Rain of Ash: Skydancer Book 1 (The Zyne Legacy)

by Gwen Mitchell

  Gawain didn’t back down. “I bet she didn’t even tell you he was here. Did you know she went and saw him yesterday? Sat in his limo for almost a half hour.”

  Liar!

  Kean clenched his fists so hard his knuckles popped. But his flash of hot fury froze the instant he heard Bri’s gasp. Gawain’s beady gaze pierced Kean with a silent gloat. He suddenly found it difficult to swallow. Bri gripped his arm. He couldn’t look at her then, couldn’t bear to see the truth in her eyes. The truth that just might finally break him. Instead, he let a long moment of denial unwind slowly.

  Gawain sneered. “I’ll bet that’s not all she’s keeping from you, either. Are you really going to throw away your coven and your reputation for that? Everyone knows she’s just a crazy whore. Just like her mother!”

  ***

  Bri launched at Gawain with such Tasmanian Devil fury, no one had time to react. She already had a fistful of his blackened collar when Kean’s warning sounded behind her. Her other arm swung in a tight arc, and the back of her hand smacked across his upper cheek. She saw it all in slow motion, as if someone else were in control of her body. She lifted her hand again, to slap him with her open palm. The look on his face — shocked, puzzled — made her hesitate. Her breath hitched.

  Gawain’s mask of surprise contorted into one of rage. He took hold of her wrist as her arm swung down and wrenched her other hand behind her back. Bri yelped and fell against his sooty chest. Her sense came rushing back when he squeezed her wrists, grating bones.

  Maybe attacking him hadn’t been the wisest move. Gawain was much stronger, and much more practiced at violence. But his comment about her mother had snapped something inside. She’d reacted as if they were still eight years old and she could make him feel the physical backlash of the emotional hurt he dealt out so carelessly.

  “Let me go, you slimy little weasel!” Bri struggled for a heartbeat, leaning as far forward as his writhing grip would allow, and then Kean’s fist arced over her head and ploughed into Gawain’s face.

  The Sheriff’s hat flew off his head and landed in the blood-coated grass. Knocked off balance, he slid and started to pull Bri down with him.

  Kean yanked her out of Gawain’s reach, ensuring her arms would be covered in bruises. Then he shoved her to the side and lunged at Gawain, who had picked himself up from the ground with battle etched on his charcoal-painted face.

  “Kean!” Bri yelled as they collided with a hearty slap, oblivious to everything but each other. A haze of red followed them in her vision, like a one-color TV station with bad reception. A flare of white light, and Kean went flying through the air. He landed on his ass fifteen feet away. She wanted to run to his side, but felt like her sneakers were made of cement. The two of them were moving so fast the world had frozen around them.

  Kean didn’t stand, but faded and grabbed Gawain in a headlock from behind. The other Ward faded a few feet away and kicked Kean in the side. The determination and hatred on each of their faces intensified as they threw each other around. The grunts and heaves of the fight battered at Bri’s senses, and she clenched her fists at her side, trying to think, to focus. How could this be? She’d changed Eric’s future, but he was still dead.

  The mirror’s vision proved truer than her own. What if she couldn’t change it? What if every step she took recommitted her to losing everyone? What if attacking Gawain had just signed Kean’s death warrant?

  To make matters worse, more of the stunned islanders arrived to watch. They funneled out from the forest path and formed a crescent around the clearing. The women covered their gasps and whispers behind their hands, darting knowing glances at Bri. Some of the men looked agitated, unsure whether or not they should interfere. A few seemed anxious to join in if given the opportunity.

  One of the firemen broke from the crowd, headed for her, and Bri sidled in the opposite direction. Kean and Gawain, oblivious to their growing audience, threw each other off, circled, and attacked again. Block, break apart, tumble, engage. Bri’s thoughts scattered, but she sifted for answers as she stood helplessly on the sideline. What was she supposed to do?

  Kean built up an energy ball as he took some of Gawain’s punches and kicks with his back and shoulders. As he turned and released it into the air, it caught fire, engulfing the shorter man in bright orange flames.

  Bri screamed and lunged forward, but a rough hand caught her arm and yanked her back. “You best stay out of this,” a gruff voice said in her ear.

  Pinned to a solid chest by whipcord arms, she struggled, but did little more than divot the earth. Gawain’s shielding flashed a dazzling yellow. Bri blinked, and the light faded to a warm glow that consumed the flames. He whirled away from Kean and levitated a rock from behind him, straight at Kean’s head.

  Kean spun and dodged the concussion, and his shields absorbed the two energy blasts that followed. He faded directly in front of Gawain, who staggered back a few steps in surprise and recovered too slow. One of Kean’s large fists blurred through the air and connected squarely with Gawain’s jaw. The other came right behind and imploded his nose.

  A sickening smack! sounded, and the watching crowd hissed. Blood spurted. Gawain spun on one toe, and then toppled like a fallen pine onto the grass.

  A heartbeat later, three men leapt on Kean and forced him down with their knees in his back. His breath gusted a cloud of dust from the ground, like a fallen bull, but he didn’t struggle. Other people moved warily forward to help Gawain.

  The man restraining Bri shuffled her forward. They halted about ten feet away, and she squirmed again, to no avail. Kean spotted them and went very still. In an eerily calm voice, he said, “Get your hands off her, Lyle, or I swear I will take you all down.”

  The men holding Kean bore down on him until he grunted, but Bri’s captor released her and stepped away, his hands spread in front of him. “Take it easy, Kean. No one’s gonna hurt her.”

  “Let me up.” Kean’s fists clenched behind his back.

  Bri dropped to her knees beside him, wrenching at one of the brutes restraining him with all her strength. Despite her holding on, they lifted Kean to his knees, but kept his arms locked and immobile. She shoved at the nearest one. “Let him go!”

  He scowled at her, but the look in Kean’s battle-wild eyes kept him from doing anything more.

  “Let him go!”

  “I don’t think we can do that,” the man called Lyle answered.

  The rest of their faces all conveyed the same message, all wore equally cold expressions that slammed on a panic button in Bri’s chest. They were going to take Kean away. He’d just beaten the Sheriff and coven Sigma to a bloody pulp, in front of twenty witnesses. It was a crime, no matter which side of the metaphysical fence you were parked on.

  Just like Gawain had said — she had brought this upon them. She had turned Kean astray, brought a curse down on them that was costing lives. Why would they help her? She was nothing more than the last living evidence of a sordid history the whole town would rather bury. They wouldn’t listen. She blinked and saw all of them as a pile of broken bodies over a waterfall of blood. She heard the demon’s laughter. The tree branch holding Eric creaked. The chill of inevitability bit at her toes and chased a shudder up her spine.

  She stared into Kean’s fierce hazel eyes and wanted so badly to tell him how sorry she was, but no words would come. This was all her fault — the beginning of the end — and what could she do to stop it? Nothing. The only thing left to do was beg. She bowed her head, and sucked in a deep, shaky breath. “Please.”

  “Let him go,” said a nasally voice. The crowd parted to reveal Gawain sitting a few feet away, holding a red and white bundle of cotton to his face.

  A murmur of unease spread through the townsfolk. Bri climbed to her feet and gave the men holding Kean a defiant glare. She had no idea what Gawain was up to, but did it matter, if it got Kean free without having to fight off half a dozen men?

  “Sheriff?” the man to Kean�
��s right stammered.

  “I said let them go. Now.” Gawain came to stand beside Bri, looking down at Kean.

  With a wary look at each other, the men holding Kean’s arms let go and backed away. Kean rolled his shoulders and stood. The fire in his eyes dimmed, replaced by cold, hard indifference — aimed directly at Bri. Her heart constricted. “Go get in the truck.”

  The ice in his voice stunned her, froze her in place. Blood from a cut on his temple oozed into his eye, but he didn’t blink it away. His gaze pivoted to Gawain, hardened some more. “You’re letting us go? No repercussions, no questions asked?”

  Despite the rustle of disbelief in the crowd, the Sheriff nodded and thrust out his hand. “Consider us even.”

  Kean didn’t hesitate squeezing Gawain’s hand. He coupled it with a flex of his jaw and a warning written as plain as an epitaph on his face. Bri gulped, waiting for Gawain’s reaction, for the coiled tension between the two of them to spring loose again like a jack out of the box. They released each other without incident and stepped away. Kean speared Bri’s shoulder with two fingers, aiming her toward the path. She took a few shuffling steps, then halted. The crowd didn’t shift to make room for them, and everyone was staring silently at Bri in a way that was becoming uncomfortably familiar.

  “You can’t just let them go, Sheriff.” Muttered agreements and whispered accusations fluttered through the half-circle of bodies, which pressed in a step closer. Bri felt the almost imperceptible shift in the tension of Kean’s body beside her.

  “Yeah, someone’s gotta answer for this!” a brave soul in the back shouted. Bri wasn’t sure what “this” was. Eric’s death? The fire? The town turning on itself? Probably all of the above. Oh, and don’t forget the pox and the bad harvest, too. All they needed were pitchforks and a length of rope to complete the scene.

  Gawain shouldered his way to where Bri and Kean stood and addressed his coven. “I am Sigma. They go if I say they can go. The fight was personal, and played fair. They’ve done nothing wrong. You should all go back to your homes now.”

  “And what about him?” the smart mouth shouted. In an almost choreographed motion, heads in the crowd turned to look at Eric’s dead body swaying in the gentle breeze.

  Bri stared at her feet and willed them to stay planted, for the earth to stay firm and steady.

  Gawain was silent for a few beats. “He’s my problem. I’ll handle it.”

  Kean pressed Bri again, and this time people stepped out of their way.

  “We’re even now, Fitzgerald.” Gawain called to their backs.

  Kean stopped, but didn’t turn. “We’ll never be even, Gawain. Not even close.”

  Under the shade of the trees, smoke lingered at the edge of the canopy like cotton stuffed into the cracks, insulating them from the sunlight. The chill shadows swept over Bri, and her strength slowly sank away. Shivers wracked her. It was hard to keep her feet moving without stumbling. Kean reached out to catch her, but his grip was dispassionate, efficient, and then he let her go. She longed to feel the warmth and security of his shields — his arms — wrapped around her, but what could she say to make it so? What could she ever say again that Kean would want to listen to? She’d broken her promise to him, and kept it secret.

  She’d lied. Kean hated liars.

  Silently, she climbed into the truck and huddled in a shivering ball as Kean peeled down the gravel drive in reverse.

  “You better start talking.” He twisted the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

  “Kean, I’m sorry. I should have told you about Eric. He just showed up, and I—”

  He cut his hand through the air. His intent gaze never strayed from the road. “I don’t want excuses. What was he doing here? What did you say to him?”

  Bri wanted to answer his impatient tone with a snarl of her own. She was cold, hungry, and strung out on too much adrenaline — jittery, but exhausted. With her psyche smeared out over a breadth of possible futures and pasts that equated to a constant headache. And she’d just found her ex-boyfriend murdered and strung up like an “I’m coming to get you” sign. Couldn’t he cut her a little slack?

  What stopped her was the fresh bruise blossoming on the side of Kean’s jaw, the cuts and abrasions all over his body. Wounds he’d earned defending her honor, even when it was in question to him. He’d given her the benefit of the doubt, despite the risk, despite the whole coven looking down their noses at him.

  She swallowed back more pointless tears. “I told him goodbye. I told him I was staying here. That I loved someone else. I thought I was saving his life.”

  “You mean you foresaw his death.” Kean’s voice was softer, and she felt the brush of his shields enveloping her.

  Bri closed her eyes, instantly warmer. Safer. “Yes.”

  “Was it just like this? The vision?”

  She took one look at Kean and didn’t need any powers to foresee the interrogation brewing in his head. More questions meant more lies. More evasions. More bricks in the wall between them. She couldn’t tell him about her vision, about the deaths yet to come. Or about the mirror or her connection to the demon. Or the demon’s message. Or Lucas. Especially not Lucas. Kean would automatically assume the Kinde was the root of all their problems. Because he didn’t want to believe it was her.

  “No,” she said with a bitter smile, knowing her answer would only frustrate him. “It was nothing like this.”

  So many secrets. So many lies. If she lived through this, they would probably bury her. How had they all piled up so fast? That was her destiny. Her gift. And it was some sort of cosmic joke that she'd ended up heart over stars in love with a man who valued the truth above all else. It would feel so good to give it to him, to let him succor her weaknesses and tell her everything was going to be all right. But it was her burden, not his.

  The demon would come for her. She had the mirror. Eventually, he would come. Her only shot at changing anything she’d seen was to anticipate his next move and stop him before it happened.

  She had to warn Geri. As an Oracle, Geri would understand, take the appropriate precautions. But if Kean knew what they faced, he would jump on that dragon and ride it all the way to his doom. For once Bri would protect him, even if he hated her for it. If it meant keeping him or Geri or anyone else she loved safe, she would lie. Lie through her teeth. Lie until the sun came up in the west.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fear, though always sweetest in its pure form, gave him plenty of strength when co-mingled with hatred. Toying with Briana served a two-pronged purpose. Each death lain at her feet drew her further into his grasp, and the resulting feast of doubt and rage sustained him against the inevitable struggle of his host as he closed in on his enemy.

  It mostly amused him to see his captive’s spirit wiggle like a helpless little worm. But when it came to Briana, the worm was particularly virulent. Not worth the effort. Better to seek out the relic first.

  Let his host believe the Skydancer was safe for now. As time passed, the moon’s sway would wane, along with the Zyne’s power to resist him. Briana would fall into his web, already weak and broken from fighting nightmares and chasing shadows.

  He wanted her lost and alone, and then he would strike.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The last thing Bri expected when they reached Astrid’s was privacy, but Kean seemed disturbingly anxious for space between them. He escaped to the back deck with Astrid, likely discussing what to do with their traitorous coven member. Too bedraggled to do much else, she hopped into Astrid’s shower to rinse off the soot and Eric’s blood, then dressed in some borrowed pajamas. She emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later to find the two of them still outside. Still talking. She frowned as she dialed Geri’s number.

  Geri picked up on the first ring. “Briana?”

  “Yes.” Bri gripped the phone tighter, wanting to wrap herself in the powdery-softness of Geri’s voice.

  “Oh, Heavens, child. What is this I
hear about the coven Guild burning down?”

  “It’s true. I was there, with Kean. Eric…” She gulped back tears and took in a tumbling breath. “Eric, he’s my, was my … he’s dead. I found him. It was just like I saw in the mirror. And then Kean beat up Gawain. This is all my fault. I don’t know what to do.”

  The creak of an old rocking chair echoed over the line. “What do you mean like you saw in the mirror?”

  “That is why I’m calling. I touched it, Geri, and I saw horrible things—”

  “Ach! Tsst! Shush. Doonae be spewing out your visions as if they’re the morning news! Were you not listening to a thing I said?”

  Bri shook her head in dismay. “But I have to warn you.”

  Geri cleared her throat into the phone loudly. “Listen to me verra carefully, Briana Celene. Do not touch it again! And you cannot tell anyone about the mirror and especially about what you saw. Seeing the future is not a gift you’re given so you can change it.”

  “Then what the hell good is it?” Bri collapsed into the nearest chair. “I was just trying to save them.”

  “Ye couldn’t, because the things we see the clearest are those that are already written in the Stars. There’s a difference between a vision and a premonition. If you go about trying to change things Fate has already decided, you’ll run yourself to the ragged end of crazy. This is the last lesson I will give ye: some things must be left to be as they are.”

  Bri leaned back and closed her eyes, but she saw Geri’s face cut with tracks of bloody tears, Kean’s lifeless body. The echo of the demon’s laughter beat against her heart in icy shards. She gripped the headset with sweaty palms and let out a deep breath to steady her voice. “I can’t accept that.”

  Geri ‘hmph’d. “You have no choice. Of all the things I’ve told you, this is most important.”

  “No Geri, this is important. I have to tell you—”