Sugar Hearts

Many thanks to Pudding333 and Girl in a Tree for their lovely reviews! Your words are so very appreciated. I hope you enjoy this new part.

Sugar Hearts

Part Two

As he ambled along the icy sidewalk, Marzi hummed Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Snowflakes”. Once, when he and Pepper were children, they had absolute belief in that melody’s ability to cause snow, and sung it every time they wanted school to be cancelled by a convenient blizzard. Of course, that was before. Before he discovered he had no magical control over the world. Before Pepper became frightened by just how much control she did have.

Marzi worried about Pepper. He worried about the way she buried herself in her work, the way she lived her life like one of her own creations – a sugar bird in a glass cage. The world had so much to offer. Music to hear, lovers to meet, sensations to explore. He hated to think of his sister reaching the end of her days with nothing to comfort her except the neat, orderly memories of a job well done.

The December wind tore at the edges of his coat, and Marzi felt its chill fingernails scrape across his bare chest. Hastily, he ducked into the shelter offered by the narrow gap between two buildings, before taking out the box Pepper had given him. With practiced ease, Marzi ripped open the pouch of cocoa and dried chilies, and tapped a little of the powder onto his tongue. Then he waited for the mixture to take effect. After a few seconds, waves of warmth washed through his body, and his shivers transformed into soft, shuddering ripples of pleasure. Marzi’s eyes rolled back, and his lips parted, allowing a slight gasp to escape. “God bless my sister. God bless you, Pepper.”

Then, thoroughly protected against the cold, he resumed his stroll.

Eventually, Marzi’s travels brought him to his favorite club. Outwardly unassuming in appearance, and virtually unknown to tourists, Inferno remained a jealousy guarded secret among certain segments of the local underworld. Only a flight of stairs leading downward betrayed any hint of its existence. As Marzi approached, Jaye – the rather delicious piece of muscle stationed at the top of the stairs – greeted him with a friendly nod. “Back again, Marzi?”

“Nothing could keep me away.” Again, Marzi reached into his pocket and pulled out the box of candy. “Look, my sister packed me lunch. Care for a sample?”

After a quick survey of the box’s contents, Jaye selected one of the hallucinogenic rum balls. “Thanks. But I’d better save this until after I get off work.”

“Work’s a bitch,” Marzi conceded. “I salute the people who do it. Have a good night, Jaye.”

“You too, Marzi.”

Leaving Jaye behind, Marzi descended the stairs, only pausing to smile approvingly at the neon words mounted above the door. Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.

Then Marzi pushed open the door and entered Inferno.

Bursts of color and sound exploded against his senses, as if trying to blast away any memory of the club’s plain exterior. Lights flashed like indoor fireworks, and Marzi could feel the booming beat of the music, vibrating up through the floor, up through his boots, up through the rest of his body. Marzi grinned. With a careless shrug of his shoulders, he slipped out of his velvet coat, and tossed it under one of the tables near the entrance. Then he began to work his way across the rim.

A large dance floor took up most of the club, sunk even deeper into the ground, like a pit where damned souls writhed. The rim that ran around its top provided tables and chairs for those who wished to sip drinks while watching the action taking place below them. And, even higher than any of that, was a very private balcony where Kale, the club’s enigmatic owner, occasionally came to check on his investment. Raising his eyes for a quick glance, Marzi felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Kale making one of his rare appearances.

Most people knew very little about Kale, although that certainly didn’t keep them from speculating. Few of them doubted that he was one of the city’s more powerful crime bosses. But the majority would have argued against the assertion that he carried demon blood in his veins. Marzi, however, had seen Kale up close, and Marzi believed. Nothing short of demon blood could fuel the fire that flickered in Kale’s green eyes. Nothing short of demon blood could cause the molten fluidity of his smile. Nothing short of demon blood could have made Marzi fall so hard and so fast, another angel caught off-guard by hell’s terrible majesty.

But there was only one way to get to Kale. And, as far as Marzi knew, no one who had returned from it felt inclined to share any details.

Driven by a new sense of determination, Marzi descended into the pit. Familiar dancers reached out to touch him as he passed, or pressed kisses to his cheek, the music too deafeningly loud to allow any spoken words. Marzi returned their greetings with equal affection. Then, when he had found a spot clearly visible from Kale’s balcony, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the music.

Slowly, Marzi raised his hands. Felt the notes strike his fingertips like drops of rain. This was his birthright, this was his magic – this was as close as he came. He couldn’t cast spells. But sometimes, lost deep in the music, he could sense the universe’s energy passing through him. And he craved it. The same way that Pepper, in her own modest way, must crave the powers she channeled into her candy.

The music swirled around Marzi, like waves of sound breaking against his body, and he let himself be moved by it. No will, no conscious thought. Just hips grinding, just torso swaying, just flesh caught in the ebb and flow of an eternal tide. The mixture of cocoa and chilies was still affecting him, and he could feel droplets of sweat trickling down his bare chest. Could feel strands of his own drenched hair whip back across his face when he snapped his neck in time to the beat. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was the dance.

Until, breathless and slightly drunk on his own exhaustion, Marzi was forced to stop. Hesitantly, he glanced up at Kale’s balcony. And found it empty.

Marzi sighed. But he wasn’t someone who clung to disappointment. Shrugging to himself, he pushed back a few stray strands of hair, and headed for the stairs, intent on obtaining a drink.

Only to find that, by the time he reached the rim, a woman was waiting for him. Attired in a dark suit, she stood out from most of the club’s less conservatively dressed patrons, and when she beckoned to him with a simple curling of her finger, Marzi assumed that Chicago’s ever-vigilant police force had dreamed up some new questions to ask him. Well, there were less entertaining ways to spend the evening. Answering her summons with a nod and a smile, Marzi pointed back toward the table where he’d left his coat, trying to indicate that he needed to go retrieve it. But instead of escorting him to pick up his property, the woman turned around and started to walk away. That was when Marzi saw it – the pair of broken wings tattooed onto the back of her neck, marking her as a member of Kale’s very small inner circle. Adrenaline shot through Marzi, obliterating any thought of his coat. Instead, he hurried after her.

The woman led him over to the bar. From there, she passed through a door Marzi had never noticed before, and proceeded down a narrow hallway. As the music receded behind them, Marzi could hear the pounding of his own heart. Very few people were summoned to Kale in this fashion. And of those, even fewer ever returned. Marzi doubted the wild assertion that Kale ate people. But he wasn’t absolutely sure. Kale’s power ran strong and deep. If Kale got a kick out of killing his lovers, Marzi was pretty sure he could get away with it.

For a moment, Marzi wondered what Pepper would do if he disappeared. Would she cling to hope, stubbornly demanding that the police search every inch of the city until some trace of him was found? Or would she simply bow her head and mourn, knowing that her brother had finally gotten too close to the fire and been reduced to ash? Would she close Sugar Hearts? For even a day?

The woman in the dark suit gestured for Marzi to stop. Then she went inside another room. Left behind, Marzi strained to hear the murmur of conversation, or even the grind of knives being sharpened, but only silence reached his ears. After what seemed like forever, the woman reemerged. And motioned Marzi inside.

Drawing a deep breath – possibly his last – Marzi entered.

The room was hot, even compared to the club. Steam hissed up through vents in the floor, and red lights tainted the air with an eerie, infernal glow. Some sort of music, like nothing Marzi had ever heard before, played in the background. As if angels were being tortured, their voices made even more beautiful by their despair. And, seated alone at a table in the room’s center, was Kale. Marzi’s breath caught in his throat. In that instant, he remembered why he had been willing to come here, why he had been willing to die if necessary, just to catch another glimpse of this man.

Kale was tall, with hair the color of rusted metal. His eyelashes were long, and thick, as if they required exceptional strength to contain the burning intensity of his green eyes. And a neatly shaven goatee gave him a classically devilish look. As Marzi entered, Kale smiled and gestured toward the empty chair at his table. “Have a seat.”

Obediently, Marzi sat. A drink had been placed on his side of the table, and he reached for it, clutching the cool glass like some sort of lifeline.

“Marzipan, isn’t it? Marzipan Penicandey?”

Marzi flushed at the use of his full name. Lowering his eyes, he gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m the son of avid confectioners. My sister’s full name is Peppermint.”

“Yes,” Kale agreed. “I’m familiar with your sister. She pays rather extravagant amounts of protection money to one of my competitors.”

“She’s in their territory. I’m sure she’d be just as happy to pay it to you, if that was possible.” Nervously, Marzi jerked the glass to his lips, and gulped down a mouthful of its liquid without tasting anything. He wondered if he was making an idiot of himself. He wondered if it mattered.

Kale’s fingers moved absently through the air, seeming to mold the steam into disturbing shapes, which writhed with brief life before dissipating. Again, he smiled. “Pepper would pay almost any price to keep from getting involved. She fears life, fears love, fears the extent of her own power. That is her weakness.”

Again, Marzi glanced at the table, reluctant to disagree with Kale, but also feeling that he needed to defend his sister. “Pepper does her best. Sometimes, I think that if I had her abilities, maybe I’d be the same way.”

“No.” Kale reached across the table and placed two fingers under Marzi’s chin. Slowly, gently, he raised Marzi’s face, until Marzi was staring directly into the whirling green fire of Kale’s eyes. “No, you would never be like Pepper. You were born too wild, without discipline or restraint – that’s why the magic skipped you. You would have used it recklessly. Selfishly. You would have burned bright and terrible, and the whole world would have feared you. Except me.”

Marzi struggled to answer. But when he opened his mouth, his words evaporated, and were carried off by the steam. All he could feel were Kale’s fingers, resting against his skin like damnation’s caress. He knew Kale was right. And, for one horrible moment, he wanted it. Wanted all the capacity for evil that had been denied him.

Then Kale laughed, breaking the spell. His fingers left Marzi’s chin, and instead came to rest on the glass, giving it a gentle push towards Marzi’s mouth. “But I didn’t ask you to come here to discuss your sister.”

Obligingly, Marzi took another swallow. The liquid’s flavor still eluded him, but this time he did manage to feel its coolness, briefly waking him from the drowsy disorientation of the steamy room. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

“Because you’re beautiful when you dance.” Kale leaned back in his chair. “Part of my blood is demon’s blood, so I posses a demon’s strength. But part of my blood is human’s blood, so I also possess a human’s weakness. Unlike a true demon, there is something I want. Something I want very badly.”

Even after only two swallows, Marzi felt himself getting drunk, and it was alcohol-induced bravery which gave him the courage to ask. “What?”

“Something that money can’t buy, something that magic can’t create. Something that I have demanded from every potential lover to ever sit in that chair where you are now sitting. And which, so far, every last one of them has denied me.”

“What?” Marzi repeated, his voice laced with awe and fear.

“Surrender. Complete, utter, surrender.”

Kale pushed his chair back from the table, and stood. “This is how it works, Marzi. The glass from which you just drank contains powdered foxglove leaves. A deadly poison. The glass on my side contains the antidote. You are free, at any time, to drink it. If you do so, I will ask you to leave and never speak of this to anyone else.”

Marzi tried to keep from staring at the antidote, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “And if I don’t drink it?”

“Then you’ll die. Unless, of course, I give you the antidote myself. I might decide to do that. Or I might not. That’s the point of the test.”

Struggling to stay calm, Marzi attempted to draw a deep breath. But it felt like the air was full of awkward shapes, resisting his feeble efforts to inhale them. And he knew one thing. Kale wasn’t bluffing. Kale didn’t bluff.

Again, his eyes went to the antidote. That was the sane thing to do. That was the Pepper thing to do. Even if he endured the poison, there was no guarantee that Kale would save him – after all, others before him had chosen that path, and those others had never returned. Marzi wanted to live life on the edge, to experience all of its wild unpredictability. But he didn’t want to die.

Was the steam getting thicker? Or was his vision starting to blur? Marzi shook his head, trying to clear it, but the motion only made it ache. He needed to decide. Soon. Before the poison made his decision for him. Was that what had happened with the others? Had any of them truly decided to surrender their fates to Kale, or had they only hesitated a little too long?

Blinking, fighting with his fading vision, Marzi turned to look at Kale. And desire filled him like a hundred birds beating their wings inside his heart. There was no choice. Or, if there was, it was one that he’d made before ever entering this room. When he and Pepper were children, they had believed in something powerful, something far beyond themselves, which still took the time to answer their tiny pleas for snow. As an adult, Pepper had found that same thing in her magic. But Marzi had never found it in anything – not until the first time he saw Kale.

A slight smile crept onto Marzi’s lips. Lifting his cup, he raised it to toast Kale, and then drank the rest of the poison.

Something twisted in Marzi’s stomach, like nausea wrapped around the blade of a knife. With a cry of anguish, he doubled over, and tumbled out of the chair, hitting the floor with such force that it knocked the air out of his lungs. For a moment, he tried to get back up. Tried to claw his way back into the chair. But he could only lie on the floor, choking on the steam-soaked air, while the voices of tortured angels sang hymns all around him.

Summoning his last reserves of strength, Marzi hummed a snippet of Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Snowflakes”. Then, just before unconsciousness took him, he felt hands press a glass to his mouth.