“I have one of those answers,” The cold anger in Kitty’s voice slowly faded. “A man named Juris.”
“Wait, that’s—” I began.
“That can’t be—” Tamara cut across me.
We looked at each other for a moment. “You know him?” I asked.
“Um, he’s one of my cousins,” Tamara frowned at me, confused. “So yeah? How do you know him?”
Because I have a secret Sanguinarian that I share everything with. I shook my head. “Because I found out that he’s the person who replaced Davora,” I replied bluntly.
Tamara blinked. “When did you—” She shook her head. “No, nevermind. I just have a hard time believing it; he was always an upstanding member of the family with a great head for business and a promising future as far as my older siblings were concerned. I don’t see why he’d throw that away to…” Her eyes went wide, dim sapphire irises reflecting the moonlight. “No. I know exactly why he’d do something like this.” She stared at me.
“Um…” I shifted uneasily. “Did I do something?”
“Yeah,” Tamara said softly. “Silvia and Petra were his half-sisters.”
At a loss for words, I sat back in the chair as half-forgotten guilt arose anew from the mire of my memories like a stubborn phoenix.
After a moment, the conversation continued without me. “I suppose revenge would be a good motivator,” Kitty said quietly. She sighed. “Anyway, we don’t know what the ritual is for—”
“Except to ‘change the world’,” Hershel interjected.
“But I do know that Fright has a contract with Juris to see it to completion,” Kitty continued.
“So neither he nor Lan are going to give up.” Tamara took a heavy breath. “Not good.” She gave Kitty a look. “You know, you really caught me off guard here. How’d you even manage to get all of this out of him?”
“I asked.” Kitty grinned. “To be exact, I asked Hersh to get a message to him.” The big fairy smiled broadly. “I told Fright that I was a fairy with similar powers and heritage to his, and that I really wanted to meet him. That was enough.” Her smile faded a little. “He was…lonely, I think. It was pretty simple to manipulate him from there.”
“You seem like you enjoyed talking to him,” Tamara commented.
“Honestly? I did. He was surprisingly easy to talk to.” Kitty leaned back in her chair. “We’re like opposites, but similar at the same time. He’s…young. For a Fae. He doesn't know much about our world, like I don’t know much about his.” The pretty fairy took a hesitant breath. “In fact, the longer we talked the harder it was for me to believe he’s a bad guy.”
I grunted. “I think I have the claw marks to prove otherwise,” I replied, gesturing toward my spine. “Somewhere back there.” Tamara gave me a squeeze.
“I’d like to hope you don’t have to kill him, at least.”
“No promises,” was all I could say in return. Being stuck in a handicapping bargain with one of my Fae friends was all I needed.
“That’s fair,” Kitty sighed. “If…unfortunate.”
“Side question,” Tamara interjected, changing the subject. “How were you able to sit there and talk with him without being…” She swallowed. “You know, terrified?”
“I couldn’t,” Kitty replied with a shrug. “I mean, not completely. He was scary. It’s his nature.” Despite the words, her icy eyes glittered with interest. “But it also called to something deep inside me. And I think it helped that he didn’t actually turn it all the way up until Ashes appeared.”
Tamara nodded, but didn’t seem satisfied.
“So what was that about ‘his father’s son’ and all?” On a hunch, I directed the question to Hershel instead of his apprentice. “You totally know something we don’t. You have to.”
“Probably many things.” Hershel took a deep breath, tugging thoughtfully at his prodigious beard. “But you’re right, and it’s time you knew what it was. Fright isn’t just any old Fae. He’s the oldest—and only—son of one of the most powerful Fae left: Nischever, the Lord of Fear, Nightmares, and Shadow.” I opened my mouth to interject, and Hershel shook his head. “And yes, I recognized Fright’s name the first time you said it. But I was evasive because I wanted to wait to know more before I said anything; remember, with us Fae it’s entirely too easy to fuck ourselves over, and entirely too hard to un-fuck ourselves afterward.”
“I gotcha.” I couldn’t really hold it against him; as the Warden of the Green, I supposed he had to cover his ass. “So…besides explaining why he’s too goddamned strong, this also means he’s bad news to tangle with, if he’s someone so important.” Because we needed more complications.
“Not…necessarily,” Kitty commented. “I got the distinct feeling his father doesn't know where he is.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is that something we can use against him?” I asked hopefully.
“Not in any way you’d like,” Hershel responded with a sigh. “With Fright in a contract, he will have to fulfill it; his father can’t change those basic rules for him. And besides, High Lord Nischever can’t come across himself; he’s far too big to go through any Door or Window that leads back Home. It would take a massive magical working to open…” He trailed off, his bushy brows rising in alarm.
“Like maybe one the size of our city, powered by the fear of half a million people?” I rasped.
We all stared at each other for a long while, considering the implications.
“Well, I might as well tell you the rest of what I found out,” Kitty finally broke the silence. “Though I don’t know how much it matters now…”
Tamara shook her head. “No, let’s hear it. Anything might be helpful.”
She nodded. “Well, I made some calls over the last few days. Turns out the two men you found that Lan injured,” her eyes flickered, “weren’t the first. A historian out towards Gardendale died almost two weeks ago…of a ‘heart attack.’”
“That could have been Fright, or Lan,” I rasped.
“Believe me, I know,” Kitty replied. “Though you’ll be happy to know that the man you ran into, in the house with the wolves? He survived.” I shared a smile with Tamara; it was nice to have a note of good news in all the darkness. “Critical condition still, but yeah. And that’s not all; I found Mr. Alvarez’s niece. Nice girl. Ex-military.”
“And?” I tilted my head.
“And she knows about the supernatural,” Kitty continued with a sly smile. “She helped me piece a few things together…like the connection between Alvarez and the others that were attacked.”
“Well, don’t keep us waiting,” Tamara leaned forward.
“Vulcan,” Kitty replied simply, like the name explained everything. “Alvarez had written several articles on the statue's history, as had the historian that had the heart attack. They’d even collaborated from time to time.” She smiled grimly. “And the man you saved? He had a piece of the statue in his collection. Which was missing afterward, according to police reports.”
I sat back in my chair and stared at Tamara. She stared back. Lan, Fright, and his father. A massive ritual involving the power of fear, many months in the working. A Sanguinarian-Moroi alliance, intended to shake the power structure of both organizations. And at the focal point, the city’s towering, century-old Vulcan statue, whose spear and imposing iron physique could be seen from across town. The answers we’d gained tonight had raised even more questions, dangerous ones, the kind that neither of us could answer on our own.
Slowly, she smiled, and I smiled along with her.
We couldn’t, but we both knew someone who could.
14
Dynamic exit
I wiped the blood from my meal off of my face as best I could and returned to Tamara’s side.
She took one look and made a face. “You missed some.” She searched briefly through her messenger bag and handed me a handful of packaged wet napkins, the same kind fancy restaurants give you when you eat ribs.
I gave it another go as we walked, trying to become semi-presentable before finally just pulling my mask up to cover any lingering mess. I hadn’t wanted to feed right now; I’d wanted to wait until she was at work again and do the bloody deed more privately. But all the rapid transit back and forth across the city was starting to take its toll; I simply wasn’t cut out to be a supernatural taxi.
Besides, with the things Kitty had uncovered tonight, I didn’t really want to be low on juice whenever shit really hit the fan.
“Soooo…” I took Tamara’s arm as we walked the last few streets to Bookbinders. “You’re a Moroi.”
Tamara barked out an abrupt half-laugh. “You just noticed?”
“More, did you notice what I noticed? Back at the Gardens?”
Tamara took a breath and adjusted her coat, tugging the cheap fuzzy lining tighter around her throat. “Yeah…Rain’s gonna be sad.”
“Only if we tell him,” I responded. “Just because Kitty’s got a connection with the guy doesn't mean it’ll go anywhere.”
“Especially if we end up killing him, you mean?”
“That too.” I frowned. “How bad is it that one of my first thoughts is how to use this against Fright?”
Tamara glanced over. “You’re starting to think like a Moroi,” she offered, but didn’t answer the question.
“She really did seem to enjoy herself, you know. And you said Kitty couldn’t handle herself.”
“So did you,” the Moroi retorted. “But yes, I stand corrected.” Arm in arm with me, she stared up into the surprisingly clear night sky as we walked. “Before we left, she mentioned that while she might not like all the fighting and stuff, she really enjoyed the social back and forth, the stimulating wordplay and the avoiding of deals and debts, that sort of thing.”
“That’ll serve her well in the future.” We took the seven cracked steps together, the cluster of mortal magicians that lingered on Bookbinders porch making plenty of space as soon as they felt the chill in the air that announced my presence. My reputation among the more “normal” members of the Birmingham supernatural community lay somewhere between folk-hero-esque and infamous, and I was pretty certain I didn’t like either one.
I stopped with my hand an inch from the door handle. It wasn’t the thick, reinforced wards that lay over the threshold that held me up, though, nor the heavy sign etched in Charles’ powerful protective magics that hung like an executioner’s blade over my head.
“Are we sure we should drag her into this, too?” Once we stepped inside, it was set in stone.
“Ashes, we almost died. Twice.” Tamara lay a hand on the back of my neck, comforting, soaking up the rage her reminder had sparked before it could grow. “If Fright and Lan are in this together, let alone working with others, we can’t go this alone. We need help.”
And not just any help; a magician’s help. And with Charles in short supply…
“Remember, it’s her city too,” Tamara said softly.
From inside, someone opened the door in my face, and the choice was gone.
I shrugged off my reservations and waved a cheery hello at Mama Flora as we made our way through Bookbinders, past the long bar and cappuccino machines, past the indoor fountain and the displays of statuettes and tarot decks, incense and old books. We ignored the offshoot rooms and distant stairs leading upward and went directly to the back, where the old mambo had picked a thoughtful table along the side of the room, one well away from the merrily roaring fireplace-turned-community-altar that took up the majority of the back wall.
“Y’know, I been waitin’ near a week for you two stubborn youngin’s t’break down and call me,” the tiny, ebony-skinned woman commented dryly as we arrived. “Might as well pull up a chair, ‘cause it’s gonna be a real, real long night, yeah.”
“Mama” Flora Ramona was a simple, authentic Vodoun Mambo from Louisiana…or so she said. My personal guess was that she was one of the oldest and most knowledgeable residents in the entire city, save perhaps for Charles and a few notable vampires—and far from simple. As thin as a lamp post and about as sturdy, the ample gray in her curly black hair and prominent wrinkles indicated her advancing age at the same time that her lively gray eyes happily mocked it.
“You knew we were coming?” Tamara asked, pulling out a heavy wooden chair for each of us.
The older woman made a face, but the dry expression soon died and was reborn as a warm, welcoming smile. “O’course, I did, but ya’ll two sure done took y’sweet time gettin’ ‘round to it.” She grinned broadly, showing off her pearly white teeth. “An’ seein’ as we’re runnin’ so late, let’s get down t’the goins on and see if we can’t put this whole crisis t’bed, yeah?”
I smiled in return, realizing too late that she couldn’t see it through the damn mask either. But Mama Flora had a knack for putting people at their ease, and Tamara and I were no exception. If she could help us get a handle on what was going on, maybe we could manage after all. We broke down the story so far and took turns filling her in on everything we knew though I let Tamara do most of the talking; the mere mention of Lan—or Tamara’s two near-death experiences—was still enough to tint the edges of my vision crimson.
“So,” the Moroi wrapped up, “we’ve got vampires attacking historians, Fae stealing pieces of the Vulcan, assassins after our skins, and wolves literally dogging our steps.” She sighed. “And somehow, this all connects to a city-wide magical ritual?” Tamara shook her head and took a long, slow sip of her drink, savoring the taste of the hot mocha I’d bought her. “Ashes and I have no idea what’s really going on.”
“At risk of sounding like myself, I have to concur,” I rasped. “We’re clueless. You’re the only capable magician we could turn to, and no one else knows Birmingham’s history as well as you…not anyone still alive and non-hospitalized, anyway.”
“An’ that grumpy old pole of a wizard mus’ still be AWOL, or you’d already a’turned t’him instead.”
I felt a little guilty, but nodded. “Any ideas?” I rasped hopefully.
She gave us a kind, knowing smile. “Sometimes I forget how young you two really are. Thought it’d be obvious.” The smile slowly faded away. “There’s only a couple of things a spell this big’d be for, and—”
Back behind us, the front door to Bookbinders slammed open, echoing loudly through the customers’ sudden silence, ushering in a sudden gust of chill night wind. Overhead, the lights flickered once and strained to stay on. I twisted in my chair, half rising to my feet—
—only to see the world’s most haggard-looking wizard approach at full pace, pushing roughly past patrons as he approached.
“It’s a ritual,” Charles said flatly, throwing a heavy satchel down on the table.
The tall wizard looked about the same as he had the last time I’d seen him, even considering that then he’d been at least half dead. His stained, battered coat hung from his shoulders like the frame of a coffin; his dark cinnamon eyes were strained and surrounded with heavy, dark circles. There were ragged claw marks on the lower leg of his army surplus fatigues, and his mussed, dark brown hair looked to have seen even less attention than the bristly beardling sprawled unevenly across the lower half of his face.
And his staff…his poor, broken staff, the symbol of his craft, hadn’t changed either, still cracked and sundered, soldered crudely together with melted silver and deeply etched with the unknowable runes Ca-Lethe Meladoquiel had seared into the aged wood.
“We already knew that, Mister Wizard,” Mama Flora replied tartly. “But thank ya kindly fer tryin’ to come in an’ steal my thunder.” Still, she peered up at the big Magisterium wizard thoughtfully. “I don’t reckon you know what it’s for, then?”
He grunted. “No.” Tamara made an exasperated noise as Charles cleared the table, almost knocking her half-full mocha off the edge. “But I know why.” The wizard set his satchel aside, but not before extracting a large, heavy map of the city that he unfurle
d across the table, taking Tamara’s mocha away from her and using it to hold down one curling corner. “So, this is Birmingham.”
“We…know?” I raised an eyebrow.
He ignored me. “And here is the city’s statue of Vulcan, God of the Forge.” He tapped the map where he’d already made a circle in permanent marker; I noted several other, smaller circles, as well as many more symbols and some shorthand notations near the edges. It looked like he’d already been hard at work on this problem, too. “Please note how it’s more or less at the center.”
“And…?” I felt like kicking him.
“Well now, don’t keep us in suspense,” Mama Flora added, looking over the map intently.
“It’s all about this fellow.” Charles tapped the dark circle around Vulcan Park. “The people we’re up against are collecting all the different components, all the old pieces of its history.” He met eyes with Mama Flora briefly, significantly. “They’re assembling symbiotic links, bits of its ‘flesh.’ Enough to form an uncontested conduit with the iron man himself.”
Flora’s eyes went wide, then even wider. “Oh, no…Baron take mercy on us poor souls.” She looked toward us as Tamara and I exchanged extremely worried looks. “That old statue, he ain’t just a statue. He’s an icon. A symbol that represents this whole area, an’ a whole lot o’ th’ people innit.” She leaned back in her chair, for once looking old and weary. “The only reason t’connect a spell up to an icon like that, to enslave it, is to effect all the people under it. Like a beacon, a lighthouse for hearts an’ minds.”
“High Lord Nischever,” I exhaled a deep, stale breath as Charles gave me a curious look. “So, you know about Fright, and the Jiangshi in town?” He nodded. “So far, our best guess is that they’re trying to bring Fright’s father across, or something that could drastically change the balance of power in the area.”
“And change the world,” Tamara said softly. “Though I think there’s still more to it than we know.”
Dreadful Ashes Page 16
