The Hour of Dust and Ashes cm-3

by Kelly Gay

  Red rose through the scruffy jaw and up over his cheeks. “Blindsided me, that kid,” he joked. “When did that happen?”

  I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant even though I wanted to start crying again. “She’s an easy kid to love.” I released a heavy exhale, chuckling as I did. Making light. Trying to hold it together.

  “That’s one thing I haven’t done, you know?” Rex parked his elbow on the back of the couch and rested his head on his hand. “In all my years. In all the bodies I’ve been in …” He stared off into nothing, his mood reflective, his voice quiet. “Didn’t get the chance when I was a jinn eith#822;”

  “The chance for what?”

  “To be a father.”

  Time seemed to stand still in that moment. We didn’t speak. Just stared off into space, unable to look at each other.

  I cleared my throat and drew in a stabilizing breath. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I’m not looking to replace Will, not in that way. But I can still be a father figure. A male presence in her life. I’ve done just about everything I’ve ever wanted to and way more than I could’ve imagined. I’m tired. I want to settle down, be part of something, part of a family.” His eyes narrowed. “And you tell anyone I said all this, I’ll go Chuck Norris on your ass so fast, your head will spin.”

  I laughed. “Well, you were pretty quick with those chair legs …”

  A deep smile brightened his face. Dimples. White teeth. Charming as hell. Just like Will. But never Will again. I sighed.

  Get used to it, Charlie.

  Rex leaned over and grabbed the afghan from the basket by the side of the couch. “Come on.” He patted his chest and leaned back. “Come to Daddy.”

  Oh my God. I shook my head, laughing, crying, and beyond exhausted.

  “Rest, Charlie. It’s okay to lean on someone else, you know.” He held out his arm. “Come, come.”

  I crawled forward and laid flat on top of him. He let out a suffocated oomph and I hugged him tightly. “Thank you,” I whispered, kissed his cheek, and then rolled off of him and onto my feet. “Good night, Rex.”

  “Night, Charlie.”

  The next morning, Rex and I sat down at the kitchen table.

  And we told Emma everything.

  To say it was horrible was a severe understatement.

  She just stared at us. Blank. Stunned. Unable to process what we told her. It was the longest moment of my life. I heard every bird chirp, every car pass, every tick of the clock in the living room.

  It was as though time was suspended for this one cruel moment.

  Emma had such an expressive face. Her big brown eyes were so wide, so round, so glassy. They latched onto me, desperate. So desperate. And I held them with my own, reaching across the table to grab her hand.

  She didn’t move. Her eyes said everything. Her face was a progression of disbelief, denial, panic, acceptance, and slow, agonizing grief. I watched each phase, feeling it all with her.

  Never having done this before, I experienced a moment of uncertainty—more like panic—but I was trying to be calm and figure out how to comfort her and what to say. But when that first fat tear fell and her face turned red, I went down on my knees in front of her and gathered her into my arms as though she was a toddler, lifted her up, and carried her into the living room. I sat down with her in my lap and held her tightly.

  Inside, my heart raced. I fought hard to suppress my emotions, to be there for her, to be strong, and not crack right along with her.

  I smoothed her hair, kissed her forehead. My shoulder was already wet with her tears and her cries were loud and keening, like a young child with no inhibitions. The pain that came out of her was raw. I cried so hard that I only saw Rex as a blurry form that sat down beside us. His head rested on the back cushion. He put his hand on her back.

  And we stayed like that for what seemed like forever.

  I stood on the closed-in front porch, staring out at the soccer field across the street and biting the inside of my cheek. Supper was almost ready and the smells from the kitchen were warm and spicy.

  Hank was gone. The chief had confirmed that the sirens passed through the terminal last night before the call went through to stop them. It appeared that Hank had gone willingly. With his badge and law enforcement credentials, he didn’t need a visa or a permit. He could go wherever he wanted. And he did. He was gone. An entire world away, and no doubt in Fiallan.

  I kept trying to convince myself that the Circe wouldn’t put him back into the grid, but who was I kidding? To him, it was a punishment worse than death. To the people of Fiallan it was the best way to achieve their lame idea of justice. Tears pricked my eyes.

  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  Sorry because I couldn’t leave. Not when my kid was grieving, not when she needed me.

  We’d stayed on the couch for hours. Then Emma had slept for several more. Now she was awake and in the shower. During her nap, I’d called to check in with Aaron, the chief, Sian, and then with Marti to see how Amanda was doing. The best bit of news, though, was the fact that Sian had been able to fly in an exorcist from Canada, and he’d already started interviewing the ash victims. No cure as of yet, but living with an addiction was far easier when you did it without a parasite pulling the strings.

  The nobles had yet to show up. And during my conversation with the chief earlier, he said he’d notify me as soon as they came through the gate.

  If we could convince the nobles that Bryn had gone into Telmath possessed by Solomon—and we had plenty of witnesses here to attest to that—and stuck to the story about Solomon jumping into the noble Carreg had killed, then my sister might actually come out of this okay.

  I bit down harder on my cheek, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched a couple of teens tossing a football.

  My thoughts turned to the shadow creature. After using Nwyvre in the ballroom, it was very clear the creature only showed up when I used my own power. Nwyvre was never mine. The last time I used my power had been at the portal in Charbydon. Wherever that thing was now, I knew it’d be back. Going into Fiallan to save Hank was going to require everything I had, and I’d be damned if that creature was going to stand in my way.

  I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering if there was a way to thwart the creature’s radar. Maybe I’d pay another visit to the Grove to see if Pendaran had learned anything new. I could pick his brain about his time in Gorsedd with Hank and mbe gain some insight into the sirens of Fiallan.

  It wouldn’t hurt to remind him to stay alert, too.

  Grigori Tennin was not going to give up the search for the First One.

  And with Solomon out of the way, Tennin would step up his plans. He’d continue to wage his battle for control over Charbydon. Or Atlanta. God only knew what his true goal was …

  22

  A week later, I walked into Bryn’s shop in Underground. I needed a break after being on Solomon Street all morning, overseeing the search warrant for Darkling Properties and Rentals—it had finally come through. The search of property records and files was just one more link we were building in our case against Grigori Tennin.

  It was slow and tedious work—countless files to go through, statement after statement from eyewitnesses putting Tennin at Helios Tower on the winter solstice, reports linking him with Mynogan and the drug ash, anything to pin down hard evidence of his involvement with the Sons of Dawn. It was like trying to build a case against a mob boss, one with serious connections, wealth, and power—we had one shot to get this right, to accumulate so much evidence that no judge, no lawyer, and no political envoy could dispute the charges.

  The door jingled overhead as I entered and weaved my way around merchandise and stacked bookshelves, heading toward the back counter.

  Bryn’s back was to me, auburn hair pulled up in the usual sloppy-romantic twist. Soft murmurs came from her as she gently pruned dead leaves from a strange green plant.


  “They’re never going to talk back. You know that, right?”

  She turned, suppressing her smile. “Shows how little you know about earth crafting. They always talk back.”

  God, she looked better. Standing before me was a vibrant, beautiful, feisty, softhearted person with a contagious smile and intelligent copper eyes. An earth mage with a gorgeous green aura layered with Caribbean blues. There was still the cloud of gray due to the ash addiction, but she was so much better now that the positives far outweighed the negatives. And she and Aaron had begun talking again. Talking was good. Those two were going to make it, I was sure.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked, reaching below to pull out her bowl of M&M’s so I could have some.

  “No reason. Anyone here yet?” We’d finally planned a meeting today—a sort of powwow to figure out our next move concerning Hank. “Where’s Em?”

  “I am in the back doing inventory,” came a very bored voice from the open stockroom door, which then mumbled, “I’d rather pick up hellhound poop from the backyard.”

  I winced. “Wow. She must really hate inventory.” Because she sure as hell hated cleaning up the backyard. I winked at Bryn and called, “Well, there’s plenty of that left to do when you get home.”

  “Ha. Ha. Mother, you are so no funny.”

  Bryn laughed at me. “You’re so mean.”

  I popped some candy in my mouth and smiled while I chewed. “How did the deposition go?”

  Her eyes rolled. “Boring as usual. There are only so many times and ways the nobles can ask me what happened. I feel like if I have to tell that story one more time, I’ll turn into a toad or something.”

  “Hey, I’ve had to sit there and repeat it, too. At least the nobles are accepting our story for now.” And Carreg was being hailed as a hero.

  Bryn’s brow lifted in agreement, but a shadow settled over her—something I felt rather than saw. I knew thinking of the last few months really got her down.

  I gestured toward the stockroom and lowered my voice. “How was she today?”

  “Good. I think she really needed to get out of the house. I’m glad you let her come. The sadness will lift; you just have to give it time. I think you should consider putting her back in school soon. It might help. Be a distraction at least.”

  “Yeah. About that … Emma,” I called in a stern voice, “can you come out here, please?”

  “One sec!” After some shuffling and a bang, she stepped out of the stockroom and blew a strand of wavy brown bangs from her eyes with a huff. “What?”

  I reached into my pocket and handed her a plain white envelope over the counter. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she opened it. “My birthday isn’t until next week.”

  “It’s not a birthday present.”

  She sighed and read the letter, her brow furrowing deep and then slowly easing the farther she read. Her big eyes lifted, utterly bewildered. “I don’t get it. You said I couldn’t go. You said we didn’t have the money and—”

  I leaned across the counter, grabbed her face with both hands, kissed her forehead, and then looked her in the eyes. “I know what I said. But I’ve thought about it a lot. If this is what you want, then it’s what I want, too. And just so you know. I signed the papers before I went to Charbydon.”

  Before we lost Daddy. I wanted her to understand I wasn’t doing this because she was sad, or because I thought it would cheer her up. I did it because it was the right decision, the right thing for my daughter at this stage in her life. She was ready. I believed in her. And I didn’t want to hold her back.

  One of the great things about being a mom is watching the range of emotions spread over your child’s face when a wish comes true. When they’ve gotten something they’ve been begging for and never in a million years thought they’d get.

  “Jeez, stop being all mysterious, will ya?” Bryn snatched the letter from Emma’s hand and read. She let out a low, impressed whistle and then started grinning broadly. “I knew you were good enough to get in. And partial scholarship, too. Nice.”

  “Is this real?” Emma’s gaze held mine. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s a done deal. You start on Monday. If you’re cool with that. If not, they said you can start the following week.”

  I watched my kid smile for the first time in a week. My heart expanded with joy even as it broke—odd feeling, that.

  Then she was the one leaning over the counter and grabbing my face, smashing my cheeks together. She put her forehead against mine. “Thank you, Momma.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Oh, hell, you guys … You have to stop being so … mother-daughter-y. You’re going to make me cry.” We glanced over together to see Bryn already crying like a baby, her nose bright red.

  Emma laughed. We held out our arms at the same time and Bryn stepped into our hug as we laughed.

  “If you all start singing ‘Kumbaya,’ I’m so out of here.”

  Rex.

  I hadn’t heard the door jingle. Brim walked in beside him, immediately sniffing around for Gizmo, Bryn’s little gray gargoyle. The two had apparently taken a liking to each other, much to everyone’s surprise.

  “Rex, I’m going to school at the League!” Emma told him, waving the letter with excitement and then coming around the counter with her hand out. “Pay up. You owe me twenty bucks.”

  Rex glared at me and dug into his jeans. “I thought you’d never say yes.”

  I shook my head. Emma was bleeding him dry and he let her.

  The door jingled again. This time Aaron appeared, and before anyone could say hello, the bell rang again. Marti and Amanda—free from her possession, thanks to the exorcist—looking more like her old self, which was basically a teenage version of her mother, walked in with Titus bringing up the rear. For once, he was out of his lab coat.

  “Sorry we’re a little late,” Marti said, giving us a friendly smile as Emma told Amanda the good news. “We got sidetracked by the sale at Klein’s on our way in.” She glanced at Titus and her cheeks went a subtle pink color. I detected a bit of interest happening between those two. And if it bloomed into something, I couldn’t be happier.

  “Aunt Bryn,” Emma said, “can I show Amanda the dead pixie in the back?”

  Several stunned eyes fixed on Bryn. She bristled. “It’s a mummy, people. Pixies are extinct. What? It’s wrapped.” She gave Emma a nod. “Go ahead.”

  Once they were gone, the adults chatted.

  And then things turned serious …

  “So your informant is sure he’s in the tower?” Aaron asked, the only one standing straight with his arms crossed over his chest. Everyone else had found a chair, a chest, a counter, or a bookshelf to lean on.

  They all knew now what had happened, what Hank had gone through, and what he faced back in Fiallan. A few months ago, I would’ve gone it alone, would’ve wanted to protect everyone and keep them in the dark—my heart was in the right place in doing that—but I realized that we were stronger as a unit than as one individual. And I needed them as much as they needed me. We were a family. All of us.

  “Yes,” I answered. “My guy was in Fiallan for three days, trying to get confirmation. The towers are guarded, Hank’s especially. But he was finally able to get a visual during a guard change. Hank is definitely in the grid.”

  “Well, that’s good, right?” Marti asked. “No one can hurt him there. In a way, he’s safe at least.”

  “And perhaps there’s a way to get him out safely,” Titus offered, thoughtfully. “From what you’ve said, Charlie, I think there is a clear difference in being forcibly taken from the grid versus breaking free on your own. Before, Hank’s mind was obviously not lost in the grid, it was a bit disconnected, right? That must’ve been what allowed him to retain his faculties and eventually escape the tower. But if Hank is completely connected and immersed, lost in the grid, if you will, we could be looking at the same kind of situation that happens to the other Malakim—”

/>   “The only good thing is that the Circe are keeping Hank’s capture a secret, which should make extracting him easier for us. The less guards and obstacles in our way, the better,” I said.

  “If the sirens of Fiallan knew the Circe had Hank; they’d definitely question his punishment, wouldn’t they?” Bryn asked. “Going into the grid is supposed to be an honor, not a punishment fit for their traitor.”

  “Exactly. And we might be able to use that to shed light on the truth of those towers.” The Circe were taking a huge risk by putting Hank back into the grid. If the sirens were to find out who he was and that the grid was being used as a punishment, it might make them rethink the Malakim.

  “So whatever the case, we should probably plan to carry Hank out,” Rex said. “Take a sling or something.”

  “Another consideration,” Aaron began, “is causing a political incident. Relations between this world and the Elysians are good right now, but we must be careful of going in and thumbing our noses at their customs and laws. Not that I believe the Malakim practice is right by any stretch, but … we must get them to listen to us.” The door jingled.

  “It’s more than simply rescuing him,” Aaron continued. “To prevent the sirens from continually hunting him, Hank needs to be exonerated. We need to prove his case against the towers and the Circe.”

  “Well, maybe I can help with that.” The chief strode down the narrow aisle, his wide shoulders taking up much of the space. “A group of civil rights attorneys are headed to Federation Headquarters along with ITF representatives from Washington. Hank’s an ITF agent. A U.S. citizen. His record here speaks for itself. We might be able to get him released and sent back to us without having to step foot in Fiallan.”

  Liz stepped out from behind the chief’s large form as he cleared the aisle. He’d completely hidden her from view. “Yeah,” she said, giving me a wink through her glasses. “Flex our legal muscle and see what happens.”/p>