Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  And the answers to my questions will be found in this magical realm? He chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered his options. I waited patiently, sucking down more water. After several minutes he seemed to come to a decision and nodded a few times, more to himself than to me. Fine. I'll return you to your- flat. But no funny business. Even a hint that you're trying to dispel my spirit or call upon a demon to do so, and I will gut you and wear your intestines as a belt. Understood? You won't have to worry about our angry friend if you betray me.

  I gazed at him skeptically, then tossed aside my second empty bottle with a barely concealed scoff. I figured I could overlook his rudeness, his pitiful attempt at bullying me. Given the tragedy in his past, I could no longer see Valentine as a one-dimensional character- nor his "friend" as a one-dimensional villain. So I took the arm he offered, which was now surprisingly sturdy though still utterly freezing to the touch, and grinned up at him. I stifled my desire to laugh as he rolled his eyes, but then he reached up and touched my forehead. I could feel my eyes rolling back in my head as once again my world went black.

  THREE

  Oof. I crumpled into a semi-conscious heap behind my couch, holding on to my stomach and hoping there was not enough of anything to come up. I swallowed several times until the nausea passed, then shot a glare at Valentine.

  "I hate ghost-travel."

  He shrugged. I can go through walls and floors. Can you do that?

  I rolled my eyes and wobbled to my feet. My diet today had to that point been limited to cocoa and water, and they seemed to be happy in my tummy where they belonged. I managed to make it around the couch and sank into the cushions gratefully, holding one hand to my forehead as I waited for the nausea and headache to pass. It took several minutes, and while he waited Valentine stood patiently at my bookshelf, studying the many tomes lining its shelves.

  It is said that one can learn much about someone by perusing their preferred reading, he stated softly, tilting his head to read the battered spines. His hair tumbled attractively across his shoulder, a gently rolling wave of bronzed chestnut curls. I shook my head a fraction, realizing that I was staring wide-eyed and almost lustfully at a ghost. Sure, he was hot, and tall, and had great hair and gorgeous bone structure- but he was dead. Yes, I'm dead. So what? I'm still a man, aren't I? After all, if I can make you think I've struck you and tied you up, surely I'm capable of- other things. Although, it has been a very- he paused to look at me, his heated gaze sweeping over me- very long time.

  I pulled in a long, shaky breath, feeling my heartbeat quicken. My fingers fluttered at my throat as I tried to keep my heart in my chest. I whispered to myself-"he's a ghost, he's a GHOST"-but damn. I wondered if finding out what happened and solving Valentine's little mystery would have the same effect as it did in the movies. Would he suddenly disappear in the midst of a softly glowing cloud as he was finally lifted to the heavens? Or would it just mean that he was finally at peace, but still stuck on the earthly plane? I supposed there was only one way to find out-

  I retrieved my phone from the side table next to the couch, sighing when it refused to light up, indicating a dead battery, and plugged it in. The tea was still sitting in the mug on the counter, cold and unusable, so while I was thinking of how to word my search I went ahead and dumped it down the sink, rinsing it out and setting it in the basin to wash later. I sighed, then returned to the living room and flopped onto the couch, pulling a toss pillow across my stomach and squeezing it as I mindlessly started gnawing on my nails.

  All this time, while I'd been inanely wasting time, Valentine had been watching me silently, arms across his chest and a thoughtful look on his face. I wondered what was on his mind, but at the same time I was fairly certain that I absolutely did not really want to know.

  Picking up my phone, I turned it on, entered the search engine, then looked up at Valentine.

  "Do you know what your friend's full name was?"

  Valentine startled a bit, then resumed what I'd come to realize was his normal moody glare.

  I knew him as Duck, but I believe his name was Benjamin Charles. That's what he went by on the playbill, anyway.

  I grunted and began typing the information into the search. I was a middle-finger typer, a "hunt-and-peck"er, so it took a minute. Valentine stared at the glowing screen, fascinated when it changed from a mostly blank search page to a page filled with results ranging all over the map from utterly useless to possibly useful. I scrolled and clicked through at least three pages before something caught Valentine's eye. He pointed excitedly.

  There! The very name of the fiend!

  I choked back a laugh at the drama which he used and instead focused on tapping the article to which he pointed. My brow furrowed as I read through the lengthy obituary, and about halfway through my jaw dropped.

  "This is him? You're sure." I was busily reading through the remainder of the obituary, finding myself both sickened and fascinated.

  Yes, but- he went to America? That can't be right. Duck despised Yanks.

  "Evidently not enough," I replied. "Says here that 'following the tragic death of a close friend and fellow performer, Master Valentine Sayid Shirazi III'- wow. Quite a name-"

  I am aware. Please continue.

  "Okay, okay, yeesh. Sorry. Okay, following your death, he went to America on the ship The Persian Empress. Landed in Baltimore, Maryland in early autumn 1820- must've left very soon after you died, then. I learned in high-school that sea voyages took months back then. He was in the States for approximately two years before he was arrested and convicted of the murders of seventeen young women, all immigrants from England who apparently recognized him. He was extradited to London where he remained imprisoned for a few more years while his trials were performed- one for every death he was accused of having caused- and was finally executed at midday in February 1831, 'being hanged by the neck until dead'."

  I glanced at Valentine and saw him staring at my phone's screen, although he didn't appear to be seeing it or anything else. Or maybe he was just envisioning the execution in his mind.

  "Hey," I murmured softly, and he turned to gaze at me. "You're far away. Are you alright?" The eyes that met mine are moist with unshed tears, and as I studied him one escaped its confines and trailed slowly down his smooth cheek. I caught it with my finger before it could disappear into the crisp edges of the sideburns that swept just above his jawline to join his neat beard. I gazed at the round drop of saltwater, fascinated. How was it that a ghost could shed tears real enough to be touched by a living being?

  As I was staring at his tear, balanced neatly on the side of my index finger, he grabbed my hand with unbelievable speed and undeniable gentleness, his gaze never leaving my face. I could feel him staring at me even though I wasn't looking at him, until I was. His brow was furrowed in consternation.

  How? He asked, stroking one finger along mine to remove the tiny round dot of moisture. I can feel it. I shouldn't be able to feel it. I've felt nothing for two-hundred years. His eyes snapped to mine in wonder and something like panic. Are you doing this?

  "Am I doing what?" I huffed humourlessly. "I'm not a magical, mystical being, Valentine. I can't make a ghost become a real boy- more's the pity." When he quirked his head questioningly, I gave my own a quick shake. There was no way in hell I was informing him that I wished I could make him a real boy, that if I could then we would abandon the internet search in favour of locating my bed and finding out all the fun things we could learn about each other.

  Ah. Perhaps we should continue tracing the fate of the not-so-good Mr. Duck, eh?

  "Yes. Absolutely," I agreed, stepping away from Valentine and resuming my spot on the couch, curling my feet under me and picking up my phone. He took up a stance behind me, looking at the screen over my shoulder, and although I reached to pull a fleece blanket over my legs I suddenly realized that it wasn't because of him any longer.

  "Valentine," I said softly, "did you know that you aren't as col
d anymore?" I noticed the inward-looking expression on his face as I turned my head to look at him and reached to touch my fingers to the back of his hand where it rested on the back of the couch. He startled rather violently, as though I'd burned him, and clasped his other hand around the one I was touching, his eyes widening in shock as both of his hands enveloped mine.

  "What? What is it? Valentine, you're worrying me." I stood as I spoke, tossing off my blanket and hurrying around the single large piece of furniture I possessed with the exception of my bed. He took a step back, releasing my hand as he stared at me, and I ceased advancing.

  How are you able to touch me? He asked, his voice wavery but not tearful. He held his hand in front of him, his opposite fingers touching where my fingers had touched moments ago. The expression on his face was almost reverent. His gaze flicked upward, catching mine, and he took a tentative step toward me before slowly stretching out his fingers to stroke down my cheek. I drew in a shaky breath as he did so, averting my eyes when I blushed uncontrollably. The heat in my face glowed brighter when I chanced a quick glance and found him caught between a sexy smirk and a genuine smile. How am I able to touch you?

  "I dunno," I muttered, reaching up to shove some of my unruly hair out of the way. My fingers brushed his hand and I startled, stepping back and hugging my arms around myself. I suddenly felt unaccountably grumpy. "Just freakishly good luck, I guess."

  He barked with laughter, the first time I'd heard it so loud and raucous. Usually he chuffed a bit or gave maybe a gentlemanly guffaw. I looked at him in shock as he threw his head back, his hair tumbling, his dark eyes twinkling. His teeth were very white. I wondered if that was a ghost thing- like "I've been dead so long mortal rules no longer apply"- or if they were always that pretty and perfect, even in life. I decided on the latter, probably because I didn't want to even remotely think of him as anything less than he was at that very moment.

  Perfect. Young. Unbelievably sexy.

  I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. I couldn't think about my stupid attraction to a dead guy! I needed to help him make sense of his murder. Solve the mystery first, then maybe ghostly-fun-time, if he didn't disappear into post-unfinished-business, blissful, heaven-bound perfect deadness. I shook my head again. Still not making any sense, even to myself. I needed to focus, and I needed him to stop making my hormones crazy while I did it.

  "So!" My voice was higher than usual, a tone of false cheer in it as I attempted to move us back to the task at hand. "How would we find out more about your not-so-great friend?"

  Valentine stroked his chin, settled his rump on the window-seat, then looked startled that he could do so.

  I'm unsure. What I want to know is why he stabbed me. Why such a vicious attack? The malice in his grin as I died? Perhaps I shall never learn the answers, but I should like to try.

  "Then I'll do my best to help you." I nodded resolutely. "But this might require more in-depth research than I'm able to do on my phone- and I'm pretty sure my laptop is on its last leg. I'll plug it in and make some tea, and then maybe you can tell me a little more about yourself?" When he almost immediately looked uncomfortable at my suggestion, I quickly back-pedaled, holding my hand up in a 'wait' gesture. "Hey- I'm sorry. I didn't mean we should discuss your death any further. I just meant- well, it'd be nice to know more about you. You know, who you were during your life. It isn't every day one gets to converse with a real-life ghost. Um. You know what I mean."

  I blushed fiercely. Way to trip over your tongue, I grumbled under my breath. Very under, since he'd already shown that his hearing was amazing.

  He studied me again, in that way of his where his eyes went soft and dark and I knew that he probably had something juicy on his mind, and I was extremely glad that I was sitting down because that look made me literally weak in the knees. As though he was reading my mind, he smirked- a wolfish, hungry shadow passed across his face, and I shivered.

  What's the matter? He cocked his head to the side as he stood in a graceful, fluid motion and stalked slowly toward me. Something- juicy- on your mind?

  I blinked, then narrowed my eyes, smacking my hand against his chest as he encroached into my personal space.

  "You were reading my mind again! You sneaky son-of-a-bitch!" My words were harsh yet my tone was anything but. I would have hated how breathy I sounded if it weren't for the fact that his closeness was doing some very interesting things to me, and not just physically. He was a delicious enigma, and while at first I had very much disliked him for the way I thought he had mistreated me, I now found myself with an interesting question. Why was Duck, the other spirit haunting this selfsame building, floating around just waiting in the shadows for his opportunity to strike? Was he watching us even now, waiting for us to be distracted enough that he could swoop in and finish the job, maybe kill me as well? I shivered again, and not in delight at Valentine's nearness this time. As though sensing my distress, he rubbed his hands up and down my arms. His lips came close to my ear, his warm breath (whoa, wait-warm breath? Since when is there breathing going on?) brushing my ear lobe.

  Are you alright? He whispered, tucking that errant strand of hair behind my ear again. His fingers caressed the side of my neck before they returned to my arm. You thought of something, didn't you? What is it?

  I stepped back, hugging myself again, my fingers nearly completely swallowed by my oversized sweater, which didn't actually matter because I began nibbling my cuticle as my thoughts nervously started spiraling around the idea of an actual killer ghost floating around somewhere nearby, watching and waiting for his moment to strike. I absently rubbed my sternum, the chill of the initial 'icicle' impact echoing through it into my ribs and stroking cold tentacles across my heart.

  "If Duck is the ghost that abducted me why was he pretending to be you?"

  Valentine bowed his head, shame radiating from him. Yes. It's time you knew, I suppose. His voice was so soft I had to strain forward to hear it. I've been hiding from him or fighting him off for so long I'd almost forgotten his true identity. And then you- you further muddied the waters. All I want is a way to escape this mortal coil, to rest at last. It's what I've wanted for so long. But now- I find that my conviction to end it all for good has altered. I am no longer certain that I truly desire that. He glanced up into my face, and my breath caught in my throat at the sight of unshed tears beginning to glisten in his eyes. I'm not certain what will happen should we continue on this merry chase through the pages of time, but I dearly hope that it does not lead to my losing you.

  A shaky sigh escaped me and I clutched tighter to my blanket. Reaching for my laptop, I powered it up and waited for the login screen.

  "Well, let's just see if we can find a way to get rid of Duck that gives you a few more options than 'imminent demise', shall we?" I entered my password and clicked on my internet home button, which took me to the homepage for all of our local news.

  My face was plastered at the head of the top story.

  "'Valentine's Day Homicides in London- Modern Day Horror! Three more murders have been linked to the growing number of homicides on Valentine's Day across London. All women between the ages of 19 and 29, all living alone, and all working in various retail positions across the city. The police are releasing no further information at this time, but are asking anyone who sees someone carrying a blade greater than six-inches in length to call the nearest station immediately. The suspect is unknown, but still out there and is considered armed and extremely dangerous.'"

  Valentine was leaning over my shoulder as I read the news story aloud, his lips pressed tightly together and his eyes worried.

  "This- this is impossible! It says I'm dead. I can't be dead! I'm sitting right here! I've been touching things, doing things that I couldn't if I was dead! Valentine-"

  He took a slow, deep breath, shrugged slightly- not indifferently but as though he could think of nothing to say- and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  It would explain many th
ings. Like this. Like why I no longer feel cold to you. Does the story say anything else?

  I blinked back the tears that threatened and clicked the touchpad, scanning the other news articles related to the first one. There I was again, my smiling face gazing out from a small blurb that was almost obscured by larger, more important happenings.

  "Here's the most important one. 'Sarai Sophia Knoll, formerly Harrison Sophia Knoll, passed away at Maudsley Hospital Tuesday morning following the attack in her apartment on Valentine's Day. She is survived by her parents, Richard and Patricia Knoll, and many aunts, uncles, and cousins. She is predeceased by her brother, Carson, and sister, Sarai. She was 22 years of age. Funeral arrangements are pending.' So it's true then. I'm dead. I was in hospital for three days, and now I'm dead."

  Valentine didn't speak, merely stood behind me with a comforting hand on my shoulder. I could feel him getting closer to my temperature the longer I let the news sink in. The temperature thing just meant I was getting used to being a ghost, I surmised. I must've left my body when I first got stabbed, then.

  Your death must have allowed Duck to grasp onto a tether of some kind. Your spirit, confused as it was, would have been more malleable so soon after trauma. I- I am sorry for it. You should have lived many, many more years.

  "Don't apologize," I told him, laying my hand over his. "It wasn't you who killed me. I do feel bad for my parents though. All of their children gone before them. That's not right. But- it releases me from having to worry about going in to work ever again, so there's that." I huffed an absurd little laugh, yet I was strangely relieved. Maybe this meant that somehow, if we found a way to give Valentine the choice of whether to stay or go, he might decide to stay. With me.

  It says that your brother and sister went before you. Would it be alright if I asked what happened to them?

  I sighed, rubbing my hands down my face. "They were born with two extremely rare blood conditions: hemophilia and polycythemia vera. We had a distant cousin in America who had polycythemia and lived into his early 70s, but as far as we know the hemophilia was just a very unlucky happenstance. The combination was too much for them. They both died shortly after their 6th birthday." I sigh again, shakily, and wipe away a few tears. "I took my sister's name in honour of her memory."