Dry Heat

Prologue

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a novel excerpt

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by Casey Matzen

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     “What’s your bet, sweetheart?”

     The die whirled. The reek of cheap booze and formaldehyde hung heavy in the air.

I sneered and leaned away from the rancid smelling breath of the man in front of me. His nose crinkled in amusement; it was crooked, marred by a jagged ridge spilling through the middle. I wondered who had done that. I wanted to congratulate them.

     “In case you have forgotten,” I drawled, lips curling, “I went last round. I have…what is it? Two up on you?”

     He scoffed boisterously in return, puffy eyes swirling in their sockets as he leaned back on the rickety porch chair. A laugh echoed from his right as two of his underlings strolled leisurely onto the porch.

     “What a lil’ vixen, eh Maurice?” the boss laughed, addressing something above me.

     Blood dripped from the corpse hanging in the porch rafters.

     So that was Maurice. Poor bastard.

     He chuckled again, a ragged, choked sound, and scooped up the die. The muscles in his bicep flexed menacingly.

     “Alright,” he mumbled around his jagged teeth. “I’m bettin’ a three.”

     A vein-webbed hand planted itself on his shoulder with all the force of a shovel plowing into the earth. My lips twitched as the smell of chemicals wafted from the open front door. “Ah, c’mon Boss! You gotta bet better ‘n that!”

     The hand belonged to a blonde sporting blood stains in his hair like tacky dye. He grinned, flashing his cracking lips and thin mustache. I growled threateningly. The boss grunted. His name burned holes in my mouth. I rejected the taste like it was acid in my throat.

     “Ey, Boss, how you doin’ with the lil’ kitty o’er here, eh?”

     The man’s watery eyes flicked up blandly.

     “Oi, Boss, kickin’ her to the curb, yeah?”

     “Hey pretty lady, how ‘bout you join us for supper? Men like us know how to treat a lil’ tramp like you real good.”

A cackle like grinding bones clawed its way from the man’s throat, rising in intensity until it was the only thing I could hear. My fingers twitched on the table.

     “Ey boys,” the boss growled, wicked smile raising his cheeks, “ready to watch me beat this lil’ lady?”

     The world around us melted away to that moment, the hooting and hollering rising up from the men, the blood, the die, that old porch patio. The reek of cheap booze and formaldehyde. His eyes. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my temple.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was gone. The world unfroze. The boss eyed me smugly. I rolled my eyes. Someone was calling my name.

     I broke away from his hungry gaze, and shot a venomous look at the messenger kneeling at my side. I raised an eyebrow.

     “I’m busy here. Come back later.”

     “With all due respect, Miss Niigata,” they murmured respectfully. Their eyes finally lifted to meet mine and caught wordlessly on something over my shoulder. Their mouth worked silently, gaping, presumably, at Maurice. Finally, a small, terrified whimper escaped them.

     I sighed. “Fine.”

     The boss eyed me smugly, and I fought to keep the easy, carefree smile on my face. “I’ll be back soon boys.”

     The hungry stare of his men followed me down the steps, watching every telltale sway of my hips through the baggy fabric there. Gradually, their noise became a soft buzz as I followed the shaken messenger away from the dilapidated shack.

     It was silent. I waited as patiently as I could, and steadied myself looking at the burgundy sash around their waist. Something writhed in the corner of my mind, trickling down until unease pooled in my stomach.

     Our eyes met only for a second, theirs sober and melancholy and the color of bleached wheat fields.

     “I was told to give you this.”

      The weathered scroll in their hands was unassuming. It was cracked and yellow, made of parchment older than I was. Immediately, I felt hesitation pull at my fingers, but I reached out anyway. The brush of their hand was warm and shuddering as they tore away and prepared to run. Their burgundy sash― a mark of status, it was a mark of status, I thought, dazed, as my heart leapt to my throat.

     The blank scroll unfurled, and like a gust of wind, pain tore through my arm.

     To my credit, I didn’t scream.

     The pain seared into my bones, burning as brown script stained and formed ridges in my skin. Words grafted themselves out of my flesh, and though my body burned, my blood went cold.

     “Fuck,” I mumbled, clenching my fist so tight my nails dug crescent moons into my palms.

     Through my stupor, I heard the boss call, “Ey lil’ lady! S’your turn. Watcha gonna bet?”

      I growled angrily and glared down at the words on my arm. That was it. I had run out of time.

     A bitter chuckle seeped past my lips.

     I’ve got nothing else to lose.

     “I’m all in boys.”

     I smirked, all teeth and hostile bite.

     A wild hoot rang through the group. Maurice spun lazily from the rafters, and the die rolled.

     My fingers curled around the hilt of my knife.

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Chapter 1: The Real Fresh Prince of BelAir

     The Plain had changed throughout the years. The grey of the paved streets was replaced with the black bustle of the new recruits’ robes.

     It looked like this year had been a heavy one for the students.

     I tried to stay silent as I wound down the bland, cobbled streets. I could feel the words on my skin pulsing to my heartbeat, screaming traitor, traitor, traitor.

     For the first time in years, I felt my age. Hundreds of years of running and finally it was catching up to me. My feet ached through my broken sandals, my nails prickled with dried blood, and, suddenly, I felt very, very old.

The stare of bright, young eyes rose the hair on the back of my neck. There may have once been a time where I was well known in these streets, but here, now, I was an intruder.

          After all the years that had passed, the one and possibly only thing that hadn’t changed was the path to the Head’s quarters. No matter who you were, when you were, the one thing that stuck with you is the muted terror of walking the path to the Head’s quarters.

          I snorted bitterly.

          Though our memories have been taken from us, we all still remember the fear of walking to the principal’s office.

          The Head’s quarters rose up in the distance, and my stomach turned uneasily when I thought about the path leading up to it. My worst fears were confirmed when I finally came face to face with a very long, very steep set of stairs.

“Fuck,” I cursed. I looked at my sandals. “Fuck,” I cursed again.

          “If he lectures me about being late…” I mumbled to myself, catching myself for what seemed like the hundredth time as I nearly tripped. It was an obvious power play to the ones Bahlkan deemed his enemies, but it was, in my mind, an unnecessarily cruel one. On the last step, I chanced a look behind me. The Arch Plain was small and unassuming in the distance.

           I took a deep, steadying breath to ease the dull throb in my arm.

           “Halt! You are not authorized to be up here!”

           I jumped skittishly, whirling around with an open mouth to face the two burly guards chasing me down, whips in tow.

           I closed my mouth nervously.

           They aren’t…stopping…

           Coincidentally enough, I was the idiot and decided that the best possible decision in that very moment would be to run.

           The one on the right started screeching, “Halt, criminal!”  like an actor in a shitty gang movie.  The only thought echoing through my mind as I sprinted the opposite direction was, you know what I may be a murderer but I’m not a criminal.

           A hand grabbed at the back of my shirt. I stumbled with a yelp, only barely managing to avoid rolling down the steps, and consequently bashing my head against the marble wall a few feet away.

           “Flank her!” the left one shouted.

           “Shit.” I quickly considered throwing myself down the stairs, but then resolved to be more creative in the future. And besides, broken bones were fixable. Bahlkan would find a way to keep me alive, come hell and high water.

           I paced anxiously, chancing a glance above me. The window sill a few feet above my head was a stretch, but with seconds left between me and near certain death, I didn’t have much else to choose.

           I jumped towards the wall, hands scrabbling, and desperately latched onto the window sill. My feet ached under the pressure of the cold, white stone. Still, I heaved myself up onto the precariously thin ledge and winced. The guards stalked under me like twin tigers, back and forth, whips lashing angrily.

          “Oh, Jesus Christ,” I breathed. Even if this meant I would have to scale the wall to get to where I needed to be, I would still be able to make it with only minor injuries. This was a good thing.

          I was pretty sure this was a good thing. I took a moment to take a breath. They might have had whips, but they were short and wouldn’t be able to cause any true damage from their spot on the ground.

          The whole world went white for a second as sound exploded in my skull, save for a steady throbbing in my eardrums. My head spun dizzily as the world around me careened into a tilt-a-whirl of colors. Gradually the blinding light shrank into a smaller, more acute point in my skull, making my head pound with sharp bursts of pain. And then it happened again, this time on my back.

          My hand pressed against my back sharply.

          Another rock slammed into my skull with and sent my face careening into the window.

          “Fuck!” I yelped. “What the hell!”

          I stood abruptly from my tiny, and now useless, perch and growled, praying that my floor was on the next level. I jumped haphazardly, almost slipping, and peered into the next window. Nothing.

          Fuck.

          I hoisted myself up again, planting my feet firmly on the marble wall, and shimmed upwards to the next one. The sound of warped voices greeted me through the thick glass, and I sighed in relief, managing to ignore the stones being pelted at me and the loud threats being shouted my way.

          I went to open the latch, singing praise to whatever god might be out there.

          There was an ominous sounding click. I frowned, squinting at the inner sill where something metal was sealed firmly to the edge of it…

          The window was locked.

          I gaped openly at the small piece of metal preventing me from reaching freedom and cursed. Another rock hit the back of my head.

          I fumbled uselessly at the glass. The window was too high up for anyone to see me, the guards’ aim was only growing more accurate, and my salary to pay for a broken window was nonexistent.

          A rock whizzed past my ear. I stumbled backwards, just barely catching myself in time to avoid a very painful death, and dry heaved. Steeling my nerves, I sent out a small “fuck you” to whichever god had played a hand in this.

         "Come on,” I muttered as I pressed against the glass. A rock hit me in the back of the neck. I cursed. And then another one. And another one. My skull started to pound. My fingers scrambled frantically for an entrance.

“Would you—freaking—stop?” I growled. “Oh screw it.”

My elbow rammed into the window and sent cracks spider webbing through it. I stood up and steadied my arms above the ledge before slamming my foot into the glass. The steady thunking quickened to match my heart rate and the aching throb in my back.

         “Fuck,” I snarled, “would you just—fucking—god damn it—”

         The glass beneath my foot caved in a shower of deadly, glistening shards, and I tumbled in, feet first, with a less than graceful yelp.

         One lone stone clunked against the marble wall. I hissed in pain as I wiped glass shards out of my palms. The Head’s quarters went dead silent.

         I glared up at the chair in the front of the room, ignoring my heavy breathing and wiping my bloody hands on my pants.

         “What,” I growled, furiously thrusting my arm out, “is this?”

         Bahlkan’s eyes lit up with something like amusement. He studied the words grafted on my palm with an impassive gaze, looking about as impressed as if someone had just told him that they had vomited on his robes. And with that, he waved his hand nonchalantly, spreading a pleasant cooling sensation over my arm as the words faded away.

         Whispers rose up behind me.

         I quivered and opened my mouth to protest.

        “Silence, Ránshāo Zhōng,” he said. My jaw snapped shut.

        He looked immensely pleased with himself. “You were summoned because you were needed immediately.”

        My lips pulled back in a snarl. “I was in the middle of a job!”

        He raised a bushy, white eyebrow. “Yes, and you broke my window.”

        “I’ll pay for it later!”

        “Silence, child!”

        I ground my teeth and opted to stare down at my feet. Unease grew from the crowd I knew was behind me.

       “What you were called here for,” he stated, “is far more important to both you and the Plain than the murder of any meager killer.”

        “In case you haven’t noticed,” I hissed, “the murder of ‘meager killers’ is my job!”

       “Yes,” he replied, tapping his fingers, “however, it seems that you are needed for more than that at this moment. Consider it...being repositioned.”

       His eyes glimmered with mirth. I could feel my hands form a fist. Bahlkan’s red eyes, ever seeing, glimmered even more at the sight.

         “Your job now is the protection of the entirety of the Arch Plain.”

         I reeled back incredulously.

        "Is this a fucking joke?” I snapped, chancing a look back at the people behind me. I met Bahlkan’s eyes incredulously. “You have to be kidding.”

        “Would you like to receive my message again?” he asked, the threat clear in his voice.

        “I’m not a guard dog, Bahlkan,” I said dangerously. “Much less for you of all people.”

        “And to think,” he sneered lowly, “that a deserter says these words. I should have you killed for your offences, worthless scum. I am showing you mercy. Do not take that lightly.”

I bit my tongue. This wasn’t the place. Not in front of these people. Not ever perhaps.

        “Don’t you think you have been on leave long enough?” he mocked. “Hiding out from every reach of the world like a coward?”

         My resolve snapped.

        “I do not answer to you or anyone else,” I growled. “I made a vow and I intend to keep it.”

        His eyes narrowed.

        “And what if,” he said, “I told you that your precious Leyla Fa is in danger of losing her life?”

        My words died in my mouth, evaporating with the shock that coated my tongue.

His eyes glimmered contentedly.

        “It seems we have a lot to talk about, Hayato Niigata.”