Dreadful Ashes

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  “I just…”

  “You didn’t want to admit it or face it.” Her smile turned warm and comforting. I could feel it, down to my cold dead bones. “And that's okay. But I think you need to stop running from it, and I want to help.”

  “…Can’t run much farther,” I finally agreed.

  “So talk.” She put one arm around my shoulders and leaned on me, trading off which of her soft, pale hands held mine. So close, her body heat seemed to radiate through me—or maybe it was just more of her comforting presence.

  My own mistakes were a hard foe to face. “I fucked up, Tam.” Especially to face and walk away from it in one emotional piece. “He’s not just some other random Strigoi in town.” I swallowed hard even though my mouth and throat remained dry. “I made him.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  Blinking in astonishment, I separated our heads long enough to hit her with an unbelieving stare. “You know more than I do. Maybe you should just tell my story.” I shook my head, then leaned against her again for support. It’d be a hell of a lot easier. “Again, how?”

  “The things you say when you think no one’s listening,” she replied quietly. “And the guilt I felt you bathing in after this hunt.”

  “When…” I trailed off and started over. “After Rain and Jason found me. After I took my two-month swim.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “I was starving…so hungry. Like I’ve never been before. It felt like it was consuming me.” I wondered if she understood. After all, Tamara was a vampire, too.

  “When you go that long without…that’s exactly what happens,” she replied sympathetically. That answered my question bluntly enough. “You don’t just feel like you’re being consumed, you are being consumed.” She shuddered. I shuddered with her. “If the Strigoi are anything like us, or the Sanguinarians…the hunger can change you if it goes long enough, if it gets bad enough. Change you permanently.” I saw her glance at me out of the corner of her eyes thoughtfully. “Well, maybe not you.”

  “I’m not special,” I responded.

  “Meladoquiel disagreed,” Tamara whispered. “That Fright guy seemed to find it out, too.”

  I changed the subject back to my fuck ups. “I couldn’t think straight—no. I couldn’t think. At all. I wandered the streets, trying to find somebody…somebody that I could convince myself deserved it. But in the end, I just jumped the first person I found in an alley, and I didn’t give two shits about who it was.” I shook my head. “When it came down to it, all I needed was an excuse.”

  “You’re contradicting yourself.” Her voice was kind, but firm, and the faintest of supernatural edges made sure I was at least listening. “You couldn’t think, and yet it was still you, still your fault?”

  “I killed him, Tam.” I cut her off, my own voice harsher than I intended, angrier than I wanted. “It was still me that did it.” Pretty much exactly what Charles had warned me would happen, way back when we’d first met.

  My tone didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. “You’re thinking of what Charles told you a handful of years ago, right?”

  “Quit that.”

  “Except it’s still wrong, just like it was then. It’s not like you scaled an apartment building, broke into it, and ate a family or something.” Now her voice came out harsh, or maybe it was just my mind recoiling from the vivid image that those words conjured. “And you could have. I know you could hear the heartbeats all around you. And it’s not like you aren’t strong enough.”

  My shoulders slumped, and I hung my head. “I’m sure it was just a matter of time.”

  “Do you blame me for the Adventure massacre?”

  I flinched. The massacre she spoke of was the third-largest killing of LGBT people in the country’s history, perpetrated by one Ca-Lethe Meladoquiel—while controlling Tamara’s body. “That wasn’t you,” I responded immediately.

  “No?” The self-directed anger and disgust in her otherwise beautiful voice mirrored mine, tainting its purity. “It was me. I couldn’t control myself.” She turned to look me in the eyes, our faces close. “Two can play that game, Ashes.” She dropped her gaze from mine. “I even handed my body over to her,” she said bitterly. “At least you went down fighting.”

  “I…”

  “Don’t you think it eats at me? The murders? And you forgave me.” Slowly, she looked up again. “Believe me, I know it’s hard…but we have to…forgive ourselves, too.” Something shifted in her eyes. “Eventually.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re taking your own advice.” It was hard to argue her reasoning, even if it didn’t banish the guilt, the self-blame. Though her words did blunt their edge.

  I waited, but she didn’t answer me.

  “It’s why the thing with Fright bothered you so much, isn’t it?” I nodded, fitting it together.

  “My whole life…part of what defines us as Moroi, as Mother’s lineage in particular, is our ability to control ourselves. Our will, our control, our power.” She started to pull away a little, but I held her hand firmly. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, struggling. “To have that stripped away, over and over…it makes me wonder if there was a good reason my family turned their backs on me. Maybe there’s something wrong with me—”

  “Stop that.” I put my hand over her mouth as if to stifle the thought along with the words. “Liandra was the reason. Not you.”

  “You can’t know that.” She bit my hand a little until I moved it. Then she stared at me. “Can you?”

  I shifted. “Um…” The jig was up, as they say. At least partially. “Let’s just say I’m onto something. And if you give me a little longer, I think I can prove it to you.”

  Tamara smiled, the warmth seeping back in—a shadow of its former self, but still present. “I’m still skeptical. But thank you for trying. Just don’t…” Worry stole into her eyes. “Don’t get too deep into my family’s business. It’s not worth it.”

  “You’re worth it,” I responded without thinking.

  Her hands framed the sides of my face, pulling down my wrap before I registered it. “You…” Without warning, she leaned in and kissed me. Deeply. One hand traveled to the back of my neck, bracing me, pulling me in as if she feared I would escape. I pushed back against her instead, returning the intensity in kind, brushing my hand as gently as I could along her perfect cheek. Warmth and arousal rose in my core, and I melted against her a little.

  It lasted a long time. I didn’t mind.

  Finally, she pulled free and took a deep breath, smiling. We stared at each other.

  Her eyes sparked in the dark, but bit by bit, I watched the lambent, liquid brightness fade away once more.

  “You were right,” she said, her voice still soft, her breath still warm on my face. “I’m not happy.” She took my hand in hers and squeezed it again, sending a tingle along my nerves. “But it’s not you. I…I like living with you, actually.” She made a face. “Though it could be a lot nicer in here.”

  “You just miss your car.”

  She snorted. “Yes? But really…” She hesitated. “I miss my family. Despite everything. There were some of them I loved, you know. Even if Li was a pain. I miss the support. And I miss being able to…feed. Easily. Hell, I miss looking like myself when I step in front of the mirror, Ashes.”

  There, I could certainly sympathize. “Well, I fixed that part for you a few weeks ago.”

  Tamara rolled her eyes. We both knew I hadn’t broken the mirror to spare her.

  We sat there and held hands in silence for a minute, our faces lit by a still image of Jackie Chan fighting off a dozen guys at once with a car tire or something. Tamara broke our standstill first, leaning her head on my shoulder again with a breathy sigh. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “End up making me feel better when I’m trying to make you feel better.”

  “I don’t do it on purpose.”

  Her sudden laugh came out as a cough. She gri
nned, then shook her head. “Well…I hope I help you half as much as you do me.”

  You have no idea. “You do help. A lot.” My mind turned back to the original, darker subject. “Do you think he was the one that attacked our curator-collector guy? My…mystery Strigoi?” Claiming him was still an effort of will. And I still hoped I was wrong.

  “You think he was?” She seemed surprised.

  “Well…” I thought through the clues in my mind. “Maybe. He feels like me, like death. Same as the trail we followed to the house. And his claws could certainly do the job.”

  “Does it fit his M.O.?” Tamara shifted thoughtfully. “Those ‘crime scenes’ of yours paint a different picture, a picture of someone brutal and uncontrolled. Like you used to be.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I said ‘used to.’” She shook her head, rubbing damp, sweet-smelling hair across my face. “No, that cut on the old collector was surgical. Deliberate. Calculated.” I felt the barest tremor of her shiver. “It could have been Fright.”

  I thought about it, but only for a moment. “No. He doesn't reek of death.” A lot of things matched, but not that.

  “So there’s more than one thing going on here. And we’re more than a little clueless.” She sighed, looking up at me with a long-suffering smile. “Typical, huh?”

  I nodded. “We are ass-deep in questions at the moment. Why did something attack that old man, and what was it? Was Fright the thing digging through the trash at the railyard, and why the hell would he? Not exactly a place I’d expect to find a Fae.” I thought of all the rusted metal. “And what did he find there and carry off? Also, why are there wolves?”

  “If it was your Strigoi that tried to kill the collector,” Tamara mused, “that would explain the wolves hunting you. Maybe.”

  I nodded again. “If they had some stake in his life or death, then yeah. It would. It’s not much to go on, but it explains their hostility, too.”

  “That and you punting one onto the top of a two-story building.”

  Heh. I smiled, for a moment at least. “I wonder if he made it. The poor old guy, I mean.”

  “I wish I knew. I can’t exactly call the hospital and ask, not anymore. My contacts are gone and doing it myself is risky.” Silence passed again. I wondered what time it was and hoped dawn was still a ways away. I wasn’t ready for the inevitable sunrise to end my night, not yet. “So…what are you going to do?”

  “You mean about…him. The Strigoi.”

  She nodded.

  I thought about it, but not for long. “End him.”

  Tamara went still for a moment. “Ashes…are you sure?” She squeezed my hand. “Are you sure that’s what you need to do, and not…” She hesitated. “Not just what you want to do?”

  She was suggesting that it was the easy way out. She was right. But it was also the only way out.

  Right?

  I cleared my throat again. “He can’t be allowed to keep on like this. There’s no other choice,” I rasped firmly.

  “Isn’t there?”

  “If he keeps on with the mass Sanguinarian killings, he’s going to bring them down on both our heads.” All of our heads. I ran my fingers through Tamara’s soft curls. “Not to mention the terror he’s pumping into the already drug-addled streets. He’s out of control.” I laid out all of my carefully thought-out talking points, trying to convince both of us. “But…most of all…I can’t let this disease of mine spread, Tam. I can't. It has to stop here. With me.”

  Her fingers intertwined with mine, soothing. “I understand. Just promise you’ll give it some more thought, okay?”

  I sighed. “Yeah. I just wish I could catch him before he kills again, instead of after the fact.”

  She sighed along with me though hers didn’t wheeze in and out. “What we need are clues. Leads in like a dozen different directions. Contacts.” She sounded a little bitter again. “And I’m all out.”

  “You don’t have to be the one that we call on for that, you know.”

  She snorted cutely. “Yeah. We could call Charles—oh wait.” She gave me a flat look.

  I thought about it. “Yeah, so he’s kinda MIA these days…but we could call someone else. Like Kitty.”

  I could feel Tamara’s hesitation, her caution. “I don’t want to bring trouble down on her,” she commented after a moment. “She’s a good friend, and I’m damaged goods…socially, I mean.”

  I grunted. “We need help. You can’t exactly go to the club—”

  “Easier to just turn myself in.”

  “—but what about the Gardens?” I finished.

  “It’s under the protection of the Fae,” the Moroi chewed the idea over. “It should be pretty safe. As safe as anywhere is. And I know Kitty goes there all the time anyway, so it’s not as suspicious.” Almost reluctantly, she pulled out her crappy phone. “I’ll message her, okay? But I’m not going to push. It’s up to her.”

  I was pretty certain what the fledgeling fairy would do. “Sounds good.”

  There didn’t seem to be much more to say. In silent agreement, we unpaused the movie and went back to trying to relax—except this time I put my arm around her, and Tamara responded by snuggling into my chest. I was amazed she could find it comfortable.

  Maybe things would be okay after all.

  I grinned as the movie entered into its high-octane final scenes, some of my all-time favorites. “Oh. I forgot to say thanks again for teaching me some of the basics. Those combat lessons are really coming in handy.” It was amazing how much a little bit of knowing-what-I-was-doing could help when I was fighting for my unlife.

  Tamara yawned. I wondered if she had almost fallen asleep. “You were pretty decent for a street fighter, don’t get me wrong. But a little polish does wonders for all that raw aggression.” She looked up at me and made a face. “I just wish I remembered more of Lucca’s lessons. Teaching is not my forte. Hell, I’m not a terribly good student.”

  I’d seen her in action more than a few times; I couldn’t agree, but didn’t feel like arguing the point. I remained unmoving, unusually comfortable and almost content, as Tamara’s heart rate slowed and her breathing became rhythmic and steady.

  Until I startled her by suddenly speaking. “Holy shit.”

  “What?” She stirred, sleepy but alarmed.

  “I should have kept that finger.”

  There was a long moment of silence, then Tamara settled stubbornly back against me, this time throwing a blanket over us both. “Ashes?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  6

  Gardens & guardians

  The siren’s song led us between the trees, along darkened paths and beneath overhanging boughs, thick beams of sluggish moonlight trickling through the branches. It lured us onward through the Gardens, through the familiar torii gate and past the sculpted rocks and carefully raked gravel. While nowhere near as strong as the call of a Moroi, it still tugged at us, urging us along past thick beds of cultivated flowers, their vibrant colors drenched pale under the moon or rendered monochrome by the night.

  “Almost…eerie, isn’t it?” Tamara squeezed my fingers as we walked, arm in arm, ever closer to the source of the sound. “If I didn’t know it was her…” She smiled, but I wondered how much her encounter with Fright lingered in the shadows or hid in the nighttime sounds…or even in the haunting, eerily melancholy strains of Kitty’s song. “Hold on a sec.”

  I disengaged from Tamara while she took off her Pancake Hut hat, tucking it into her shoulder bag as she shook her hair free, silver and black strands flying as she combed it out with her fingers. We’d made it a priority to hit up the Birmingham Botanical Gardens—official refuge of the Magic City Fae—right after she’d gotten off work. If I concentrated hard enough, I could still smell the distinctive aroma of pancakes and sausage wafting from her, even after the change of clothes.

  “Do I look okay?” She posed, hand on hip.

  My eyebrows went up
at the unusual question. “Always?” I replied. “I mean, of course.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was almost…embarrassed?

  Fair enough. I was embarrassed to work there too.

  “You look great,” I reiterated, taking Tamara’s arm again and tugging her along, causing her to stumble and smile at my accidental strength. “Now come on, let’s not keep the nice lady waiting.”

  At night, the Hilltop Garden area was a dance of shadow interspersed with light, with the lines of trees and the striking statues of Sir Bedevere and Eris, the Goddess of Chaos, all lit from beneath by flickering, fake electric torches. Meanwhile the long, shudder-worthy pool of water plants lurked in the darkened center, reflective and oily like a black mirror.

  “You know, I bet these trees are beautiful in the light,” Tamara said quietly, running her free hand along the scattered flowers that still remained, dripping from the plants. “And when it’s warmer.”

  “Vitex agnus-castus,” I said immediately with a nod to the tall, bushy plants. “And they’re actually a shrub, not a tree.”

  She raised an eyebrow. Probably in shock. “Since when do you know plants?” She stared at me.

  “I don’t,” I grinned. “I can read in the dark, though.” I pointed at the informative plaque lurking in the gloom just past her.

  Tamara’s laughter caught attention; the soft siren song cut off, replaced by an exclamation.

  “Tam!”

  I stepped aside as Katherine “Kitty” Rivers ran to hug her friend. She was a tall, striking, beautiful young woman, and even if she didn’t possess the flawless Moroi appearance, she still put tattered ol’ me to shame with ease. Her dark, hip-length, form-hugging sweater and tights accented more of her slender-yet-shapely figure than it hid. Ass-length, sleek ebony hair with a long, vibrant red streak caught air behind her as she threw herself at Tamara, who simply caught her and lifted her off her feet in a tight embrace.