Heart and Soul

by Jackie May

  I pull the blanket around my shoulders again. “Okay. I was going to ask…” I clear my throat. Matt waits patiently. I stall some more. “Maybe put on your sunglasses, so I can pretend your eyes are open.” He obliges, and it helps, so I plunge in: “I was going to ask…well, thinking I was talking to Charlotte, of course, because she’s been all over the country, working all kinds of cases, and probably been to every underworld agency. But I guess that means you have, too, so…I was just wondering if you guys had ever seen other relationships like mine?”

  “Meaning? What kind of relationship?”

  “Meaning, an underworlder and a human who knows about the underworld.”

  He sits up straight and folds his arms. “I have an answer for you, but it’s not the answer you’re looking for.”

  “Okay, that sounds like you’re trying to Jedi mind-trick me.”

  “No, but I’ll take note that you just made a Star Wars reference, which I always encourage.”

  “Are you funny and a geek? I’m sorry, but I’m just having a hard time seeing you and her together. Does not compute.”

  “Charlotte was different before. Do you remember when Henry Stadther compelled Brenner to forget his memories of the underworld?”

  “Yes, but it’s weird now to think that you were there, too, watching all that play out.”

  “Remember how he was? Laughing. Joking. Clueless.”

  “A different person. I get it, but still, I can’t picture Charlotte being like that.”

  “She was.” Unfolding his arms, he rubs his palms back and forth over his kneecaps—a nervous tick. “All through middle school. All through high school. She was into art. She was into boys. All that teenager stuff. Totally normal.”

  “You…I didn’t realize you knew each other before.”

  “Is that a blessing or a curse? What do you say?”

  “It’s…” My mind goes blank. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No witty comeback? I’ve just met this guy—he’s a perfect stranger, and the better half of a woman who’s been nothing but a pain in my ass. And yet…I feel. For both of them. What they went through, I can’t imagine…

  Wait. No.

  I can imagine. And that’s it, isn’t it? I can imagine how they must feel, because I would feel the same if something ever happened to Jay. I can imagine, and the thought of it staggers my heart and numbs my brain.

  Matt passes me a napkin from the table. I dab it to my eyes. “Psh! Wow, I don’t know where this is coming from.”

  “No worries. I get it.”

  I try to laugh. “Maybe I’m pregnant.”

  Matt’s face crumbles. “Charlotte was pregnant.”

  “No! I’m so sorry, I’ll just shut up—”

  He flashes Charlotte’s teeth in a wicked grin. “C’mon. Too easy.”

  “Oh! Oh, that’s…you!” I wad up the napkin and throw it at his smug face.

  “Oh, c’mon, you gotta understand what it’s been like for me. All those times you and Charlotte are going back and forth like ping-pong, and Charlotte’s giving as good as she gets, don’t get me wrong, she’s a ballbuster, but you bring out my A-game, Shayne. I mean, wow, I’m coming up with zings left and right that only you could have appreciated, but she never used any of them! I’m like, ‘Babe, say this’ and ‘Oh! Babe, say that!’ But nothing!”

  A sob that had been traveling up my throat comes out as a laugh instead, and that laugh turns into infectious giggles for both of us, like we’re drunk. I wipe more tears from my cheeks.

  Matt slumps back in the chair with a sigh. “Their alarms will go off soon. I’ll say it, because Charlotte won’t. You guys be careful out there. The closer you get to Tabitha Durran, the more and more reckless Charlotte gets. I need you to watch her back.”

  “For you, I will.”

  “Promise me. I need to hear it.”

  “I promise. I will.” I’m surprised to feel that I really mean that. Somehow, meeting Matt has made me think differently about Hillerman. Maybe I’ve tried a little too hard to dislike her.

  A heavy silence falls between us. I’m tempted—oh, so tempted—to excuse myself and leave it at that. It definitely seems like Matt is willing to let me off the hook, at least for now. But dammit, I already like the guy, so I let out a resigned sigh and say, “C’mon, then, don’t wuss out on me now, after you’ve come this far. Say what you came here to say. Why me?”

  Pulling himself up to the edge of the seat, Matt rests his elbows on his knees and picks at his fingernails. “We talked about Brenner, how he used to be one way before, and another way after. Before was ignorance and bliss; after was disturbed. Broken. But then he met you.”

  “No, don’t start this again.”

  “Hear me out. I think you’ll agree. He met you, and the closer he gets to you, the more he backs away from that broken place. I’m not saying he’ll ever get all the way back to the way he was before—that’s not possible—but he is settling into something in between, isn’t he?”

  “Okay, I guess so.”

  “You guess so?”

  “No, yes, you’re right. What’s he got to do with this?”

  “That in-between place, Shayne. Charlotte could have it, too. She could get there. It’s still in her, I know it.”

  “I don’t understand. She doesn’t have that already? She’s got you.”

  He shakes his head. “No, no, she can’t…” He runs a hand through his hair. His knee bounces nervously. “Not with me, she can’t. All I am is a constant reminder. And look, at first, yeah, she could hear my voice. It was distinct from hers. It was like a conversation. But that was a long time ago. Now? We’ve been together so long—literally together—that our voices…” He shakes his head again. “Sooner or later, she won’t be able to distinguish between us. I’ll still be there, but she won’t know it.”

  A hard lump sticks in my throat. I take back what I said. I definitely cannot imagine the hell they are going through.

  “But she’s still got something in her that…it’s something I never thought I wanted her to feel, but now I’ve changed my mind. I want it for her. I want her to have it.”

  “What? What thing?”

  He swallows hard. “It’s a thing that she felt…that she feels, I mean, when she looks at Brenner’s partner.”

  I nearly shout, but at the last second I clamp a hand over my mouth. After a moment to calm myself, I hiss, “Russo?”

  Matt stutters, “She…she…yeah, so…”

  “Russo?”

  “And he obviously feels the same. So it’s there for both of them. They’d…it would be good.”

  “Matt, no.”

  “Yes!” He draws himself up tall, summoning strength to go on. “I know what she feels, Shayne, and she tries to hide it from me, but she couldn’t ever lie to me, even before I was inside her damn head. These feelings are real, and they’re strong, and shit, they’re as surprising to her as they are to me, Shayne. It scares the hell out of her. She’s resisting it with everything she’s got.”

  A realization hits me. “It was you. It was your will that Elle felt at Underworld. She said Charlotte was conflicted about dancing with Russo. Half of her was fighting it, but the other half was willing enough for Elle’s magic to take hold. That was your will.”

  “Because I want this for her. This hasn’t happened before—not in all these years, not with all the men she’s met since me. And it may never happen again, so it’s just…it’s time.” He shrugs helplessly. Gulping for breath. “For me to…go.”

  “You know what, this feels like something I shouldn’t be hearing.”

  “It’s time. It is. Don’t, Shayne, don’t look at me like that. You’ve seen results with Brenner. You’ve seen it. Charlotte deserves the same.”

  “The hell with that. Do you know what she would do if she thought I was involved with you leaving her? I won’t have any part of this. Wake her up.”

  “Shayne.”

  “We’re done here. Wa
ke her up, Matt. Now.”

  We stare each other down, as if it’s high noon. Faces red, breathing heavily. Matt points at me and says, “You promised.”

  “Oh, cheap shot.”

  “You promised to watch her back.”

  “For you, I promised.”

  “Fine! Then do it for me.”

  “Do what? Clean up after your mess? Explain to Charlotte after you’re gone? Thanks, but no thanks. If you want to leave her, then leave her, but leave me out of it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “So don’t. Problem solved.”

  “No, I mean I really can’t. It doesn’t work that way. Charlotte put me in here, so only she…” He hangs his head in his hands, defeated.

  “Oh.” I try to think of something better to say, but all I can get out is, “Oh. Shit.”

  “Shit is correct.”

  “You can’t go unless she releases you? But Matt, listen to me. That’s…if she feels at all toward you what I feel for Jay…”

  “She does. And that’s not me being arrogant. I can read her thoughts, remember? I can feel her feelings.”

  “Okay, so…” I don’t know how to say this delicately. I’m sure he already knows, but I feel the need to vocalize it. “Matt, she’ll never…it’s impossible.”

  “She won’t, I know it. Not if the thought comes from me. I told you, it’s getting more difficult for her to recognize my voice. She’ll think it’s just her own. She’ll push it away. But if it comes from you…”

  I shudder. “Me?”

  “Tell her I talked to you. Tell her she has to listen.” He pounds the table. “She has to do it.”

  “No, I can’t do that.” Gathering the blanket, I leave the table and hurry for the stairs without looking back. “I’m sorry, okay? I just can’t.”

  As I reach the top of the stairs, Jay’s cell phone alarm blares from the bedroom.

  Witching hour.

  The iron bars surrounding Elmwood cemetery keep humans from sneaking in after dark, but they’re no obstacle for a fox—even a large fox like me. The overstuffed purse I have clenched between my sharp, pointed teeth, however, is too fat—won’t go through, whichever way I turn it. Deciding that pulling is better than pushing, I drop the purse, squeeze myself between the bars with a slight shimmy to get my hips through, then turn around and latch my teeth onto the purse strap. I jerk on it, twist it, thrash it side to side, growling for good measure, and the bag pops through.

  Elmwood is black and white, like an old horror film. Black trees, white snow. Black sky, white moon. I’m a colorful intruder of autumn reds and oranges, my thick coat bouncing as I trot. There’s a winding road through the cemetery, but it’s out in the open, so I forge my own path among the gravestones and shrubbery, where dense trees give me cover from above. An attack from the sky is a fox’s constant dread—too many blind spots from above, and what’s worse, flying things can’t be heard. Not until it’s too late.

  It’s easy to spot the mausoleums, rising tall and square against fields of white snow. I carefully inspect each one. Many have neoclassic elements, but none are a match for the business card. I’m halfway through the cemetery when I find one that seems promising. Marble columns, yeah, but no steps or dome—a tree squirrel!

  The chubby rodent darts for the nearest tree. I chase after it with a jumping gallop. I swipe at its bushy tail as it scrabbles up the tree trunk and out of reach. Paranoid little twerp. I wasn’t going to eat him; just bat him around a bit.

  Another movement catches the corner of my eye. An enormous black shape lumbering among the tree trunks on the other side of a stone bridge. When I look, nothing’s there. I stand completely still for a full minute, just watching and listening, but nothing’s there. A vague, human memory comes to my fox mind, of being inside Arael’s East Side demon lair and seeing shadow people in the corners of my eyes.

  A shiver snaps me out of my thoughts. Lowering my head to the ground and perking my ears up straight, I slink across the bridge. The creek beneath it glides over smooth stones with hardly a whisper. A loud flapping sound makes me jump—a snowy owl fleeing the shadow under the bridge. It perches on a tree branch overlooking a courtyard surrounded by a gothic iron gate.

  Wary of the staring owl and the eerie sound of wind causing the leafless tree branches to clatter like bones, I want to retreat. But beyond the gothic gates, built into the side of a rocky hill, is a mausoleum with marble steps leading up to four Roman pillars. Beneath its domed roof is an ornate mantle carved with words. I don’t read Latin, but I imagine it says something like, Villains only. Or how about Only complete idiots would try to get inside this place at witching hour.

  Either way, it’s a perfect match—this is my stop. Now for the worst part. I choose a spot behind the owl’s tree. Dropping the purse, I dig at the ground with my paws to clear the snow. Not that it will help. The ground itself is frozen solid, cold as ice. I step into the small clearing of pine needles and I shift from a fur-coated winter predator into a pink, mostly hairless winter wimp.

  My sharp intake of breath scares away the owl. I can only hiss and make strange vowel sounds as I hop from foot to foot while trying to unzip the purse at the same time. I’m supposed to put the earbud in first, but screw that—I need socks now, or my feet will stick to the ground.

  I rummage and rummage. Where’s my damn socks? I dump out the purse and kick the pile to scatter my clothes. There they are. After pulling on one, then the other, relief is immediate. I push the hair out of my face, retrieve the earbud, and try to sound professional despite standing in the middle of a graveyard in nothing but tube socks. “I’m here. Enter from the south. Move toward dead center and look for a stone bridge.”

  Brenner says, “Roger that. We’re on Lafayette.”

  “Park on Laurel. You’ll see the truck there.”

  Hillerman’s voice cuts in. “—coming down from the north side. Do not engage until I’m there.”

  “Too late for Shayne and Brenner,” Russo jokes. “Congrats, by the way. Can I sing at the wedding?”

  I try not to fall over as I pull jeans up one leg. “Only if you do the Pointer Sisters.”

  “I love the Pointer Sisters.”

  “So does Jay.”

  “I do?”

  “Not the singers, mind you. That’s what he calls my boobs.”

  Russo gives a shout of laughter. “Wow. This I did not hear about.”

  “It was one time,” Jay protests.

  “So you don’t love the Pointer Sisters?” I ask.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Hillerman’s angry voice poops our party. “I’m going to explain this again, so none of you can say I didn’t warn you. This isn’t a night club. When trouble comes, I promise you it won’t be in the form of a dance-off. This is demon territory, so from this moment forward, we all will be subject to extreme mental stress. If any of you makes it out of here without killing yourselves or each other, I’ll be thoroughly impressed.”

  “Hearing you loud and clear,” Russo says between grunts. He and Jay must be climbing over the cemetery gate. “A little whistling in the dark, is all. I’m a nervous joker.”

  “Understood,” she says.

  “Whoah, whoah,” I object through my Tigers jersey as I pull it down over my head. “Understood? Just like that, he gets a pass? How come you never say that to me?”

  “Maybe because I never understand anything you do or say.”

  “What, I can’t whistle in the dark, too?”

  “You’re not nervous, you’re glib. There’s a difference.”

  I want to fire back at her, but the phone line fills with a yelp and the rattle of a gate. Jay groans in pain.

  “We’ve cleared the fence,” Russo says with a chuckle. “And very gracefully, I might add.”

  By the time everybody converges at my tree, I’m nice and toasty in my buttoned-up Tigers jacket and a wool scarf and gloves. Hillerman’s in black tactical gear and, of course, her shad
es of badassery. Russo gawks at her and murmurs, “Awesome.”

  And then there’s Jay. He’s covered in wet leaves.

  “Any sightings?” Hillerman asks.

  “Yes, a tree squirrel. If you see it, give him a boot to the head for me.”

  “I thought I saw something in the trees,” Russo says. “But it was nothing.”

  “I saw that same nothing,” I add. “But it’s a spooky cemetery at night. You’re going to think you saw things.”

  “Right,” Hillerman says. “You’re going to think you saw a tall thing with thick legs, a horse’s head, and antlers.”

  Russo blinks. “Damn, that’s exactly what I saw. Shayne?”

  “Maybe, yeah. Is that bad?”

  Hillerman huffs, annoyed. “Forget it. Just don’t keep it in the corner of your eye for too long. It’s fine.”

  Russo’s mouth drops open, and I blurt, “It’s fine?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It doesn’t sound fine.”

  “Let’s go,” she orders.

  I nod my head toward the mausoleum behind the gothic iron gate. “There it is. Just like on the card.”

  “Latin inscription?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth, what else?”

  “You don’t know Latin?”

  “You do?”

  “Um, let’s see, the language of exorcism? Yeah, I think I do.”

  “Awesome,” Russo murmurs again.

  Oh my gosh, can she be a little more obvious with her flexing? Matt’s right—she’s got it bad for Russo. It might be a little cute, if her flirting weren’t so brutal. Matt’s inside her head, probably laughing his ass off at the confounded look on my face.

  We approach the gate. It’s locked with thick chains, and the bars are too close together for my fox to slip through. Can’t climb it, either. Too high. Jay will break his neck falling from that height.

  “You got night vision. Read me the inscription,” Hillerman says to me.

  I press my face to the bars to get a clear view. “Looks like two parts. The first part…Imperium…Immortal?”

  “Immortalis?”

  “Okay, yeah. Imperium Immortalis.”