Shattered Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 3)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  “Mitch” looked amused. “Paulie, that was over ten years ago. And he wasn’t even fully grown. Or from one of their main bloodlines.”

  The heavyset man snorted. “You sayin’ I ain’t fit enough these days to go toe-to-toe?” He slapped his ample gut with both hands as he straightened. “This here’s just for deception purposes. Anyway, I gotta check in with Jackie so...” He closed the door and left us alone, but not before narrowing his hawkish eyes firmly at me and pointing at my face, a not so subtle threat that clearly said: “I’m watching you.”

  “Can you talk yet?” The man asked, settling back into his seat and watching me from across the SUV’s interior. “I understand that the water did something to you, but you seem...intact.” He looked me over a little doubtfully. “More or less intact.”

  Still on edge, I worked my jaw for a moment, testing it out, figuring that if I could speak, the first words out of my mouth shouldn’t be a sarcastic reply. “So, what are you, the Mob or something? Gonna make me an offer I can’t refuse?” No such luck.

  He stared at me flatly. Seriously.

  “You’re shitting me,” I rasped disbelievingly.

  “Ex-Mafia, actually,” he replied coolly. “And we’ll get to the offer.”

  I raised an eyebrow, twitching reflexively as it dripped pool water down my cheek. “Didn’t know there was such a thing as ex-Mafia. Aren’t you guys typically lifers?”

  “Usually,” he replied. Reaching over, he folded down a portion of his seat, revealing a tiny mini-bar, and poured himself a drink. “Let’s just call it unique circumstances, and you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t elaborate further.”

  I had to give the man credit. So close, I could easily hear the strong rhythm of his heartbeat, and it was absolutely rock steady. Either he had no idea what I was—which his conversation a moment ago seemed to deny—or he simply wasn’t afraid of me in the slightest.

  For someone who seemed mortal, I was impressed.

  “Mitchell Garibaldi,” he said, leaning forward just enough to offer me his hand, assuming I met him halfway.

  The name tickled at the back of my mind. After a moment’s suspicion, I leaned forward and grasped his hand with my sopping wet one, channeling my will into not suddenly twitching and crushing his hand. His grip was firm, but respectful, and as far as I could tell, utterly normal. “Ashes—Ashley—Currigan,” I offered, eying him critically. “We haven’t met before, but I know your name from somewhere.” I frowned with sudden suspicion. Maybe I’d seen him on TV. “You’re not a politician, are you?”

  He retrieved his hand with an amused smirk. “Thankfully, no. I’m a more honest sort of criminal than that, when I’m forced to be one at all.”

  I couldn’t restrain a snort of humor.

  “You probably remember my name because of Rain,” he continued, still watching me.

  I blinked. Rain...Garibaldi. This was his father. In a dizzying instant, my mind flashed through all the times I’d nearly gotten the boy killed since we’d met, and I cringed. Uh-oh.

  “So you see the issue here,” he said calmly.

  My eyes darted to his hands, to the bulge in his jacket, and I shifted uneasily and tried to covertly test just how much range of motion I’d gotten back. While he’d been completely correct earlier in saying I could snap him or any of his men in half, the matter wasn’t so simple. I’d been shanked by a mortal with a hallowed knife before, and I’d sum up the experience as not fun, paired with highly lethal. I had a feeling anointed bullets would be even more not-fun, and unlike a Sanguinarian, humans had no problems toting those around—or incendiary rounds or any number of other not-fun things.

  But as much as I didn’t want to get shot “for realsies,” I also just didn’t want to get into a punch out with Rain’s dad.

  Garibaldi sighed. “The problem with Hollywood,” he said, setting his drink aside, “is they always give someone the wrong idea about these kinds of meetings.” I tensed a little as he reached over, but he just poured another two fingers of whiskey on the rocks and offered it to me.

  I shook my head. “I don’t drink,” I grinned, showing fangs.

  He nodded. “Not whiskey, at least. Suit yourself.” He downed mine instead, in one quick gulp, and took a deep breath before setting the glass aside. “For one, I’m a businessman,” he explained. “Typically a legitimate one, even. And in a proper business deal, both parties walk away better off than they were before.” He caught my eyes with his. “Not to mention the fact that if I had intended you harm, your last memory would have been of laying on the sidewalk next to a pool in Homewood.”

  It wasn’t a threat or even a warning, and he didn’t say it out of hostility. It was simply a fact. And honestly, I could appreciate that. “Actions do say a lot more than words,” I admitted.

  He nodded. “But that’s not who I am.” He considered the ice in his dark amber whiskey. “Or, at least, not who I strive to be.” He looked up at me again. “Though that’s neither here nor there, and I don’t expect you to believe me.” Or care if you do, his face said.

  I watched him take another, more conservative sip of his whiskey. “For nerves,” he commented. He didn’t seem nervous to me. “I’m about to have to explain to my son that I know he’s been lying to me—and that I’ve been lying about the same thing in return.” He made a face. “Not a father’s finest moment, but it directly pertains to that offer you mentioned earlier.”

  I tilted my head, feeling the stiffness subsiding. My clothes were still soaked, but fortunately that didn’t seem enough to force a Strigoi shutdown by itself. Good to know. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  He sighed, seeming a bit introspective. “I love Rain, and I try my best to do right by him. But I’m not an expert on children.” He took another slight, casual sip. “So when I explain that I’ve known about his supernatural nature for quite a while now, I’m worried he’ll be upset with me. And I need to know he’ll be watched over by someone capable if he needs his own space for a bit.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Okay...would have done that anyway, but how do you know you can trust me?”

  Garibaldi chuckled, a lively twinkle in his eyes. “You should hear how he and Jason talk about you.” I shifted nervously. “And what I’ve heard leaves me positively inclined towards you.”

  Phew.

  “And Jason is a surprisingly good judge of character. I trust him.” Garibaldi’s eyes turned heavy in an instant. “Besides, I may not be able to beat you in a boxing match, but that doesn't mean you want me as an enemy.”

  Now that one was a threat.

  “Knowing Rain,” he continued, “he’ll want to keep on doing what he’s doing. And I think it’s only fair to let the person that dragged him into a great deal of this messy business be the one to keep an eye on him.” He set his drink aside, unfinished. “As well as to let you know that I’m here to help. If Rain needs assistance, someone of my...employ...is usually not so terribly far away.”

  “So you know what’s going on?” I asked. With Petra gone, I leapt at the chance for information.

  “More than I’d like,” he replied. “Rain’s involvement and my decision to provide independent security for Tamara’s club have unfortunately increased my level of engagement in supernatural affairs.”

  I made a face. “Sorry about that.”

  “It was only a matter of time,” he sighed. “Part of having a supernatural son.” He smiled warmly, proudly. “But, for instance, I know that the two women you spoke to earlier are tied into a nasty business. Drug distribution, specifically. Something entirely new to the streets of Birmingham.” He didn’t sound like he approved.

  Frowning, I considered the information. It fit with what we’d overheard, but why? What would be the point? Did it turn vampires into super soldiers, or something?

  “The problem is, their project doesn't seem to involve the Moroi as a whole,” he continued. “And that they’re not the only leaders. Though I’m not certai
n of much more than that, except that I believe several...less than savory characters are also involved. And that there’s something more going on behind the scenes. Something powerful enough to enforce alliances that typically wouldn’t stand.”

  “Like Sanguinarian and Moroi?”

  He crossed his legs and wavered a hand back and forth in the air. “Maybe, maybe not. I haven’t let my people get too close. Too dangerous.” He eyed me. “Until you got Rain too close, that is.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “But I’m not going to stop him from living the life he chooses.” Garibaldi’s eyes softened, no longer digging at me critically. “I couldn’t truly stop him, even if I wanted. So instead, I’m simply going to ensure he’s as safe as possible.” He picked up the whiskey, took a longer sip, then set it down and knitted his hands firmly in his lap. “Which is where I have a task to offer you, assuming you’re receptive and willing to work with me.”

  “You have a quest for me already?” I couldn’t help myself. “That was quick.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Sorry.” I barely kept a sir off the end. “What is it?”

  Garibaldi gestured. “My men have noticed something the last few weeks. Specifically, that they're not the only ones shadowing Rain.” That caught my attention. I’d assumed I was the only one being stalked. “Something else is, something they're not able to keep track of.”

  “So.” I straightened. From what I’d seen, his men were professionals. Far more professional than me, anyway. Which meant… “Something inhuman.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. And while my men are more than willing to put themselves in danger to protect Rain, I'm reluctant to send them after something I don't understand and can't plan for.” He paused. “They’re good. But they're only human.”

  “And you want me to be the guinea pig instead?” I frowned.

  “Are you really so opposed to stepping in where some good men might otherwise be killed?” He responded, weighing me with his gaze. “Rain and Jason led me to believe otherwise.” He offered me a thin smile. “Something big is going on, and my son is being drawn into it. I would think that would be enough reason by itself. Besides, to hear the old stories, you're almost indestructible.”

  I shifted, thinking it over. The group of people that knew my nature was growing too quick for comfort. “Okay, fair point,” I rasped. “But I don't exactly like—”

  “Being manipulated?” He cut across me. “I'm sure you don't. Who does? Which is why I asked.” A faint buzz emanated from his jacket pocket, and he paused just long enough to check a message and put it away again, nodding with satisfaction. “Rest assured I'll see to my son's safety as best I can, with or without your help. But remember that it wasn’t me who dragged him into this mess in the first place.”

  I sighed, my frustration grounding out. “You're right. Something’s watching me too. And if something out there has an eye on Rain, I'm the one who got it there. I'll take care of it.” I returned his thin smile. “With or without your help.”

  Garibaldi nodded approvingly. “Let me know if you need that help, regardless. I don’t much like getting my hands dirty, not anymore.” He turned his gaze to the darkly tinted window, his eyes unreadable. “But some things cannot, and should not, be avoided.”

  I shrugged. “I should be good. Indestructible, remember?” I could dream, anyway.

  Mitchell Garibaldi leaned over, tapping on the glass, and Paulie promptly opened the door for me. “And,” the businessman added as I rose stiffly to leave, “If I were a betting man, I’d wager that whatever it is stalking you? It’s something similar that’s after my son.”

  I’d always thought the “Southern Mafia” was just a statewide joke, urban legend, or a silly conspiracy theory. But here I was, one small parking lot away from the real thing. Or at least the ex-real thing.

  I watched from a distance as Garibaldi and Rain had their talk, raised voices and all. I watched as they hugged it out at the end, and Rain stepped away.

  To be honest, I wasn’t certain of what to make of Garibaldi. But I could respect him or at least what I’d seen of him. And he seemed to want the best for Rain, which garnered him a lot of points in my book. It seemed like he truly was trying to do the best he could for his kid, even if he didn’t always get it right.

  In that sense, he reminded me a little of my own dad, and that memory stung.

  I shook it off as Rain came over. “I’m sorry about that,” he said first.

  “For what?” I raised an eyebrow with exaggerated curiosity. “The free ride in the nice car?”

  The boy chuckled. “You know what I mean. My dad.”

  “He means well. I can’t blame him, really.” I shook my head. “Everything okay?”

  Rain considered the question for a long moment. “No? But it will be. Just...trying to make all the pieces fit back into place, I guess.”

  From out of nowhere, Jason wandered up. “Heyo, peoples. What up?”

  I eyed him. “So did you get swept up in this, too?” I gestured at the trio of pitch-black SUVs that didn’t scream X-Files at all.

  He just shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Somethin’ like that.” He exhaled heavily before I could ask further. “I lost that Petra chica, though.”

  I frowned. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Tamara that I’d lost her best chance at answers, especially when, if she was smart, her cousin would go to ground after tonight. I also wasn’t looking forward to Charles finding out exactly how I’d initially lost the trail, either. Maybe I could bribe the boys to cover for me.

  “That’s okay!” Rain interrupted my thoughts cheerily. I looked at him, baffled by his cavalier attitude. “My dad told me where we can find her, if we hurry.”

  “No shit?” I could hardly believe we’d been handed good luck for a change. Maybe Charles was rubbing off on me too much, because instead of raising my spirits, it immediately made me suspicious.

  “Bad ass,” Jason responded, high-fiving his friend.

  I didn’t join in. Instead, I was already on my phone. I tossed out a text to Tamara and Charles, then added in Kitty for good measure.

  You guys ready for round two?

  Chapter Nine

  So tired of refrigerators

  Once more, we gathered outside the door to a house, lingering in the dark, ready to burst in at a moment’s notice.

  I hoped it’d go better than last time.

  At least now there wasn’t as much concern about police involvement. Garibaldi—or his henchmen, at least—had tracked Petra to a gated subdivision, still in development. Tamara had easily gotten us past the solitary, bored security guard with literally just a wink and a smile.

  I wondered if Petra had done the same. I also wondered how much he’d regret letting us in later.

  Tamara grabbed Charles and me firmly by our coats, pulling us away from the door. “Before we go in there, there’s something you need to know,” she said quietly, her eyes gleaming and serious, still luminously blue despite the darkness all around.

  “Well, hurry,” Charles grumbled. “I have a bad feeling.” I noted his silver-inlaid staff resonating of its own accord in his white-knuckled grip, the magnificent eagle feather at the end twisting this way and that with a mind of its own. Charles himself looked upward, at the dark, bloated clouds rolling in and gathering ominously overhead.

  I couldn’t disagree; I felt it too, like something trembling and shifting just Next Door. And on top of that, I really hoped those clouds didn’t mean rain. I’d already been wet enough for one day.

  “Well, you’re going to want to hear this,” Tamara pulled us a little further away from the building, just past the corner and into the shadows of its two-car garage. “Petra...isn’t a Moroi.”

  “Whuh?” I frowned, completely confused. “I thought you said she was Silvia’s sister?” I shifted uneasily, the echoes of the other Moroi’s neck snapping floating unbidden to the surface of my memory.
<
br />   “Remember, right after we met, when I told you that Moroi can always sense their own?” Tamara asked me, her voice intent. I nodded. “That...thing…isn’t Moroi. Not completely. Or maybe not anymore.” Now we had Charles’ undivided attention, as he leaned in and frowned heavily. “I don't even think it’s Petra.”

  “You’re mistaken,” the Magisterium wizard said flatly. “She’s obviously a Moroi.” He shook his head, and I almost missed where something flickered through his eyes...something that looked like worry—or perhaps even fear.

  “I’m the Moroi expert here, Charles,” Tamara retorted irritably. “I felt something strange before, when we first confronted Silvia. But I doubted myself, wrote it off to the stress of the situation. But when we attacked the two of them earlier,” she glanced around at the lot of us, “I felt it again—except this time from Petra.”

  Charles shook his head stubbornly.

  “That’s why…” Kitty spoke up, her voice light and on edge. Like Rain, Jason, and myself, she’d butted out of the budding argument until now. “When that woman...tortured me…” She took a breath, her icy eyes hardening, and shook it off. “Her eyes had this dark, inky ring bleeding slowly around the irises and at the very edges.”

  Charles flinched as surely as if someone had slapped him.

  “But I saw her...body.” Kitty continued. “And it wasn’t there any more. Even before she died, when she was still fighting Tam, I didn’t see it.”

  “No,” I cut in. “I saw it.” Kitty looked at me, momentarily uncertain. “But not on Silvia.” I thought back to the strange shift in Petra’s eyes, right before she ran. “I think—”

  “No.” Charles’s one word buried mine like an avalanche, his voice worrisomely loud. His eyes were as dangerous as I’d ever seen, and trails of ominous light crawled sluggishly along the intricate silver whorls and jagged runes cut into his staff. “This is no place for any of you.” His words were iron. The wizard drew himself up to his full, imposing height, towering over the rest of us. “You all need to leave. Now. I’ll take care of this.”