Balt

 

Desmond tapped his glass against the table and recalled me back to reality. I’d been lost in a nightmare about life without Piper and shook my head to clear it.

“I don’t know much about women,” he admitted humbly. “But I think she likes you.”

“Well, yeah, I’m her best friend,” I said dully.

“No, really.” Desmond rolled his eyes. “I hadn’t gotten that memo. Balt, you talk about her all the time. You’ve told me that a thousand times.”

It was true. After the Ravenscar case, Desmond and I along with a few other buds of his and mine, had spent several nights on the town. I’d been unable to resist talking about Piper, even to the point of bragging and usually with Desmond, who was far too patient when I was drunk.

Cupping my hands around the mug of beer on the table, I said in a low voice. “I have to ask you a favor, Dez.”

“Does it have to do with why you look so unusually despondent?”

Rubbing my chin ruefully, I gulped a swig of beer and nodded. “It’s about the Kazan curse,” I said, the words struggling to get out. “I need more information. I know you mentioned it...”

Desmond drummed his fingers on the table. “The curse – you can’t honestly believe that’s real, Balt. Sure, as shifters there’s a metaphysical – perhaps mystical is a better word – element, but curses? That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“I think it’s real,” I said, then paused. “No, I know it’s real.”

“Why?” Desmond asked.

“Because my uncle lost his life in pursuit of ending it,” I said, looking up. It was the first time I’d ever told anyone this. “My uncle told me about this right before he died. Apparently, my father had tried to as well – although, with him, he'd realized too late. And it took my grandfather’s life, as well.” Countless Kazan males.

Now Desmond was starting to look both intrigued and worried. “Curses, or the idea of them, work through coincidence. I’m not trying to be insensitive, Balt, it’s just – a stretch. A self-fulfilling prophecy. People believe in it and that gives it potency.”

"Do you know how many males in the Kazan family over the age of forty I knew as a child? Three, Dez. Later, I looked them up, trying to convince myself it wasn’t the case. But the males in my line do not make it past their mid-thirties or early forties. And I’ve been to the doctor – I’m healthy as a horse…”

Plucking off his glasses, Desmond rubbed his eyes. “Balt, you know how crazy you sound right now, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “But I was hoping a professor of mythology and biological anthropology who knew about the shifter world might cut me some slack here and try to see what I’m saying.”

Desmond still looked skeptical. “Balt, as someone who studies that, I can tell you none of those things are real.”

“There’s also this,” I said, turning my wrist over and showing him a spiral on my right wrist, inky black and with a strange symbol in the middle. “I don’t know what that symbol is.”

“Let me guess, got it is a teenager?” Desmond asked wryly.

“Yes. But I didn’t get it – it appeared. The night after my uncle died. The Kazan mark.”

Was murdered, you mean. Along with Maria. Leaving Isla an orphan.

“I found it in his notes after – this appears on every male who’s been afflicted. I’ve tried to wash it off, I even had a buddy try to tattoo over it. The next day the new tattoo was gone and this was back.” I hesitated, then said in a whisper. “It’s a mark of death.”

I hadn’t meant to sound so grim, but anger and fear were rising up inside, making it hard to breathe. What had my ancestors done? Why had they done it? The unfairness raged within me.

“Have you found anything else?” Desmond asked, his own mouth settling into a thin line. “Something about that sounds familiar – a mark appearing. But it wasn’t one of death…”

My heart leaped at the curiosity alight in his eyes. “You’ll help?”

Nodding, Desmond gave me a weak smile. “Of course. If this is true, I almost wished you’d have asked sooner…”

I hunched my shoulders. "It's not something I care to talk about. For a long time, I tried to pretend otherwise – convinced myself it was a self-fulfilling prophecy like you said. But I also never told Piper–”

I stopped abruptly and Desmond cocked his head. “About the curse and the tattoo?” Now he was smiling slyly. “Or something else?”

“Just let me know what you find, okay?” I asked.

“Here, yeah, let me just draw this symbol,” Desmond said, pulling out a notebook and making a neat, almost architectural copy of the Kazan tattoo. As he finished, he gave me an encouraging smile. “You know Balt, someone once told me you shouldn’t let tomorrow take away from today. Pretty good advice, eh?”

“I guess,” I said with a sigh. “Who told you that?”

“You did, Balt,” Desmond said with a laugh. “I guess it’s true what they say about not taking our own advice.”

I nodded. In a way, I knew Desmond was right. There had been a million times during the last twenty-odd years when I considered acting on my feelings for Piper.

“I couldn’t do that to her, though,” I murmured to myself.

For every time, I considered it, I also saw the consequences. After so much loss, how could I do that to her? I kept hoping instead, she’d find some worthy guy.

But who the hell was worthy of Piper Weslark?

In a way, it was almost too bad she’d immediately match-made Soraya with Desmond. He was probably the only one I’d consider worthy of a Lafi or Weslark woman.

Desmond was giving me a sad sort of smile when I looked up at him. “I get it, Balt. And I’ll do my damndest to help.” He paused and gave me a brighter smile. “But remember there’s no proof – yet. That tattoo could have been misinterpreted. And maybe take your own advice.”

With a laugh, I turned the topic to lighter things and Desmond dropped the hints. But every so often, he gave me a puzzled and exasperated look, especially if the conversation turned in Piper’s direction. Like bro, come one. Life is too short for this kinda bullshit. Take a chance.

And I had to admit, with each swig of beer, it became more and more of a tempting one.