Dead Girl's Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 1)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  Tamara’s eyes lit up with recognition. “That’s right! Hollow Men.”

  “Mortal men or women, part of their minds hollowed out and replaced with whatever the Strigoi desires, which is typically fanatical loyalty and a penchant for violence.” The magician elaborated. “They’re single-minded in their pursuits, and generally speaking, not the strongest independent thinkers, though it can vary. Some of them can pass loose scrutiny and function fine in public.” He settled back, looking at me as well. “Perfect for getting tasks done in the daytime.”

  “Or while you pretend your entire race was wiped out,” Tamara added thoughtfully, and Charles grunted his agreement.

  “So, like Knock in the old Nosferatu movie,” I replied. Charles raised an eyebrow. “What? It’s a classic.”

  The tall wizard cleared his throat. “My point is that they’re thralls. And they’ve been sent against us—and you,” he indicated me, “since the very beginning.”

  “So…” Tamara leaned forward intently, “They’ve been aware of our movements all along? And sending their ‘Hollow Men’ to stop us? But how and why?”

  I thumped my fist on the table, lightly but still hard enough to make the glass jump. “Because it’s all tied together.” Charles gave me a considering look and gestured for me to continue. “The Rawhead said it’s working with someone that sought secrecy and safety. And it also suggested that their plans had changed recently.”

  Tamara was nodding slowly, eyes wide. “So you’re saying that all of the groups we’ve been fighting—?”

  “Are in it together,” I finished for her. “That’s why Death Marks were being left to communicate, because both groups can use them to navigate without being seen. That’s why the Rawhead wasn’t surprised to see a Strigoi in its lair; I wasn’t the first to set foot there. And that’s why the Hollow Men kept showing up to stop Charles’ rituals; the Strigoi didn’t want us interfering.” I growled, low and raw in my throat. “It’s got to be the same two that turned me. That means they were the ones abducting women, even weeks before they turned me and we got on their trail.”

  Charles inclined his head to me ever so slightly. “I was hoping someone other than me would put those same thoughts together.” He rubbed a hand over his mounting facial stubble, exactly one day more stubbly than yesterday’s. “Confirmation bias is a hell of a thing.”

  “But why the kidnappings in the first place?” Tamara interjected. “And how do they always know where we are and the worst possible time to interrupt?”

  I glanced at the wizard. “Could you track someone by their blood?”

  He blinked. “That and more.” He narrowed his cinnamon eyes, catching on. “And one of those vampires also seems to use some kind of magic. So they probably could as well.”

  I looked back to Tamara. “My bloody clothes, the ones I discarded at my apartment. They weren’t there when I came back after the fight. After I had to run.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Shit! They must have taken them when you escaped from the apartment.” She made a face. “But how did they expect you to go there? And why are they even trying to kill you? With a blessed knife, no less. That was no accident.”

  “Uh, what if they just want to keep their numbers down?” Corey blurted out, dumping a pair of sturdy hiking backpacks near Charles’ chair. “They’ve got to have some way of dealing with that.”

  Charles shook his head. “You’re close.” He stared at me, his clear, intelligent eyes meeting mine. “But I think they didn’t mean to turn you at all.” I tilted my head, perplexed. “From what I know, each and every Strigoi kill turns the victim. So they must have found some way of heading that off before their food actually revives. Except,” he turned to eye Corey, “you stepped in before the monster was finished.”

  I winced. “Enough fire and surprise to ruin any Strigoi’s day, I’d bet.”

  “Which means,” Charles leaned in, “they took Lori to bait you in, to get you to come to them so they could cover their tracks. And it worked.”

  My world went as still as my dead heart, and I grasped at the arms of my chair. It’s all my fault. I tried to shake my sudden feelings off. It wasn’t the best time for crippling guilt. Besides, I hadn’t made the other Strigoi do what they did. It was their choice, their actions—and all the more reason for me to settle my mounting score with them.

  “Shit…but if that’s the case, what was their ritual for before Ashes got involved?” Tamara asked. “The Rawhead said the purpose of the abductions had changed, so...changed to what and from what? You’re the magic expert here, Charles.”

  He shook his head. “Too many options. No way to know for certain without more clues.”

  “Well, whatever the ritual is for, it’s nothing good,” I growled. “One-Horn described the girls’ involvement as ‘transitory’.”

  We all went silent for a moment. “Well, it would be beneficial to know what kind of magic they’re cooking up,” Charles broke the brief silence. “But it’s more important to simply stop them from enkindling it.”

  “I’ll show them who’s transitory,” I mumbled. Tamara grinned fiercely and to my surprise, Charles nodded his approval.

  “That’s not all,” Charles heaved a sigh. “I spoke to one of the girls, Jennifer. The one whose apartment we were attacked in.” Tamara and I nodded. "She told me that the Rawhead spoke a lot. It would go from cage to cage, whispering to them, tormenting them, clawing at them, telling them what it would do once it was ‘finished’ with them.” I grimaced, anger simmering. “None of them would speak of what it said to them, but she and some of the other girls heard it speaking to someone else, too. Through a big mirror at the back of the room.”

  “That big, covered thing we saw,” I said.

  He nodded. “Someone or something talked back through it. Giving orders or maybe asking for favors. But she never saw who was on the other end. Which fits perfectly with what we know.”

  I frowned. “So, did you actually find out what a Rawhead is?”

  Charles chuckled, a morbid sound of amusement. “Not a Rawhead. The Rawhead. It’s a specific demon.”

  “Which is why we have these!” Out of nowhere, Corey thumped a pair of heavy duty, grade A Super Soakers down onto the table, careful to avoid the books and papers. They were the fully automatic assault rifles of squirt guns, the type that I’d wished my dad had a spare forty bucks for when I was a kid.

  They also got my hackles up, stirring instinctive unease in my gut and all down my spine. I almost backed away from the table. “Uhhh… We going to a pool party I don’t know about?”

  “Hardly,” the older wizard commented dryly. “I went by High Hill Church out at the Summit. Met up with a real priest there, someone I know. Got him to sanctify some water.” He nodded toward the plastic guns. I slid my chair a few feet further from the table. “Real guns make noise, get attention,” Charles elaborated. “Magic just makes a different kind of noise, and gets no less attention if you know how to look for it. These are quiet.”

  “Rawhead won’t know what hit him,” Corey boasted, picking up one of the guns and pumping it, then tucking it in against his shoulder and aiming it around as if it were the real thing. “Vampires, too. They’ll get the same.” The barrel passed over me and hesitated, causing me to tense reflexively. Water droplets squirmed slowly from the tip as he ever so gently and slowly squeezed the trigger. My muscles snapped taut, my nails digging into the arms of Charles’ patio chair as my instincts screamed.

  “Corey!” Charles roared the name with reproach. “That’s enough!” Corey and I both flinched, but Tamara was already there, one pale hand gently and firmly guiding the plastic gun barrel down toward the ground.

  The boy glanced around from face to face, his own face turning slowly red. “I didn’t… I wasn’t really going to—”

  Charles leaned forward and snatched the gun from him, grabbing the other off of the table and dropping both of them onto the ground on the opposite side of h
is chair. “I said that’s enough.” He didn’t sound angry but firm as steel. I slowly began to relax. “You have your problems with vampires, but these two aren’t those vampires. For now, they’re my guests, and that’s not how you treat guests. Nor is what you were doing even a good idea.” His eyes settled on the tiny canals my regular nails had gouged in the hard plastic of his chair. “Everyone just remember that we’re all in this together, at least for now.”

  Corey hung his head, and everyone fell quiet. In the meantime, I managed to fully calm my…survival instincts, which had mostly consisted of the wild urge to backhand the boy across the yard.

  Tamara finally spoke, her tone overplayed and sugary-sweet. “Sooooo…. Charles.”

  He eyed her warily, slouching in his chair and looking grumpy. “What?”

  “If we’re your guests… Can I use your shower?”

  He started to nod offhandedly, but then seemed to suddenly catch up to what the Moroi had said. “What? Hell no. I’m not inviting you in, Tamara.”

  She sighed, getting up from her chair and going over to the wizard. “C’mon, Charles smell me. I stink. I just need a few minutes; I won't be a problem, I swear. Please?”

  He eyed her.

  Tamara put her hands on her hips. “You do remember I’ve been in your house before, and nothing bad happened? You know, that time you needed me to come over and help hide the plants in your—”

  “Fine, dammit,” Charles cut her off. “You can enter my home, this one time. Ten minutes, or I’m coming to get you.”

  Tamara sauntered toward his back door, bundle of extra clothes dangling from one hand. “Why Charles, is that a promise?” She grinned wickedly.

  I blinked in utter surprise as Charles’ face actually turned red. He worked his jaw, but no words emerged.

  Tamara winked at me before disappearing through the wizard’s back door.

  Charles straightened his face, glancing between me and the house. “You…” He pointed a finger at me.

  “I’ll keep your chair warm. Don’t worry.”

  He glowered and looked at Corey. “Put those damn guns in the truck, then come inside. I’m going to go watch her.”

  I gave him a toothy grin. “You’re going to go watch her?”

  He turned even redder; I wouldn’t have thought it was possible. “Not—not like that,” he snapped, getting up and storming inside, staff in hand, glaring at me over his shoulder.

  I snorted with amusement. Score one for team vampire.

  24

  A wizard's work is never done

  I only realized after the fact that they’d left me alone with the kid who had, just a couple of minutes ago, almost given me a really harsh baptism.

  Corey went for the water guns like he’d been told, not even glancing my way. He picked one up, and examined it thoughtfully.

  Left alone with my thoughts, I leaned over and grabbed Charles’ yellow notebook. I might as well look over some of the facts I didn’t know yet. Maybe I could figure something else out.

  “I’m sorry,” His words, spoken softly, caught me off guard, and I didn’t immediately respond. I was busy fumbling the notebook into the dirt with stiff fingers, then retrieving it. “Ashley? It’s Ashley, right?”

  A dozen smart-ass responses came to mind, all of them either offensive or lame. Instead I smiled. “Yeah. That’s me.”

  He kept his head down, glancing at me through the protective curtain of his shaggy hair. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, okay?” He sounded frustrated but apologetic. His heartbeat thumped along, still working on calming from the earlier embarrassment. “I just—” He stumbled and hesitated, trying to explain himself. “I hate vampires, okay? It’s not personal. They—”

  He swallowed hard, and I didn’t have to be Moroi to see the grief he struggled with. After a moment, he finally won that battle and gulped it down. I imagined it was bitter as hell. “All the ones I’ve seen, they’re trouble. And Charles says not to trust you, either.”

  I nodded. I could agree in general; most of the vampires I’d met so far weren’t exactly lovable. So I let him talk.

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and gave it a moment before continuing. “I mean, I realize you’ve had it hard, too. I heard your story earlier, you know? I guess I get you. Kinda.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but I could see where his fists balled up inside his pockets. “It just sucks you had to be a vampire.”

  “Oh?” I kept my crappy sucks to be a vampire joke inside, where it couldn’t hurt anybody.

  He shifted uneasily. “Yeah…” He shook his head. “Nevermind. Doesn't matter. Charles is the only person to ever take care of me, and if he says you’re okay… Like he said. You’re not one of those vampires.”

  Silence tried to fall, but I didn’t let it stick. “Don’t worry about it, kid. It’s cool.”

  He finally looked up, actually meeting my eyes for a moment. “Kid? I’m only a couple of years younger than you.”

  I eyed him with overt skepticism. “Yeah, we both wish,” I rasped.

  He snorted, the sudden amusement reflected in the hint of a smile that cracked his features. The young magician bent to pick up the other big water blaster, this time keeping the danger end pointed away from me. “And… Thanks. For keeping Charles from getting shot, and stuff.”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m starting to like being a bullet sponge.”

  He raised an eyebrow and shook his head, proving I wasn’t nearly as funny out loud as I sounded inside my own head. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, kid.”

  “What’s it like? Dying? Being dead?”

  I was honestly surprised everyone hadn’t asked me this yet. I knew it would’ve been the top question on my list. But something told me his query wasn’t rhetorical or philosophical. I thought about it, in the end coming back to the same answer I’d had before. “It’s calm. A little cold. But it’s peaceful. Like the best sleep of your life. Nothing’s uncomfortable. Nothing hurts. You’re there, but you’re not at the same time.” I smiled, careful with the fangs. “It’s not so bad, really.” I tilted my head. “Now, my death, on the other hand…” A series of images flashed in my mind’s eye, trying to steal my connection to the here and now with their vividness. “Let’s just say I hope I’m the exception, rather than the rule.”

  He nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he was gone before I could put the words together, heading off at a trot toward the front yard. I pondered the exchange for a minute, listening to truck doors open and close, then the front door slam.

  Obviously abandoned once more to my own devices, I turned my attention to the scattered writings on the table, books and notebooks, papers and parchments. One dusty black tome had Secrets of the Ur-demons stenciled on its spine in weathered gold leaf. There was even a yellowed scroll with brass metal caps. Some of them were about demons, some about vampires, and some about subjects beyond my comprehension. But few of them were in English, so I wasn’t going to get much out of perusing them. A momentary breeze tugged at one sheet of hand-inked scrawl, as if to steal it from its brethren, and I pinned it flat with a heavy, leather-bound tome.

  I went back to the little yellow pad in my hand. It contained a total of twenty-seven names, several of which were familiar, since they belonged to the women we’d rescued. With two recovered already dead, that meant we’d found thirteen and saved eleven. Not good enough. Fourteen were still missing, presumably taken by the two Strigoi for ritual use, assuming the Rawhead hadn’t simply devoured them whole and added their bones to its gruesome floor plan.

  I took a closer look. Behind the list of names, ages, and basic information, some of the girls had full write-ups in Charles’ careful hand, complete with pictures inserted via paper clips and tape. I recognized some, like Lori, obviously, and Jennifer from the Rawhead’s cavern, but I flipped through them, going backward in time until I laid eyes on the very first.


  And I went stone cold still, because I knew her.

  Her face was burned into my mind, a traumatic first-person photo of my own murder scene.

  Dana Warren, 18, Oak Crown High School, Charles’ notation told me. Petite, medium length blond hair, blue eyes, five foot three. That sounded about right. Student, varsity cheerleader. Parents separated, father investigated for abuse, few friends. Possible drug user.

  And fledgling vampire, I added mentally. Great. My vampiric lineage traces back to a high school cheerleader.

  Dana Warren. Now I had a name to go with the face and loathing. Wait. Oak Crown High. The name rang a bell, and not just because it was the biggest, richest school in the greater Birmingham area. I flipped back a few pages.

  Dana Warren, 18, Oak Crown High School

  Lisse Jameson, 18, Oak Crown High School

  Natalia Fredricks, 17, Oak Crown High School

  Theresa Harris, 21, Birmingham Community College

  Emma Jones, 18, Oak Crown High School

  Abigail Williams, 19, Oak Crown High School

  Melina Holt, 23, unemployed

  Amanda Perez, 18, Oak Crown High School

  Dianne Hall, 19, works at The Sandwich Shop

  Cassie Trevor, 26, server at Saxton’s…

  That was a whole lot of high school kids. As if high school itself wasn’t bad enough, they had to get kidnapped by vampires, too. What if—

  “—we managed to get away from them, though,” Tamara said, stepping out of the house with Charles in tow, chatting casually, her black-and-purple hair still damp and mussed. “The church managed to hold them off. A lucky break to handle a pretty unlucky coincidence.” She smiled warmly at me. “And some quick thinking on someone’s part.”

  Charles grunted. “I don’t believe in coincidence,” he replied automatically. “You should know that by now. And that old church isn’t even hallowed ground that I know of. What you did,” he stepped up to the table, looming over me. “It shouldn’t have been possible.” He gave a pointed glance at the notebook in my hand, gesturing for me to hand it over. “Looking over my notes?”