Hyde, an Urban Fantasy

  Sigh. “Talk.”

  “He turned a day early and is showing her Hyde. I think he wants her to know the real him. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “Hardly. They need to have intercourse, not share information. That could be dangerous. Stop them.”

  “You want me to get them to screw, but make sure they don’t speak to each other? Tres kinky, boss.”

  “Sleep it off and, the minute he’s reverted into Turner, start doing your job.”

  “I’ll get right on that. Night, night.”

  Click.

  § § §

  Mitch knew it was morning. Not that he could see sunlight—the windows in Hyde’s room had been boarded up long ago. And he was anything but rested. No, he knew it was morning because he was human again. He couldn’t see Eden, but heard her humming quietly. He hoped what she’d seen last night hadn’t driven her completely off the deep-end straight into some sort of mumbling psychosis.

  He called out to her, “Good morning. How was the show?” He heard her feet hit the floor and wondered if she’d gotten any sleep herself, curled up in the chair, or if Hyde had kept her attention all night.

  She yawned, maybe stretched. “Fascinating.”

  “Where’s Jolie?”

  “She went downstairs a few hours ago. I think she got annoyed with all my questions.”

  “Jolie doesn’t get annoyed very easily. You must have had a lot of questions.” He saw her when she stopped just outside the bars. Jesus, she looked exhausted—pale skin, matching dark rings under her eyes. Or maybe that’s what terror left behind on someone’s face after they’d seen a monster.

  She gripped the bars. “Does she know about Chastity?”

  “Nope. That’s your tale to tell. Not mine.” He flicked his head to the cage’s door. “She usually unlocks me. She left the keys on the table, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” She ran out of his line of vision, and then ran back into it, gripping the keychain in her hand.

  He wasn’t sure if she was shaking or was just unfamiliar with industrial-sized padlocks and cages, but it took her a while to open it.

  “How can you stay in there?”

  “No choice.” And he needed to get out of here as soon as fucking possible. “Not a lounge chair under an umbrella here. You mind?”

  She stepped inside, her eyes taking turns between gawking at his body and trying to avoid it.

  “And the performance continues,” he muttered. “While I’d love to stay here, spread-eagle all day while you ogle me, my arms are cramped.”

  She blushed. “Why don’t you wear something when you . . . change?”

  “We don’t seem to like the feel of clothing.” He’d used the word “we”. Jesus, that was something he’d never thought he’d do, but, strangely, it eased the weight in his chest at the same time. He wasn’t alone anymore. “Carter didn’t tell you about that part?”

  “He told me.” Avoiding his eyes, she bent over to unlock the chains on his ankles. “It’d be a tough thing to miss.”

  “What’d you think?”

  “Of last night? You’re a horrible, horny monster.”

  “Thank you. But what did you think of Hyde?”

  “I’m guessing the crappy jokes are all yours.” She hesitated at the locks binding his wrists. “But I’ll ask anyway: You’re really you, right?”

  He nodded as she freed his hands. “If I wasn’t, you’d be on the ground screaming about now.” He rubbed his forehead. No pain this time. “You don’t get headaches, do you? The day after?”

  “No. You do?”

  He nodded his head and then left it low to stretch out his neck. “But only recently. Last six months or so.” Maybe it was part of the reason he’d transformed a day early, a symptom of losing control. “But not today. Hell, maybe I’m cured.” Pushing himself up, he watched her. She was strong. Scared, but strong. “You’re taking this much better than I would have thought you would.”

  “I’m still in shock.” She shrugged, a lock of hair falling into her eyes. “What now?”

  “I take a shower—you’re welcome to join me—and then we have a nice long chat. Over breakfast. I’m starving.”

  § § §

  Jolie was sacked-out on the sofa downstairs, her dark hair covering most of both eyes, strands of it blowing up and down with every breath. The empty bottle of champagne was tucked between her hip and the cushion.

  Eden tiptoed past her and went to look for something to cook for breakfast. She started by attempting to make a pot of coffee. There were so many buttons on the machine, she wondered if she’d brew coffee or a pot full of water. It was a gadget only rich people knew how to use. The whir of the beans being ground might be enough to keep her vertical until it was ready. Then, through some sort of miracle, the beans fed into the right place and, when she bent in close, the magnificent aroma of java hit her scent glands.

  She should have slept, but there was no way she could have. Mitch’s Hyde had kept her transfixed all night. He’d growled, struggled, and spouted obscenities for hours. After Jolie had left the room, Eden had curled herself up in the chair, wrapped her arms around her knees and watched the freak-show.

  So she was paying for it now. Each eyelid felt like it weighed seventy pounds. She was nauseous and miserable. Her brain was so rattled, it couldn’t seem to process what she’d learned over the past few days. A curtain had been pulled back, giving her an ocean view of who, or what, she was. But right now, her exhaustion left the vision fuzzy, blinding her, unable to assimilate the facts of what she’d seen and heard.

  “Coffee,” Jolie yelled from the other room. Eden took three mugs out of the cabinet.

  Dragging her feet, Jolie came into the kitchen and flopped herself onto a tall stool next to the center island. “I think I’m still drunk.” She rested her elbows on the marble and leaned her face into her hands. “Please tell me you made a full pot.”

  “Um . . . maybe? At least, I tried to.” She peeked into the carafe—“Hey, it worked”—and poured the dark, rich goodness into three cups.

  Jolie shifted her face into one hand and stuck the other out. “Give it to me.” She gulped the stuff down, even though it had to be burning a hole in her tongue. Unless she didn’t let it stay in her mouth long enough to feel it and her throat was lined with some kind of fire retardant.

  Eden took some cream from the fridge and still had to blow in her cup before she took a sip.

  “Did you stay up there all night?” Jolie asked.

  “Yeah.”

  She rubbed her forehead in between sips. “I remember the first time I saw him change. Freaked the shit out of me, honestly. I remember Shelly, Mitchell’s sister, holding me put, petting my arm like I was some sort of flight risk. You know, the ‘smile and nod’ kind of thing.”

  Eden could have used some of that, but instead had been left huddled in a chair, too afraid to flee. “Why did he show you?”

  Jolie raised her eyes to Eden’s. “Because he trusts me.” The squint of her eyes was not a reaction to the sunlight flowing through the kitchen windows. She was pissed.

  “I didn’t mean anything bad by that. I just meant that if he already had someone to lock and unlock him, I’m surprised he told anyone else.” Okay, that was stupid. He’d shown Eden, so she had just insinuated that Jolie was going to be replaced. Not the direction she wanted to travel in. “I didn’t mean that either. I meant—”

  Jolie released Eden from their eye-lock. “I know what you meant: Why did he tell me when he had his big sis? Why did he tell you when he has me? Right?”

  Eden nodded.

  “You never met Shelly, did you?”

  “No. She died before I met him.”

  Jolie slowly nodded. “Mitch wanted to make sure someone else knew about Hyde so she didn’t have to do it on her own anymore. He didn’t want her to be the only one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he felt like two people sharing the burden was better th
an one dealing with the whole shebang.” Jolie sipped her coffee. “Shelly was the one who originally told me, chose me. We were friends. And a few months before she died, she told me she was pregnant and didn’t want Mitch to know until her belly started to really show. I took over all of Hyde’s care so she didn’t have to be near him. He might’ve hurt her. Accidentally, you know.”

  “And then she was murdered?”

  “Crazy world we live in, isn’t it?”

  “I thought at least one of you would’ve made me breakfast by now. What the hell have you been doing?” Mitch’s hair was still wet from the shower. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt that showed off his chest and waist, reminding Eden of all that she’d seen of him last night.

  She focused her attention on handing him some coffee. As he took the cup, their fingers brushed and she flinched back, sending the mug and its contents crashing onto the tile floor. Mitch didn’t move even as the hot coffee splashed on his bare feet, his only reaction a slight twitch of one eye. Apologizing profusely, Eden ran for a towel and knelt down in front of him, wiping his feet and the floor.

  “Jolie, go home.” His voice was flat, dead-sounding.

  “Huh?”

  Though she couldn’t see Jolie from the other side of the island, Eden imagined the shock on her face mirrored her own.

  “Go home,” he said, without glancing at the other woman. “Eden and I have lots to talk about.”

  Eden stood and saw Jolie shove her stool back, her mouth moving as if she had lots to say herself. She clamped her jaw shut and stalked out of the kitchen. From the living room, Eden heard sounds of shuffling, clinking and angry mumbling.

  Neither of them spoke until they heard the front door slam.

  Mitch flicked his head. “Follow me.”

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Eden trailed after him through the living room, up the stairs and back into . . . Hyde’s room.

  He leaned against the wall of bars and motioned for her to sit. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Perched on the arm, she stared into the cage behind him. “What I’m thinking? I’m thinking this is the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. I’m thinking that this room is a little drafty and how nice it would be to have a sweater or something. I’m thinking . . . I’m . . .” She put her mug on the table, sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. Avoiding his gaze no longer possible—he wanted to know what she was thinking and she wanted to know the same from him. “I’m thinking about how stupid I feel. How much I thought I knew about the world. About myself. And how wrong I was about all of it.”

  “This is only one part of you. And definitely not the most important part.”

  Her chest felt closed in, locked, like she couldn’t get a deep enough breath. “How do you deal with it?”

  “How I deal with it is not how you should.”

  “But Chastity”—she put her hand to her chest, then out to him—“Hyde. We’re the same.”

  “No, we’re not. They’re not. Chastity is liquid sex. Hyde is . . . not human. He makes her look like Mother Theresa.”

  “Except you only have to deal with him every five weeks, right? Chastity’s like a terrible neighbor who keeps showing up whenever she feels like it. No, she’s worse.”

  “And she’s much more fun.” He rubbed his wrists, still red and scraped from the cuffs.

  “Why does it happen more often to me?”

  He shrugged. “Chastity is made from concentrate. Hyde is the concentrate. He used to be like her—less anger, more sass. As life toughened me up, he made fewer appearances, but each one was more violent than the last. The way I figure it, making rage into a full-time job changes the frequency, but increases intensity. Know what I mean?”

  Not really. “So that’s why you’re such a jerk?”

  “Partly.”

  “And the other part?”

  He smirked. “I enjoy.”

  “How did you learn about what you are?”

  “My father. He taught me . . . everything.”

  “Can you teach me?”

  “No.” Then he mumbled, “You don’t want to be like me.”

  She stood, suddenly furious that after all of this, he was falling right back into keeping things from her. Who else did she have? “That’s bull. What I don’t want is to be someone who wakes up covered in blood who thinks something inside of her might’ve caused it. Someone who never knows what her other half will do or where she’ll go.” She stifled her tears and pointed all her frustration at him. “If I can’t get that, I’d at least like it to happen less frequently. So teach me!”

  “Eden, I’ve tried to help you, but I can’t change who you are. My father changed me with his belt. With his fists. I won’t do that to you.”

  “Well, find another way! I can’t do it without you. Should I just go out and pick a fight”— like she was doing with him—“so someone beats the tar out of me? Is your dad still alive? Maybe he’ll do it.”

  “It wasn’t the beatings that did it.” He kept his voice controlled, but he couldn’t do the same with his eyes—they felt like lasers singeing a hole into hers. “It was the darkness inside of me the abuse created.”

  She matched his anger, advancing on him until she had him pressing his back into the metal he leaned against. Perhaps in an attempt to control his own anger. “I’m loaded with darkness. Why hasn’t that controlled it?”

  He shook his head. “Whatever you’ve been through isn’t enough. You’re still good. You don’t even lie, for Christ’s sake. Not sure if the virginal attitude helps or not.”

  “A part of me played in a woman’s blood, maybe more.” She swallowed. “And she may have even killed your sister. What’s darker than that?”

  “She didn’t kill my sister. She couldn’t have.”

  “How the heck do you know?” she screamed.

  “Because I did!”

  She blinked, stunned. “You killed your sister?” Then she noticed his hands, gripping the bars like he was trying to stop them from shaking. Or striking.

  His nostrils flared and his words barely made it out of his clenched jaw. “I woke with Shelly’s blood dripping down my door, her body lying on my steps. Just like what you saw in your flashback. Chastity must have been there, must have seen me kill her.” His jaw shook as if he was fighting against the need to break down. “I wanted it to be you. I really did. I wanted to believe it wasn’t my fault.”

  “You broke out of the cage?”

  He scratched his forehead. “Jolie thought she might not have closed the lock all the way. I thought the chains would hold him back. I was wrong. I have thicker ones now.”

  “Do you have flashbacks of it?”

  “No, not killing her. No.”

  “So it could have been someone else. It could have been Chastity.”

  “No, it couldn’t have been her. You wouldn’t still be changing so often. It would’ve slowed down.”

  “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe one murder doesn’t change anything.”

  “It did for me. It changed everything.”

  That stopped her. “You mean you killed someone before your sister?” She backed away, suddenly terrified of the man who, despite his cruelty, she was continually drawn to.

  He laughed. “Why are you surprised? Or are you still under the mistaken impression that I am a good man?”

  She shrugged, not knowing what she should expect from him. A good man? No, she wouldn’t go that far. But a murderer?

  “Hmm,” he said. “It seems we both made some bad assumptions.”

  “Maybe we did.”

  He took a deep breath, wiped his forehead, and separated himself from the cage. “I need to sit down.” After taking her place on the chair, he said, “My father’s Hyde tore my mother apart in front of me. Tore her apart. She was trying to protect us.

  “Before that moment, I don’t remember much about him. Just rage . . . violence . . . terror. He could have had a heart, I don’t know. Doubt it, but it’s p
ossible. There had to have been a reason my mother stayed with him, right?”

  Since he was looking at the floor and not at her, Eden didn’t respond.

  “Before that I have memories of him being somewhat under control. Most of the time. He’d go out a lot, leave us alone—my mom, Shelly and me. That was a lot better than having him around. I didn’t recognize the pattern until much later, thinking back on it. Then just after I turned fifteen, I turned.” He took a breath. “Every four days, just like you. Needless to say, we were all very . . . disappointed.”