Black Heart bw-3 Read online

  “Do not threaten the king unless you wish to meet an immediate death,” Sakarian barked.

  Batarian stopped a few feet from me, his hands frozen, fingers curled into claws. He made a visible effort to calm himself, drawing air noisily through his flared nostrils.

  “Just what in the name of all the gods that are and ever will be do you think you are doing?” Batarian said through gritted teeth. “And I thought I said she was to be brought here bound and under guard.”

  “Litarian permitted her to come before you in this fashion,” Sakarian said snidely.

  “It seemed wise to prevent further loss of life,” Litarian said, ignoring Sakarian’s tone.

  “Did you threaten my men? After I showed you hospitality?” Batarian said.

  “Hospitality?” I snorted. “Is that what you call it? Leaving me on that platform, ignored, exposed to the elements? Keeping my wings bound and forcing me to stay here when I have told you repeatedly I mean you no harm, that I only wish to leave? I’ve killed your enemies for you, for crying out loud. You would have lost that battle were it not for me.”

  “We have lost the battle anyway,” Batarian said grimly. “You have no idea of the damage you have done.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me,” I said. “I’d expected a little more gratitude, frankly.”

  Batarian seemed to crumple suddenly. The anger that held him upright dissipated, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. He looked much older than he had a moment before, the weight of his cares hanging heavy upon him.

  This is a true king, I thought. He obviously cared more for his people than for himself. That definitely made him a rarity in my book. Every other monarch I’d met thus far had been concerned only with their own whims, their own comforts.

  “I do not know how to make you understand,” Batarian said.

  “Try me,” I said.

  5

  “START WITH THOSE CREATURES,” I SAID. “WHAT ARE they, and where do they come from?”

  “They are known among us as the Cimice. I do not know what they call themselves. As for where they came from, we do not know. Our people have lived in this place for thousands of years, in harmony with our surroundings, since Lucifer left this place and our borders were closed . . .”

  Batarian trailed off, like he was lost in memory, and Litarian took up the story.

  “Then, one day about a year ago, the creatures appeared in the forest. We kept our distance from them, as we did not know how they had arrived here, and if they were friend or foe.”

  “Could they have arrived by boat, from across the ocean?” I asked.

  The three of them stared at me blankly.

  “You know, from the continent on the other side of the big water?” I said, gesturing to indicate a large body.

  “There is no such thing,” Sakarian said derisively. “Ours is the only land on this world.”

  “Uh, no,” I said. “I saw it with my magic when I was trying to find a way out of this place. There’s another land far across the ocean. If the Cimice suddenly appeared one day, they could have come from there.”

  Batarian appeared stunned at this news, Litarian thoughtful, Sakarian disbelieving.

  “We had assumed the borders were broken somehow,” Litarian said. “Especially after you arrived.”

  “Yes,” Batarian said, frowning. “But if they come from this other place, that puts a different face on things.”

  “It does not change the simple truth that she does not belong here,” Sakarian said. “Nor does it change the fact that she has done more harm than good by her actions.”

  “But you still haven’t told me why,” I said, looking at them expectantly.

  “Yes,” Litarian said when it became apparent that the king would not continue the narrative. Their leader appeared lost in thought. “As I was saying, when the Cimice first appeared, we avoided them and they avoided us. There did not seem to be many of them, and we were content to live in peace.”

  “We did not realize they were such prolific breeders. If we had, we would have killed them on sight,” Sakarian said bitterly.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Litarian continued. “The Cimice established a colony in the mountains on the other side of the forest. Our scouts told us that there were only about twenty or thirty of the creatures. After a month, there were a hundred. Within three months, three or four times that. Now there are thousands of them, a massive teeming horde, spilling forth from the mountain like an infection.”

  Litarian’s description reminded me very strongly of the way I’d seen the vampires that had invaded Chicago. They, too, seemed like an infection, a disease that had spread so quickly there was no hope of stopping it. But I had stopped it. Maybe I could help the fae with their problem, too, and then they would see that I could be trusted. Then I could be given what I wanted most—my freedom.

  “So you were all living in peace, even if there were a lot of these Cimice,” I prompted. “What changed?”

  “Perhaps the Cimice realized they were too many for their resources and decided not to share the forest with us any longer. Perhaps they had intended to destroy us all along, but were simply waiting for superiority of numbers. In any event, it started as a series of small raids in which the Cimice would attack our hunters in the forest.”

  “Those first attacks took us unawares,” Batarian said.

  I didn’t need him to draw me a picture to know that they had suffered heavy losses.

  Batarian continued. “After that, we were more cautious. However, we were also forced to be more daring. Meat was becoming very scarce. The Cimice, it seems, will eat anything. The area of the forest where they live is completely stripped.”

  “Like locusts,” I murmured.

  Litarian looked at me questioningly.

  “They’re these little insects that descend on crops in massive hordes. They strip everything clean and then fly away to do it again somewhere else.”

  “That sounds like the Cimice,” he said. “Except that they did not fly away. They stayed. And as time passed, they grew more aggressive. They began to attack the village, always in small numbers.”

  “They were testing our defenses,” Sakarian said. “To see how much risk would be required to defeat us.”

  “We have always managed to hold them off, to make them pay for these excursions,” Batarian said. “Enough to make them doubtful of their success if they attempted a full-scale attack.”

  I stared at the king. “You’ve got to be kidding. If their numbers are as great as you say, then they could have overwhelmed you at any time. You are under a serious delusion if you think your fighting abilities affected them in any way. They’re feinting and retreating for some reason of their own.”

  Realization and chagrin dawned in the eyes of all three. The arrogance of every fae I had ever met on any world was astounding. These guys had actually believed they had held off an enemy that outnumbered them simply by virtue of their skill.

  “What reason would they have for doing such a thing?” Sakarian asked.

  “Maybe they’re practicing for some other foe, and they’re using you to season their soldiers,” I said.

  “They’re killing our people as part of some game?” Batarian asked, disgust showing on his face.

  “Well, I don’t know for sure,” I said, backpedaling. Batarian seemed like he might shoot the messenger. “I’m just guessing.”

  “But what other foe could they prepare for?” Litarian asked. “There are no other fae in this land, nor any other creatures like the Cimice.”

  “Maybe they don’t plan on staying here,” I said. “Maybe they’re planning an assault somewhere else.”

  And as I said this, my heart froze. I had killed a Cimice in Chicago, one who had warned me that it was merely one of many, one who said it was the advance of an assault that would cover the city. My legs wobbled a little.

  “Not again,” I said. “Not again.”

  “What i
s it?” Litarian asked.

  “I know where they are going,” I said. “To my world, to my city.”

  Maybe Nathaniel hadn’t meant me harm in sending me to this place, after all. But how could he have known that the Cimice were here? Was it really just a horrible coincidence?

  I needed to stop worrying about Nathaniel and his motivations and deal with what was in front of me. I knew the Cimice were here. I knew they intended to attack Chicago. There was no reason for these monsters from another world to choose my home unless they were being directed by one of my enemies.

  Which meant that 1) despite all evidence to the contrary, there must be a way to get on and off this world without going to that permanent portal on the other side of the ocean, and 2) while determining the identity of the Cimice’s puppet master was important, it wasn’t nearly as important as stopping the Cimice from descending on my city.

  The people of Chicago had just survived an infestation of vampires. They could not survive another large-scale attack so soon. As it was, I was certain many people would not return. I couldn’t blame them. Once you knew the monster under the bed was real, it was hard to go back to your old life.

  I became aware that Litarian was speaking to me but I didn’t register any of the words.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Why do you believe the Cimice’s ultimate goal is your world?” Litarian asked.

  Might as well put my cards on the table, I thought. It looked as though these fae and I had a common enemy.

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen these creatures,” I said.

  I quickly explained that I’d encountered one while acting in my capacity as an Agent, which of course they didn’t understand. Then I had to explain the purpose of the Agency.

  “You collect dead souls?” Sakarian asked. “That is the province of Lucifer. You have lied to us about your connection with him.”

  “Wow, you really haven’t seen Lucifer for a long time,” I said, deftly avoiding the accusation of lying. “He hasn’t collected a soul since before the fall.”

  “What fall?” Sakarian asked.

  “I am not going to get into the history of the fallen angels,” I said. “Suffice it to say that Lucifer had a disagreement with his previous employer and they don’t work together anymore. But you’re really missing the point here. The point is that we both have reason to want the Cimice gone. I can help you. I think I’ve proven that. Although you never did explain why my killing the Cimice was a bad thing.”

  Batarian looked slightly embarrassed. “I believed that your display of power would frighten the surviving Cimice, and that they would return to their leader with tales of wonder. I thought that their fright would cause them to descend upon us with their full strength. However, in light of your belief that they could have done such a thing at any time, my anger with you seems foolish.”

  I didn’t rub his face in it, although I was sorely tempted. I had been raised by Beezle, after all.

  “Look,” I said. “I can’t let the Cimice attack Chicago. And your people are going to be wiped out sooner or later if you don’t take serious action.”

  “Serious action?” Batarian repeated. “You mean attack the colony. No. I will not risk my people.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “You can risk me.”

  “You will eliminate the entirety of the Cimice alone?” Batarian looked incredulous. “Even with powers such as yours, you could not do such a thing.”

  I remembered rising above Soldier Field, filled to bursting with the feeling of vampires who had come at my call. I remembered the power of the Morningstar moving through me, exploding outward, eliminating the vampires so thoroughly that nothing remained, not even ash.

  “Yes, I can.”

  Sakarian and Batarian continued to look doubtful. Litarian, as always, appeared thoughtful.

  Sakarian better watch his back, I thought. Litarian was smart, way smarter than his brother. For now Litarian seemed content in the role he had, but I doubted it would stay that way. Fae lived a long time, and there was a limit to what a smart person would tolerate from a stupid one.

  “Why not allow her to go?” Litarian said. “We have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

  “Because if we allow her to leave this place, she will try to escape,” Batarian said. “She will not continue to aid her captors. It is only logical.”

  “Except that I told you that I, too, need to defeat the Cimice,” I said.

  “I am not certain I believe this tale of the creatures in your world,” Sakarian announced. “It all seems too convenient. And impossible. Our borders are closed.”

  “For the love of the Morningstar,” I swore. “You are being deliberately obstinate. The fact that I am here is proof positive that your borders are not as secure as they seem.”

  Batarian’s face took on that brooding look again. “I must think on this. Litarian, return her to the platform and guard the ladder until I make my decision.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not going back up there.”

  “You are still a prisoner here,” Batarian said.

  “Let’s be real for a second,” I said. “As of this moment I’m only a prisoner because I don’t feel like destroying your whole village. So don’t act like you have some kind of dominion over me.”

  “I am the ruler in my own kingdom,” Batarian said through gritted teeth.

  “Sure you are,” I said. “But I am not a member of your kingdom. I’ll go in some other room, and you don’t need to waste a man guarding me. I’m not going to run away. My proposal is this—you let me kill the Cimice. And then you release my wings and I go home.”

  “You will return to the platform. That is where the prisoners go,” Batarian said.

  I could tell he was trying to reestablish his sense of authority when his world had been turned upside down. But I wasn’t going to spend another minute on that platform. I sighed.

  “Don’t make me prove a point,” I said. It would be nothing for me to set this place on fire. But I didn’t want to burn down the whole tree house unless I had to.

  “You are a prisoner,” Batarian said.

  “Father, I don’t think that—” Litarian began.

  I shot nightfire at Sakarian. I didn’t like him anyway.

  The bolt deliberately missed any vital organs. The blue flame struck the fae’s upper arm, then danced along his limb and down to his wrist, stripping away the flesh as it went.

  Sakarian screeched in pain and fell to his knees. Batarian and Litarian stared at me in shock. Neither of them made any move to help Sakarian, who was whimpering.

  “Quit that noise,” I said. “I didn’t even give you the benefit of my full strength.”

  Batarian moved toward me. I don’t know what he intended to do. Litarian grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling the king away from me.

  “I am not going to the platform,” I repeated. “Think all you want on my offer. I’m going to wait in another room.”

  Litarian stepped forward, his hands up to show that he was no threat. “I will show you,” he said.

  We left the room without another word from anyone.

  It was possible, even probable, that I’d misplayed this. I’d bruised Batarian’s pride by demonstrating I did not have to do as he wished. I’d quite literally harmed Sakarian by using him as a demonstration. He hadn’t liked me to begin with, and he doubtless hated me now.

  On the positive side of the balance book, maybe Batarian would conclude that I was more of a threat to him as a prisoner and would just let me go, which was all I’d wanted in the first place.

  Litarian led me to a much smaller room across the hall that looked like a little parlor. He nodded and then left me there—unguarded.

  Regardless of the outcome of their meeting, I was going to find a way to get to the Cimice and destroy them. If I had to sneak away in the middle of the night, then I would.

  At this point killing the creatures before they arri
ved in Chicago was my priority. If Batarian never released my wings, then I could probably find another way to do so. Surely Lucifer—or one of his brothers—could overcome the magic binding the ropes.

  It would be annoyingly inconvenient in the meantime, but I couldn’t wait here much longer for Batarian to get his head on straight. I’d already been more than polite.

  There was a long sort of sofalike thing made of branches that stretched out against a wall. I lay down on it. My mind was racing, and I was still pumped full of energy from using my magic during the battle with the Cimice. I didn’t think I would be able to sleep, but almost immediately I drifted off. My body knew what it needed even if I didn’t.

  My baby fluttered inside me. My son. The last tangible evidence that I had of my beloved. In my mind were Gabriel’s eyes, Gabriel’s mouth, Gabriel’s touch. Gabriel’s voice whispering in my ear. For now and forever they would only be in my mind, only in my memory. Since he had died, I’d had only fleeting moments to remember.

  I chased monsters. I battled demons. I felt the shadow on my heart growing larger and larger with each passing day. But the grief was always there, the pain that was unyielding and unending. Even when I tried to hide from it, to find solace where I could, my sadness chased me down and overtook me.

  I woke with the wetness of my tears on my cheeks, salt in my mouth, and Litarian standing above me, an indefinable expression on his face. He held my sword in one hand.

  I sat up quickly, scrubbing my cheeks. “What did Batarian decide?”

  “Despite my arguments to the contrary, my lord feels you cannot be trusted,” Litarian said. “He has ordered me to bind all your limbs, heedless of any possible harm to myself, and remove you as far from the village as possible so you can do no damage here in retribution.”

  “Under normal circumstances I would consider that a threat,” I said, studying him carefully. “But I don’t think you’re going to carry it out.”

  “No,” he said. “I am not.”

  “You don’t agree that I am a threat to your village?” I asked.