Heart of Ash

by Kim Liggett

  “I don’t drink,” he said as he replaced the stopper. “It’s imperative that I stay in control.”

  “Is this about Coronado?” I finally worked up the courage to ask. “How do you manage it . . . with his soul inside of you?”

  “It was especially tough in the beginning. There were times when I thought I’d go mad. Learning how to control it was a delicate negotiation, to say the least.”

  “But how does it work?” I asked.

  I could tell by the way he avoided making eye contact with me that he wasn’t completely comfortable talking about it, but he consented. “I’m the dominant, but I let him take over when I need him, with running the business, interacting with the council, certain things I need to know. It’s gotten easier. One day, it will be as simple as breathing,” he said as he took a seat on a chair in front of the fireplace. “He’s not as bad as you think.”

  “That’s funny,” I said as I perused the books and knickknacks placed artfully around the room. “I remember seeing him kill various members of my family. He wanted to kill me.”

  “He wouldn’t have killed you,” Dane leaned forward. “I know that now. He would’ve kept you for himself, and I couldn’t bear that, either. Loving you is by far my biggest weakness,” he said as he crouched in front of the fire, adjusting one of the logs to let in more air, and I couldn’t help thinking about him doing the same thing in Quivira. A year had passed, and he still had the same effect on me. I was still waiting for the air to come.

  “The council wants to get rid of you,” I said. “And I feel fairly certain that as soon as I fulfilled my role, they would get rid of me, too. What would that even mean for an immortal?”

  His jaw clenched. “We can be imprisoned. Immurement. I’ll spare you the details, but I can’t imagine anything worse . . . an eternity of hunger, thirst, and loneliness.”

  The way he said it, the hollow sound of his voice, sent a chill over me.

  “There’s something that’s been bothering me,” I said as I crossed behind him, watching the muscles in his back as he stoked the fire. “Why didn’t you come for me sooner?”

  He glanced back at me, as if he were surprised by my question.

  “All that time, you were in control, you knew where I was. You knew how much pain I was in.”

  “You told me to stay away.”

  “And you do everything you’re told?”

  I watched his shoulders collapse. “I wanted to give you time. I didn’t want you to feel like you were being manipulated, by my words, or your blood. I wanted you to be free to choose. The worst part of this past year was living with the guilt over what I’d done. What I put you through. But the main reason I stayed away was because I didn’t want you to see me that way.”

  “What way?” I asked.

  He stood to face me, a confession perched on his lips, but instead Dane leaned down and kissed me.

  I wanted to pull away, but everything in my body screamed at me to give in. And when he parted my lips, every fear, every worry, every doubt seemed to dissolve like sugar on my tongue. In this moment, the ache to feel connected to him was stronger than my will. He kissed me with such a powerful need, a year of yearning, jealousy and hate, unspooling around us.

  I felt the single button on the back of my dress snap off, my shoulders roll forward to slip out of the lace sleeves, his mouth on my collarbone. Arching my neck, I glimpsed the portrait of Katia, lit by the flames of the fire, our untethered passion, when reason set in. This was how I lost my head—this was how everything went so wrong to begin with. I couldn’t afford to lose control. I couldn’t let this happen until I was certain of who he was . . . who I was when I was with him.

  It took everything I had to pull away. Slipping my arms back in the sleeves, I turned to leave, when I bumped into a suit of armor, sending the helmet rolling across the room like a medieval bowling ball.

  “I’d be happy to escort you back to your room if you’d like.”

  “No.” I held up my hand, trying to catch my breath. “Nope . . . I’m all good,” I said as I listened at the door, making sure it was all clear. “For the record,” I said as I unlocked the door, “I think you’ve gotten better at that.”

  “Or maybe you’ve just gotten worse.” He grinned.

  I stumbled out of his study, right into Lucinda.

  “Well . . .” She looked me over, disapproval seeping from her pores. “Be off with you before you cause even more trouble.”

  I ran up the stairs, being careful to hold the top of my dress up.

  Beth, I thought as I reached the top. I can’t believe I forgot about her.

  Sneaking down the hallway, across the breezeway, up the winding stairs, I pushed past the guards, ignoring their knowing stares, and burst into her room.

  She was still in bed.

  I sank down next to her, feeling the cool night air on my feverish skin. There was a strong astringent odor in her room, and underneath that, I could’ve sworn I smelled Rhys on her lips, but then I spotted his McNally Jackson bookstore T-shirt, tucked under her arm like a teddy bear.

  “Rhys,” she said as she gazed up at me.

  “No, it’s me . . . Ash.”

  “Oh my stars,” Beth murmured as she focused in on me. “Did you get in a fight?”

  “No . . . no.” I tried to smooth down my hair. “Just . . . never mind about me. How are you feeling?” I squeezed her hand.

  “I’m still so tired. But Lucinda’s been looking after me.”

  “Really?”

  “She gave me some medicine.”

  “What kind of medicine?”

  “Yarrow.”

  I felt her forehead. If she had a fever, it was gone now. At least Lucinda knew her herbs.

  “She told me a story, too.”

  “What kind of story?”

  “A scary story . . . about her brother,” she said with a deep yawn. “Something about true love . . . finally being free . . .” She began to drift off.

  “Beth?”

  “I’m sorry. Can we talk tomorrow? I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  “Then don’t.” I smoothed my thumb over her brow, the way my mother did for me when I was sick. “You must need the rest. We can catch up in the morning.”

  I left her and skulked past the guards, down the stone steps to the first long corridor. This entire place was crawling with shadows, secrets. I trailed my fingertips along the stone, wishing the walls could talk. There must’ve been countless nights filled with music and laughter. Great love stories. Battles won and lost. As I skimmed my fingers over a door on the left-hand side, a whisper, a faint tickle in my ear, dared me to go inside.

  I pushed open the door to find an austere room—an iron bed, dressing table, chair, and a bare window. The way the moonlight spilled in gave everything an ethereal glow. At first glance, it seemed simple, but there were hints of unexpected luxury and romanticism everywhere you turned—a pressed flower, a book of poems, rosary beads, a sable throw hidden beneath the worn cotton coverlet. There were candles everywhere, wax dripping decadently over the sides. I opened a drawer to find delicate lacy undergarments. On the dressing table, Chanel red lipstick. Loose powder with a feather puff. An ornately carved silver brush. The distinct smell of rose water and freesia. This was Lucinda’s room. It felt strange seeing this side of her. A softer side. Tucked into a Bible was an old etching with Coronado’s image, but he was much younger, then. I couldn’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for her, watching Coronado come back a completely different person. But if she accepted Dane, helped him get through his transition with Coronado, she couldn’t be that bad. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

  Just as I was getting ready to leave, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I knew that scent, the assured click of the stilettos. Panicking, I closed the door and crawled under
the bed.

  Lucinda stepped inside and began pacing wildly, ranting in Catalan.

  I caught a word here and there, but most of it was lost on me.

  And then she dropped to her knees beside the bed, the edge of her skirt draped over my hand. I heard her thumbing through pages of a book. The rattling of beads. “Perdoneu, Pare, perquè he pecat.”

  Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

  She was praying.

  Something about sin. Light and dark . . . love and loss.

  A knock on the door startled her, and she dropped her beads.

  As she reached down to grab them, she yanked out a strand of my hair in the process.

  Lucinda opened the door to the same guard who had cowered from me as we were heading to the ballroom.

  “He’s retiring for the evening,” he reported. “Do you want company?” He reached out to touch her, but she slapped his hand away.

  “Not now.” Lucinda followed him out. As soon as she was gone, I let out a huge gust of air, but I didn’t dare move a muscle until I was certain I heard their footsteps on the stairs. That was entirely too close.

  When I could no longer hear anything other than my own heavy breathing, I bolted from her room, ran down the hall and across the breezeway, to the safety of my own room, locking the door behind me. But something was different. Someone had been inside. There was a note dangling from the crystal knob of the armoire.

  This should get you through the next few days until I can take you shopping.

  I flung open the doors to find a whole new wardrobe. Not just gowns, but sensible things like jeans and shirts and blazers. I cracked a smile when I saw the wedding dress hanging in the very back, but I didn’t rip it from the hanger. Though I would’ve preferred to have my own things, I appreciated the effort to match my minimalist style.

  As I took in the rest of the room, I saw that the bed had been turned down, a new fire had been lit, the cava had been replaced with sparkling water. There was a silver tray brimming with fresh bread, figs, pomegranates, nuts, cheese, and honey. My stomach growled at the sight of it. I didn’t realize how starving I was. Loading up a piece of bread, I crammed it in my mouth and went into the bathroom to text Timmons. As I unearthed the phone from its creamy grave, I caught my refection in the mirror. My hair was a mess, no big shocker there, but my dress was ripped—there was blood smeared on my back and arms. I peeled off the dress and ran my hand over the marks that had already healed.

  When I kissed him, it felt like this beautiful thing, but Beth was right. It really did look like I’d been in a brawl. Pretty symbolic.

  Unwrapping the phone from the shower cap, I turned it on. Timmons’s number was the only one programmed in.

  I texted—Met other immortals on council. Pretty sure they think I’m Katia. But one man, architect named Max Pinter, seemed to know who I was & who Dane was. Said we’re in danger and something about plan. “Look at the plans.” He got kicked off estate. Dane pretty shaken up about it, said he’s going to find him so we can talk. Can you look into alchemist in Barcelona named Rennert? Also, a woman here named Lucinda apparently “came with the house.” She’s gorgeous, creepy as fuck & she hates me. Good times. Tomorrow’s a big meeting about Rhys & Spencer. Till then—Ash

  It felt good to sign my own name.

  I heard a noise in the hall and quickly rewrapped the phone, submerging it in the jar of cream.

  There were footsteps heading my way. I knew they belonged to Dane. It wasn’t just his scent. It was the rhythm of his breath moving in and out of his lungs. I reached out to him, trying to sense his emotions, but he was guarding them for some reason. He paused in front of my door, and I held my breath.

  “We need to talk.” Lucinda chased after him. “Look at what she’s doing to you—you’re exhausted.”

  “If you don’t like what you see, you don’t have to watch. You’re welcome to leave at any time.”

  Lucinda stormed off.

  As he went to his room, I walked the perimeter, following his footsteps, dragging my hands along the walls until I reached the door that separated our rooms.

  Maybe it was only my imagination, but I swore I could feel him standing there, that if I whispered his name, he’d whisper mine back.

  20

  I AWOKE TO quiet.

  No fire engines, people screaming, cars honking, kids playing in the street, or dogs barking.

  But it wasn’t silent at all.

  There were donkeys braying in the distance, the ebb and flow of the sea, the wind moving through the trees, making the branches shiver, and the distant sounds of crows taking flight. In a way it was noisier than the city. All of my senses seemed amplified here. Alive.

  I drew a bath. As I stepped into the steamy water, I heard the faint crush of seashells from below. Peeking over the windowsill, I saw a group of immortals gathering.

  “She says she’s Katia, but something doesn’t feel right.”

  “You met her over five hundred years ago.”

  “Which she didn’t recall.”

  “People change.”

  “People don’t change. Not people like her. There’s something about this whole situation that doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t like it. After all this time she agrees to show up just as we’re being systematically murdered. For all we know, she could be the one behind this. Think about it: Neither one of them was there for the blood drive. And before that little tryst in his study, she was cold as ice.”

  “They’ve been at war for centuries. Do you think she’d really forgive him, forgive any of us for ordering the murder of her ancestors?”

  “But what of Max Pinter? What was all that about?”

  “She must’ve been digging around in his head and he panicked. What was he babbling on about?”

  “I know he’s been doing a lot of work for the Arcanum lately.”

  “I don’t see how anything she did had any mystical qualities. For all we know Coronado could’ve been supplying her with the information. He’s always been a slippery bastard.”

  “We’re keeping an eye on the situation. But for now, we need her.”

  “If she fails to deliver the immortal killer, we’ll have no choice but to get rid of both of them.”

  I heard the door to my room opening.

  “Do you mind?” I yelled over my shoulder and then clamped my hand over my mouth.

  As the men looked up, I ducked down into the tub as quickly as I could, sloshing water over the sides.

  “Relax, Miss Larkin,” Lucinda chastised me.

  The men below must’ve heard me, because when I peeked back over the sill, they were gone.

  As soon as I heard the door close, I grabbed a towel and rushed into the room to find a breakfast tray full of pastries with fresh preserves and a complete outfit laid out on the bed with a note.

  Meeting: main ballroom 11:00 a.m.

  There was a black pencil skirt, a cropped cream-colored silk blouse, paired with some strappy heels.

  “No thanks,” I said as I threw on a pair of black skinny jeans, a soft gray T-shirt, and the least fussy shoes I could find—a pair of jeweled sandals.

  Grabbing a piece of toast, I headed to Beth’s room.

  I pushed past the guards, only to find the door locked.

  “Beth.” I knocked. “Open up.”

  “I can’t,” she called back, but she sounded weird, like maybe there was a gag in her mouth.

  “You better open this door,” I said to the guards.

  They ignored me.

  “What’s going on?” Lucinda said as she came up the stairs.

  “Open this door. Now.”

  She glared at me as she unlocked it.

  “And don’t give me those eyebrows.”

  As the heavy door swung open, I was prepared to fin
d Beth gagged and weeping, but she was lounging in bed, in silk pajamas, her mouth stuffed with pastries. There were fancy packages strewn all over the place with new clothes, shoes, a computer, the whole series of Murder, She Wrote, but Beth had abandoned everything for a book. She could hardly tear her eyes away from it long enough to give me a casual wave.

  I turned on Lucinda. “Why was her door locked?”

  “For her own safety. She was found downstairs in the main hall in the middle of the night, weeping.”

  “In the same spot?”

  Lucinda seemed flustered. “If someone had seen her—”

  “I’ll deal with it,” I said as I turned my back on her.

  Lucinda fluffed Beth’s pillow and smiled down at her warmly. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you looking so well.”

  Somehow, nice Lucinda was even more unsettling than mean Lucinda.

  As soon as she left, I moved a box of chocolates aside so I could sit next to Beth. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m at the part where Daniel walks in on Clara . . . with the music teacher. I mean, how could she? Doesn’t she know how much he loves her?” she asked as she dipped a churro into a pot of thick chocolate and took a huge bite.

  “No.” I took the book away. “I mean why were you downstairs?”

  “I dreamed about Rhys. I heard something. I felt something. Maybe it was a ghost.” She shrugged, reaching for the book.

  I looked at the spine. “Shadow of the Wind,” I whispered. “Where did you get this?”

  “Dane brought it to me early this morning.”

  “Did you know this is one Rhys’s favorite books?”

  “Really? Oh, now I love it even more.” She grabbed it and hugged it.

  “Did Dane bring all of this?” I asked as I looked around.

  She nodded. “He likes to spoil me. In Quivira, he was always sneaking me lemon cakes from the Mendoza lodge. But this,” she said as she looked down at the tray of pastries. “This is even better.” She dipped another churro into the chocolate, forcing me to eat it.

  It was delicious, but extremely sweet.