Unborn (7 page)

“Or you could call a spade a spade and admit that we pussed out, Pierson,” Casey countered, still methodically wiping his blade across his pants.

“Hardly, Casey,” Pierson spat, his tightened features clearly displaying his disdain for Casey’s analysis. “We took the most logical route and did what needed to be done to protect the balance. We allowed them to sustain their lives by taking tiny pieces of light from the humans, and their kind no longer spread like wildfire. This plan has been in effect ever since, and it has worked brilliantly—”

“Until now,” Kierson said flatly, finishing his twin’s sentence for him.

“And that is why you think there is a problem. You think this tenuous agreement that you struck with the Stealers has been dishonored? That what you’ve allowed them is no longer enough?” I asked.

“It’s possible,” Kierson replied. “That’s exactly what happened tonight—he broke the treaty. What we have to figure out is why, if there is a ‘why’ at all. And fast.”

“What were the exact conditions of the agreement you set forth with these Stealers?” I asked, curious as to how creatures so potentially dangerous to the balance could be allowed to exist at all.

“They had to willingly relegate themselves to one location; we chose Detroit for several reasons, not the least of which was its inherently seedy nature. They also had to agree to no longer remove an entire soul when they fed. Ever,” Pierson informed me, his tone serious. “If they did not abide by those rules, the punishment was to be instant death. We would then make an example of their death to their fellow Breathers so that such an infraction would not occur again.”

“That is all? Those Stealers still alive at the end of the war all agreed to those terms?”

“Most did. Those that didn’t . . .” Kierson hedged.

“We made examples of,” Casey sneered. He seemed more than happy to make that point clear. I assumed he had particularly enjoyed carrying out that punishment.

“So how do they survive now? They live on partial souls?”

“They take bits and pieces of their victims. Tiny parts of the light from each of them—a happy memory, a special feeling—not enough for that individual to really notice, although it seems whatever is taken is gone forever. I doubt the victims ever knew they’d had it to begin with. With all the darkness already in this city, we figured it was as safe a place as any to allow them to live, knowing that their food source would be scarce at best.”

“Ain’t much happy in Detroit anymore. It’s a great diet plan,” Casey drawled before getting up and walking away from our gathering altogether. Something appeared to be vexing him greatly.

“Until now, our agreement stood. The Stealers weakened over time to become what we now refer to as Soul Breathers, a sad and lesser version of their former selves. They look sickly from the lack of full and intact souls in their diet, their skin sallow and cheeks gaunt. Most humans assume they are either ill with a terminal disease or that they are junkies. Either way, they pass in society without scrutiny, and that is what we wanted.”

“What will happen if tonight’s occurrence is not an isolated one?” I asked, thinking that it was not an impossibility.

“Then,” Drew started, walking toward me slowly, “there will be war in Detroit.”

“How can we ascertain whether or not this is already the case?”

“We have ways,” Pierson stated, his tone haughty and superior. It was clear that he was not about to elaborate on his statement, and I lacked the energy or desire to demand it of him.

Drew stood before me, his hands resting gently upon my shoulders. A smile painted his expression pleasant, though I could sense he found nothing enjoyable about the conversation. It was all a show for my benefit; one that was neither necessary nor appreciated.

“It will all be fine. We’ll get to the bottom of this quickly so that we can get back to the bigger issue at hand here, which is figuring out what happened to you and how to keep you safe from whatever may be coming for you. Okay?” I nodded. “Good. Now I want you to sit and relax for a bit. I know you’re no stranger to violence, but witnessing the taking of innocent life is never easy or pleasant.”

“I didn’t let her see,” Kierson said SKie align=softly. “I made her go around the corner. I just . . . I couldn’t let her see.”

“Good thinking, Kierson,” Drew praised before turning to Pierson. “I need to make a call. I’ll be outside for a minute if you need me. I’m putting you in charge of rounding up intel on this. Don’t let me down.” With that, he left, walking toward the staircase as Casey had only minutes before, though it was clear Drew planned to return. Casey did not.

I looked around the vast balcony, only to see that the other member of our party, the one who liked to lurk in the shadows, was missing.

“What of Oz?” I asked, wondering if this was a matter in which the PC would find him useful.

“What about him?” Kierson replied, looking more perplexed than usual.

“Where is he? Should he not be a part of this?”

Kierson shrugged.

“Oz does what he wants, when he wants. There’s no counting on him for anything—other than being a bastard most of the time.” He smiled at me deviously, leading me to believe he was pleased at the insult he’d slung at Oz, who was conveniently not there to defend himself. I nearly returned his expression.

“So what are we to do in the interim while we await word from Drew?”

Kierson’s smile spread wider, containing more mischief than it had only moments before. His eyes betrayed him as he glanced over the railing to the dance floor below and the undulating mass of bodies moving with the pulsating rhythm that seemed to enliven the entire building.

“I do not like what you are insinuating,” I warned, taking a step back from him.

“C’mon, lighten up a bit. It’s not like we can do anything else about this debacle right now, anyway. Let’s have a drink. Relax. You know, have fun?” But I knew not of the fun he spoke. It was not a part of my life, and, judging by his response, that fact was inevitably written across my face. “Ugh . . .” he sighed, his shoulders rounding in defeat. “Fine, at least come get a drink with me at the bar. I need to unwind a bit.”

I watched as the sadness he held deep within surfaced, flashing in his eyes for only a second before it withdrew yet again. If companionship was what he needed, I could give him that much. He may have saved my life that night. For that, I would reward him with what he requested.

“A drink,” I replied tightly, making sure he knew that dancing or any other such nonsense was not going to occur.

“Excellent.” Taking my arm in his, he led the way to the stairs, not bothering to acknowledge Pierson before leaving. It appeared that he was busy anyway. “What’s your poison?” he asked when we reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Excuse me?”

“Your drink of choice? What will you have?”

I was uncertain how to answer him. While in the care of both Demeter and Hades, I primarily drank water and, on occasion, ambrosia. Nothing more. However, I was under the distinct impression that he was not suggesting either of those.

“You may order for me. Whatever you have will suffice.”

Our destination was on the far side of the mob before us, and I cringed at the thought of having to navigate through them all, their sweaty stench already offending me from where I stood. Without time to relay those concerns to Kierson, he took my hand and pulled me behind him as he cut his way through the mass with ease. Though I was loath to admit it, there was something strangely appealing Sly ed me behbeing surrounded by the dancing horde, swallowed up in their debauchery. I had not expected to find it so amenable.

It reminded me of home.

When we arrived, Kierson leaned forward against the waist-high barricade, and a scantily clad woman in black leather came over to him immediately, ignoring the protestations of the others attempting to procure a drink.

“How’s it going, Special K?” She was intoxicated by him, his mere presence alone enough for her to nearly fall to her knees in service of him. When he winked at her in response, she bit her lip and inhaled deeply.

“I need the usual, Trina,” he shouted to her over the music. “Two of them.”

It was only then that her eyes fell on me, and the change in them was instantaneous. Seductive desperation turned to pure hatred. I knew that look well.

“Who’s this?” she asked, barely able to keep the venom in her tone at bay.

“This? This is my sister, Khara.”

Again, the transformation in her expression took only a second.

“Oh . . . it’s nice to meet you, Cara,” she replied with a disingenuous smile.

“It’s Kah-ruh,” I said slowly in the hopes that her tiny mind could process my words.

“Right . . . sorry. Two whiskeys comin’ up!”

While she went about pouring the drinks, I turned my back to her so that I could better observe the crowd. I liked to know what was going on around me, and had learned long ago that it was best not to turn your back on the unfamiliar. It tended to have unenviable consequences. As I scanned the vast room, I saw Oz on the far end, making his way to the upper level. True to form, he was not alone.

I soured at the sight of him, still wondering what made him valuable enough to my brothers to tolerate his unwelcome presence. Everything about him was repugnant, from his disgruntled nature to his flagrant sexual exploitations. What made me wonder further was why his behaviors seemed offensive to me at all. I was raised around men like that. They were everywhere to be found in the Underworld, but there was something particularly off-putting about those behaviors when they came from him. Perhaps what caused them to be so disarming was the fact that they came from a Light One—a revered being, according to Kierson—who one would expect to be both noble and pure.

Whatever the reason, I did not enjoy the feeling at all.

“Here you go,” Kierson shouted, handing me a tiny glass containing an amber-colored liquid. “Down the hatch.” He lifted his strange little glass into the air before putting it to his lips and swallowing the contents of it in one drink. Sensing that it was a custom of sorts, I mimicked him, taking the entire mouthful of whiskey down in one swallow.

The fire I felt in response made me choke, gagging and fighting for breath.

“Jesus, Khara!” Kierson yelled, bending down to meet my face while I fought to purge myself of the liquid fire. “Have you never done a shot before?”

“Is that not obvious?” I wheezed between breaths.

I heard him bark at the woman behind the bar to get him some water quickly, and soon I found myself emptying the glass he handed me in only seconds. Feeling remotely better, I motioned toward the staircase that wound its way up to the second floor and started in that direction, pushing my way through the unrelenting crowd. The task seemed far more taxing than I had bargained for. Kierson had cut through it with such Sit ire ease and grace; I, however, did not.

I could hear him shouting my name as he followed me, but I did not stop to acknowledge him. I felt ill and wanted nothing more than to go to the restroom and expel the foul beverage from my stomach. Waiting for him was not part of my plan.

Once I made it to the stairs, I took them two at a time, feeling the burning sensation start to rise in my throat. Pierson eyed me strangely from the couch as I sped past him to the private bathroom on the far end of the space. Kierson continued to follow me until I waved him off, insisting that I was fine. His guilt was nearly palpable.

Without hesitation, I burst through the bathroom door, my brow starting to sweat, and I turned right around the corner in search of a sufficient outlet for what was about to escape me. Instead, what I saw stopped me dead in my tracks. Though it should not have surprised me in the least, I still had not expected the scene that played out before me. How quickly I had become sensitized to the normalcy of the human domain. Had I stumbled upon sex of that nature in the Underworld, as I so often did, I would not have faltered. But that night, I did.

One sweep of the bathroom door had hammered me with reality.

I looked straight ahead, beyond the two fornicating against the sink before me, to find a pair of intense brown eyes staring back at me from the mirror in front of him. As Oz thrust himself repeatedly and unrelentingly into the female of the evening, his gaze remained firmly fixed on me through the reflective surface. Unmoving, I looked on as he punished his whore, slamming her hips into the cold porcelain sink. He pushed her face away from him as she craned her neck around, seeking his mouth.

Never the mouth.

Expressionless and brutal, Oz embodied his very essence even in his sexual encounters. It made something in the pit of my stomach seize. He belonged in the Underworld with the rest of the depraved souls that served my father; such brazen acts were rampant there. I knew much about them, having looked upon those activities from a very young age. At times, I found myself involved in them. But something was different this time—something unexpected.

No longer able to engage his stare, I turned and left the sobering sight, returning to find a seat on the couch next to Kierson. I sat in silence, my whole body sweating. As I tried to calm my stomach, I found myself unable to erase the vacant yet hateful expression Oz had worn in the bathroom from my mind. Something about it was inexplicably puzzling and uncomfortable. My cells felt discordant, out of harmony with their neighbors, and my skin prickled and burned.

I assumed it was an effect of the whiskey.

“Do you feel any better, Khara?” Kierson asked, putting his arm around me. “I’m really sorry about that. I figured since you grew up where you did that, you know, you’d probably had worse than a little Jack Daniels before.”

“I am fine,” I replied, my words clipped and abrupt. A direct effect of my battle with the alcohol, no doubt.

“Okay,” he said cautiously. “But you don’t look so good . . .”

“As I said, I am fine, though I think I would like to leave, if that is permissible. My head is throbbing, and that infernal pounding reverberating through this building is making it worse. I hardly see how you can tolerate it on such a regular basis, let alone once you have imbibed such a hideous drink.”