The girl looks up at me. "You -"
"Alchemists can turn one thing into another, for a cost. Sometimes the cost is small, other times too great for the world itself to sustain. But we are real."
"You're a magician," She says slowly. "That was a magic trick."
"No. It was a trade. My hair for fire."
She's quiet, and I can see the cogs working in her like they do in so many others who learn the truth. She won't accept it, at first. None of them do. It takes much more than a little fire. But she'll forget it all soon, anyway, so it’s a moot point. I could show her more. So much more. She could learn, she could see my world for the wonder it really is with those sharp eyes and her strong will. I haven't taken interest in a human for centuries. But here before me stands the one exception.
Reeves' hand flashes. He lunges for her, and I close my eyes.
This is for the better. She is safer unknowing.
Her gasp lasts a half-second. And then something I haven't seen in three hundred years happens - Reeves is evaded. She ducks to the side just as he grabs for her arm, the needle glinting. Reeves' usually placid face is just as shocked as he stumbles forward. The needle goes skittering across the floor, and the girl darts for the front door. Her instincts are well-honed - whetted to a razor point in a way only a life of adversity can make.
She moves quick, but I move quicker. I tear off my gold cufflink and throw it on the ground.
"Anima!" My bellow echoes. The gold link splits in half, elongating rapidly to become two gold ropes that strike out with the speed of vipers. One binds itself around the girl's legs, the other around her arms, tying themselves in tight knots. The thud of her body against the marble resonates.
"Shit!" She swears. I grab the needle from the ground and stride over to her. "Fuck you!" She spits and swears, and as I collect her in my arms I can only admire her fire. She fights like a hellcat backed into many, many corners. Her own fire stokes an ember of passion in me I long thought dead. But I quash it.
"You will not remember me," I say as I sink the needle into her vein. The orange liquid disappears into her. "This is for the best. Goodbye, little firebird."
She fights it, fights me, pushing against my chest even as her eyelids flutter shut. In sleep she looks peaceful in a way she doesn’t when awake - the fierceness tamed by slumber, claws retracted. She may look peaceful, but she doesn’t look vulnerable. Even unconscious a fire burns around her, the air hotter above her skin. I put her gently on the ground.
Reeves clears his throat as he composes himself.
“Take her home,” I say to him, fishing a skeleton key from my breast pocket. Silver, shaped like a winding snake, and with dozens of tiny teeth, it can be used to open any mundane lock. Alchemists are smart enough to use alchemy-made locks, which are much harder to crack. Occasionally a mundane person will have an Alchemist lock on their house, but only by chance - say, if they move into a house that was previously owned by one. This girl, however, is not so lucky. Genevieve and I got into her apartment last night with a skeleton key, and it’ll do the trick again.
Reeves takes the key. A sudden bolt of pain sears through my insides, clawing its way up through my stomach and into my windpipe like acid and lava - no - molten iron and rocksalt in a wound. I clench my fists and double over, my fingertips starting to blacken where they are losing life.
“Sir!” Reeves kneels at my side, fatherly eyes ever-concerned. “You must take an infusion, and quickly.” His gaze darts to the girl. “It is a simple matter to test her. I have a very good feeling about her. Please, allow me.”
“Not…her,” I strain through clenched teeth.
“Darius? What is going on down here?” Genevieve’s voice resonates, and through my blurry vision I see her swoop down the stairs. “Darius!”
“Thank goodness, Madam.” Reeves murmurs. “You must infuse with him. Quickly.”
“I can’t, Reeves, you know that. I’m leaving. My plane is in an hour.”
“One last infusion can’t hurt, can it?” His tone is pleading. Genevieve puts a cool hand to my forehead and sighs. I twitch, the fever spasming across my chest.
“He needs his own Azoth,” She says. “I am dedicated to the Duke. To Darius, I am like drinking tea for a pneumonia when he needs to drink medicine.”
Her blue eyes dart to the girl lying on the ground. She walks over and puts her hand on the girl’s head. Genevieve is no homunculus, so she cannot smell Azoth as acutely. But Azoth-rich individuals such as herself always have a strange sense for their own kind. When she straightens, she returns to me and leans down to whisper in my ear.
“She will do, Darius. Stop being stubborn and take her. We cannot afford to lose you, not now. Not when the Mutus are growing stronger than ever.”
I feel my organs shrivel in on themselves, the greedy rot inside me feasting on my helplessness and anger. What would she know of losing people? She’s barely a hundred. I’ve lived her lifetime and a half-dozen more. I’ve lost dozens more to a dozen pointless wars just like the one brewing on the horizon. They forever end in loss for all sides. They end in pain and misery and broken hearts.
“I cannot bring…another innocent into our world,” I manage. Genevieve considers this, then leans down and kisses my forehead.
“There are no innocents, Darius,” She smiles as she stands and puts on her cat-eye sunglasses. “You saw to that long ago.”
Her heels clip on the marble as she leaves. Her brutal words run my heart through. My rage burns hotter than the pain for a split second, and then the room goes black.
PART FIVE
FIVE
Chapter 5
FIVE
Everything hurts and I’m dying.
No, that’s wrong. I’ve hurt worse. This is nothing compared to what Dad did on Fridays, when he drank the most.
My muscles throb with distant pain. I squint, bright sunshine streaming in through huge glass windows. The curtains are too fancy. These bedsheets are too soft and shiny to be mine. A pleasant smell wafts from the sheets that I can’t quite pinpoint. Everything’s cream and pale blue colored - except for the clothes I’m wearing. My red shirt and black jeans stand out like scabbed blood on a fresh hotel towel. I roll over and collide with something warm, something alive.
“Shit!” I hiss and scramble out of bed. Darius is asleep inches away from me, his long hair let loose. It spills over the pillows and his cheekbones in a white-gold waterfall. A faint scent of ash mixed with cloves rises from him, the same smell that permeates the sheets. Why the hell are we in bed together? I wrack my brain for memories, but they come in fragments - a giant mansion, Darius, hair turning into fire, ropes binding my hands and feet, a ludicrous story about alchemists and homunculus.
I rub my eyes and check beneath my jeans. My underwear is still on. I don’t smell of sex. I don’t have any bruises. So why the hell were we in the same bed?
I see my bag on a mahogany table nearby and grab it. I do a quick check - my wallet’s intact, my resumes are all here, and my phone’s okay, except it’s got a million texts on it from Ellie. I look at the date - I lost an entire night. I must’ve slept here. I quickly text her that I’m fine and I’ll be home soon.
I throw a glare at Darius, only to find he’s awake and staring at me with those hypnotizing gold eyes, his gorgeous face-half buried by the pillow.
“You drugged me again,” I snap. “Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you can go around drugging girls and trying to force yourself on them.”
“I didn’t -” He starts, voice morning-hoarse in a way that makes my toes curl. He stares at his hands like they’re not his own. “You - You have the Holy Blood.”
“What are you blabbering about?”
Darius stands, and walks over to me. I back up to the door and hold my bag between us.
“Don’t come any closer!”
He slows, his white suit crumpled, hazel eyes both darkened by fatigue and confusion. He’s the polar opposi
te of the chilly, put-together man I saw on top of the stairs yesterday.
“Reeves,” He murmurs. “Reeves must’ve - Damn him!”
“Look, it’s been fun playing psycho house with you and all, but I’m gonna go and report you to the police, now. See ya.”
I make it two steps out of the door and into the fancy hall before I bump into the dark-suited chest of Reeves, bearing a tray of soft eggs and perfectly browned bacon. He smiles.
“Ah, Miss. I trust you slept well?”
“Like a baby sleeping next to a serial killer. Later!”
“I wouldn’t leave just yet, Miss. We have things to discuss over breakfast.”
“Yeah well, you two can discuss them. I’m leaving. Now.”
I march down the staircase and across the marble entranceway. The second my hand touches the doorknob, a painful static shock runs through my bones. I yelp and pull away.
“What the fuck!”
“Miss,” Reeves’ voice echoes, and he stands over the banister looking down on me. “If you’d come upstairs, please. The three of us have things to discuss.”
“Did you booby trap the door, you crazy butler?” I point at him. “No, that’s fine. I can try the windows -”
“I wouldn’t if I were you, Miss. It will hurt more than the knob.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And if I come up there and do what you say? How do I know you guys won’t kill me?”
“Pardon me for saying so, but if we wanted to kill you, Miss, we would have done it already.”
We have a stare down, Reeves and I. His eyes are amused, never losing their professional, vaguely pleasant expression. He’s creepy - almost scarier than Darius. Keyword here being almost. I suck in a breath and finger the can of mace in my bag. I know firsthand how devastating a man’s anger can be. But I won’t let it get the best of me this time.
“So we talk,” I say slowly. “And then you let me go?”
“Of course,” Reeves smiles. I can’t read him at all.
I take the stairs one at a time. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. I’ve got places to be, and my roommate’s really worried about me.”
Reeves nods amiably and motions into the bedroom. I inhale and steady my quaking legs before I walk in. I can’t show these freaks fear, or they’ll pounce on it. Darius sits in a chair facing the window, and the window looks out onto the lawn and a massive cherry tree heavy with bright red fruit and a flock of sparrows. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail again, his mane tamed. His golden eyes take in the tiny movements of the birds, flickering intently as he follows them.
“You like birds?” I scoff. Darius looks up.
“You find that surprising?”
“Didn’t think bird-watching was high on the list of rich guys who can do anything they want in life.”
“I cannot do anything I want in life,” He says softly. “Because I’m not really alive.”
Curiosity is a horrible bitch. She makes me blurt questions quicker than I can think.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Sit.” Darius motions to the chair on the other side of the small table in front of him. The warm eggs and bacon are on the tabletop, begging to be in my belly. I haven’t eaten for at least ten hours. I sit and turn to glare at Reeves.
“You haven’t drugged this food, have you?”
Reeves gives a small chuckle. “No, Miss. That would be counter-productive.”
I study the eggs, then Darius. He’s observing me like I’m a fascinating artifact in a museum or something, and it’s not helping. I can feel my legs quaking with that damned heated attraction again. I thrust the plate of bacon at him.
“You eat first. That way, if it’s poisoned, we can both die together.”
“Tempting,” Darius quirks a fine, dark eyebrow. “But I refuse.”
“What, you’re a vegan or something?”
“I already ate. Unwillingly.” Darius shoots an acidic look at Reeves, who just smiles and bows.
“You were wasting away before my eyes, sir. I had little choice.”
“Get out,” Darius commands. “We’ll speak of this later, when I’m done with her. Prepare the car to take her home. This won’t be long.”
Reeves bows again and closes the door behind him.
“I’ll take the bus,” I raise my chin. “I don’t need your fancy car or your weird Igor driving me home. I got here myself and I can get back myself. I’m still freaked out you know where I live.”
“So you remember what happened yesterday? And the day before?” Darius asks coolly, and puts his chin in his hand.
“My mind is awesome. I mean, the University of Washington will probably tell you otherwise, but yes. I like to think I’m good at, you know, remembering incredibly odd things that happen to me. Like seeing a murder. Or being drugged. Twice.”
Darius gets up and sighs. He makes his way to the closet nearby and retrieves a sweater and jeans. It takes me four seconds after he’s removed his suit vest and shirt to realize he’s changing. He’s naked from the waist up. The hair on my back of my neck rises when I spot his bare skin - olive-tinted and sinfully toned. He rolls one of his broad shoulders to loosen it, the motion rippling his back.
“You have the Holy Blood,” He says, pulling a white shirt on and depriving the world of a very nice view. Of a serial killer’s stomach, I sternly remind myself.
“The what?”
“Everything I told you yesterday was true - Alchemists, the homunculi. All of it.”
“So…so the hair into fire thing -”
“Real.”
“And the weird ropes that came out of nowhere?”
“Made by trading gold.” He points to his suit’s jacket, where one cufflink is missing. The other is made of gold and shining brilliantly in the morning sun. I swallow hard.
“Fine. Say I believe you, and all this alchemy stuff is real.”
“It is real,” His voice insists flatly. I heave a sigh.
“Just for a second, pretend not everyone in the world believes what you believe, okay?”
He pauses in pulling a dark blue sweater on, giving me a narrow-eyed grimace over his shoulder. He thinks for a moment, gold eyes boring into me, then pulls the sweater all the way on.
“What an interesting notion. Very well. I’ll endeavor to pretend -” Darius drawls. “- That my world is not constantly threatening yours.”
“Great. Cool. So if all this stuff is real, why aren’t I dead?”
“Pardon?”
“The homunculi. If I’ve got this Holy Blood thing you said they’re after, why aren’t I dead?”
“In case you forgot, I killed the one that followed you from the club,” Darius says.
“No, I mean, before. You said they hunt the Holy Blood down. Why didn’t they hunt me down before I moved to San Francisco? I was in Idaho for years, and Washington for a year, and no one tried to kill me -”
I freeze, my words catching in my throat like barbed wire. It’s a lie. But I have to cover it up before he realizes it’s a lie. It’s my past. He doesn’t deserve it. No one deserves the horrible, dark thing lurking in me. Darius’ stare burns. The tension in the room grows until it’s a huge monster threatening to swallow us both. Finally, he looks away and begins unbuttoning his pants. I make an attractive squawking noise and look immediately out the window, my face burning and other parts of me throbbing unhelpfully as my brain races to fill in the gaps of what he looks like.
“I’m questioning the f-fabric of your reality and you’re worried a-about what pants you’re wearing?” I snap.
“Hardly,” He sniffs, sounding offended. “I simply find it irritating to be in the presence of others without proper attire.”
“I bet you tell that to all the ladies who’ve been in here before,” I scoff. I hear his exhale and the sound of a zipper going up.
“No woman has set foot in here,” he says. “You’re the first.”
My chest tightens weirdly. No way - a guy
like him? A guy as beautiful and magnetic as him? There’s no way he’s never -
“The Holy Blood doesn’t generate a smell to the homunculi until at least a decade of maturation inside the body,” He continues. “But it’s not uncommon for that maturation process to take longer. However, you’re what, seventeen?”
“Nineteen,” I set my jaw. “And a half.”
Darius’ chuckle throws me off-guard. The sound is so pleasant, like a warm, silken echo vibrating my body.
“Eager to be seen as mature, are we? Don’t be. The world of adults is nothing special.”
“I’m a totally capable adult already! I’ve paid my own bills since high school, I can clean better than a nitpicky grandma, I can cook anything that isn’t French or four-star -”
“Alright, alright,” Darius takes a breath as he sits in his chair, fully clothed. “Settle down, firebird.”
The name feels so strange - no one’s ever given me a nickname before. Dad never called me anything but ‘slut’ and ‘idiot’. Mom called me ‘sweetpea’ the first and last time I saw her - on that day she took me shopping at the mall - and it never felt sincere. But this nickname rings true, like Darius means it. Like it belongs to me. It feels right. I savor it but let it go quickly; nothing that feels right ever lasts. Not around me. It all goes to shit sooner rather than later, or I fuck it up, hard.
Darius takes what looks like a bar of rusted metal out of his pocket. It’s small, the size of a large paperclip. The rust coats it thick and fast. Some of it flakes off as he holds it out to me.
“Take it.”
“What is it?”
“A test.”
I grasp it. It’s cold, but slowly gets warmer the longer I hold it. And right in front of my eyes the rust starts to come off, like very old petals on a dried flower. First in small flakes, then in huge chunks, revealing a shiny coppery color beneath. Darius’ attention is riveted to it, and with every passing second as the metal becomes cleaner, his expression grows sharper. I shake the rust off my jeans and frown.