by Kim Harrison
The shimmer slipped through the space between the door and the shattered frame. God, please, she prayed. Please, God. Please.
Always begging. They called witches like her—tantraiiken—the “beggars.” Always moaning and pleasing. It was hard not to, when you had a talent that made your body betray you over and over again.
Stop it. Think about something useful. Why was Nikolai here? Or Bruce? Bruce’s hunting ground wasn’t around Selene’s apartment building, at least, it hadn’t been three weeks ago, when he’d turned up…well, Turned.
Nikolai must have set Bruce to watch her. Why now when she’d known Nikolai for all this time?
Known might be too strong a word. You can’t know a Nichtvren. They’re not human, no matter how charming they can occasionally be. You’re food to them. That’s all.
Selene’s back prickled, her breath coming in shallow adrenaline-laden sips. Danny, be okay. God, please, let him just be panicked. Let him just be upset but okay. Or even just a little hurt. Let him be alive.
Caught between fear and excitement, Selene let out a slow sharp gasp. Her knees shook slightly, the outer edges of her shields thickening reflexively. The jeans she’d thrown on were damp at the ankles from the rain, and would be damp between her legs soon.
Oh, God. It was her cursed talent. A sexwitch didn’t feel fear the way other people did. No, being afraid just turned into a different sensation entirely. One below the belt, thick and warm enough to make her heartbeat pound in her ears, a trickle of heat beginning way down low.
The agonized dread spiraled, kick-started a wave of desire that tipped her head back against the wall, forced her breath into another jagged half-gasp. Any more of this and she’d be a quivering ball of need and nerves by the time Nikolai reappeared.
Goddammit, Selene, focus! She shook out her trembling hands; if she had to throw Power she would need her fingers. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She repeated the mantra, as if it would help. Please, God. Please let my brother be safe.
Begging, again. Loathing crawled up her spine, mixed with the desire, and turned her stomach into a sudsing, bubbling washing machine.
The shimmer returned. Nikolai solidified right in front of her, a faint breeze blowing stray strands of hair back, her forehead cold as the moisture evaporated. Wisps of hair stirred at her nape. Her ponytail was loose.
He looked absolutely solid, real. Did his victims ever see him coming? It was like swimming with a shark and suddenly wondering if you’d cut yourself shaving that morning.
Selene met his eyes, tipping her head back. Nothing. She blinked, then looked at the shattered door again.
Nikolai caught her shoulders, pushed her back against the wall. “We will call the police.”
Her body, traitor that it was, understood before she did. Her heart plummeted into her belly with a splash, and the stew of desire and horror faded under a wave of stark chemical adrenaline. “What’s this we? What’s wrong with Danny? What’s happened?”
He smiled, and Selene backed up—or tried to, her shoulders hit the wall again. There were few things worse than Nikolai’s lazy, genuinely good-humored grin. Especially his eyeteeth—fangs, she corrected herself, the word is fangs, let’s call it what it is, you’re old enough to call things what they are. She could all too well imagine what those teeth could do to her jugular.
It’s not his teeth, though. It’s the rest of him I have trouble with.
“You will disturb the evidence. We can’t have that, can we? The police prefer to observe the formalities.” Nikolai was calm, too calm, and that grin…
Danny, she thought, but it was merely a despairing moan.
Nikolai continued, softly and pitilessly. “We will go downstairs and call the police. Verscht za?”
She slid away toward the door, blindly. Nikolai pinned her to the wall, his body curving into hers. Heat slammed through her; she tasted copper adrenaline. Selene drew in a sharp breath and kicked, missing him somehow. He smiled, caught her wrists. He could hold her all night and struggling would only excite him—and her. Stop it. Then she said it out loud. “Stop it.” Her voice broke, helplessly.
“You are being unwise.” His tone was a mere murmur, so reasonable. “Do as I say, Selene. Help me.”
Help you? Help you? “You bastard.” The steel vise of his fingers strangled her wrists. A twisting wire of pain lanced up both arms. Jerking backward, she smacked her head against the wall, brief starry pain twinkling in front of her eyes. “Tell me what happened.”
“Your brother is dead, Selene. Now we must call the police. Will you come with me or shall I drag you?” Nikolai smiled, his eyes twinkling. “I would enjoy carrying you. Particularly if you struggle.”
“Let go of me. I’ll go downstairs and call the police.” Like a good little girl. Her teeth clenched together, her jaw aching. She’d have a goose-egg on the back of her head for sure. Danny…
“Very good,” he breathed, and released her, finger by finger. Selene stared up into the lightless pools of his eyes. A kind of stunned calm slipped down over her body. Nikolai’s eyes were so dark. So endlessly dark.
When he spoke next, it was in something approximating a normal voice. “I am sorry, Selene. I will help you, however I can.”
Christ, does he have to sound like he means it? Any help from you is help I can do without, Nikolai. “Leave me alone.” Her lips were too numb to work properly. “If you won’t let me see, just leave me alone.”
“You do not want to see. It is…disturbing. Now come.”
The metal box of the pay phone gleamed dully under the fluorescents. A four-year-old phone book scarred with permanent marker, dangled from a rust-pitted chain. Someone had tagged the plastic hood at the top of the box—an out-of-date gang sign, a phone number, a caricature of a donkey, other symbols much less pleasant. Selene picked up the receiver in nerveless fingers, staring at the graffiti-covered plastic.
“I suspect you will want to call your police friend first.” Nikolai produced two quarters with a flick of his fingers, dropped them in. Selene’s eyes burned dryly, the numbers on the square silver buttons blurring. Nikolai even dialed, his signet ring flashing dully, blood on gold. Somewhere in the numbness a thought surfaced. How does Nikolai know Jack’s number?
The phone rang four times. “Urmph.”
Selene couldn’t get the words past the dust in her throat. Nikolai bumped against her, sending a rush of fire through her veins, kick-starting her brain. “Maureen?” she whispered, her voice coming from a deep screaming well of panic. “It’s Selene Thompson. I need to talk to Jack. Now.”
“What the…” Maureen’s tone changed suddenly. Mother to the world, that was Maureen. She’d cooked Selene dinner more than once, during the cases Jack needed paranormal help on. “Sweetheart, are you okay? Jack, wake up.”
Selene’s knees nearly buckled, a moan bubbling up. The vision of the hacked and shattered door rose up in front of her. Dear God what happened to his door…Danny…
Nikolai’s fingers slid under her ponytail, fever-hot. Fire spread from her nape, a deluge of sensation pooling in her belly. She hated the feeling, hated him, but the Power would help her. She was going into shock. Years of training kicked in, turning the desire into Power, shocking her back in control, her mind adding, subtracting, calculating. What happened? He hasn’t left here in five years. What went wrong?
Danny was a Journeyman, an adept at etheric and astral travel. He didn’t need to leave his apartment, and anyway couldn’t bear to be away from the safety of the wards and defenses Selene erected around his three-room world. Nothing touched him inside his magickal cocoon, no thoughts or emotions that might compromise his body when he projected. Time had strengthened Danny’s gifts, making him more sensitive to random buffetings, but also more sensitive to Selene’s defenses and powers. He couldn’t be with her all the time, so an apartment of his own with heavy shielding was the best—
She stiffened. The wards! They were a part of Danny
now; he had taken over maintaining them since Selene had other problems. But they were originally her wards and would answer her call.
And they would have recorded what went on inside Danny’s walls.
“Jack here.” Detective Jack Pepper’s cigarette-rough voice came over the line. “What the hell?”
Her voice almost refused to work. “It’s Selene. Something’s killed Danny. Jack, Nikolai’s here.” I sound like I’m twelve years old again. And scared. I sound so scared.
Selene heard Jack breathing. “Jesus, why is he there? Forget it; I don’t want to know. Hang up and call 911. You got it?” The sound of cloth against cloth filtered through the phone. Jack was sitting up. Maureen’s whispered questions, then…silence.
“I…He c-c-called me. Said he was c-c-cold and something about danger.” Autopilot pushed the words out, she listened to her own ragged gasping breath. Danny, oh God. Danny. Jesus Christ…
“Selene, put Nikolai on the phone, honey. Now.” Jack was fully awake. A click and a flare of a lighter, deep indrawn breath. It must be bad if he’s smoking in bed, Maureen won’t like that.
She handed the phone to Nikolai. He slid closer, pressing her into the phone booth, his fingers kneading heat into her neck.
I wonder what a gun would do to him? The thought surfaced, she pushed it hastily away. She wasn’t sure if he could hear it; Nichtvren were psychic as well as physical predators. If he heard her, what would he do?
“Yes?” Nikolai paused. “Bad enough…No, not human…I did not. Nor did she. The door is shattered. She will of course not enter the apartment.” Selene strained to listen. “Of course. I will stay out of sight. I would not want to cause trouble for my Selene.”
Her neck muscles burned. My Selene? Oh, boy. We’re going to have to have a talk about that, suckhead.
Selene’s mind skittered sideways. Danny. The door. What happened? Nikolai brushed his thumb over her nape. Lightning shot down her spine and burst in the pit of her stomach. Oh, God.
“I will.” Nikolai reached over her shoulder again, hung up. He gently turned her to face him, Selene didn’t resist. Her head was full of a rushing, roaring noise, his voice came from very far away. “You must call the emergency services, Selene. You received a call from your brother. It was interrupted and you came to see if he was well. You noticed the door had been forced and decided to call 911. Do you understand?”
She stared up at him, his face suddenly oddly foreign. He looked more like a stranger than ever. Selene took a deep shuddering breath, fury crystallizing under the surface of her mind. “Why are you doing this, Nikolai? One dead human, more or less.”
His fingers tightened. “One dead human under my protection, dear one. Whatever killed him is very dangerous. Now you will call the emergency services and you will be a very good girl for me.” He touched his lips to her forehead, a gentle kiss that made her body burn, fire spilling through her veins. How can I even think about that when Danny’s upstairs?
Hot acid guilt rose in the back of her throat. I should have gone in there, I should have seen.
Her eyes filled with tears. “I hate you,” she whispered, looking up into Nikolai’s dark eyes. “I hate you.”
“Call them.” The corner of his mouth quirked up, as if he found her amusing.
She turned back to the phone and blindly picked up the receiver. Punched the nine, the one, the one. A deep breath. Nikolai moved away suddenly, and she swayed, grabbing the metal edge of the booth to steady herself. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“911, what are you reporting?” A passionless, professional voice, possibly female.
For one awful moment Selene couldn’t remember who she was or what she was doing. The metal bit into her fingers. Blood pounded in her ears and the hallway swirled beneath her. “My-my brother. He c-c-called me. I c-c-came to his apartment and the d-d-door is b-b-roken and I’m afraid t-t-to go inside.”
How strange, she thought from inside the glass ball of hysterical calm descending upon her. I sound like I’m scared to death. It was her voice giving information, stammering out the story to the operator. Danny never left his apartment. The door was broken. She was afraid. Tiny diamond mice fleeing the huge black wolf running around in her brain made her voice jittery, made her hands tremble.
She glanced over her shoulder. The empty foyer glared under the fluorescents. There was no sign of Bruce or of Nikolai, though the medallion throbbed a heated beat between her breasts. A heartbeat. His heartbeat?
The urge to tear it off and throw it away made her shake. Danny. Oh, Danny, please. Please, God.
She slumped, trembling, against the phone box. Her nails drove into her palm. The terrified mice spun round and round inside her brain.
“Miss, please try to be calm. We have dispatched a unit to your location.”
Try to be calm? Danny. Oh, God. How can I be calm if you’re dead?
CHAPTER 3
THE FOURTH TIME THE OPERATOR TOLD HER TO BE calm, Selene jammed the phone back down. She looked across the mailboxes to the stairs, and the medallion tingled harshly against her skin. A warning. Her throat was full of something hard and slick, she swallowed several times, resting her forehead against cool cheap metal.
Don’t go back, the operator had said. Stay outside the building. Stay and wait for the police. It’s safest to wait for the police, ma’am.
Selene’s hoarse inarticulate moan bounced off the stairwell walls. The stairs squeaked under her slow feet. Her legs burned numbly.
She only got halfway up to the first floor before Nikolai’s hand closed over her elbow. She gave a startled, wounded little cry and found herself facing him, looking at his chest. He was somehow on the step above her, and his mouth moved, fangs flashing in something less than a good-natured grin. It was more like a smirk, or a warning.
“No,” he said. Selene stared at him, and he gave her a little shake. Her head wobbled, the entire stairwell reeling. “Outside. This is not for you.”
“He’s my—” Her mouth was so dry the words were a croak.
“Your brother. Yes.” He used his grip on her arm to pull her down the stairs. Selene went limp, resisting him, but he simply dragged her as if she weighed nothing. Her boots dropped from stair to stair as if they weren’t attached to the rest of her. “You cannot help him now. And I would not have you see this, milaya.”
“I hate you.” The fluorescents seared her wet eyes. “I wish I’d never met you.”
He gave a gracious nod, as if she’d complimented him. “Thank you.” They reached the bottom of the stairs. He half-carried her across the peeling linoleum. He shouldered the door to the building open, dragged her out and let the door go. The lock engaged.
Selene looked up at him. He set her down on the cold, wet sidewalk and brushed her hair back, settled her camel coat on her shoulders, stroked her sore damp forehead, she’d be lucky to escape a bruise from cracking her head against the wall.
His fingers were still warm. Too warm to be human, feverish, but oddly soothing.
She hated that comfort.
Distant sirens cracked the still air. Breathe, she repeated. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe.
The mantra didn’t help. “I mean it. I hate you.” Her voice shook. “I hate you.”
“And yet you need me.” He smiled, an almost-tender expression that made her entire body go cold. Selene would have fallen over backward, but his fingers closed around her wrist, a loose bracelet. Sirens hammered at the roof of the night. “Selene, you do not wish to see what lies in that room. Remember your brother the way he was.”
“I don’t need you.” Selene tore her wrist away. His fingers tightened slightly, just to let her know he could hold her, before he let her go and she stumbled. There was something hard and small and spiny in her hand, cold metal.
A police cruiser materialized around the corner, whooping and braying. She opened her hand to find her key ring. He must have had Bruce sneak into my house and get
my keys. The little thief. Always creeping around, peeping in windows and doing Nikolai’s bidding. No wonder His Highness keeps him around.
She looked up. Except for the police car—siren, flashing lights—the street was deserted. Nikolai had vanished. She saw the blurring in the air, the shimmer that might have been him or just the tears filling her eyes. She fumbled on the ring for the key to the front of Danny’s building.
Numb, her cheeks wet with rain and tears, she raised her hand to flag the cops down. Thankfully, they cut the siren as soon as they pulled to a stop. Selene waved, her bag bumping at her hip. No poltergeist here, no curse to be broken, no client looking down their nose at me. No, this time the person needing help is me.
Two cops, a rookie and a graying veteran who looked at her as if he recognized her. Selene hoped he didn’t. If he recognized her, he might ask questions. Hey, aren’t you that freak who hangs around with Jack Pepper?
“My brother.” Her teeth chattered. “He’s a shut-in. He doesn’t leave the apartment. He called me—his doorjamb’s all busted up—it’s not normal—”
They barked questions at her, who was her brother, what apartment, who was she, was anyone armed, what did she see? The mice scurrying in Selene’s head supplied answers. “4C, apartment 4C, Danny Thompson, I’m Selene, I’m his sister—no, nothing, just the door, that’s all I saw, it’s busted all to hell—”
Before she unlocked the building door for them, the medallion scorched against her skin. Warning her.
Fuck you, Nikolai.
She followed the cops up the stairs, sliding the medallion’s chain up over her head. She pulled it out of her sweater. Light flared sharply from the silver disc before she tossed it into a dark corner of the second-floor landing. The cops didn’t notice—they were too busy looking up the stairs and speaking back and forth in cryptic cop-talk. Both had their guns out. “Fourth floor. Apartment 4C,” she repeated, and took a deep breath, choking on tears.
