Jackson Pearce - Cold Spell

“Come on,” she called to Kai as the valets came to open their doors. Kai stepped out, looking dazed as Mora walked around the back of the car to meet him. She frowned—he’d need new clothes, and soon; he looked shabby next to the car, the hotel, and Mora’s silk dress. One of the doormen hurried to offer her his woolen coat—her shoulders were bare and exposed to the snow that was falling hard, clinging to the hotel windowsills like strips of icing. She waved the doorman off, pretending to shiver, and cursed herself again for leaving the white fur coat at Kai’s house. Another could be bought, of course, but it was the convenience of the thing. She nodded for Kai to follow her, and they pushed through the dark oak doors and into the lobby.

Mora stopped, her knees locking as the memory hit her. Memories were strange for her now—just as she thought she had them all gathered up, under control, a new one would appear like a ghost from her former life. This time it was brought on by the smell of this particular hotel—like wine and floor wax and years of perfumes and cigars passing through. Kai stopped obediently beside her, waiting for her direction. He’s coming along nicely , she thought.

“I stayed at this hotel when I was a teenager,” Mora told him as the memory took shape in her head. She looked across the lobby. It reminded her of vintage dresses, pearl jewelry—pale pinks and creams and golden accents. There were pillars every few yards along the wall, leading up to a coved ceiling with inlaid carvings and stained-glass skylights. Someone played a grand piano at the far end of the lobby, classic songs that cut over the hum of conversation, the people in suits shaking rocks glasses, women with dangly earrings laughing. “It was for a wedding, I think,” Mora continued, staring at a woman in a white cocktail dress. “Perhaps. Sometimes I can’t tell what I’ve imagined and what’s real.”

“Why can’t you remember?” Kai asked. His voice was hard, and if Mora were being entirely honest with herself, she’d admit she preferred the softer version, the one he used with Ginny. She rolled her eyes for thinking that, then answered.

“Because that life is long gone. It’s like trying to remember something that happened when you were a baby. I remember… I remember that they made me go to the wedding with one of my father’s friends. He was older than me, but he was rich. He was going to be a congressman, they said. I’m not sure if he became one or not—it was after I left. But oh, they wanted me to marry him so badly. I think my father would have paid him to give me a ring.”

“But he didn’t?” Kai asked. Mora shook her head, regretting saying the memory aloud.

“He knew I didn’t love him. There was another boy I wanted….” Mora’s eyes lingered on the piano player for a long time. “He played the piano.”

“A musician,” Kai said a little coyly, mistaking the seriousness in her voice for teasing. “I see why I’m here now.”

Mora laughed a little, the sound broken and cheap. “Yes. He was brilliant, though, better than this one.” She waved a dismissive hand at the pianist in the lobby as they passed him, moving toward the front desk. “But musicians aren’t stable. Musicians aren’t good choices. Musicians become poor drunks, whereas politicians become wealthy ones, according to my father. I loved him, though, loved him like he was air or water or the sun—”

Mora swallowed. It was easier, back when she didn’t remember him. She stopped, turned to Kai, and ran her fingers along his cheekbone for a moment, a tender gesture that made a few people at nearby tables giggle in amusement. Kai was like the other boy, the one she loved. Talented. Beautiful. But the difference, the biggest difference, was that Kai would never stop being hers. The thought helped dull the ache of what happened with the other boy.

The boy she loved. The boy who broke her heart.

Kai turned his head to kiss Mora’s fingers, a scandalous look in his eyes. She withdrew her hand just before his lips touched her skin; the act made Kai follower even closer behind her as she continued walking, hungry for her attention.

“My sister was here, too,” Mora said. The memories of her family were less paralyzing, easier to talk about. “We shared a room. She had her own date, with some other rich man. My sister liked it, honestly. She wanted a house and a baby and dinner parties and boats. Maybe that’s why she was the one who got killed. She hadn’t learned to fight like I had.” Mora shook her head and looked at Kai’s raised eyebrows. “That’s the way it works. Twins are two bodies with a shared soul. One of us had to die.”

“Who killed her?” Kai asked, voice raspy—perhaps he was too new to hear this tale.

Mora stopped by an enormous arrangement of red roses, tilting her head to the side. “Have you ever had nightmares, Kai? About men who are monsters? Monsters who are men?”

He nodded faintly.

“That’s what killed my sister. They’re called Fenris. They’re monsters, demons, creatures who eat girls—”

“Beasts,” Kai said breathlessly—his voice was softer now. “My grandmother called them beasts.”

“Ah,” Mora said, sounding impressed, though she wasn’t exactly shocked—every few years she ran into someone who knew about the Fenris. “Well, the Fenris killed my sister, so the single soul she and I shared was fractured. It’s easier to turn someone broken like that into something dark, like them.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was quiet. “I could feel myself changing, forgetting my old life with my family. So I went to this beach we used to vacation at, because I was sure the ocean was the only thing big enough to make me remember. To make me feel again.” She shook her head and looked up at the stained-glass ceiling, imagining for a moment that the watercolor-like swirls of glass were waves above her. “That’s why all girls like me wound up there. We were ocean girls, adopted sisters, waiting to become as dark as they are. The Fenris waited until I was a shell, barely a living thing, then pulled me out of the water. They made me theirs.” She forced her eyes back to Kai, gritted her teeth, and pleaded with her head to make the memory stop. It didn’t work.

“What did they do to you?” Kai asked in shock.

“They kill their mortal lovers,” Mora explained delicately. “So they need girls like me. They make us monsters, like them. They make us theirs. But you have to understand, Kai—I thought it was a curse, what happened to me, but it was a blessing. I was freed. Just like I’m freeing you.”

“From what?” Kai asked, rubbing his temples as if he was waking up. Mora glanced at his arms and noticed chill bumps rising, then followed his line of sight over her shoulder. The roses in the vase, bright red and fully bloomed. He was staring at them, squinting now. Mora reached forward, grasping his hand forcefully. It was hot and sticky to her, and it was all she could do not to grimace at the feeling.

“From being mundane,” she whispered, standing on her toes to bring her lips close to his ear. “From being ordinary.”

“From Ginny. Where’s Ginny?” Kai lifted his eyes to meet hers, and they were gold—too gold for comfort, too gold for Mora to overlook them. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Kai’s mouth was soft and gentle against hers; it felt as if she could crush him. She kissed him, licked at his lips, and slid her hand along his thigh until she finally felt his skin grow cold. When she pulled away, his eyes were dark, his skin fairer, a shade that matched her own.

“Come on,” she said, motioning toward the front desk. “Michael and Larson have probably finished circling the building. I want to be in the room once they get here.” She’d asked them to check the area for signs that the Fenris were nearby, that they’d followed her. They were in Atlanta, closer to her than she would have liked—she was almost certain they were responsible for the body found by Kai’s building. If she hadn’t taken Kai when she did, they’d probably have smelled her, if not seen her….