Kaz - These Voices Won't Leave Me Alone
~Cross-posting from Ao3. Content warnings: References to Past Sexual Assualt, Suicidal ideation, and discussions of morality.~
Kaz Brekker found himself distracted with what he saw in the harbor for longer than he cared to admit. He told Jesper that he didn't believe in folklore. He didn't. But he did believe in things he could see. And he definitely saw something in the harbor that night. Not something.
Someone.
He'd heard rumors of the Wraith. Of course he had. It was his job to know about what scared the streets of Ketterdam. Especially when those things did not include him. Furthermore, it was his job to know about missing shipments. Missing boats. Missing people.
The other harbors across the city were missing entire boats these days. Slaver's boats, mostly. The dense gangs blamed The Dregs for their lost profits. The smart ones blamed the Wraith. Sure, Kaz had no sympathy for those who lost their slave ships. People had no business trading human bodies or trapping innocent people into impossible indentures. Except he didn't do anything about it. He couldn't. Not until he reached a position of higher power.
He was barely twenty and he was still lost in his plan to take down Pekka Rollins and the Dime Lions. His youthful motto of 'Brick by Brick' had slowly morphed into 'one step forward, two steps back.' It became harder every day to care about revenge when he didn't know what he wanted after he succeeded. If he would ever succeed at all. Really, the whole plan seemed futile nowadays and made his bones ache with weariness. Some days he wondered if surviving Reaper's Barge was worth it at all.
Jesper wasn't wrong about the whole 'joking about death' thing. But damn if Kaz would ever admit that he was right to his face. It was no secret that Kaz wondered if it would be easier to let death finally take him.
Barring the fact that it seemed that even Death didn't want a man as fucked up as Kaz Brekker.
When he joined the Dregs, he expected himself to be in a higher position by now. Here he was, years later, still playing Lieutenant for Per Haskell's lazy ass. The man should be retired and would be if Kaz wasn't so good at his job. There had yet to be an opportunity to take the man down and until Kaz had full control over The Dregs, he wouldn't have the respect he needed to carry out the barest wisp of his plans.
No, for now, everybody still saw Kaz Brekker as Haskell's rabid Demon. He hated himself for that. A demon on a fucking leash. What a cruel fate.
But seeing that girl–or someone who definitely looked like a girl–in the harbor the other night, he remembered that he wasn't the only creature Ketterdam told ghost stories about. And for some reason, the idea filled him with an unfamiliar feeling that he couldn't wave away with words. Hope? Belonging? Peace? Except none of those words belonged to Kaz anymore. He'd smothered those feelings and locked them in cold graves years ago.
The last time he consciously remembered feeling some semblance of hope, he was 15 and buying information from pleasure houses without gang affiliations. Nobody thought anything of a young boy in those places, though he detested the entire concept of the establishments. Too many bodies. Not enough space.
He'd come in for some information, probably about some mercher who spent more time at the Menagerie than with his wife, and had the distinct displeasure of witnessing Heleen Van Houden's–The Peacock, they called her, because like him, Ketterdam preferred its nicknames over everything else–newest humiliation tactic. Tonight that included a young girl with dull brown skin who had to be his age, perhaps younger, chained to the wall in translucent silks that left little to the imagination while one of the house's bruisers hawked an abominable price to spend the night with the house's prized "Lynx."
Heleen carried on her gossip mongering as if nothing about the situation was any different than usual, which only made Kaz angrier. As she tried to negotiate an unfair price for what little information she likely had, his eyes kept flicking over to the girl in chains. He thought she'd looked resigned and hopeless, but when her attention turned to him–he saw none of that. Instead, he saw the familiar red hot anger of someone who had been deeply wronged.
Anger he could work with. Kaz Brekker knew anger. He dealt many deals in anger. While he wasn't one to deal with indentures or saving people–opting instead for killing people–he could make an exception. Especially if he could find a skill of hers that might be useful in a gang.
But he'd had to tuck that thought away. Heleen noticed his stolen glances and sneered, pulling him into her parlor before he could ask a single question about the girl she called "Lynx." She tried to triple the price of her gossip and Kaz had left empty handed. Well, not entirely. Instead of gossip and blackmail material, he left with a scrap of hope that he nurtured through the night as he convinced Per Haskell to allow him to buy out the young girl's indenture.
That hope would be his undoing.
Because he quickly learned that Kaz Brekker did not deserve things like hope.
When he returned to the Menagerie the next evening, the Peacock told him the Lynx had killed herself. Threw herself into the harbor for the sake of drowning just that afternoon before the dinner service started. Heleen wiped a crocodile tear from her eye and claimed that the small girl had been the worst investment she'd ever made. The Lynx, she said, didn't know how to behave. Didn't know how to appreciate the opportunity she'd been given.
What Kaz heard was that the girls she bought would rather be dead than be in Heleen's employ.
He'd stopped going to the Menagerie after that. He stopped going to most pleasure houses after that. The truth of the matter was that he could no longer look any of the owners in the eye without punching them in the throat. Especially Heleen.
And as much of his reputation had been built on seemingly reasonless displays of anger, Per Haskell would have been pissed if he killed one of the most popular ladies of West Stave. The Menagerie was supposed to be neutral ground–a pleasure house without any gang attachments. Kaz doing anything to challenge her inhumanity would have sent unforgivable ripples through the streets of Ketterdam.
It was one thing to buy information from pleasure houses. It was another thing entirely to develop a moral conscience whilst working in the Barrel.
Kaz Brekker was not supposed to be the type of man who pitied the people Ketterdam considered down on their luck. But damn if the memory of the girl chained to the wall of the Menagerie didn't haunt him for weeks after the fact. He had naively hoped that maybe–just maybe–if he could save her, he could salvage the last bits of his own humanity in the process. Instead, his hope died in the harbor along with the name of a girl whose name he barely remembered anymore.
It took him a week before his overworked mind brought him back to the harbor to make sure his eyes hadn't been playing tricks. It was safer this time. Marginally. The hit that tore him away from the dock before had been settled when Jesper shot Rollins' Lieutenant.
Not to say that this ended the danger of existing. Everybody was out to get him nowadays and Kaz couldn't be too sure that even Per Haskell thought he was worth the risk anymore.
No, he was sure the next time nobody would even hear about the next hit before some new recruit–probably no older than sixteen–ran up to him and pointed a gun in his face in hopes that it would gain them some sort of notoriety.
It wouldn't work. It never did. Not because Kaz actively skirted death. But despite his restlessness, Kaz Brekker still had a reputation to uphold. He could not, would not, be killed in an asinine way. Like Pekka Rollins, Dirtyhands needed to go up in flames. No matter how much he craved the sweet reprise of death, he would tear down the poor souls who dared try to kill him. Just like the demon he had been since he crawled out of the harbor at nine years old.
Perhaps that's why he came back to the harbor. A human death, he couldn't bear. But death by demon? That was something he could work with. Maybe the Wraith would be so kind as to rid him of his fruitless existence.
When he reached the end of the dock, he looked out to the waters where he was sure the girl, the Wraith, waited in watch. That must have been where she started the other night before she approached him. He couldn't feel her presence at first; he was too distracted with the million other thoughts coursing through his head.
Now? When all he could think of was the Wraith, he could practically feel her in his bones. It was a new feeling. And to his surprise, not an unwelcome one. This would work. He could feel it.
"You can come out, Wraith," he called softly, his eyes on the water as he waited for a hint of her presence beyond a simple feeling. "I know you're here."
For a moment, there was nothing. But as he stood there, he could feel her grow closer, as if their existences were bound together. Before long he saw a flash of skin just under the surface of the water, and a self-satisfied smirk curled his lips as the Wraith made her presence known.
Maybe it was time to start believing in folklore. If she was a wraith, a siren, or whatever it is they want to call her, then he could be a demon. His chest fluttered, reminding him of the heart he swore no longer existed.
She emerged from the tides, her face illuminated by the moonlight as she stared unblinking at him. Her deep brown eyes were almost as dark as the murky waters themselves and her brown skin was slick with water and kelp, her hair slicked back into a pool of oil floating around her shoulders. Barnacles and other sea creatures clung to her skin, hiding a litany of scars that likely littered her body.
He smiled for real now, an expression he hardly remembered how to make these days. Usually he hid between half smirks and sarcastic grins that sent shivers down people's spines. So the Wraith was real. He was not going mad, despite what his brother's voice in his head led him to believe. "There you are," he breathed.
She just continued to give him an unimpressed stare. Like she didn't know why he called out to her. Like she didn't trust him. Not that he'd given her a reason to trust him; he couldn't blame her wariness. For as many men wanted himself dead, there had to be a fair number of people looking to slay the Wraith. Maybe they even approached her in the same way he was right then.
"I'd like to make a deal with you, Wraith," he said, bringing himself down to her level as he clumsily moved to sit at the end of the dock. He set his cane off to the side even as his knee lit up with pain, keeping his feet out of the water.
Still, she said nothing. He would put it off as a lack of understanding, but Kaz saw it in her eyes. Understanding. He could see the flicker of anger and frustration, too. Good. Hate would make it easier to strike this deal.
"I'm not in the habit of making deals with men like you," she said finally.
The words came out short and gurgled with the water in her throat. She hadn't used her voice in so long that she was surprised to learn it still worked. There wasn't usually a need to communicate with anybody beyond the message of tearing terrible humans apart and leaving their mutilated corpses behind.
Kaz's smile turned into something more dangerous, a shock of silver in the moonlight. "Then it's a good thing I'm not wholly a man." His bravado faltered, however, as she skewered him with a look and he felt the unfamiliar urge to explain himself. "That's what anybody on the street will tell you, Wraith. They've been saying it for so long that I think I believe it myself."
The words hung between them for so long that Kaz wondered if he spoke too familiarly. He wanted to snatch the words back, to lock his slight vulnerability behind his usual posturing. Except he knew deep down that if he tried to course correct, he would never be able to make this deal.
"I know who you are," she said finally. Her eyes landed on where his gloved hands sat in his lap. "Dirtyhands."
He let out an unamused huff. "You know one of my names," he said. Kaz didn't know if he should be proud or put-out that the Wraith knew his title. Infamy on the streets meant power–but the names shared between demons. That was something different.
Not to mention, if she knew him, she was unlikely to help him. People who knew him hardly felt the urge to help unless blackmail was involved. And to be quite honest, even if he could manage to blackmail the Wraith, he was almost certain that she would deny helping out of simple spite. She was likely the only creature in Ketterdam who could afford such a luxury.
"I've known your name since I first made it to Ketterdam," she said hotly, her chin tilting up. "The streets know your sins, Kaz Brekker."
The sound of his name from her mouth sent a shiver down his spine. So, she did know him. Or at least, part of him. The legend parts. "Not all the sins are true," he countered, which made her flinch. Good. "Tell me: have you always been the Wraith?"
"Long enough," she said hotly, inching closer to where he sat on the dock. "Long enough to know better than to trust you."
He smiled at that, looking down at his hands. "Fair enough," he said, stretching out his fingers. He stared at them for a moment before curling his hands into loose fists. "Now, about our deal."
"I never agreed to make a deal with you, Dirtyhands."
"I'm not asking for much," he said, continuing on as if she hadn't spoken. "In all honesty, it's a task I think you'd rather enjoy." He waited for another snappy retort and was almost disappointed when she remained silent. Kaz heaved out a long sigh and tore his eyes from his gloved hands, forcing his attention out to the rocks on the horizon. "One day…" he said slowly. His jaw clenched and he closed his eyes. "One day, Wraith, I'm going to walk right off this dock and land in the water."
"I'm not going to save you," she said quickly.
A wry smile stretched his lips thin, hiding his teeth. "I'm not asking you to save me, darling," he said, his eyes snapping open to glare at her. "I'm asking you to make sure I stay down."
She froze, pinned beneath his gaze. "Excuse me?" she sputtered.
Kaz was exhausted. Surely she understood exactly what he wanted. How much clearer did he have to be? "I want you to make sure I stay down, Wraith," he snapped. "Make sure I stay dead."
He waited for her to make a joke. To tell him that she could kill him right then and there, regardless of the deal he wanted to make. She could argue that she's never made a deal with a mortal; why should she start now? And, frankly, he would have accepted his fate. Maybe it was sooner than expected, but he already told Jesper. There were worse ways to die.
"Why?" she asked instead.
The question sent his insides in circles. "Why did you become the Wraith?" he countered.
He stared at her blankly, knowing she would never tell him. He couldn't give her an answer about his past if she asked, either. Monsters weren't allowed to have complicated histories filled with pain and loss and memories that made him want to claw his skin off some days. There were no 'whys' for creatures like them. No. They were simply supposed to be monstrous.
She didn't need to know why he wanted to die.
She just needed to know that he wanted to be dead.
The Wraith frowned and sank back into the water until only her eyes, nose, mouth, and her hair, swirling around her head, were visible. "I'll think about it," she said, the water bubbling with her words.
Kaz nodded and relief flooded his system. "Thank you."
"I haven't agreed yet."
The clock tower tolled, signaling two bells into the night. Kaz sighed. Their night had to come to a close here. He still needed to track down Jesper tonight and even if he had tamed himself considerably since hooking up with Wylan… the guy still knew how to get into more than his fair share of trouble. And he didn't need trouble tonight. Or, he didn't need more trouble than that of his own creation.
"'Yet' is enough for me," he drawled, pushing himself up, using his cane to keep himself from careening into the water. He didn't know why he sat down to greet her today, not when his leg has been giving him crap all day. "I'll see you around, Wraith."
He nodded once in her direction, as if maybe she would return the favor of a goodbye, and turned away when he realized she wouldn't say anything more tonight. If he wasn't so rude himself, he might have quipped that even monsters seemed to lack manners these days. But he kept the words to himself, tucking them beneath his tongue, as he started mindlessly going through the plan of action for tonight's parley. It really was a shame that he didn't have a good spider at the moment. The Dregs had plenty under their protection, but Kaz didn't care for them. He knew some of them were two-timing him every opportunity they got.
He swore he could feel the Wraith's eyes on him right up until he disappeared from the view of the harbor, and he wondered to himself if being a monster allowed him for better situational awareness.
Or, if after ten years of living in the Barrel, he accidentally allowed himself to become superstitious.