Rock and Ruin

by Saranna Dewylde

  We didn’t count, didn’t matter. We were disposable.

  I had the feeling Cat could flay the skin off his body before he had the chance to do so much as touch her, and Nabila would stick him full of pins and then shrink his head… As for me, well, I got to kick him in the balls.

  None of us were evil.

  “You’d better get your shit straight,” I whispered. “Not all witches aren’t evil, and they sure as shit don’t deserve to be killed on the side of the road.”

  “Not all.” He rolled up, meeting my gaze with a strange level of determination. “But someone’s got to do something about the ones that are.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me that, with all of the evil in this demonic world, there would be others brave enough—or stupid enough—to fight them. Nabila, Oscar and I, we didn’t have a choice.

  But Lucas? If he wasn’t trapped in this world, what the hell was he doing in it?

  I tried to imagine him, curled up as he was, facing off with Sunglasses—or heaven forbid Churchfield…

  “You’re going to get yourself killed,” I said.

  He slowly struggled to his feet. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t.” But I did care. Damn it, I did.

  “Will you tell me what you are?” he asked quietly, no trace of anger left on his face or in his voice.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re terrifying.” He looked at me, something strange shining in his eyes. “I need to know what to call you.”

  I couldn’t help it.

  “Me? Terrifying?” Laughter bubbled up out of my throat. With all the horrifying things I’d seen in my short time in Vegas, all of the horror I knew was still to come, he thought I was scary? “I already told you, my name is Ash. Use it.”

  “My dorm room is warded. Nothing evil can enter there.”

  “Then obviously I’m not evil, dumbass. Logic. It works.” I tapped my own temple in the hopes I’d take my own advice. I should really put as much distance between us as I possibly could, but I found my feet were rooted to the spot.

  My own body betrayed me.

  He’d been so beautiful that morning. When I’d touched his face and wanted more. I’d thought it was a dream.

  How on earth had it become real? Had I truly done that?

  Catching myself humming in thought, I remembered I’d been humming a tune while thinking of him, just before I’d fallen asleep…

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed.

  “So that means I must be a witch?” I gave an affronted huff. But, if I was being honest with myself, I’d admit that I couldn’t stop thinking about him either. Not that I’d tell him that. “When are you from, seventeenth-century Salem?”

  “I… no. God, I’m fucking this up.” He dragged a hand through his hair.

  “Yeah, you are.” I glared at him, trying to use anger to keep all the other messy feelings at bay. “If you’d just asked me—used your words—I’d have talked to you. None of this was necessary.”

  “I didn’t know if you were a demon.”

  “You still don’t.” Why had I said that? Whatever. No backtracking now. “And so what if I was? They’re not all bad.”

  “Yes, they are. Every single one. But I know you’re not because of these.” He held up a pair of silver handcuffs that had runes and glyphs etched into the metal. “They didn’t stay on your wrists.”

  Holy shit. He really was some kind of demon hunter.

  It gut-punched me, the reality that a hunter had been hanging around my apartment—around my friends. Why? The question slipped out before I could help myself, “So what, is there a mighty demon population at UNLV?”

  “No.” He narrowed his eyes. “But there’s a mighty demon population in Vegas, as you no doubt know. If you’re not a demon, why do you live at The Milton?”

  Oscar’s face was clear in my mind. His mother. Nabila.

  I shook my head, almost sadly. “You don’t have to be a demon to live at The Milton.”

  “But you have to belong to them, right?” His lip curled with obvious disgust. “Do their bidding.”

  I jabbed a finger at him. “Fuck you. You don’t have to be bad to belong to a demon.”

  “Selling your soul is pretty high up that list, don’t you think?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “Yeah, well…” Sheer anger tried to strangle my tongue. Yet the words that emerged from my mouth shocked me with their calmness. “I guess it’s nice to live in a world where there’s never anything you were forced to do.”

  I started to walk away.

  “There’s always a choice,” he called after me.

  I turned to look back at him. “Yeah, there is. And imagine that. When selling your soul is the best of them—when death, or worse, is the alternative. Glad everything is so black and white for you.” How dare he condescend my prison—my pain? I flicked my fingers at him, shooing him away as one might a raccoon in the trash. “Go back to your vanilla latte life, where Mommy and Daddy pay all the bills and, when you turn off the light, there’s nothing in the dark.”

  I turned on my heel and practically sprinted toward The Milton.

  “Ash, wait.” His voice chased me. “Maybe we can help each other.”

  I outran it.

  I didn’t want to hear about his happy-choice plan, or his thoughts on all demons being evil and how Oscar was to blame because he’d had a choice. I didn’t want his perfect sunshine world with his rat poison hope.

  It was all bullshit, anyway.

  Lucas would use me and then throw me away, just like any of the demons who wanted me would. His being different, being better—that was nothing but a lie. Well, and yet another threat I needed to escape.

  The first chance I got, I was taking my friends back to that casino. And I was finding those answers.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The final two weeks of the semester had nearly passed me by, disappearing in a whirl of homework, papers, and exams—leaving only the tiniest slivers of time for band practice and exploring the casino. And the occasional trip to the hallway with Nash, of course.

  But I’d done it.

  Somehow I’d clawed my way through the mountain of catch-up assignments, dropping off my final paper to Churchfield that morning. A whole day early! There’d be no citations or extensions from her.

  Which was a good thing, because I’d barely seen my father.

  As much as I still had mixed feelings, I was worried.

  He hadn’t even been leaving me notes the last couple of days. Without that regular proof of life, I feel anxious. Adrift.

  I didn’t want to need Jim. But maybe—just maybe—I did.

  Letting out a shaky breath, I shoved a stack of finished assignments into my locker and leaned my forehead against the cool metal for a moment. A bunch of “A”s marked those assignments, but I couldn’t take satisfaction in the good grades. Hell, I couldn’t even show them to the one person who’d care—my dad. Fucking demons.

  The school churned with talk of the Principal.

  The very air felt thick with speculation, like I was trapped in a field, staring down a coming tornado. Any moment the clouds would shift and the full fury of the gathering storm would land upon my head.

  It didn’t help that I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the Bulldog.

  I knew removing her barriers were part of my bargain with Bournival—but I didn’t like it. If I couldn’t see her, I couldn’t gauge the scale of whatever revenge she was plotting, couldn’t head her off at the pass.

  Not that I’d been around The Milton enough for it to really matter.

  My friends and I had been spending every free minute at the Flambeau, and we had no answers to show for it. Nope. Just our doomsday clock, ticking ever faster.

  I pressed a palm over my heart, willing it to steady.

  With the arrival of the Principal only days away, something had to give. I really hoped it wouldn’t be me.


  My phone buzzed, announcing it was time to meet Nabila and Oscar at the Flambeau for a final hunt. I dug deep, trying to find my normal determination. Today might be our last chance to find Nabila’s key before the Principal arrived, I had to bring my A-game.

  I sent a quick text to Cat, letting her know I’d be late, and then I hurried out.

  I wished I could walk with Nabila and Oscar, but we’d agreed to travel separately, each taking a different, winding route to avoid being followed. Stupid Sunglasses. And stupid Nash—why couldn’t I have an almost-boyfriend who wasn’t a shifty sexual manipulator? He’d have been helpful when it came to checking around corners and over my shoulder.

  Whatever. I was going into battle.

  So I’d go alone.

  “Oscar? Nabila?” I stage whispered as I approached the already shadowed entrance of the casino. “Are you here yet?”

  “Shhh.” Nabila’s head popped out of the entrance. “Were you followed?”

  “No, you psycho,” I hissed, “I wouldn’t be here if I was.”

  “Then get in here.” Her head disappeared from view.

  I sighed. Sometimes my friend made it hard to like her. “Wait for me!”

  My sixth sense had always just come to me. I’d never had to reach for it, to try to shape it and use it. I tried to reach out with it, tried to draw it to me as we moved through the darkened ruins.

  With the late-November light fading fast, we didn’t have long.

  “Fuck.” My foot sunk into a rotted floorboard and I stumbled. Oscar caught me before my face could get acquainted with the floor. “Thanks.”

  “Happy to help, Ash. Sadly I don’t think our search can continue much longer,” Oscar said as he guided me along the warped passage. “You won’t be able to see anything in the dark.”

  “I know. I—”

  Light flashed, momentarily blinding me. Bright and orange and blazing against the basement’s shadows, like a rave had appeared on the ceiling. Then it vanished without a trace.

  My heart kicked in my chest.

  Had that been energy?

  “Stop, Oscar. Stop. There’s something here. Nabila!” I called for her, “I think… I actually found something.”

  I could hear the rapid footfalls of Nabila hurrying back toward us. But I couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t tear my eyes away from the walls as spider-web-thin strands of amber energy wove themselves into a message atop what might have been a painting. Or a wall. What it was on didn’t matter.

  All that mattered were the letters.

  The shape of them was so beautiful. The lines warm and filmy, drifting into groups and patterns as gently as butterflies on a hot summer day. I brushed my fingers against a curling line and felt a tug of the past.

  For a fleeting moment, voices sang in my head, calling from times long past.

  When they faded, I tasted salt and realized I was crying.

  Had that been Nabila’s ancestors? God. Their voices had been so beautiful, so warm.

  “Where! Where is it? Ash!” The cries were distant. Muffled as if I floated beneath the water and the person shouted from the surface.

  “Be quiet, Nabila. Ash will tell us when she can.”

  Even diluted by the rushing in my ears, I knew it was Oscar talking.

  Reaching blindly toward the voice, I grabbed his hand and hung on. Needing his solid presence to anchor me. But touching him didn’t ground me. Instead, it was something akin to a power-bore wind in my sails.

  The lines moved faster, blurring and tightening into a confusing mass. A mess of decades-old light. I wasn’t ready for this. I needed to do something—and I had no idea what. Or how.

  Energy burned through my body.

  “I can’t hold it,” I gasped. “Help!”

  “I’ve got you.” On my left side, a smaller hand took hold. Nabila. The whirling slowed. She was an anchor. She knew how to hold it. “Breathe, Ash. We’ve got you. Tell the words to show you their message. Then let them go.”

  “Okay,” I said, tightening my hold on both her and Oscar.

  Instinct told me I didn’t have time to ask Nabila for a lesson on talking to energy. But respect demanded some effort.

  “I’m here with Nabila, your, er, descendant,” I stammered. “So, please show me your message—okay?”

  Great. I was officially an idiot. I needed to take up poetry.

  Despite my clunky plea, the lines moved again. Slowly, but with a purpose they’d lacked when I first saw them. The sensation of sheer, unbridled love washed over me. Words shimmered into being against the wall. The message was short, as was the arrow beneath them.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “You can go.”

  As the writing faded back into shadow, my knees buckled. Oscar and Nabila lowered me to the floor, where I sat. Grateful for the chance to catch my breath.

  “Ash?” Nabila whispered.

  I knew she was trying to give me time to recover. But this was her family and everyone’s future. Just because I was the only one who could see it, didn’t mean it was my message.

  Get it together, Alcantara.

  It occurred to me I was still holding their hands. “Think you can help me up?”

  They pulled me to my feet and I let Oscar reclaim his hand. Yet I held tight to Nabila’s as I locked my gaze with hers. “You were right. Your grandfather loved you so much, he saw you as the future of your family—and he did leave you a message. It said ‘The Truth Will Set You Free.’”

  “Thank you, Ash,” she said, so quietly I more saw her lips move than heard the words.

  Her hand was shaking, and I let go. Stepping back to give us both space.

  “And there was an arrow below the words, pointing there,” I gestured farther down the hallway.

  “The key.” In the faint light of my phone, I saw Nabila’s eyes glimmer.

  “Let’s go,” Oscar said. As one, we scrambled down the broken corridor and into the final room on this level.

  Even half a century of disrepair couldn’t make what greeted me less impressive. The ceiling had crumbled inwards, letting daylight filter through the dust-coated air. Lazy beams gleaming dully off the massive metal door of the casino’s walk-in safe.

  “You never thought to look in the giant, I-could-probably-fit-an-elephant-inside safe?” I laughed.

  “Ha. Ha.” Nabila snorted and pushed past me. “Of course, I looked in here. But I didn’t have you.”

  Damn. She expected me to look again.

  My stomach dropped—that message had knocked me off my feet. I regarded that open safe as warily as a fly facing a venus flytrap. I inched forward to peer cautiously inside. Something bumped against my shoulder. Glancing to the right, I found Oscar standing next to me. His brows rose in question.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for another viewing,” I admitted.

  He nodded. “Perhaps you don’t have to. It must have taken a lot of effort to make that single message, I cannot understand Nabila’s grandfather would have left it only to leave another here.”

  My eyebrows pulled together and I squinted at him. “So what? We go in there, say the line, and presto-change-o the magical door opens.”

  “I don’t have a better idea, Ash. Do you?”

  “No.” I poked him in the side. “It’s your turn to sound like a tool. You say it.”

  “Very well,” he said, moving ahead of me into the belly of the safe.

  The reinforced structure was so large, I figured you could put every kid from Churchfield’s homeroom in here and they’d still have room to move around.

  “The Truth Will Set You Free,” Oscar said.

  I braced for a deluge of energy.

  Nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders. I’d come this far, I couldn’t wimp out now. I slowly panned the inside of the safe, the walls covered in small, rectangular doors with small, etched numbers the only marking. I tried unfocusing my gaze, letting it slowly drift back into resolution. It m
ade the boxes look like they were moving, but not strands of energy jumped out at me.

  “I’m not getting anything.” I ran both hands through my hair and kicked at a dust bunny. “Either I just fried myself, or there’s nothing in here for me to read.”

  “Try harder,” Nabila bit out.

  “Ash,” Oscar spoke up before I could tear a strip off Nabila. “I think there might be something to these lock-box numbers. Come over here.”

  Shooting a glare at Nabila, I picked my way over to Oscar. As I left the door, I had to pull out my phone, using its screen as a flashlight. Holding it ahead of me, I saw Oscar was pointing to where the safe wall met the ceiling. There were names and numbers printed in small type-face above the columns of metal boxes.

  “What are you thinking, Oscar?”

  “I’ve heard that sentence before; the one Nabila’s grandfather…”

  “Right. I think it’s a famous line from the bible. That’s so weird. Why would your grandfather use a quote from the Bible, Nabila?”

  “I dunno. Granddaddy never was much for church-going.” She pulled a pin from her fro and scratched at the numbers facing one of the boxes. “Everyone knew it… That’s it! Ash. Everyone knew Granddaddy wasn’t for church-going—including his demon.”

  “So they’d never think to look for those types of clues,” I finished, grinning back at her. “I just can’t remember what section it was in. One sec, okay?”

  Leaving the safe for the hallway, where phone signals existed, I studied my phone and chewed my lip. I’d promised Cat I wouldn’t use it to access the internet or anything frivolous, but this was an emergency.

  Selecting my contacts, I went to Cat’s number and hit the call button.

  She picked up on the first ring. “Ash, what’s wrong?”

  “Hi, Cat. Nothing’s wrong, I’m just out with some friends and I really need to look something up. Can I please use the phone’s data just once? I promise I’ll be quick.”

  There was a sigh before Cat replied, “I don’t think it’s set up for the whatchamacallit—the data plan. What do you need to know?”

  “Uh.” I glanced back at the safe. Nabila and Oscar were standing in the doorway, watching me with matching expressions of bafflement. Well, we needed the answer. We might not get another chance at this. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”