“One woman responsible for the world,” she breathed, her pain so palpable, so much mine, I could feel the burn of her tears in my own eyes.
“That’s not the point,” I whispered, wanting desperately to touch her. “Just the tagline.”
“And?”
And, I was going to lose my dignity. I was going to lose myself in her grief, if I stayed here one moment longer. “The point is to do good. To do the things no one else can do but you. Because of who you are.”
“A Hunter,” she said.
“Jean Kiss. Hunter Kiss.” I swallowed hard, filled with memories. My grandmother—her future self—had given me a similar lecture under the hot sun of the Mongolian steppes. I had been lost in time. Lost in every way. But she had been my anchor.
“You’re not alone,” I said.
Jean held my gaze. “And you, in your time?”
I smiled faintly. “It worked out.”
Silence drew thin and piercing between us, until finally she whispered, “If you do this wrong, a lot of people will suffer. Not just those kids, but their families.”
“That’s why I need your help.”
“A lot of people need help,” she muttered, wiping her eyes as both Zees rolled from the shadows bearing small bags. “But the Black Cat is something else.”
“You said it’s complicated.”
“She owns people. The right people. She specializes in compromising situations.”
“And that matters during wartime?”
“Wars don’t last forever. And some indiscretions are worse than others.”
I studied her. “You’re not telling me everything. Why did she tattoo those children?”
“All I’ve heard are rumors. No one wants to talk about her, not even the kids. And I’ve tried. She gets a hold on people. Not just with fear, but something deeper.” Jean made a hooking motion with her finger, and slashed the air. “You stop owning yourself when you work for that woman. The tattoo is her way of cementing the bond. She’s covered in them. Each one a life she controls.”
“You knew this, and you let those kids near her?”
Jean gave me an angry look. “It’s not like they asked for permission. And I wasn’t their babysitter. It just happened. You do what you can to survive. I’m sure she made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
“Most predators do,” I retorted.
Jean pushed away from the door and snatched up the bags that both Zees had left on the floor. The little demons watched her silently. She pointedly ignored them.
“With or without you,” I said.
She did not answer me. Just fished into the cloth bag and pulled out a handful of thin metal rods no longer than my pinky.
“Flint,” Jean said absently, as though she hadn’t heard me. “More valuable than gold around here. Inflation has made cash almost worthless. People have to trade for goods. Canned food is always worth something. Just one of these flint rods, plus a couple tins of sardines will help the Bernsteins get back on their feet.”
She began to leave, and hesitated, looking down at the floor, her hand on the knob, the wall—anywhere but at me. “Take a nap. We can’t leave until dawn.”
I did not ask where we would be going. “Thank you.”
“Not yet,” she said roughly, opening the door. “Not until everyone gets out of this alive.”
She left. I stood for a long time, hearing her voice echo. Reading words inside my mind.
Save them.
I just wished I knew how.
Chapter 7
Aaz brought me a blanket and pillow, which I tossed on the floor. I tried to sleep—and I suppose I did, fitfully—because I would close my eyes only to open them with odd visions haunting my brain: Grant, his large hand sinking warm through my breastbone to hold my heart; or old man Ernie, covered in rivulets of blood that wriggled like red worms upon his stained white shirt, coiling tight until they resembled the tangled outlines of roses. And in another dream, the last, I found myself a giant, colossal as a mountain, sitting naked and cross-legged upon a peninsula while watching the pinprick lights of a distant city glitter far below me like stars. If I breathed hard I would call down storms. If I wept, I would flood the plains. If I cracked my knuckles, earthquakes would rip through the mountains and collapse stone upon the city. I knew this. It made me afraid, and excited.
Frigid air caressed the back of my neck. I turned, ever so carefully, only to discover a pair of immense golden eyes floating within a sinuous trail of smoke. Blinking lazily at me. Smiling, even, but with cold and bitter humor. Lightning flashed within its body, burning with symbols: knots and coils, and tangled hearts.
We are both Gods, whispered the golden-eyed creature. But they do not see us.
Unless we make them, it added, moments later.
I woke up. Drenched in sweat. So nauseous I slid my hand over my mouth, fighting not to gag. My temples throbbed, and my neck was sore. Mildew seemed to crawl up my nostrils.
I forced myself to take deep breaths; listening, as I did, to gentle murmurs from the apartment below me. Jean sprawled on the couch. I could not tell if she was asleep, but red eyes glinted, and I heard the soft familiar crunch of jaws tearing through metal. Dek and Mal, coiled close to my head, began kneading my shoulders.
My dreams lingered, especially those golden eyes. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe.
But my gut hurt. And when both Zees crept close, watching me carefully, there was something old and knowing in their gazes that only made me feel more ill.
I grabbed my Zee and dragged him close, pressing my mouth to his ear. “What are you hiding?”
His breath was hot as fire, but he said nothing and pulled away. Pulled me, too, and I rose carefully to my feet. Trying to be silent, though the floor creaked beneath me. Jean stirred, and glanced at me. Not a trace of sleep in her eyes.
“I need air,” I said quietly. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Be careful of soldiers,” she replied.
I was more careful of not making noise on the stairs. Soft steps, hugging the wall. Wooden splinters covered the second-story landing, but the largest had been swept into a neat pile. No more door, just a white sheet pinned in its place. I paused for a moment, thinking of young Ernie resting on the other side of that thin cloth. My hands felt warm for a moment with the memory of his old-man blood.
Hot outside, but there was a light breeze and no mildew scent. I stood on the stoop, inhaling as deeply as I could, again and again, until my nausea faded. Dek and Mal hummed against my ears: Kenny Loggins’s “Danger Zone.”
Several hours left before dawn. It was very dark outside. I listened carefully, but heard nothing except my heartbeat, and the faint scrape of claws as my boys rolled free of the shadows around my feet. I sat down on the steps, taking in the night. It was 1944, but this could have been a quiet street sixty years from now. Some things were not bound by time.
Like me.
“The Black Cat,” I said to Zee, rubbing my knuckles as Raw and Aaz prowled around my ankles. “I need to know more about her. Like why she’s so tough my grandmother won’t take her out.”
“Told you,” Zee replied. “Connections.”
“That’s not enough when kids are getting hurt, and you and I know it.”
The little demon leaned close, rubbing his cheek against my arm. “Different mothers, different hearts.”
“Not that different.” I ran my gloved fingers through the thick spines of his hair. “Just not confident. Not tested enough to be sure of how far she can push. I remember what that feels like. And you…. You came to her when she was still young. You left her alone in the world when she was just a kid.”
“All kids. Every mother.” Zee spat, and the acid in his saliva burned a hole in the stone steps. “No choice.”
Bullshit, I wanted to say. You could give us all more time.