Shattered Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 3)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  Tamara laid a hand on my arm. “Don’t do it, Ashes,” she said softly, her eyes glowing in the dim.

  I had to force myself, but I shook my head. “I’m not gonna. I know Lori wouldn’t want me to.” But if that was right, why did it still feel like betrayal?

  “So sure, are we?” the Ur-demon called out my doubts. “Well, why not hear it from her own lips?”

  The ink fell away, fading from her eyes, and something else in them shifted. Lori lunged toward me, her face pained and panicked, but she jerked to halt as if bound by invisible chains. “Ashley!” Her vibrant gray eyes turned pleading. I made to step toward her, but Charles grabbed my other arm in warning. “Save me!” She narrowed her eyes, straining against her bonds, her face going hard and defiant. “But don’t give that bitch what she wants! Even if—”

  Lori cut off, wincing away from something I couldn’t see, as the Ur-demon reasserted control. “Well, that was unexpected!” She smiled.

  “Let her go,” I growled. Charles and Tamara’s boots both slid across the cement as they tried and failed to keep me from taking a step forward. Even the Moroi’s touch wasn’t enough to bleed off the rising tide of anger inside.

  “She really cares about you, you know,” the demoness said, gazing at me consideringly. “It’s almost impressive. Almost...enviable.” I felt Charles’ grip tighten on my arm. “So you might want to let me in, Strigoi.”

  I shook my head, feeling something stir and touch at the edges of my mind.

  “Did Charles tell you about me?” she took as step forward, Lori’s face smiling up at me. “Ashley. I solve problems.” Ink seethed from her irises as if for emphasis. “Just let that sink in for a moment. I understand you. Both of you.” She gently stroked her own face, and for an instant, I saw a flicker of Lori imprisoned within. “The pain, the difficulty, the distance in her eyes you can’t seem to shake...it can all go away.”

  I’d come here prepared to defy a demon. But not to defy myself. I bit my lip hard, drawing a bead of blood, suddenly uncertain.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Charles growled. “You heard Lori. And you don’t know what she’d do with a Strigoi body, how much destruction—”

  “Charles. Shhhhh.” Lori put a finger to her lips, and Charles winced away, his statement broken by the stirrings of the demon’s will. “You had your chance, my dear.” Meladoquiel caught my eyes, trapping me in Lori’s stolen gaze. “You had a wonderful night with her, didn’t you?”

  The words whispered softly across my skin, rendering me still as stone.

  “What if they were all like that? What if things were like they once were, only better?”

  Slowly, reluctantly, I shook my head.

  Things hadn’t gotten better.

  Had it all just been an illusion, cast by a demon?

  Either way, by taking my lover away, by capturing her and tormenting her—she was destroying everything we’d worked so damn hard to rebuild. But the price—the ransom—she was asking...wasn’t something Lori and I could pay.

  “Without help, you know it won’t last…” Lori-Meladoquiel whispered, her tone taking on an otherworldly edge. “An undying Strigoi and a mere mortal?” Pale, delicate fingers caressed the soft, vulnerable areas of her throat. “She’s just too fragile…” Those fingers twisted like claws, and rivulets of red ran down Lori’s neck. “Too delicious…”

  My vision ran red, too, and I lunged forward—only to stop as Tamara stepped in front of me, bracing herself to stop my momentum as I slammed into her back.

  “No!” Her voice, too, was edged in ethereal energy. She glanced at me over her shoulder, and I calmed enough to let her push me back a step. Charles put a firm hand on my shoulder, his other hand crooked and ready to reach Next Door at a moment’s notice.

  “I have a counter-offer,” Tamara took another step forward, and Lori’s fingers relaxed. “I know there’s more you want. I can feel it.” She stepped forward again, and Charles and I exchanged brief, worried glances. “I know there’s a hunger in you that you can’t easily sate.”

  “Hmph,” Lori responded, gazing at Tamara disdainfully. “So what? Your offer is almost as useless as the shell I now inhabit. Why would I want what I can take at any time?”

  “Because, where not many could...” the Moroi continued, and Lori-Meladoquiel let her get even closer as she spoke. I could feel Tamara’s power heavy on the air. “I can feel it.” Tamara took a deep breath. “And I can quench it.”

  “No!” Charles released my shoulder; I felt the sudden crackle of static across my skin as he reached Next Door.

  “Deal,” the demon said.

  Lori went limp, her eyes closing as she toppled forward.

  Tamara caught her.

  Charles stepped forward, a lance of condensed air in his hands.

  Tamara twisted to face us, her sapphire eyes as hard as diamond—and bleeding ink.

  The demon wearing her skin smirked. “Freeze.”

  Power shattered the air, the magic of a Moroi princess magnified by the unfathomable creature behind her eyes. The wind around us grew icy, and frost formed on my skin as Charles and I halted mid-step, the magic in his hands blown out like a candle.

  “Though, to be honest,” Tamara-Meladoquiel commented idly, “we don’t really make deals. It’s not like we’re Fae, or something.” She scooped up the unconscious form of Lori and threw her over one pale shoulder. “Nice try, though. Self sacrifice is very noble.” She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly; shadows started swarming over the sides of the dam. “Misguided, but noble.”

  Then she turned to leave, carrying Lori with her.

  With a roar of rage, my blood pressure hit a million, the light layer of ice encasing me shattering into shards as I took a shuddering step forward. Even the swirling shadows hesitated at the sound.

  Tamara-Meladoquiel turned, looking back at me. “Uh-oh,” she smirked, a twinkle in Tamara’s borrowed sapphire eyes. “And bye-bye!” She blew us a kiss, and darkness rushed to envelop her.

  Tamara’s command buckled, and I broke through it, swiping for the two of them even as they disappeared.

  I felt the border between Home and Next Door bulge, as something passed right by me, within arm's reach, but untouchable, invisible.

  I came away with a handful of nothing but darkness as, just like that, she slipped through my fingers.

  But I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  The slow shudder of a quartet of heartbeats told me that these shadows weren’t shadows at all.

  They were Sanguinarians.

  “Charles!” My roar shook the barely-moving wizard from his enchanted stupor even as the first blood vampire leapt on me, metal stake thrusting for my chest.

  I let it scrape harmlessly off my hidden metal breastplate and planted my boot into his chest, sending him arcing gracefully off of the bridge and into the rushing water below.

  I turned, going back to back with Charles as the wizard’s magic crackled powerfully on the night air. Another Sanguinarian, dressed like the other assassins we’d faced, landed a roundhouse kick in my ribs to the sound of a solid metallic clang.

  I snarled but didn’t move.

  Undeterred, she ducked low and spun, driving her palm upwards at my chest, a hidden dagger springing from her sleeve and trying to find a way under my breastplate.

  I headbutted her in the face and swept my claws across as they burst from my fingers.

  Her arm hit the cement in a splatter of Sanguinarian red, and she reeled.

  I grabbed her by the back of the neck, still growling with rage, and slammed my knee into her chest, listening with satisfaction to the sound of bones breaking on impact.

  Then I grabbed her by the back of the shirt and threw her as far into the lake as I could.

  The smell of burning flesh caught my attention as I turned. One of Charles’ two assailants curled into a fetal position, their flesh burning away as their cries faded into the wind. The other, he swept
completely off of the bridge with nothing but a wave of his hand and burst of wind, his other hand hoisting a flaming lance, just in case. “Well,” he commented between breaths, “they picked the wrong place to ambush us.”

  “Come on,” I started past him, my blood still burning, still boiling just underneath the skin. “We’ve gotta—”

  “Ashley.” Charles grabbed my shoulder with one big hand, letting his flames sputter out.

  Whirling to face him again, I struggled not to slap his arm aside.

  “Ashley!” The tall magician leaned over me, grabbing both my shoulders firmly, catching my eyes with his own, surprisingly emotional brown ones.

  “Ashes—it’s too late. They’re gone.”

  Chapter Twelve

  What’s beneath rock bottom

  “And then there were two.” I slowly raised my head from where I’d buried it between my knees in despair. First my Lori, now Tamara too. I felt as close to nauseous as a dead girl could get.

  “Yeah,” Charles grunted, his eyes straight ahead on the highway. I didn’t even know where we were anymore.

  I straightened, the bones in my back cracking as they popped back into place, my body still feeling stiff and battered from my all-out brawl with Petra-Meladoquiel. I’d taken the last half hour or so to put my head down and wallow in self-pity, anguish, and despair. But giving up—giving in—wasn’t an option I had on the table.

  “So how do we stop her?” I rasped.

  Giving up wasn’t my style, anyway. I was way too stubborn for that.

  “We don’t,” Charles replied.

  I frowned, trying to keep a growl of frustration out of my voice. “There’s got to be some way to fight her.”

  “We can’t,” the Magisterium wizard reiterated, his Silverado slowing and pulling off the road.

  Now I did growl with irritation. “I—”

  “Not by ourselves.” He cut me off, pointing out the window.

  A chill ran through my dead bones, embedding itself in my core as I followed the line of his finger outwards and upwards.

  High Hill Church towered over me, one of the few religious structures in the city that would have put my church to shame, even in its prime. Vaulted, cathedral-style archways, stained glass windows, and pointy steeples reached skyward, as if they might scrape the vault of heaven itself and demand god’s attention. Meanwhile, faux-Gothic gargoyles and cherubs cavorted along the austere lines of the gutters and corners. Massive stone doors, eerily similar to those at my church, were thrown permanently wide like welcoming arms.

  Well, I supposed most people found it welcoming. I’d never seen the point of it while alive.

  And after death, it was downright terrifying.

  The church at the Summit was one of the few locales in the city that seethed with raw faith. Tons of severe, unforgiving stone, carved with crosses and symbols that made my innards twist anxiously.

  So those doors thrown open wide? They were to offer the faithful protection from things like me.

  I shuddered. “You’re going in there?”

  “Yup.” Charles popped his door open. “We need weapons. I know who to talk to.”

  I shuddered again for good measure. “I’ll just stay here, then.”

  He snorted, but there was little humor in it, even by Charles’ standards. “Probably a good idea.”

  After he left, there wasn’t much to do but wait and stew in my sour thoughts.

  I tried not to stare at the imposing, forbidding structure, but with nothing else to distract me, I couldn’t help it. High Hill Church sprawled across most of the hilltop that it drew its name from, blanketing the area in hallowed ground that contained graveyards, gardens, and monuments alike. While urban development had encroached as close as it could, pressing up against the grounds with businesses and apartment buildings, the church’s territory had refused to yield an inch.

  And the only thing between me and that flesh-searing expanse was a couple dozen feet and a rusted, wrought iron fence with a spiky top.

  The minutes crawled by as I twiddled my thumbs and waited for Charles to return. And when he did return, he didn’t come back empty handed; he was accompanied in one hand by a small, battered, military-style black duffle bag with a cross-shaped patch sewn onto one end.

  “So, do they just...give those out?” I asked as he got back in and carefully set the bag down in the floorboard between us.

  So that’s what anathema feels like. The aura emanating from the black bag reminded me of a Hollow Man’s knife digging at my ribs, moments after waking up dead. I scooted a little further away.

  Charles snorted. “If you think there aren’t priests that frequent Bookbinder’s or that support and help defend the magical community—or hell, if you think there aren’t practitioners among the clergy itself—then you’re dead wrong.”

  For a moment I thought “dead wrong” was a joke. Then I remembered who I was talking to. “I find it hard to believe that there are church guys who are willing to walk hand in hand with ‘witchcraft’ or whatever they call it these days.” I knew my bias was showing, but most of the highly religious people I’d ever known hadn’t been accepting of two people of the same gender being in love, much less people who believed in witchcraft or actual supernatural entities.

  The wizard shook his head and turned the key, the Silverado’s engine roaring to life. “Of course, there’s prejudice and intolerance. Probably always will be. But there are always open minds too. Those who believe their duty is to help their fellow man, whoever they may be, without passing judgment. As God intended.” Sometimes I forgot that Charles was a believer, in Christianity, in spirits, and in more. He glanced my way as he waited to pull back onto the highway. “Besides, High Hill is a Roman Catholic church.”

  That explained it. I’d read Constantine, after all. Magic and Roman Catholicism went hand-in-hand, right?

  “So what’s in the bag?” I asked. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume it’s not for me.”

  “Not unless you’re into supernatural mutually assured destruction,” he replied. “Holy water, anointing oil, blessed rosewood shavings, a hallowed cross carved from white oak and plated in silver, some prayer cloths, a Bible, and a couple clips of hallowed nine millimeter armor piercing rounds.”

  I sighed. “Sounds like a dedicated ‘kill the Strigoi’ kit.”

  “More for demons and spirits,” he replied. “After all, your kind doesn't exist anymore.” Charles frowned. “It’s been a long time since I used a gun though. Became more of a hassle than it was worth.”

  I considered. “Is any of that going to be of much use? We can’t kill Tamara, after all.”

  Charles was silent for awhile, long enough to make me worry about his response. “She was right,” he said finally. “I knew more than I said before. Though it wouldn’t have helped.”

  “Will it help now?” I rasped.

  “Maybe. I hope so.”

  I waited for more, but silence reigned all the way back to Charles’ house. He unlocked the door, beckoned me in, then carefully re-locked and re-latched the set of chains and deadbolts that secured the reinforced door. Then he took the anointing oil from his freshly acquired holy combat bag and smeared it on a couple of the thicker chains for good measure.

  Only then, inside his sanctum, did Charles elaborate.

  “Ca-lethe Meladoquiel,” he said, turning to face me. “That’s as close to her full name as humans can pronounce.”

  I eyed him thoughtfully. “You seem to know a lot about her.”

  He nodded heavily, reluctantly. “I’ve...tangled with her before. Back in Arizona and elsewhere. Gotten more involved with her than I ever wanted.” He made his way to the tan, uncomfortable couch and dropped into it hard, making it creak in sudden, surprised protest. “So, in many ways, this is all my fault. She followed me here.”

  I frowned. “Sounds like she’s got more on her plate here than just you, Charles. Let’s see, there are Sanguinarian as
sassins, Moroi plots and alliances, and she seems to want in my head pretty badly too.”

  He shrugged noncommittally. “It’s neither here nor there, I suppose.” He pulled out his phone and powered it on. “I need to make a call before we get started.”

  “Who are you calling?” As far as I knew, he only knew five people, and one of them was currently either demon possessed or in a demon’s possession.

  The thought made red creep in at the edges of my vision. I closed my eyes, taking a moment to let it subside.

  “The Grand Magisterium,” Charles replied when I was done. “Like I said, we need help. We can’t tackle her by ourselves.” He put the phone to his ear.

  “What? The Magisterium has a speed dial?”

  He gave me a flat look for a long moment, then relocated to the kitchen where he knew I couldn’t make out what he was saying. So I waited, listening to the rumble of his voice, my ears perking up as his tone rose in irritation, then subsided.

  “There.” He returned, dropping back onto the couch. “I’ll meet with a representative tomorrow. Best that can be done.”

  “Is everything okay? You sounded—”

  “Everything’s fine,” he replied, though he didn’t sound like that was true at all. “But back to business.” I wasn’t surprised that he changed the subject. “The gun, the tools...they’re not likely to kill Tamara. Remember, she’s had worse than a couple of bullet wounds, even in the time you’ve known her. She’s a Moroi, after all. But they can hurt Meladoquiel.”

  “Can they kill her?” I growled.

  Charles shook his head. “No. But they can potentially drive her out of Tamara’s body.”

  I nodded. “And then Tamara could heal.”

  The wizard reached for one of the whiskey bottles still where he and Jason had last left it. “Exactly. The thing is, we can’t kill Meladoquiel. I’m not even certain an Ur-demon can die. Like some of the Deep Fae, they’re closer to a primordial force than an entity. But we can, potentially, drive her away. If there are no bodies she’s aware of to jump to, and we force her out of her host, she’ll eventually have to return to her domain Next Door.”