Dark Heart (31 page)

A
s 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 himself. 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.

Kalzar, in dragonling form, stalked toward him across the great stone sculptures adorning the cathedral’s eaves. He walked toward Justin with a terrible smile on his face. His smile slipped when he saw the sword in Justin’s hand. The smile’s last remnants froze forever on Kalzar’s face the instant the blade swept through his neck…

The vision wrenched away, and once again Justin saw himself walking into the cathedral. Once again, he killed Sandra. He wrestled with the dream. Again he was in London on the cathedral. Again Kalzar’s head rolled to the stone facings of the great church. Then Sandra’s death played out once more. And again…and again…and again…

Justin willed himself awake, finally escaping the clutches of the visions that haunted him. He’d never escaped such visions before until released by the Dragon, had never been able to do so. Perhaps he hadn’t done it this time. Perhaps the Dragon had let him go. After all, Justin’s mandate was obvious. The Dragon wanted Sandra dead. But he seemed to want Kalzar dead as well.

Perhaps not all the visions had come from the Dragon…

“I will not kill her…” Justin vowed through gritted teeth. “She will convert. I swear it.”

But even as he said it, pain shot through him, burning him alive as he cried out. He staggered and slammed into the coffee table. Wood cracked and a huge, jagged splinter of it pushed through his forearm. His blood gushed onto the carpet, but that pain was peripheral to the other agonies the Dragon was unleashing on him. Now there was pressure on both sides of his head, and it felt as if his eyeballs were going to pop from their sockets.

“No.” He was defiant. “I will not!” His forearm came free of its impalement, and he struggled to stand. Huddling into himself, Justin forced the pain from his body. He willed the Dragon away. Electric shocks coursed through his limbs and he screamed in agony, but his resolve did not falter. He remained hunched over, eyes shut, fighting.

With each jolt of burning anguish, a memory of the last time he had fought this battle came to him.

The other…

Images of her flashed across his mind and he focused on her, not the fire burning his flesh.

He was in Russia. It was the turn of the century. A young woman entered the barn. Her breath was a white cloud in the frosty air. She had recently given birth for the first time. Justin could hear the baby crying from where he hid in the barn. He perched in the loft, one with the early morning shadows.

The woman’s blonde hair was a cascade of sunshine framing her soft, round face. Her movements were graceful and her happiness radiated from her. The vision of her would always stay with him, the way her lips were curved in a smile, the way her cheeks were flushed, the way she whistled softly as she worked, never knowing of the demon who hovered by her door.

His dreams had sent him here, the only kind of dreams he had anymore. She was his victim. He had seen how he would kill her. Here, in the barn. Now, as she was gathering eggs. Now, as she lifted her skirts and tucked them in her waistband, to keep them free from the straw and dirt in the barn as she collected the eggs.

He watched her exposed legs, smooth and youthful, and he remembered when he had first seen Gwendolyne. He had been in his nineteenth year, fully a man by the standards of the time. She had been fourteen, a slim and agile sylph of a girl, all hair and eyes and that beautiful smile. His first glimpse of her by the riverside had been enough for him. He’d known then that he would marry her.

He had seen too much of Gwendolyne in that young Russian girl. He had dared to love her and the Dragon had disapproved, just as Justin’s father had disapproved of Gwendolyne. That first night Justin could not bring himself to kill her. He waited until she left, and that was when the pain hit. All of that day and all of the next he stayed hidden from the young woman, locked in his personal struggle with the Dragon, drinking hell by the mouthful. In the night, sometimes, he would allow himself to cry out quietly, caught in the throes of torment.

By the third day, he could not remember what it was like to be without pain. All he knew was that he could not continue the struggle for another minute without going mad. That morning, when the young Russian girl entered the barn, he was ready to take her. Her death was instantaneous. A knife from behind. A slit throat. She never had time to realize what exactly was wrong before she passed from the land of the living.

He had bought her three days with his pain. Three days. How valuable were three days of happiness? He’d had little more than that with Sandra. What price could be put upon such a thing?

Slowly Justin’s memory faded away…and with it, the pain…

The phone. His cell phone was ringing.

Justin plunged his hand into the inside pocket of his coat, fumbled after the phone.

“Yes?” His voice was tight, controlled.

“Justin? It’s Benny. I’m at the cathedral. Sandra’s here. I had to go to a pay phone outside to call you. You told me to call as soon as I saw someone suspicious. Well, he’s here, I think. That guy you mentioned. Kalzar.”

“Kalzar,” Justin managed to say.

“Yeah, him. He came in and sat by the door. I think he knows who I am. The way he looked at me…”

“It’s possible. Elders can often tell when a younger disciple is near. Very well. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Stay as close to him as you can without revealing yourself. Don’t fight him, but do what you can to keep him away from Sandra.”

“How do I do that?”

“I don’t
know
…but you have to
try
.”

“Okay.” Benny hung up.

Justin folded the phone and slipped it back in his pocket. Was the Dragon sending Kalzar to kill Sandra? Or was Kalzar operating independently? If it was the latter, then Justin might buy himself time by killing Kalzar. If it was the former, Justin could never protect Sandra. There would always be another disciple assigned to kill her. One of them would eventually succeed.

There was only one way to protect Sandra forever…

Justin stepped out the door and sensed them immediately, though they weren’t readily apparent to human eyes. He wasn’t surprised when two men stepped from the shadows near the corner of the building.

They were Chinese, an older man and a teenage kid. They seemed familiar, though Justin couldn’t place either one of them in his memory. Justin looked down at the ring on his finger, looked at them, then narrowed his eyes.

The two flanked the edges of the staircase that descended from the door of the building to the sidewalk. Never pausing, Justin started down toward them. What would have been creepy to anyone else was merely annoying to Justin. He didn’t know who these people were, but he had a fair idea who might have sent them. They could stand in his way at their peril.

“Who are you?” he asked. They didn’t seem inclined to stop him, but they weren’t afraid of him, either.

The man was middle-aged. His short, black hair was streaked with gray. His eyes appraised Justin, and Justin didn’t like the feeling at all.

“You know who we are,” the man said.

Justin nodded. “Yes, of course. You’re Drokpas. Human slaves of the dragons from Beyond.”

The man nodded. “Yes. We serve them, but we are not slaves. We seek—”

“I know what you seek,” Justin said. “You think you can stop my master from returning to this world.”

“You do not realize—”

“I realize that if you try to stop me, I will rip you limb from limb. You know I can do it.”

“We know,” the man said. He and the kid bowed and stood aside.

Justin brushed past them. “At any other time I would not suffer your kind to live,” he growled, walking quickly down the street.

When Justin was almost out of earshot, the man yelled to him, “Remember the blue flame! It will serve you well!”

The words were so surprising he froze for a moment. He spun around to ask them what they meant, but when he faced the steps again, they were gone.

As if they’d never been.

Hidden in shadow, the two Chinese men could still see Justin as he hailed the cab. Neither spoke for a long moment.

“I fear for her,” the younger finally said.

“I know. Matters are coming to a cusp,” the older returned.

“I don’t trust him.”

“It is not our mission to trust him. It is our mission to help him understand his true nature and that of his master.”

“What if he hurts her?” the younger asked.

“Then that is as it must be.”

“I cannot stand by while this happens,” the younger said. “Then I will send you back to Drokpasyl,” the older man said. “She is not our purpose. The earl of Sterling is. We have watched him for hundreds of years. He is the one who can end everything.”

“So we may save the girl Tina, but we may not save Sandra?” The younger man’s voice was thick with rage.

“Tina was meant to be taken into the fold. So the Dragons said.”

“And yet they will not take Sandra. How are we different from Justin, then? We justify these deaths as necessary things. How are we different?”

The older man turned a stern gaze on the younger. “Your passion is admirable, but your logic is lost in a sea of anger.”