Heir Of Doom

by Jina S Bazzar

  Chuckling, she sat again, Frizz curling like a lazy cat on her lap. “Now it's your turn. Tell me what happened. What's bothering you?”

  I told her everything. About what happened last night, the encounter with Archer, Logan and his date, fake Vincent and Akinzo. And when I got to the part about Mwara, she expressed sorrow, but didn't point out the fact that I could have saved the kid from whatever had happened if I'd only listened to her and talked to Vincent. I finished with a summarized version of Logan's visit this morning to explain the clan's hierarchy, the rules, and where I stood.

  When I was done, I felt lighter somehow, as if I'd pushed off some of the weight. It was easier knowing Vicky shared the outrage I felt, if not the hurt, the resentment.

  “I know just what you need,” she said, snapping her fingers.

  “Oh yeah? What's that?”

  “Watch and see.” Placing Frizz on the floor, she jumped off the sofa and hurried to the kitchen.

  After she called off the double date – I'd forgotten all about it – we spent the night watching classic movies and snacking on Doritos and Ben & Jerry's. By the time I went to bed, Logan and Remo and Diggy and Akinzo were all far, far from my mind, but not the guilt for Mwara.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Despite the freezing temperature and the dreary brown slush on the sidewalks, I walked to work the next morning. The sky was heavy with imminent rain, the smell of damp air mixed with vehicle exhaust. On the opposite sidewalk, a vendor screamed something indistinct. A man shouted obscenities at a pickpocket who ran away, but no one tried to stop the thief. It was a lousy place to live, yet I was beginning to make a place for it in my heart.

  Two blocks away, Zantry Akinzo fell into step beside me.

  I gave him a sideways glance. The man was dressed in black slacks and a heavy wool coat, hands tucked inside the pockets, two inches of black hair sticking out from a watch cap, brushing the coat collar.

  He gazed up at the tall buildings, eyes clear and vivid, and inhaled a lungful of New York air.

  “Those urban canyons haven't changed much. More buildings, more people, but essentially, they're still the same. It amazes me,” he said conversationally.

  I glanced up at the concrete and iron bracketing a narrow passageway, formed a manmade corridor of wind.

  “Your hair grows really fast,” I observed. He'd been bald just a few months back; now it was almost long enough to be tied.

  As if wanting to make sure it was there, he pulled off his cap and raked a hand through the thick glossy mass.

  “So you did recognize me,” he said, his eyes gauging. “I'd wondered.”

  “Why don't you tell them where you've been?” I asked, because that fact had puzzled me a lot.

  We walked a few paces in silence before he answered my question. “If you hadn't created all that racket when rescuing Archer, I believe he'd have claimed a vacation or something. As it is, you ruined his status of being the biggest, baddest threat out there. Now he's going around, strutting like a wild rooster, trying to provoke fights so he can restore his ruthless reputation.”

  Startled to hear a similar assessment I'd made last night spoken by someone else, I glanced at him with a frown. “What are you saying?”

  “That being captured by mere humans made him lose some of his authority. I heard there's dissension amidst his clan.”

  “So you rather be labeled a traitor than let them think the Scientists got the best of you?”

  He gave a thin smile, his eyes cold. “It's a weird world we live in, sweetheart. You show weakness, you get trampled.”

  I recalled the charity ball, the way I'd sensed the vibes Archer was sending had been staged, the way people had murmured when he passed by. I shook my head in bewilderment. “So you're saying that Archer was better off without the rescue?”

  “In a very twisted way, yes. But don't get me wrong. It's not that he'd rather have stayed behind; I certainly wouldn't have. But he'd rather have had you guys extricate him quietly, like pro thieves.”

  With a frown, I considered all the destruction we'd left behind. Of all the people we'd helped save – only for them to be captured again. Or killed.

  “Is Arianna there too?” I wondered out loud. Had she been one of the people we'd helped escape? No, I told myself, or Logan would have recognized her. Unless she'd been weak like Zantry and beyond recognition. I frowned, trying to figure which it was.

  “I'm not sure. I didn't even know she'd been missing until the day I was confronted a couple months ago.”

  We moved on in silence, following the flow of pedestrians, then waited for a green light to cross the next intersection before I spoke again. “They think you killed her. They think you flipped sides. I was warned off from you.”

  He faltered in surprise, clearly not having expected me to say that. He looked at me, his eyes so intense, so blue, they were startling in their beauty. “But you didn't tell them otherwise even if you recognized me. Why?”

  My reply was simple. “Not my story to tell.”

  “No, but a lot of people would have already spread the news. Good gossip, I heard people can't resist it.”

  “Not everyone is that shallow.”

  “Apparently not,” he said before sidestepping a guy with green and yellow spiked hair who kept coming straight at him, daring him not to move.

  “You know, Logan was the one who broke down the door that day.”

  He studied me and waited.

  “If you tell him it was you, he would remember,” I offered.

  Zantry shook his head. “Finding me there was the farthest thing from his mind. Because the notion was so ridiculous, so farfetched, he didn't see me. He saw someone, helpless and dying, and moved on.”

  It was true. Logan had glanced inside the room, not seen Archer, then moved on to the next door.

  “What about Rafael Sanchez?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who entered the room while I was trying to help you.”

  “The one who offered the mercy kill?”

  “Yeah.” Zantry had looked so weak that day, so fragile, Rafael had offered to kill him to end his misery.

  He shrugged. “Don't think I ever met him.”

  “Do you think she could be dead? Truly dead?”

  He didn't answer for a long while. “I don't know. But , I need to find out. Clearly someone let Remo know about our ambush. People think it was me, but since I know it wasn't, there's someone out there helping Remo. I can't face Remo now, I'm too weak to win – but if I can figure who this traitor is…” He gave a nonchalant shrug, but the promise of retribution was there in his eyes. There was grief there too, faint but there.

  “Maybe she's in the PSS. Did you try checking there?”

  “I've done some probing – both to find out about what happened that night and to see if I could get a sense of her there. But I haven't yet found anything, except that the hunters had gotten involved with Archer's break-out, so I came here to see what else happened that night.” He glanced at me again, his lips forming that sensual smile. “And I wanted to know who the beautiful woman with the mysterious black eyes was.”

  I blushed and he chuckled, the sound wicked.

  “You guys can sense anyone, or is there something more unique about the three of you?”

  “Both, depending how strong one resonates in the ether. But the three of us, we resonate in a unique way and, within a limited distance, we can tell where the other is. But because of Remo, we all concealed ourselves from the ether.

  Arianna and I were close friends, but we had different tastes and interests, and sometimes years would go by without us seeing each other. Because it's absurd to go around the worlds searching for the other, we developed a code, a signature we leave in the ether for the other to find and follow. I can't find one from her, and so far she hasn't tugged on the one I left.” He shrugged, “I've been gone for a long time. Arianna may not know to look for it. I don't know. I don't know where she
is, why she disappeared when I did. She could be with the PSS, maybe in some other location. I don't know.” He spoke the latter in a soft, quiet tone.

  I could sense his grief peak, his sense of loss, but there was determination there too, a sense of purpose. He wasn't going to give up, and I admired that. “Can you tell where Remo is?”

  “Maybe. I've sensed him once about six, seven weeks ago, but not since.”

  “Are you searching for him?”

  “Not really.”

  “Are you going to stop him?”

  “Don't know. I'm not at full strength yet. In many ways, I'm weaker than when I first arrived all these many centuries ago.”

  “I killed Remo a few months ago,” I said, and an African American guy coming from the opposite direction widened his eyes and gave me a wide berth.

  “I heard.” I raised my eyebrows and he smirked. “I'm not all out on resources. Back when I worked for the Hunters, my job was to gather information.”

  Akinzo was the observer, Logan had said.

  “Tell me what you want for payment for saving my life and to continue keeping your silence.” After a pause he added, “Anything.”

  “Nothing. I'd have done it for anyone, no payment owed.” I didn't want him to feel obliged.

  His smile didn't reach his eyes; it was cool and dispassionate. “I'd owe that way and I don't like owing, much less when it's my life.”

  I looked ahead at the car-clogged streets, the clouds of exhaust. I understood the need not to feel obliged. But I really didn't want anything from him. “There's no debt to pay. You owe me nothing.”

  “That's not a smart reply,” he said tightly, and I recalled I'd bound Frizz to me through a similar act. I couldn't literally bind Zantry to me like I did with Frizz – I was almost sure of that – but he'd feel bound to me regardless, because of the debt.

  I inclined my head, realizing he meant that literally. “Then I'll think of something later on. At the moment, let's just leave it at that.”

  “Good enough. Until then, I'd appreciate if you keep what you know about me to yourself.”

  “I don't intend to gossip,” I said, and he smiled. I thought that now that he had said what he had wanted to say he'd just turn and leave; instead he kept pace, escorting me through the tangle of people.

  At the next intersection, I stopped, turned to face him. “You should go from here. The Hunters will recognize you if you get any closer.”

  Zantry looked at me, trying to figure me out. “How about we have dinner tonight, get to know each other?”

  I hesitated. “I don't think that's a good idea.” I was surprised at the small pang of regret that followed my rebuff. I'd like to know him better, I realized.

  “I'll go,” a woman beside me said. “I'll even pay.”

  Zantry flashed her a dazzling smile, and I caught my breath.

  “Oh my,” she said under her breath.

  He was really beautiful. In this light his eyes were an intense dark blue, his eyebrows thick in an elegant arch. His face was shaved clean, his nose straight and aristocratic above sculpted, sultry lips. Eyes twinkling, he looked back at me, bowed once, and kissed my hand. A pleasant hum travelled up my arm, but before I could pull back, he let go. “If you ever change your mind, Roxanne Fosch, I'll be around.”

  With that said, he began making his way onto a side street.

  I watched him go, realizing the woman beside me was doing the same.

  “I hope you have a very good reason for turning down such a fine specimen.”

  I shrugged and made my way across the street, toward the base.

  Chapter Twenty

  The moment I stepped foot into the locker-room, Diggy whisked us to that dreadful land and resumed the routine of critiquing my moves, telling me to do better, faster, higher, only to return us to base, no more than fifteen minutes after we'd left. We'd arrive dirty and sweaty, bloody from the long session in the Low Lands. On base, other members would just be arriving, or leaving home from a graveyard shift. While I'd go straight home to soak and soothe my aching body, Diggy would shower and change, then do whatever it was his job demanded of him. I wondered where he found all the energy to work all those hours straight, if this was normal for all preternaturals, or if this was just one of Diggy's many quirks. But I never asked, no matter how curious I got. In fact, I never talked during our trainings, except to ask for clarification, or maybe after Vincent and his case during a break. Except today there was a bunch of questions rotating inside my head, things that had awoken me in the middle of the night and plagued me until morning.

  I parried a kick, blocked a punch, crouched and swept Diggy's feet from under him in one swift motion.

  “Logan came to see me yesterday,” I said as Diggy fell and flipped backward, his feet aiming with a point-kick to my chin. I pulled back, dodged a round-kick, then advanced again.

  “He told me about Remo, Zantry and Arianna.” I punched left, right, upward, forcing him to take the defensive. He grunted when a punch hit his shoulder, and I think he muttered, “About time” under his breath.

  “What?” I asked, pirouetting when he tried a hand-slice for my throat, aimed an elbow at his kidney when I found his back to me. He avoided the blow and backpedaled.

  “If you thought I should have known about them, why didn't you tell me?” I demanded when he didn't reply. We circled each other, both trying to find an opening in the other's defense. Sweat pooled under my armpits, my lower back. Diggy's shirt was also wet with sweat, his jacket long discarded.

  “Because it's not my place.” He advanced with a kick I deflected, jumped away from the leg sweep. “I'm not sure why Vincent didn't explain it to you, but I believe he either was trying to protect you,” His punch hit my forearm hard enough that I felt it all the way to my shoulder. Ouch.

  “Or?” I asked, putting distance between us and jerking my arm up and down to help blood circulation.

  Diggy paused, eyes guarded. “Or he was told to withhold information.”

  “Why?”

  He motioned me forward. “I don't know. Maybe he just wanted to protect you, give you some peace of mind.”

  We fought in silence for the next half hour, Diggy's attack coming so fast and swift, he kept me on my toes, my movements instinctive, my brain blissfully blank.

  “I saw the silvery sheen in Logan's aura yesterday,” I blurted, though I hadn't intended to tell him I knew.

  Diggy stopped mid-kick , expression surprised. I gave him a thin smile. “He doesn't know I saw it. He was talking about Cara so he could explain to me the clan's hierarchy.”

  Expression unreadable, Diggy glanced away, either thinking about what to say, or as a sign that he wasn't going to comment. So I ploughed on, “He's a Dhiultadh from your line, one Arianna found after he was abandoned.”

  I waited, and after a long silence, Diggy finally said, “Logan's situation is kind of unique. His father was a rogue from my clan, his mother from yours. I don't know the specifics about their affair, but when his mother was pregnant with him, his father was killed by an unknown faction. Because his mother had left the clan to be with a rogue, she was no longer welcome back, so she had no one to turn to.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “I don't know. It's assumed she was killed while fending for herself, but her body was never found.”

  “He believes she left him in the cold because she didn't love him,” I said, recalling the hard glint in his eyes when he told me about his mother. “Maybe she just thought he'd be better off away from her.”

  Diggy studied me for a moment before looking at the edge of the hill. “Logan is convinced that Arianna finding him was just a draw of luck. But maybe you're right. I know there are a few out there who believes his mother left him in that specific alleyway because she knew Arianna would never have left him behind.” His lips twitched in a mock smile, “This speculation, of course, was always brought up to point out that Archer wasn't fit to lead the cla
n, that his judgment was addled by his love for Arianna, and how he'd do anything she'd ask of him, even bring home the son of two rogues to raise as his own. And if you want to know more,” He said, eyes flashing with finality, “you should ask Logan.” Without waiting for my next words he attacked, and soon we were back to our rhythmic dance of punch and kick, deflate, retreat and attack.

  As soon as I announced defeat – after Diggy caught me with a sneaky round-kick that had me wheezing for breath – we returned to base. At 7:56. After having trained more than five hours.

  Barbara was in the locker room, half naked, and after a small bow from Diggy in apology, her frosty gaze turned to me. She sneered at my dirty clothes, the small patches of blood where the rocks of the Low Lands had cut me, and then gave me her back as she continued changing either for a new day or after a long night.

  Thirty minutes after I'd walked with Akinzo toward base, I was walking back home. Sending my awareness around, I attempted to see if I could pick him – or another preternatural – out of the crowd.

  A block from home, I had this impulsive idea and hurried across the street. The bells on the door to Maggie's Heaven jingled when I opened it, and the sweet aroma of freshly-baked goods assaulted my senses, making my mouth water.

  The place was emptier than I'd ever seen before, the line shorter, and soon it was my turn. I ordered a cup of black coffee with a shot of espresso and four chunky brownies – two for me and two for Frizz – then asked the barrister for his manager.

  The guy startled at my question, his brows furrowing with confusion. “Why? Is there anything wrong with the food?”

  “The food is excellent,” I assured him. “And you're very efficient. I just wanted to ask your manager a question.”

  The barista's frown remained. “I'm not to disturb her unless it's really important.”

  “It is. I need to see something in your surveillance records.”

  His eyebrows arched so high on his forehead, they practically disappeared under floppy bangs. The woman behind me cleared her throat and the barrister signaled down the counter to a teenage boy stocking doughnuts for display. “Tony? Please attend the register.”