Hearts of Darkness (14 page)

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Authors: Kira Brady

BOOK: Hearts of Darkness
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“Like—”
“Atomic bombs. A world population of six billion. That's a big army for his demons and wraiths to inhabit.” He removed the bolt and scope from the rifle, inspected the interior, and wiped it down with a handkerchief. His movements were gentle, caring even.
“A zombie army,” Kayla said.
“Yeah, you imagining that? Genghis Khan had nothing on this guy. Kingu leads his army of monsters across the globe, leaving nothing alive behind him. The slaughtered get back up and join his forces.” His large hands caressed the pieces as he reassembled the rifle. A man and his gun. Go figure. “Nothing could stop him.”
“Then what?”
“He declares war on the gods, retakes the Tablet of Destiny, and uses it to wake Tiamat.”
“The goddess of chaos.”
“You got it.” Hart smiled and popped a bullet into the rifle barrel. Even though his words were terrifying, his smile drew her closer.
“And that, I assume, is the end of the world as we know it.” Her voice came out flat. She didn't want to believe him.
“Knew you were a smart girl.”
She took a deep breath. His story sounded like tales of the bogeyman, but she couldn't afford not to believe him. “Let me guess, this necklace of my sister's plays a part?”
“It belongs to Kingu. I'm pretty sure it's the key to open the Gate.”
“Then you need my help more than ever.”
He blinked. She liked that she could surprise him for once. He had shocked her quite enough.
“Desi left me more clues. I know it. It'll be something only meaningful to me. Something you would overlook. We're wasting time.” First things first. “Where are my clothes?”
He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Shirt and panties should be in the bedroom. Last night you couldn't get naked fast enough. Your pants are ruined.” He grabbed a pile of black fabric off the armchair, and tossed it to her. “Catch.”
She caught the bundle before it hit her in the face, but dropped the sheet. “Don't look!” Her knees crumbled under her, and she frantically grabbed at the sheet on the floor. Mortification flooded her from her roots to the tips of her toes. “I said don't—”
“You don't have anything I haven't seen before.” Hart took a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it into his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully, not looking away.
Kayla felt her cheeks flame. She clutched the sheet to her chest. “Some gentleman.”
He pulled his lips back in a grin, displaying even, white teeth with sharp, pointed canines. “Didn't say I was.”
She licked her lips, and his intense gaze rose to her mouth. She suddenly felt like Little Red Riding Hood facing the Big Bad Wolf, and—wow—for the first time in her life she understood why Red had succumbed. Beneath the sheet her nipples tightened.
What was wrong with her?
Werewolf
, remember? Violent, weapon-toting maniac. Not to mention Armageddon looming on the horizon. Sex was not on the agenda.
A rebellious little voice asked if she wanted to die a virgin.
She ignored it. She was good at that.
The fabric bundle he had thrown her was a pair of huge sweatpants. She quickly pulled them over her legs beneath the sheet. They hung from her hips like pantaloons, but stayed up. She raised her head to find him watching her sideways. His eyes were half-lidded and secretive, but he couldn't hide the hunger in his gaze. His grip on the rifle barrel was white-knuckled. His nostrils flared.
That look made her feel naked again. Her pulse hummed beneath her skin. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Just stop it.”
He smirked.
She turned her back on him to retrieve her shirt from the bedroom. When she emerged, he was tucking the last of his weapons into the holster on his back.
“We need all the facts so that we can make a logical plan of attack,” she told him. “Why did Desi have the necklace? How did she get it? Who knew she had it? Would someone have killed her to get it? Why did—”
“Hold on there, Sherlock. One at a time.”
“I'm serious. You need to share all your information with me. Otherwise I won't be able to help.”
He stuck the toothpick out the side of his mouth and thought for a moment. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” He settled into the armchair and stuck his long legs out in front of him. “Your sister was scrogging Norgard—”
“Please—”
“Hey, you wanted the facts.”
She didn't want to talk about scrogging, not with Hart lounging in front of her, muscles bulging beneath a soft flannel shirt. His tongue flipped the toothpick end over end between his lips.
Hart continued. “Don't know how she found out about the key. Norgard kept it on the D.L., but who knows what he said in his sleep? He was hung up on her.”
“Did you ever meet her?”
“Maybe.” His eyes shifted away. “Hard to keep track of all Norgard's bitch—er, lady friends.”
She let that slide. “She wanted me to give the key to Corbette. But Rudrick said she was bringing it to him. Do you think that's the truth?”
“Could be. Kivati can lie, but they've got a strict code of honor. Unlike the Drekar, who can't lie, but bring the art of deception to a whole new level.”
“Is there anyone else who wants the key, besides the Kivati and Drekar? Any other factions I should know about?”
“The power to open the Land of the Dead? Plenty of people would want it, if they knew about it.”
She hesitated. “With this key, a person could bring the dead back to life?” Adam and Caroline had hinted that Desi was searching for immortality. Perhaps Desi had a different goal in mind: with the power to raise the dead, she could resurrect their parents.
Hart frowned. “Not life like you mean it. You can bring them back through the Gate—necromancers do—but it's unnatural. They aren't ‘alive,' not like you and me. Which reminds me.” He stood and approached the bookcase. He rummaged around until he found a pencil hidden between the pages of a book. “The rune on your sister's wrist is ancient Norse: Raidho, reversed. It anchors her spirit here.” He drew the strange marks on the back of the book cover.
“Desi's still here?” Kayla didn't know whether to be happy or horrified. “Can I talk to her?”
“Maybe. Spirits trapped on this side of the Gate become warped. If we can find the ghost, it won't be your sister like you remember her. She'll be a shade. A shadow of herself. Depends on how strong she was.”
“Who would want to anchor her spirit here?” She imagined Desi stealing the necklace and running, with Norgard hot on her trail. If he caught her and killed her, wouldn't he want to silence her permanently so no one would know? “You think she did it to herself.”
“Could have, to pass a message on.”
“She could tell me where the key is hidden.”
“That's our best-case scenario, but sometimes it's done as punishment. A wraith finds no peace in the grave.” His jaw tightened. It wasn't a pleasant thought. “Another possibility: in ancient times, warriors were sacrificed and their souls anchored at tombs and treasure holds as undead sentinels. Her ghost could be guarding the key.”
“But she wanted me to find the key and give it to Corbette. Wouldn't she hand it over, if that's the case?”
“Maybe, but wraiths become twisted. They forget their humanity, their living connections. She could just as easily attack you. Hard to fight a ghost. Hard to kill something that's already dead, or wound something with no body.”
Kayla shivered. Desi wouldn't hurt her, would she? It had only been two days. How quickly could her sister forget their bond? She hated the idea of Desi's corroded ghost haunting the streets of Seattle. Her sister deserved peace.
He drew another symbol on the book that looked like the letter M. “This is called Ehwaz. It should free her, if you get the chance.”
“How will I know?”
He shrugged. “If the Lady is willing, you'll know.”
“Trust my instincts, you mean?” They were still screaming,
Run fast, run hard
.
“These things aren't an exact science. Magic depends on the quality of soul. The power to manipulate the Aether. Even the weather. Dangerous stuff, magic.” He tossed the book on a shelf. “The ghost will be strongest at the death site. You know where that is?”
“Not exactly, but I've been wanting to ask the officer who discovered the scene more questions,” Kayla said. “We can call him on our way to the hospital and ask him to show us the exact location where she died.”
“The hospital?”
“For a rape kit. I might trust you—”
“You shouldn't,” Hart growled.
“—but I don't trust Norgard. Come on, wolf man, let's get this over with.”
 
 
The hospital gave Kayla a clean bill of health—thank God. Hart had told her the truth. He might tell her not to trust him, but he hadn't lied to her yet. They met Detective Cortez at Gas Works Park that afternoon. The old coal gasification plant was located on a spit of land that jutted into Lake Union. Gloom shrouded the park. Brown cylindrical towers rose from a sea of mist. A solitary seagull squawked overhead and flew off, abandoning them to the deserted factory. Yellow crime tape fluttered in the wind, the only cheery color amid the gray and brown.
“This place gives me the creeps,” she said as Hart parked next to Cortez's unmarked police cruiser.
Hart got out of the car and sniffed the air. “Watch your back.”
Cortez joined them. A younger officer with sandy brown hair, he had tired rings under his eyes and a persistent smoker's cough.
“I'm going to sniff around, see if I find anything.” Hart motioned to the water's edge. “Yell if you need me.”
“But—”
“Scared, babe? He'll take care of you, won't ya, pal?” Hart's black gaze seemed to pierce straight through Cortez. His smile showed all his teeth.
Cortez swallowed. “She's safe with me.”
Hart took out a small brass spyglass and held it to his eye. He surveyed the park in a quick circle and came back to rest a beat on Cortez. “All clear.” He handed the glass to Kayla.
She accepted the glass. “What is it?”
“A nightlight of sorts. I search better alone.”
He must need to change his shape, she realized. He didn't want to do it in front of Cortez. She made herself smile. She didn't need Hart to hold her hand. Really. She watched him fade into the mist and turned back to the policeman. “Ready when you are. This weather is weird. How did it get so dark so quickly?” She rubbed her arms.
“Your guy's a little intense, huh?”
“He's not mine.”
Cortez made a noncommittal noise and motioned for Kayla to follow him into the park. They approached the main site of the factory: six rusty steel-plated towers connected by teetering walkways high in the air and numerous pipes. The stench of fish and salt blew in from Puget Sound. The wind passing between the towers howled.
Kayla pulled her jacket tighter.
“It's always like this in the winter and early spring,” Cortez said. “Least we got sun breaks this morning. That's pretty good for April. Anyway, two nights ago my partner and I got an anonymous tip that something big was going down at the Pump and Boiler Houses.” He pointed to two large wooden sheds to the left. Inside the shadowy doorways, pumps, steel-plated compressors and pipes huddled together against the dark. “Around dusk. Weather about like this. Low visibility. Damp. As soon as we parked, I got this twitch I get sometimes. You know, sixth-sense type of thing.” His tight expression dared her to disagree.
She nodded. “I know what you mean.” She wouldn't have, before. She would have discounted her instincts and convinced herself there was some other logical explanation.
Cortez relaxed slightly. “Yeah, well, Sanders, he doesn't hold with my twitches. Can't file them in a report, see? He's a good cop, but there isn't enough manpower to follow up every time someone gets a feeling. My twitches, they've saved my ass more than once on the street. After the preliminary reports are in, though, most cases are locked tight.”
“So, it's not just my sister's case. Your force doesn't follow up any cases?”
Cortez scowled. “Hey, there aren't enough of us. Limited resources. Limited funds. We do our best. Dead people—they aren't getting up anymore, no matter what we do. We focus on the murders we can prevent.”

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