

  He floated in the high vaulted ceiling of the cathedral. Below, Sandra sat in a pew, head bowed, silent. One of the doors at the front of the church opened, and he saw himself enter, saw his dark hair and long black coat silhouetted in the sunlight of the doorway. Then he moved forward and the door shut behind him. He walked toward Sandra. She rose, afraid of him. She tried to run, but he grabbed her, spun her around. Her fists struck out at him.

  She managed to escape his grip. She sprinted away, but he knew it was hopeless. He had done this too many times before. He changed into the dragonling. His powerful wings flapped twice and he overtook her. The dragonling picked Sandra up like a rag doll. Her neck snapped. Her screams died away. His clawed hand plunged into her chest…

  The vision changed, replaced by another. This time Justin was in London. He could see no landmarks, but he knew his homeland simply by the feel of it on his skin.

  He stood on the roof of a great cathedral. Low clouds hung over the city, and the rain fell constantly. In his hand, Justin gripped the Blade of Beowulf, the sword the legendary hero used to slay Grendel’s mother, the dragon named Gyzalanitha. The blade had survived through the centuries, imbued with Beowulf’s power through a piece of his thighbone, which was kept in the haft. This was the sword Saint George had carried in his hunt for dragons. When he finally died, a sliver of his finger bone had been inserted into the haft as well. Both dragon slayers had eaten dragon wings, and both had become something more than mortal. Their magic had become a part of the sword. It was the only weapon Justin knew of that could kill a Dragon…or a Dragon’s disciple.