Yesterday's Ashes

by Kim Faulks

  Carrie scanned the shadows, her heart thrashing inside her ears. "Is anyone in there?"

  There was only silence. Decide, whimp out or grow a pair, but whatever you do, stop standing in the damn doorway. The keys rattled in her grip as she reached for the hallway light. The dim glow illuminated the entrance. Her senses on high alert. There was no sound, nothing and she felt the panic inside ease.

  I'm freaking myself out over forgetting to arm the damn security system. She kicked off her shoes, her aching feet sighed with relief at the cold tile. She didn't know how much long she could keep two jobs up, but waitressing was a dead-end job. There was no climb on this corporate ladder. Maybe she should do something different? Maybe join the army? The thought had crossed her mind before.

  Carrie tossed her keys onto the bench top and shrugged out of her jacket as the thought took hold. She flicked on the fluorescent overhead light in the kitchen and make for the sink. She could disappear in the Army, no one would know where she was—hell she might even find some happiness there. She sure as hell deserved some.

  She grabbed the glass from the sink and filled it from the tap. Her body ached and she was hungry, but the water would fill her enough so she could get to sleep. She'd worry about eating tomorrow.

  She drained the last trickle and set the glass back down. Los Angeles sparkled like gems against a black velvet backdrop and it was in these moments she realized the possibilities were endless.

  The world outside held her attention so much that she didn't notice the shift in the lounge chairs in front of her. She didn't notice anything until a quiet voice cut through the silence. "Hello Carrie. My name is Alexander Ash and I've waited for a long time to finally meet you."

  The End

  I hope you’ve enjoyed the last part to the Fire and Ice Series. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to miss Natalie, Alexander and Malik.

  But there’s room in my heart for many more characters and I’ve love to

  introduce you to some from my new series: Creed, Helaine and the gang from The Underworld Coven.

  CHAPTER ONE

  1787

  The young boy drew his knees to his chest. Above, the crew screamed orders. The flurry of activity after endless months at sea meant only one thing—they’d finally arrived. A wheeze from the convict next to him ended with one long hiss and then fell silent, drawing the boy’s attention back to the darkness. The man had been his quiet companion on this long journey to Hell. The voyage for this man had ended. He’d never see land again.

  The shackles that bound his wrists weighed him down. He lifted his arms, wincing while the chains scraped and clinked. The unforgiving iron cut into his flesh, the pain unrelenting. He bit his lip to stop from crying out. His arms shook, his muscles screamed until his arms crashed to the floor. Hot tears slid down his cheeks to slip under his nose. He bent his head to wipe the tears and crusted snot but it hurt too much to lift his hands. He had no energy left. The fight in him was long gone.

  The malaise that gripped him day after day left him thin and weak. He licked his cracked lips. His broken teeth sliced the tender flesh of his mouth, coating his tongue with the metallic taste of blood. Dysentery and fevers had taken most of the convicts. When they set sail from London, the compartment he was in had been his assigned compartment was so crowded, he could barely find a spot to sit. Now the cabin around him was empty and sparse. The bodies of the dead had been carried up top, never to be seen again. They’d been the lucky ones.

  Heavy footsteps stopped beside the boy’s silent companion. The thick cockney accent of one of the crew barked from the darkness. "Hey, you alive?"

  The soft thud of boot on flesh sounded, but there was no answer. He held his breath, willing his racing heart to slow, for fear the man would hear him. But hiding was of no use. Strong hands gripped his arms. His head snapped back and the manacles dug deep as he was wrenched upright.

  "We're here, boy. It's time to see your new home."

  He whimpered and swallowed hard as the clink of chains echoed and the irons fell to the ground. This was a cruel fate, all for a loaf of bread for his starving family. The sweet face of his mother filled his mind, her eyes red from crying. William, come back to us—she was the last familiar thing he'd seen.

  His toes skirted the wooden floor. He kicked and thrashed, but his blows were weak. The slam of the cabin door was deafening and the boy cringed under the assault of the blazing sun. Sparks danced in his eyes while orders were bellowed around him. He held out his hands, steadying his steps as best he could while the ship came into focus. The dazzling light in his eyes dulled, the black blur was replaced with colors and form. As the boy lifted his head, he caught the first sight of land.

  Sand hugged the rugged coastline and stretched as far as his eyes could see. The rocks looked like razors. He whimpered at this harsh, barren land. The sun was too hot; he'd never survive. This place was Hell. He tried to speak as he was dragged forward. The angry crash of breaking waves filled him with terror.

  I can’t swim…I can’t swim. He tried to voice the words but it was too late and he was thrown overboard and into the water. Pain seared his wrists and ankles as salt water stung the places where the manacles had cut deep and left open sores.

  The screams of men and women around him were cut short as he hit the water. The boy tried not to breathe, but water filled his mouth. He was drowning in his own tears. He kicked and beat the water, trying to hold his breath.

  He forced his eyes open, despite the fresh pain stinging his eyes. The harsh sun now filtered through the water. Bubbles roiled around him. He followed their rise until he spied a wavering circle—the sun—washed now with grayish-green, as though Satan had emptied his mop bucket on the sky.

  The weak light revealed dark shapes circling him. He’d heard the other convicts speak of the great beasts that bit a man in two. What would they do to a boy? His heart thundered and his body grew heavy. He fought for freedom. His chest was about to explode. Kicking, clawing, all he could think of was his need for air. At last, he surfaced. He dragged in one ragged breath before crashing waves tumbled him under again. He fought for survival, and inch, by slow inch, made his way to shore.

  The drag of saturated clothing and a relentless tide pulled him under. He kicked and used his hands to scoop the water back, keeping his head out of the sea.

  Three dark figures on the horizon caught the boy’s attention, and between the overwhelming waves, he focused on them. Two were men, one looked like a boy, but like none he'd ever seen before. Their dark skin seemed to soak up the sun. One stood with a foot braced against the side of his knee, using a long spear for balance. The boy waved at them for help and went under. He coughed, choked, and swallowed the ocean. The dark figures blurred, and when he surfaced, they were gone.

  The surge of the sea was never-ending and as he weakened he felt his body dragged under for the last time, his toes found traction in the sand. The rough sound of the beached longboat beside him made the boy turn. He coughed and vomited the sea from his stomach, replacing it with thick, salty air. A shadow passed over him. He lifted his gaze to the man who stood at the helm.

  William’s voice was barely a croak, but loud enough to draw the man’s gaze as he cried.“Where are we?”

  The captain had no cause to answer, except for pity as he spoke. "Welcome to the Underworld, boy. They call this land Australia."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Today

  Creed stood behind the crowd, waiting for the train at Sydney's Five Dock Station. The nighttime rush was filled with high heels, mascara, and leather—for the men as well as the women. He crossed his arms against his chest, suddenly feeling old. What the hell happened in the last hundred years? The giggling chatter gave him something to focus on at least, other than the homeless asleep on the seats and piled in the corners like yesterday's trash.

  From the edge of his vision, he caught movement from a group of young women. They'd been giggling and pointing his
way for the last ten minutes. Creed pretended to look somewhere else—anywhere else. He sighed—there always had to be one.

  “Ah, excuse me.”

  He didn’t turn around, hoping she’d lose interest.

  “My friends wanna know if you’ll come to a party with us?”

  He snapped his gaze toward her. Dark, spiky hair bristled down the center of her head. Her wide gaze was buzzing with detached excitement. He could feel her drug-induced energy like a sickness. She pouted, as though this weird impersonation of a fish would somehow turn him on. He shook his head. He wasn’t interested in the naïve.

  The young woman stared, shifting nervously from one high heel to the other. He could hear the catcalls from her so-called friends. She licked her lips. Her eyes trailed over the thick, black tattoo of the animal his god chose for him—his familiar—which covered his arm. Her eyes closed slightly and her breath deepened, as though she was mesmerized. She lifted trembling fingers.

  “That tattoo is amazing. Is that a red-bellied black snake?”

  Creed nodded and shifted away. Under his skin, his familiar moved. Like him, the serpent was quick to strike and ask questions later.

  “We've got some cool stuff if you're interested. Whatever you need; E, coke, acid. I…I mean, my friends want you to come. We can have our own private party, if you get what I mean?”

  He raked his hair back from his face, feeling his frustration mount. A voice came over the speaker announcing the arrival of the train to Central. He dropped his arms and moved around her, listening to the brakes of the sleek, silver bullet squeal as the train slowed. The young woman waited. Why couldn’t the naïve just leave him alone? The crush of the crowd moving forward prevented him from just leaving her standing there, staring after him. He snapped.“I have plans of my own.”

  Her eyes lit up.“Cool, maybe we can tag along with you?”She ushered the others forward while he tried to move away. Couldn’t she take a damn hint?

  “No.”He growled.“It’s a family thing.”

  “Oh.”She stilled, and her brow furrowed. Creed caught the shuffle of movement to his left as a one of the homeless headed for the open door of the train. He scanned the platform, looking for danger, looking for anything, while he worked the muscle in his jaw. He stepped into the train, leaving the young woman on the platform, grateful when the automatic doors closed.

  Creed’s reflection haunted him from the gouged Perspex glass. No matter how young he looked, his age was exposed in his eyes. He had eyes that’d seen too much and a heart that felt too deep and still his loyalty and sacrifice wasn’t enough—for the survival of the coven and the defeat of the Corrupt, there’d never be enough.

  This was no time to dwell on the past. Tonight was meant to be filled with a heavy beat and power. His coven had suffered and they needed to celebrate their survival in their own way. Creed swallowed hard.

  Lila had left his bed cold as well as his heart. Long black hair and unfathomable eyes returned to him. He’d give anything to hold her and feel their connection once more. But that wasn’t to be. She’d died in the line of her duty; just one more failed attempt to rid the Underworld of the infestation of demons called The Corrupt. He shoved Lila’s image from his mind. A month later, his pain was still quick to respond.

  He needed to get back home, to the energy of his brothers and sisters. To sweet solitude. Their covenstead was built for power—not the foundations the building rested upon, or the locks which kept others out—it was the wards that kept them safe and silent while the rest of the world carried on.

  “S’cuse me.”Creed felt a soft shove from the side as the homeless man shuffled past to take one of the empty seats. A group of youths tussled and teased each other, making a ruckus. The hunched old man ignored them and gripped and old satchel as though the bag was all he had left in the world. Creed knew what homelessness felt like. At night he could still smell the sea, still feel the salt water filling his lungs and the utter hopelessness of knowing he'd never see home again.

  Creed could feel Ares become restless. He turned inward, to his god, searching for the answer. Their connection was stronger than the silver cord of his soul. He was the living, breathing vessel for the god of war. Something was niggling at him and Creed knew better than to ignore his instinct.

  He cast his mind to earlier in the day, retracing his steps mentally as yet another failed search ended. The Corrupt army was quiet—too quiet. Their silence unnerved him. He knew they were out there, taking what was not theirs to take, because the list of missing persons grew and the numbers of witches dwindled.

  An attack on another coven left them scattered in the wind. They’d once been a force to be reckoned with—but not anymore. He had no idea how many of his own were alive. The naïve disappeared by the hundreds, too. Each day, Creed scanned the papers, searching for some connection to soulless demons that roamed this land. If he could only capture one, he’d make them break. He’d force them to talk and lead him and the others to their lair, but he could find no connection. He could find no sign of the Corrupt.

  Some of the missing had been found dead and butchered. They were the ones who fought back—the lucky ones. His enemy's army was growing, but not from the missing—it was nothing as simple as that.

  The train lurched forward. Creed rode the sudden movement until he was slammed from behind. He smashed into the Perspex wall. His face took the brunt of the impact. Pain ripped through his nose, grinding his forehead and cheek until the force broke the hardened plastic window in two.

  He gripped the razor-sharp edges and shoved his body away, trying his best to protect his vital organs. The force behind him was too strong. His arms shuddered under the strain, until the shudders became violent tremors and all he saw was those sharp edges. His pulse roared, the beat filling his head. The muscles in his arms burned. The tendons strained to breaking. Creed couldn’t hold the window any longer. The plastic cracked. His elbows buckled and Creed felt the sharp edges slice through his throat like a blade. His blood spurted and splashed what remained of the clear wall.

  The force behind him let go. Creed stumbled away from the jagged wall, gripping his neck, trying to staunch the flow. The warm liquid slid down his forearm, coating his familiar. The lights of the train flickered, casting shadows where there were none before, covering the movement under his sleeve as the serpent came alive.

  Creed spun and searched for his attacker in the erratic glow. All he saw were the wide stares of those in the cabin—none of whom meant him harm. But there was someone, or something, in here who did. The darkness was growing, rolling in like a thunderstorm. He could feel the evil hidden inside, tainting the air around him.

  The Corrupt were here.

  His heart leapt inside his chest, beating faster, sending his life force pouring out of the jagged hole in his neck. The thick, warm blood cascaded over his fingers to drip down his chest. Survival was one frantic thought away. Was this it? Would this be the moment his god failed him?

  And as though to answer his doubt, lightning ripped through his body. The heat spread from his throat, knitting together his flesh and healing his fatal wounds. His animal unfurled itself from around his arm. The serpent hissed and struck at Creed as it came alive. Sharp teeth grazed his arm, leaving their mark, until the snake dropped to the floor with a thud and slithered away.

  The blinding red of his anger swallowed the light, reaching out with searing blows to squeeze the life from him. Rage and power ripped through his body, radiating from the center of his chest, expanding his physical mass. The distant sound of galloping horses echoed inside the train as the fire hit him again.

  “Do you hear that? What the fuck is that sound, man?”

  The frantic cries of the naïve pierced his rage. Creed lunged, grabbing the unseen. The moving shadow took form once more, and from his grip, the homeless man lunged at him with black eyes and filthy teeth.

  “She told me how to find you, filthy, fucking witch!She told me t
o make your death painful and slow.”

  She? The words growled in his ear spurred him on. Creed caught sight of the CCTV camera. The red blinking light was a problem. He couldn’t afford to be arrested. He pushed his energy into the air calling on the horses, Konabos…Phobos…Athion and Phologios….

  And they answered. The pounding of hooves was borne from the rickety sound of the tracks as the train shot past an underground station. The resonance grew louder until the cabin was filled with thunder.

  His faith was made stronger in the presence of his patron’s power. Ares echoed in response, and lightening crackled inside Creed, building within his spirit until his body hummed. Creed shuddered, barely able to contain the energy until he opened the floodgates and unleashed his power.

  Those inside the train cried out. The cabin shuddered as the snorting of horses echoed among them. Ares' horses, Fear and Terror, were here.

  “Where’s that sound coming from? Are we being attacked?”

  “What’d you push me for, man?”another yelled.

  “Does anyone hear that? Hey! Can you hear that sound…what the fuck is that man…what the fuck is that?”

  “Don’t touch me! Don’t you touch me!”The sound of scuffling followed. The brawl erupted around Creed, fists, blood, and a slew of curses covered the real battle inside the train.

  Creed gripped the beggar by his torn, filthy rags and rammed him backwards into the melee. The old man laughed and lashed out with his fist, catching Creed on the cheek. His head snapped to the side. Bone crunched inside his head.

  This was no man. This was a beast in disguise.

  Movement to his left caught Creed’s attention as a darkened shape lunged. His protector wound around the beggar’s neck, a flash of red, moving against the darkness—a warning. The demon didn’t heed the caution. The entity released Creed and gripped the snake.

  She lashed out, striking his cheek, sinking in her fangs and releasing her venom. The beggar screamed and ripped her off, tearing away the flesh of his face along with her fangs.