The Red Heart of Jade (33 page)

Miri struggled to look. At first all she could see was blood—so much blood it was a fight not to pass out. She held on, though, still staring, and beneath the wet mangle of flesh and fluids, she saw the glow, she saw red, she saw... stone.

“No,” she gasped.

“I should have known you,” Lysander whispered. “I should have recognized you the first time we met. I should have seen that spirit sleeping under your skin.”

“What is this?” Miri breathed. “What am I?”

“Treasure, sweet Mirabelle. “ The dragon leaned close, lips peeling back over his sharp teeth. “Do not be afraid. I will make this quick. All you have to do is tell me yes. Tell me yes, Mirabelle. Tell me yes and we can be together and I will give you power, and together, oh, the things we will do.”

“What will we do?” Miri whispered.

“Ah,” he said, still smiling. “Ah, Mirabelle. We will open the gate. We will find my brothers. We will remake the world.”

We will remake the world
, she heard again, though it was not Lysander’s voice, but another, older, the woman she had been in another life, and she realized that this was yet another circle, that this promise of power had been made before, and all that had happened from its acceptance was death, and yet more death.

“I don’t need you,” Miri told Lysander. “I don’t need you to give me anything.”

“No!” Lysander said, eyes black, teeth sharp. “Take me, Mirabelle. Accept me.”

Like hell
, she thought.

The dragon leaned close. Darkness seeped down his pale cheeks, curving and floating in the air, light as butterflies in smoke, dancing, dancing toward her face. Bad dreams, bad memories. Miri tried to scramble backward, but the pain was too much and she collapsed. A strong hand caught her shoulder, pinning her down. Claws bit. Miri thought,
I will not be chained, I will not be taken
, but the darkness poured from him and she felt it cover her like a terrible mask, an oily hood.

And then, behind Lysander, she saw movement. Dean. Rising from the ground with blood pouring down his face, stepping right up to the shape-shifter with his hands outstretched. Even as the dragon turned, Dean made an odd gesture with his hands, a pulling motion, and for a moment her vision flickered and she glimpsed energy pouring from the dragon into Dean.

You ‘re too late
, she wanted to tell him.
The shadow is gone, inside me
. But all she could do was listen as Lysander groaned. Her vision blurred; she tore her gaze away from Dean, focusing instead on the darkness surrounding her, and she felt it gather, she felt it enter, and she fought for her life.

But she was not strong enough, and it was an odd and terrifying thing, feeling her body succumb to another—a kind of rape, a violation, a horrible certainty that she was going to become nothing but a puppet, a thing, an
it
, some robot to another mind. She could see the strings and they were made of black smoke; she could feel the hands and they were black oil; she could see the face and gaze upon eyes of night.

She fell backward into the oubliette, and she knew what Lysander must have felt, what so many others had suffered with this creature—falling and falling inside an eternal dark that was effortless and overwhelming and cruel.

Yes
, said the shadow.
Yes, you remember
.

Miri did not respond. She did not play the game. Because the alternative was no mystery. She knew what would happen. She had already seen it; been used, in another life, as a tool for death, stealing lives and being stolen, turned into nothing but a receptacle for awful things. Only this time, she felt quite certain that the power this thing wanted was going to be harnessed for something larger and more terrible than murder. She knew it in her heart, she knew it like it was already a part of her, as though the memories and desires of the creature overpowering her mind were leaking into her consciousness.

We will remake the world
, she heard.
We will remake the world, and then we will break and bury it
.

No
, Miri thought.
No
.

But it was too late, and Miri remembered the woman dying, the woman being killed by the one she loved, and she remembered, too, that Dean had been told to do the same. She understood now. She was ready.

She only hoped that Dean was, too.

And... covered in words. Dean leaned close and saw a faint glow beneath the thin layer of blood pooling inside the cavity. A glow emanated from words, words that were inscribed upon...

At first he thought it was bone, but he looked closer and realized that not all that red was from blood. There was a stone there, too. Another stone, much like the pieces of jade discarded at her side.

Holy crap.

“No,” groaned a familiar voice. “No, you’re waiting too long. You need to end it now.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder. Lysander stared, blood trickling from his mouth. He looked more human now than dragon. His eyes were simple, golden— no light, no shadow, nothing sharp. Even his voice sounded different: deeper, softer.

“End it how?” Dean asked.

“With death,” said Lysander. “You must kill her before the darkness consumes her body.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Dean said. “I won’t kill her.”

“You don’t know what that thing has planned,” Lysander whispered. “You can’t begin to imagine what it will do once the Book is made whole.”

“Made whole in Miri?”

“Made whole with you. The both of you. The book has two halves. Two stones, two pieces. And once both are awakened...”

“I don’t understand,” Dean said. “How can I help Miri?”

“You can’t. Don’t you see? You must kill her, Mr. Campbell. You must kill her before she awakens. You are the only one who can. If you don’t, if she binds her side of the book to yours, all the power that is released will be raw, uncontrolled—and he will be there to harness it. He will be the first to claim it, and that is all that matters.”

Right. Dean had no idea what Lysander was trying to tell him, nor did he care. What mattered was Miri. Getting her free of the thing wrapped around her spirit.

She stirred in his arms and Lysander made a choking sound, a low weak cry. Dean ignored him, leaning close.

“Miri,” he whispered urgently. “Miri, are you there? Can you hear me?”

“I hear you,” she said, and opened her eyes. Dean bit back a gasp. Her eyes were black—entirely black, as though all the white had been torn away into shadow and he could find nothing of Miri in that gaze. It terrified him.

“Mr. Campbell!” Lysander shouted, struggling to rise. “Mr. Campbell, do not wait!”

“Oh, wait,” Miri said, and even her voice was different—slicker, with a cruel edge. “Wait, my love. Wait a little longer.”

Pain slammed into Dean’s chest. He cried out, and realized that Miri’s hand had crept up under his shirt while he listened to her. Her nails dug into his flesh, ripping at him like he was nothing more than tissue paper.

“Miri!” he gasped, trying to fight her off. “Miri, stop!”

But she only bared her teeth and kept clawing. Dean rolled, trying to dislodge her, but she held on tight and simply moved with him until she was on top. Her blood splashed his face, dripping off the glowing stone hanging between her breasts as she pushed up his shirt and ripped into him. Dean howled.

You know what you need to do. You know what the answer is.

“No,” he gasped aloud. No, no, no. Not that, ever. Let the world go to Hell, let her claw out his heart if she had to—he was not going to hurt her. He was not going to lift one hand against her body. He remembered— those dreams, those memories and visions—and once was enough. He was
not
that man.

And Miri was still in there. He knew it. Buried beneath that darkness was her spirit, and his girl was a fighter.

“
Bao bei, “
he said, voice breaking. “Bao bei, listen to me. Remember your grandmother. Remember Ni-Ni.

Remember
me
. I’m not gonna end this, sweetheart. I’m not gonna end this unless you help me. Please, Miri. Please, baby. Help me.”

For a moment nothing happened and he was tragically disappointed, but then he reached out for the energies still humming around him, for the golden light of the world, and wrapped himself in it and willed the same for Miri, pouring all his love and all that radiance across the bridge between their souls—that mysterious link, that line that had never existed for all those lost years—until now.

And he crossed the line again, slipping past the darkness, slipping deep into another struggling light. One step. He heard a howl rise around him, felt the immense and suffocating pressure of the spirit cutting into Miri’s soul, but he gave it up, ignored it all, and whispered,
Miri. Miri, please
.

You should have killed me
, she said, but there was no despair in her voice; only a hard cold practicality that he knew was born entirely from love.
Dean, he’s going to
use us both
.

Then he can use us
, Dean told her fiercely.
He can wipe his ass with the world for all I care
.

Dean
—

No
, he said.
Help me fight, or don’t but I didn’t come here to listen to all the reasons I should hurt you. That’s not me, and that’s not you. You don’t give up, Miri. Ever
.

Ever
, she echoed, and he felt her strength gather close and tight. Dean wrapped himself around her soul, pouring light, pouring energy, dragging threads from his body into hers as he pushed and pushed against the darkness. For a moment he thought it would work; he felt the creature loosen its grip, peel back— but then he felt something else, too, and Miri said,
Go
.
Go back to your body. Hurry, Dean
!

He hurried. Just a thought, and
boom
—crippling pain, blood, distant screams. Good old body. On his right, Lysander’s great white hulk lay still, silent, but that was only a glimpse, a distant dazzled recognition, because the night sky whirled around his head, circling and circling, spinning him around the face of a looming woman both unfamiliar and dear. Her chest glowed. He saw black, the edge of a sneer.

“She’s mine,” said the creature, Miri’s mouth twisting around the words. “And so are you.”

Dean glanced down at his chest, which was a shocking mirror of the one above him. He could feel its weight and burn. And yet, he could not muster the energy to be surprised or care. So what if there was rock inside his body? So what if he glowed? That was easy compared to the possibility of losing Miri.

Her body lowered itself against him, sliding close. Dean’s chest throbbed, his heart pounding as the two stones in their chests hovered only a breath apart. The expression on Miri’s face was hungry and sharp—not hers, not
her
—and Dean sucked in a mighty breath.

If she binds her side of the book to yours
, he remembered Lysander saying,
all the power that is released will be raw, uncontrolled, and he will be there to harness it. He will be the first to claim it, and that is all that matters
.

First to claim
, Dean thought, hearing those words rattle around his skull.
First to claim the power
.

Power that was energy, energy that was lines, lines that he could feel all around him, and that he had only just begun to learn how to use.

And he was still thinking about that when Miri—the creature possessing her—pushed their bodies together and touched the stones inside their chests. The pieces interlocked; he felt them slip into place like pieces in a puzzle and heard a click, a sound that entered his body like a key in a lock, tumblers turning and turning. Opening a door.

Their chests began to glow. From collarbone to solar plexus, their bodies shone with a soft light. Dean felt no pain, nothing at all, but there, right before his eyes, he watched as the flesh around the stones rippled, peeling away, smoothing out under the light soaking through the tops of Miri’s breasts, Dean’s chest, lapped up by bone and blood, until at the last, all that remained were words—the words that floated on their skin, skin that was stone, floating like butterflies burned red.

And then the power came. Dean felt the swell, a tidal wave from the world—and the darkness reached and reached. But Dean was ready and he took it first, grabbed it up like the thread it was, and he did not hesitate, did not think about the possibilities as he poured it into Miri, a pure clean fire, burning her spirit free of the shadow wrapped around her soul. He heard a scream, and then music, and he felt inside his mouth the flutter of wings. He let them out. He let them sing.

And the light disappeared.

Dean dreamed. He dreamed he stood inside a circle made of sand, only this time the bones were gone and he was not bound. There was no woman sobbing. Just light, just darkness. All very simple.

“So,” someone said behind him. “I guess you found another way.”

Dean turned. Rictor stood on the edge of the circle, arms folded over his chest.

“I never believed you anyway,” Dean said. “I still don’t.”

“You would have thought differently had you suffered the alternative. You got lucky, Mr. Campbell. That’s all.”

Dean studied him. “Why did you even bother? Was it because of that worm thing that possessed Lysander? You all hung up on that because of what happened to you in the Consortium?”

“Partially. They’re bad news.”

“And your other reason?”

Rictor smiled. “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust the woman. Together you have a lot of power, but if one of you dies, the problem goes away.”

“I don’t exactly consider that a good reason for killing the person I love.”

“It’s good enough for me,” Rictor said, moving backward into deeper shadow, slipping away and away, light sliding off his body like water. “And I think you’ll find I’m not the only one who feels that way.”

He disappeared and the circle vanished.

The next time Dean opened his eyes, it was in a very different place. There was a ceiling above him, for one thing, and he smelled bread and grease and, somewhere distant, heard the sharp clang of pots and pans. Voices, too, speaking an odd curling language that was not quite Chinese.

A gentle weight covered his body. Blankets. He was in a bed. And he realized, after a moment, that he was not alone.

Miri lay beside him. Her eyes were closed, her breathing sure and steady. He shifted his sight, soaking in the golden hum of her spirit, which was wonderfully, blessedly, alone.

Dean rolled onto his side, wincing as his chest burned. He peered down; bandages covered him, some of which were stained red. Dean pulled back the blanket and looked at Miri. She was wrapped up in much the same way. Both of them wore underwear and not much else.

“Miri,” Dean whispered, but received no response. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Dean scooted close and placed his ear to her chest, listening to her breathe. Sleeping Beauty. He kissed her, but she did not wake up.

“Come on,” he muttered. He needed to hear her voice. He needed to look into her eyes. “Don’t do this to me,
bao bei. “

“Do what?” Miri finally murmured, and cracked open an eye. A bright normal brown eye. Dean coughed down a sob and pressed his lips against her warm shoulder.

“Hey,” she murmured. “Hey, is it really over?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But God, Miri. Don’t do that to me again.”

“Okay,” she said, hoarse. “I’d hug you, but I think I might pass out.”

“We took a beating,” he agreed. “But I think we won.”

“We’re still alive. I guess that counts for something.”

“It counts for quite a lot,” said a strange voice, speaking from across the room. Dean tried to sit up, but before he could hurt himself too badly, a small pale hand touched his shoulder and pressed him back onto the bed. He looked up and saw golden eyes, black hair cut with silver, and a familiar round face etched with wrinkles.

“You,” he said. Long Nu. Dragon woman. Self-proclaimed guardian and leader of the shape-shifters. There was no good reason for her to be here, save one, and suddenly everything made a horrible kind of sense. He was just too tired to be surprised or angry.

“Wendy?” Miri said, and then stopped. “No, it can’t be. What are you doing here?”

“You know this woman?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Miri said. “And... apparently so do you. Oh, God. This isn’t going to be good.”

“I’m afraid not,” Long Nu said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “In fact, I can guarantee you might just want to kill me when I’m through speaking.”

“I think I want to kill you now,” Dean replied. It had been a long time since he had encountered Long Nu. More than a year at least, though he knew she occasionally dropped by the Agency’s main office to speak with Roland, one leader to another. Her presence here was just one more sign of Dean’s personal apocalypse. He did not know what the old woman was capable of; only, she was dangerous and very powerful. That, and she occasionally ate people. Much like someone else he knew.

“You’re Lysander’s mate,” he realized, feeling the pieces fall together. “You’re Bai Shen’s mother. You hired Kevin and Ku-Ku to kidnap Miri and Owen, and steal that jade.”

“Yes,” she said.

Miri made a small sound of protest. “You awful woman,” she said. “How could you betray Owen like that? How could you use us?”