by Kelly Gay
The Lore had been another priceless item, spoils from our battle with the Sons of Dawn. And within those ancient pages might be a ritual to disperse the darkness over Atlanta. And because of that, we were keeping it here in the city. For now.
Bellies full, we cleaned up the best we could, put Bryn’s kitchen back to rights, and then left the apartment.
As we walked down Mercy Street, I checked my cell, listening to three messages. From Emma: she was home from the hospital, no change with Amanda. From the chief: all the ash victims were at the station and secure. And from Sian: Tennin had left the city to parts unknown, though she’d try to find out where.
I slipped my phone back on my hip. “Tennin’s gone.”
Hank let out a snort. “Probably hunting down the person who gave the suicide order.”
While I suspected as much, I gave a turn at devil’s advocate. I’d been wrong before. “We still don’t know why they jumped, if they were possessed at the time … This might have zero to do with Tennin and everything to do with the drug’s effects.”
“True, but our instincts are hardly ever wrong. And if they are”—he threw an arrogant glance at me, eyes twinkling—“it’s usually you, not me.”
“Ha ha.”
We emerged from Mercy Street, headed across the plaza, and up the steps to Topside.
Downtown Atlanta sparkled with a million multi-colored lights. Headlights, traffic lights, shops, and high-rises, all lit up beneath the ever-churning mass of gray hovering low in the sky above.
I rubbed the back of my neck, the hairs there standing to salute the dark power. I knew from experience what was in that mass—small particles of Charbydon energy, the stuff of magic, the raw material, the very thing that awakened the Char genes in my body and gave me this constant zing.
It was easier to handle when I was inside or down in Underground, but out here in the open it hit me hardest and made me jittery, energized; not altogether bad … just more … alive.
Hank paused on the sidewalk, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, and lifted his face to the darkness. Quiet, thoughtful.
“Still there,” I said.
Slowly, he withdrew his gaze and fixed me with a wry smile. I returned the look and led the way down the sidewalk to where I’d parked my Tahoe.
“Smart-ass,” he muttered, falling in step beside me.
I took it as the compliment it was.
It was a short drive to the 10th Street entrance of the Grove, formerly known as Piedmont Park, where the Kinfolk—the local nymph population—made their home. The nymphs had bought much of the park, put up a tall iron fence around their territory, and called it home. They’d built a Stonehenge on Oak Hill, and had somehow made the trees grow to incredible heights. Entering the Grove was like stepping back in time to the days when ancient forests blotted out the sun and tribes of Celtic gods and warriors ruled the land.
The iron fence loomed above us as we made our way to the massive gate. I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on me and kept looking over my shoulder and across the street to the buildings and cars and shadows. Nervous unease mixed with the energized tingle from the darkness above, fueling my tension and anxiety. I swallowed the manic feeling, trying to quell its rise and regulate my thoughts.
“Charlie,” Hank said. “Before we go in …” He paused at the gate, swiped a hand through his hair, and frowned, staring for a moment at the city skyline. “There’s something I want to tell you. About that name Llyran called me. Malakim.”
I blinked. Now? Now he was going to share, right before we went to see Pen, right when we were standing out in the open, being watched? Hank had insane timing, but at the same time, I really did want to know about him, his past, and the things he never talked about. Still … “Okay. You said it was a title, a form of greeting someone.”
“In a way … yes.”
A tingle of worry slipped down my spine as though he was about to drop a major bombshell that I couldn’t live with.
Suddenly, I didn’t want to know, didn’t want anything to mess with whatever was happening between us. “You want to go have coffee after this? Sit and talk?”
“No,” he began with a hint of frustration. “Look, ite was goi;s not exactly easy to get this out and tell you what I’ve—”
“You two going to stand out there forever?” came a voice through the gate.
The hinges whined. Killian stepped out in his usual dark clothing, taking one last drag on his cigarette before grinding it into the palm of his hand, and then flicking it into the trash can nearby.
Sadist.
He saw my thought and grinned.
11
Killian led us a few yards down the straight path toward the lake. With no light filtering from above, the thick woods on either side of us appeared impenetrable. Of course, it didn’t help that the nymphs’ motto to anyone visiting the Grove was Stay on the path. Don’t stray from the path. Could make anyone feel a bit anxious.
This time, however, our guide stepped off the stone path, between two burning torches, and led us into the dark woods. Our footsteps were muted by the soft ground. Sounds of the forest—rustling leaves, the snap of a twig, an owl call—were louder than I’d expected. Nymphs populated these woods, running free, letting their animal selves out to play, maybe even to hunt …
The land rose as we progressed and finally the trees thinned to give way to Oak Hill, crowned by a ring of enormous stone monoliths at least eighteen feet high and capped with lintel stones. Inside of this massive ring were five trilithons arranged in a horseshoe pattern. The center trilithon was the highest stone in the ring, rising even above the height of the outer ring. From this, the next two on either side dropped in height, followed by the outer two, which dropped as well, but all were taller than the outer ring.
I’d only seen the site from the main path, but even from that distance, the power emitting from the stone ring had coursed through me like a pulsating subwoofer.
The closer we came to the top of the hill, the more the power intensified. The constant, deep whoosh, whoosh, whoosh had a slightly nauseating effect on me, and the drop in air pressure clouded my hearing.
Pendaran, the Druid King, stood in the center of the horseshoe, where a large gray stone slab rested on two fat stones. The altar stone. And even though the stone monoliths rose several feet above him, it didn’t do a damn thing to diminish his stature or his presence. In fact, he fit right in.
He wore dark drawstring pants and a plain black T-shirt. His feet were bare. One hand was out, palm down on the stone. His head was bowed and eyes were closed, but even from this distance I saw that his profile was grim. His left side faced us, giving me a glimpse of the winding tattoo that ran up his neck, over his jaw, ear, and temple, disappearing into thick black hair.
I knew from seeing him—all of him—on an earlier occasion that his entire left side was inked with Celtic-style, interlacing symbols that ran from his toes all the way up to his temple. The guy was huge, solid, and brutal-looking. He’d earned his place as king and his title as druid, not by birth or vote, but by having indisputable strength, size, and power. He hadn’t been given his role—he’d taken it.
There weren’t many nymphs out there who could challenge a dragon and win. I’d seen the Druid King in action in his animal form. I’d watched his black wings stretch to the size of jet wings and I’d seen how deadly he was with his teeth and talons.
Good thing he was an ally; and that was something I wanted to preserve.
Killian cleared his throat, way too softly for Pen to hear, but the druid apparently had extraordinary hearing; he glanced over his shoulder. An abalone shimmer filtered over his irises and disappeared. His hand slid off the stone and with it went the intense power being conducted through the stones. The energy dropped to a low pulse.
Relief washed through me. Much easier to manage now, thank goodness.
Killian gestured us into the circle. As I walked over the cushy grass and closer
to Pendaran in the center, the lines of worry on his face began to take shape.
“I’m afraid”—his head tipped back, mouth twisting into a brooding line as he scowled at the dark, moving sky; a troubled sigh parted his lips—“this is only the beginning …” With a quick glance flicked our way, he strode past us. “Walk with me.”
Pendaran’s manner wasn’t at all what I expected. A sense of sadness and foreboding surrounded his big form as he passed me, his long strides eating up the ground. Whatever was bothering him seemed to have an instant effect on my frame of mind, as though his mood engulfed everything in its path.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, trailing the Druid King down the hill and through the dark woods. My mood and the quiet air of the place made it seem like the weight of the world had settled over the Grove.
The air was cool and clean here, the tall trees filtering out the scents of the city around the park. I breathed deeply in an attempt to release some of the heaviness I felt.
As soon as I started to relax, a familiar gentle whisper glided easily into my mind. I smiled. Soothing. Feminine. An instant calm. My tension dropped like a stone. I acknowledged the voice without words, but with a smile, a welcome.
Only occasionally did I understand Ahkneri’s voice, sometimes through words, sometimes through emotion. And here, of course, it would be loudest.
Pendaran led us into the temple complex, which surrounded Lake Clara Meer. The temple seemed to grow from the ground itself; made of colossal carved timber, every precaution taken to honor nature, to incorporate it into the complex instead of destroying it. It felt sacred here. A church beneath the sky. Blessed and sanctioned by Mother Nature.
It wasn’t until we were through the main temple and into the common courtyard area with a view of the lake that Pendaran stopped, ordering the three female nymphs sitting at one of the nearby tables to leave. Once they fled, he parked his rear end on a similar table and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I take it you’re here about the Old Lore.”
“Have you found anything yet?” I asked.
“It’s a thick tome, written in the Old Tongue of Elysia. The translation progressing slower than usual. But if there’s a ritual to rid the city of darkness, I will find it.”
I inclined my head, my attention going to the lake and the faint whisper of the First One in my head. I could easily picture her in my mind, easily imagine her new resting place—in a cave at the bottom of the lake, warm and dry within her stone sarcophagus.
The reflection of downtown’s skyline and its lights twinkled and glowed on the surface of the dark water. “And our guest?” I asked Pen quietly.
When he didn’t answer right away, I withdrew my gaze from the lake and stared at him, but he wasn’t looking at me; his attention had also been pulled toward the water.
“What’s wrong?” I questioned.
“She speaks to you still?”
I gave a here-and-there shrug. “I wouldn’t exactly call it speaking. More like whispers or murmurs, most of which I can’t understand. Some dreams lately …”
He nodded thoughtfully. “It is the same for me.”
My eyes went wide. “You hear her, too?”
“I didn’t at first, but when I go beneath the water and into the cave … she whispers.”
Something about Pendaran’s expression, the way he stared so quietly out at the water, made him seem so conflicted and grim.
“The visions Charlie’s been having,” Hank said to him after giving me a quick glance, “are you having them, too?”
Pen’s black eyebrows dipped into a frown as he angled on the table and pulled up one knee. “What visions?”
“At first they seemed like dreams, recurring ones. Of landscapes, a temple, Ahkneri …” I bit the inside of my cheek, my gaze floating unfocused over the tops of the tall trees across the lake, and to the skyscrapers that ringed one side of the park like a steel mountain range. “On Helios Tower, when the lid of the sarcophagus was lifted, the power that went out … I don’t know … it’s like a warning. And I know that sounds stupid, but there’s an eye. It opens …”
All the hard angles on Pen’s face became starker. The hairs on my arms rose in response to the power that leapt in the air. A glimmer of abalone passed through his eyes, leaving behind a hard, calculating stare. “Agate masks power. Ahkneri and her weapon lie within the finest and thickest I’ve ever seen. It is not only a resting place; it is to protect them as well.”
A thought occurred, one that gave me an instant chill. I hugged myself. “What killed the First Ones?”
“The myths suggest that they decided their time had come, their purpose was at an end, and they … slept.”
“Anything in the Old Lore about that?”
“Not that I have read, but it is an ongoing examination. The Old Lore contains the only written account of the First Ones. Everything we have ever heard about them comes from this tome. But it is just a fraction of their lives. Stories. Written long after they roamed. The only one who could tell us all is Ahkneri herself.”
“What about Sachâth?” Hank asked. “Ever hear of it before?”
“It is an old Elysian term for destruction, ruin, death … From the Old Tongue as well. Why do you ask?” He looked at me. “Is this word in your vision?”
“No. I heard the word from the oracle, Alessandra. Whenever I use my power, it seems to draw this shadow being. He has no face, no physical form. His voice holds a lot of power, though, and he speaks to me, but hell if I know what he’s saying. Then he flies through me and I pass out.”
“It doesn’t attack?”
“No.”
Pendaran scratched his jaw and pushed off the table. “Odd. I will look for this in the tome as well.” He stretched his arms overhead. “You want a beer?”
A short laugh burst out. I shook my head. That was the thing with the off-worlders. Sometimes they came off as so ancient and knowledgeable, and the next they were ordering pizza and a beer. Just the way it was. “No, thanks,” I said. “Let us know if you find anything, okay?”
We turned to go, but Pen stopped me, his voice low. “Charlie. Does she seem … sadder to you? When you hear her?”
I glanced from him to the lake, surprised by the question. I hadn’t considered it before. I’d heard her cry, heard her plead, but those things I’d heard from her since the beginning. Sadder since then? “No more than usual, I think.” I cocked my head, waiting for him to say more, but he just dipped his head and strolled into the darkness.
I left the courtyard feeling no better about things or any more knowledgeable than I had before I’d gone in. Pen had the same sense of foreboding that I did. This is just the beginning. Who the hell knew what was stalking me or why, but first things first—await the fire sylph and hope like hell she’d just be quick and get it over with. Three down, one more to go.
Tennin is right, the bastard. Like a blind nithyn …
Hank and I walked in silence back through the gate and down the sidewalk to my vehicle. “I think I’ll head back to the station and check on Bryn, see how everyone is settling in.”
“Sounds good. Liz’s autopsy reports should be in. I’ll drop by her office and see if she’s learned anything.”
It wasn’t until after we were pulling into the back lot of Station One that I remembered asking Hank if he wanted to have coffee and talk.
Crap.
I slid a quick glance his way to find him staring out the window. His expression reminded me of a conversation I had with Emma when she was six years old and I found her sitting with her knees drawn up on the back of the couch, staring out the window.
“Hey, kiddo, what’s wrong?”
“I’m looking out the window.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what people do when they’re sad. They stare out the window.”
Emma’s sadness had been because her kitten Spooky was at the vet getting spayed. Of course, I told her people st
are out the window for all sorts of reasons, but her comment had been so thoughtful, so perceptive, that I hadn’t forgotten it.
I couldn’t tell from looking at Hank what was going through his mind or what his emotional state was. The last thing I wanted was to tap into my power to see his aura only to have Shadow Man come pay me another visit … But my instincts were telling me he wasn’t in the mood for talking right now.
I parked the Tahoe and decided to leave the talk for another time.
* * *
After a quick pit stop in the ladies’ room, I headed into the basement level, which contained our med units, cold cells, holding areas, and the morgue.
The holding area consisted of twenty cells, ten running down each side of the hallway. They were eight-byten, the back wall made of concrete blocks painted gray, and the sides and front made from a clear plastic as hard as steel. The only privacy consisted of a half wall that hid a small toilet. Everything else could easily be viewed by the cameras mounted in each corner, the other inmates, and the guards regularly walking the hall.
Granted, these cells were for criminals, not innocent people, but right now this was the best way possible to protect the ash victims.
After I showed my ID and headed down the hallway with one of the guards, nine happy faces greeted me. Most of those faces were familiar: known drug users who I’d seen on the streets in Underground or had arrested myself once or twice.
When ash hit the market, the jinn who’d been passing out the drug had targeted the users in Underground first. The only reason it had made it to Amanda was because of her father’s involvement in the manufacturing process, and the only reason my sister was now an addict was because she’d been exposed to the drug during our fight to destroy the ash farm. Otherwise every ash victim, even Casey and Mike, had been users before.
“Hey, Madigan.” A twenty-something former meth user named Kyle, if I remembered correctly, stood as I passed. “How long are we supposed to stay in here?” I really wanted to tell him that if he hadn’t been a drug user looking for his next fix, he wouldn’t even be here, but instead I said, “Until we know it’s safe.”
