Shattered Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 3)
Page 16
“Sounds like we’re not protecting them at all.” Charles’ voice dropped as some of the fire seemed to go out of him. “Sound like we’re just protecting ourselves. In the old days, it was different.”
“The old days are gone, Charles,” Elouan said just as quietly, just as regretfully. “They escaped us.”
“We let them go.” Charles shook his head, taking a step away from the wizards’ table. “You can candy-coat cowardice, and paint over self righteous fascism. I suppose we can pretend not to be an elitist company until the end of days and watch the world burn down around our ears while we fucking fiddle.”
My wizard friend walked away, thumping me on the shoulder and motioning for me to follow. Reluctantly, I complied. He stopped, just inside the door, and turned back to the table. “What do we lose in saving our lives, Elouan? Our humanity? Our morality?”
The sword-wielding wizard grimaced, anger plain as day on his shovel-like face, and made to take a step toward Charles. But quick as lightning, Elouan’s staff snapped up, thumping across the bigger man’s chest and barring his way: a warning.
The older wizard shook his head. “Charles, there's nothing I can do. I could go back tomorrow and talk to the Senate. But they won't agree.” He frowned. “You know it, I know it.”
“So you won’t even try,” Charles finished flatly. “You’ll save yourself the stigma of asking.”
Elouan nodded. “You see my position.”
“I suppose I do.” Charles turned on heel and walked out. Only I saw his shoulders slump.
The ride back to Charles’ house was amazingly quick. Mostly because, for once, he seemed to treat the speed limit as a suggestion or an afterthought instead of a rule.
“That was an utter waste of time.” He slammed the door behind us, taking a step away before turning back to fasten all of the locks and chains. “I figured it would be. But I had to try.”
“Well, you could have drawn it out a little longer so I got my ribs,” I commented, but my heart wasn’t in it.
It really was down to just the two of us, against plotting Moroi, ever-present Sanguinarian assassins…
...And one Ur-demon.
Charles snorted, and I followed him as he strode out of the room.
“Are they always such assholes?” I wandered into his bedroom, a place I’d never wanted to find myself, and watched dumbfounded as he dragged a suitcase from beneath the tall, four-poster bed, snapped it open with a pop, and started shoveling things inside. I blinked. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” he snapped halfheartedly. “I’m fucking packing.”
For a moment, I just stood there and let him pack, completely stunned. “You’re fucking joking,” I said finally. “And I know you’re not good at it, but damn.”
He wheeled on me, towering over me. “Does it look like I’m fucking joking?” His volume spiked and his fists were balled tight, but his cinnamon eyes lacked the fire of outrage I expected. “Help isn’t coming. Without my staff I’m barely half a wizard. We have zero chance against the likes of her.” He spun back to the suitcase and flung a pair of colorful, striped boxers into it. The throw started out angry and ended dejected.
I frowned at the coated expanse of his back. “You can’t be okay with this. Aren’t you angry at their bullshit?”
Charles shook his head despondently. He leaned over and plucked his battered brown bush hat off the nightstand, staring at it as if it were Yorick’s skull. “Honestly?” he asked quietly. “I expected it. They had far more motivation to jump in last time with the Rawhead. Innocent people directly, immediately in danger. Some of them magicians, even if they were...weak ones.” I noticed him hesitate and avoid the whole “low mage” slur. I wondered how much Mama Flora was to blame for that. He took a deep breath. “This time, I had to try and spin it to seem more immediate than it is, in their point of view. And, of course, I failed.”
“Well, they did seem kinda set on—”
Static spiked, leaping in arcs along the wizard’s arm as he flung the bush hat forcefully against the bed. My ears popped, and across the room, Charles’ stainless steel alarm clock jumped in place, spitting sparks and going blank. “I can’t watch this happen again, goddamn it!” he bellowed. “No! It’s not okay! But there’s nothing I can do.” As suddenly as the storm came, it vanished. “Like Elouan said, the times have changed. This is just how it is now. At least this way...maybe I can draw her off. Away from here.”
More dubiously-clean men’s laundry made it into the suitcase.
My eye twitched.
I took the big wizard firmly by the shoulder and spun him around.
Then I slapped him, as gently as I could.
He stared down at me, blinking, one cheek quickly turning red.
“Enough, goddammit!” I snapped. “You’re just going to leave me here to do this alone? You may not know Lori, but you’re going to cut and run on me? On Tamara?” I struggled to keep the red haze out of my eyes. “Stop being so damn self-centered! It’s my girlfriend that got possessed, my friends she’s hurting too. She went after me, specifically. If you think she’s not after me as much as you, you’re goddamn wrong.” I planted my hands on my hips and leaned up toward him, meeting his eyes. “Why does this particular shit show have to be all about you?”
He waited until I finished, his own eyes clear and calm. “Because I started it,” he said simply. “So if you want someone to blame...you’re looking at him.”
I tilted my head, confused, puffing out an angry breath. “I don’t understand—”
“I mean that you’re absolutely right.” Charles twisted, breaking eye contact, and shoved his suitcase indifferently aside. It slid off of the edge of the bed and crashed down, spilling its contents onto the floor. “I just wish you weren’t.” The bed creaked as he sat suddenly, as if his legs had given out. “It’s like spreading a terminal disease to the only few people you know. Complete with the stages of denial.”
I frowned. I hadn’t known what to say when I’d started yelling, and I didn’t know what to say now.
“I...had a chance to stop her. Ca-Lethe Meladoquiel. Forever ago, I could have put an end to her, locked her away for another cycle. Made sure she was trapped in her dark, rotting palace Next Door. But I failed.” Charles looked somberly down at his thick, calloused hands as if they’d betrayed him.
“You told me once that it was the trying that mattered. That if we did the best—”
“My little brother died, Ashley.” His back bent, Charles looked up at me, his sharp cinnamon eyes wet and fragile. “Because of me, because of what I did—and because of what I didn’t do. Events spun out of control, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I wanted to fix them. Andrew died. Our mother nearly died. She let the Magisterium blame her instead of me, and they stripped her of all of her hard-won rank—over a century of grueling work.” His eyes shimmered, vulnerable for what seemed like the first time ever, and his voice went quiet. “A lot of other people died too; innocent people. Or wished that they had.”
If not for her, you’d be dead right now—or wishing you were. I remembered Charles’ words from before with a shudder. I was only beginning to glimpse what he’d meant.
I sat down beside him with a thump. “And...what? Now she just follows you around, messing with you?”
“I defied her,” Charles replied, wiping at his eyes. “She told you the truth. She wants the things she can’t have. She also relishes a challenge.” He stared at me, shoulders slumped as if under a heavy burden. “And now she’s seen the same in you.”
I took a moment to stare somberly at the floor, carpeted in a medley of Charles’ striped boxers. “Which means what?”
“She’ll want to test your mettle. To break you. To see if you can withstand her scrutiny. And I’m not sure whether it’s better to succeed in that or not.” He sighed. “That or she’ll want to turn you to her cause. To use you but over time make you like her.”
“Most likely? You become a demon too. Everything about you warped and magnified. Not as great as her, but still a nightmare walking the earth.”
I nodded, and swallowed hard. “So yeah. Avoid that. Gotcha.”
He snorted, a note of simple amusement seeping through the cracks in his shattered mask. “A word of advice: don’t grow old like me, Ashley. I’m tired. Exhausted.” He looked off, at nothing I could see. “I dreamed a dream that it was all behind me, that she would never again find me. That I’d severed the last of our ties. But I awoke to find yet another nightmare awaits. She’s not done with me yet.” He looked down again at his hands, heavy and useless in his lap. “I’m not sure how much more she can take from me.”
Silence fell, long moments droning by to the faint electric buzz of the injured alarm clock.
Finally, I shrugged.
“So whatcha gonna do about it?” I asked.
“It’s not that simple,” he finally replied.
I stared at him.
“It’s not,” he insisted, meeting my gaze.
“Well, maybe it’s because I’m young and stupid, but…” I stood, holding out a hand like he had once done for me. “It is to me.”
I remained there, motionless, watching. Waiting. I watched as his eyes solidified, the wet vulnerability drying up. I watched as his back straightened and his face harden and turn to granite. I waited until he met my eyes, Charles once more.
“What’s your idea?” he asked, taking my hand.
I hauled the big magician effortlessly to his feet. “No clue,” I replied with a grin and a shake of my head.
He snorted, barely burying a chuckle.
“Why do you think I need you?” I grinned. “All I know is we can’t let them have their way. Not the Sanguinarians, not the Ur-demons, not even the Grand Fucking Magisterium.”
He nodded, slow at first, then picking up momentum as his eyes suddenly lit up. “Then come on,” he snapped, his grin vicious and unrestrained. I let him shove me out of his bedroom; he slammed the door behind us with a thunderous boom. “I've got an idea, goddammit. And I’ll be damned if anyone stands in our way.”
Chapter Fourteen
Not quite Gandalf
Charles burst into the Tavern’s isolated back area like a thunderstorm, complete with the crackle of electricity hanging thick in the air. The four magicians were still there, eating, drinking, and relaxing, now frozen in mid-bite and mid-laugh.
Charles slammed his palms down on the table so hard it cracked and split in two as if struck by lightning, sending plates and drinks skittering noisily to the floor.
Daniel stood, knocking over his chair, and made to draw his blade. Even Elouan leaned back, eyes wide and tinged with alarm. “Charles, what are—”
“Knight me!” The wizard demanded loudly, his eyes wild.
Daniel’s sword slid almost completely free of its sheath. “You don’t get to demand—”
“I said knight me!” Charles roared it into the shorter, stockier man’s face.
Almost chest to chest with Charles, the swords-mage went still. Then he glanced my way as I slipped into the room and locked my eyes onto him. I’d already made up my mind.
I liked him the least. If shit went south, his ass was dropping first.
Caught between us, Daniel shivered, as if suddenly cold, and his sword froze in his sheath.
I grinned at him.
“Everyone. Calm. Down!” Elouan’s staff thumped the floor with authority, the sound resonating dully through the room. I wondered what the other patrons thought. “We are not starting a fight in public—any of us,” he hissed, eyeing everyone in the room in turn, even me.
Charles caught Elouan’s eyes, staring him down. “You owe me,” he said, lowering his voice. “Remember our final raid on that anti-occult squad in Siberia? Or what about Ypres? I took a bullet for you.”
“Then you demolished the rest of the bunker, single-handedly,” Elouan mused, his eyes distant. “You saved a few Senate lives that day.”
“Yes. How did you accomplish that, again?” Daniel’s words were acidic, and his hard, green-eyed gaze was no better. “They say the bodies were dragged to the shadows and ripped asunder, wrung out like wet rags.”
“Daniel.” Elouan’s voice, even quiet, brooked no further dissent. “Charles has now passed every dedication to the Magister’s rites with flying colors. It is not for us to hold his past against him.”
Charles leaned his weight on the cracked table, and it creaked as if in pain. “I’m not leaving without a knighthood.”
The broad-shouldered magician bristled as if insulted; his hand had never left his sword hilt. “Knighthoods are solemn, exceptional titles,” he growled, “given to respectable magicians. We do not give out Excalibur-class weapons—”
“I don’t give a shit.” Charles’ voice went colder than glacial ice. “Our duty is to protect. To hold the line against the forces of darkness. And if you won’t do it, then I will. With or without your help.”
“No one’s stopping you from throwing your life—” Daniel began.
“Request granted,” Elouan said. He met Charles’ eyes and nodded firmly. “You’ll have to deal with the fallout and the responsibility, but God help me, I can’t argue your dedication.”
Daniel gaped at them both.“But—”
“Silence.” Elouan’s command held a touch of magic, a tingle of static. “You’re already in violation of Enforcer statutes, Daniel. A Grand Magisterium Enforcer’s opinion is not required, only his sword arm.” He eyed the offending wizard firmly. “It appears I’ve been too lax with you as it is. Don’t make this worse on yourself.” Even the two background magicians fell into nervous silence at the cautionary statement.
One hand tucked behind his back, where no one but Daniel—and I—could see, Charles flipped him off.
The Enforcer’s face went redder than his strawberry hair, and he rammed his blade angrily into its sheath.
“A knighthood of the Grand Magisterium is indeed an honor and a commitment,” Elouan’s voice commanded the room’s attention. Rising, he stepped around the table to stand face to face with Charles, only a couple of feet away from the taller magician. “Stemming back to the days of Roland, Charlemagne, Arthur, and Merlin.” He raised one hand, fingers blurring as he carved out a piece of something Next Door, a sigil seared in the air. Charles, his face as serious as ever, mirrored the action, his own fingers blurring and bordered with a dark, ephemeral red.
A visible arc of red-tinted static leapt between their raised hands, and the restaurant's lights flickered and dimmed. The electrical disturbance passed quickly, but I could hear the murmur of disturbed patrons.
I wondered how many people’s cell phones had just imploded, not that any of the assembled wizards seemed to care.
Elouan continued, seemingly unconcerned with the mundane lives and worry a room away. “Do you accept this accolade under your own will, by your own violation, with the full intent to honor our code and defend the Magisterium and humanity from all wights and daemons that would condemn us to destruction?”
“I do,” Charles replied simply.
“Then kneel.”
Charles did as he was instructed, as if he’d expected the request, as if he already knew what the ritual entailed. As soon as he dropped to one knee, there was a subtle surge in the air, and the room blurred, something from Next Door moving across my vision and congealing in Charles’ waiting hand.
Something like a ruby-red jewel in a golden setting, with a winding golden chain, now gleamed from the kneeling magician’s palm.
The other two magicians, and even Daniel, craned their necks as if trying to steal a glimpse.
Elouan slapped his hands to either side of Charles’ shoulders with a smile. “Surge aut sis eques in nomine magnificum Magisterium.”<
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Charles rose, and only then did Elouan look down at the glittering jewel. “Rhongomyniad, the Slayer’s Spear.” He eyed the taller wizard. “Perhaps fitting it goes to you.”
“Thanks for this, old man,” Charles said quietly.
Hand still on Charles’ shoulder, Elouan guided him to the door. “Careful, old friend,” he said. “Whatever your other foes may be—and Daniel aside—you’ll have won no friends when word of your...insistence...reaches the Senate.”
Charles grunted. “I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it too.”
Elouan sighed. “As you will. Some things never change.” To my surprise, the two men shared a brotherly embrace, albeit a brief one.
Charles turned and left without a backward glance. I slipped out the door on his heels, sliding past Elouan, eager to be gone before the critical gazes of four wizards could linger on me for too long.
Moments later, the Silverado’s engine roared to life and tires burned rubber in the Oakleaf Tavern parking lot.
“So what the hell just happened back there?” I asked.
He ignored me. “It’s not just me, is it?” Charles gripped the wheel in both hands, fire in his eyes. “The Magisterium, I mean.”
“Nope,” I replied cheerily. “Total assholes.”
He breathed out heavily. “You’ve never liked what you’ve heard of the Magisterium,” he began.
“I didn’t think you ever listened to me,” I snorted.
“I heard you.” Seemingly back to normal, I couldn’t read his face or his dark cinnamon eyes. “But I didn’t like hearing you. The thing is, you don’t know them like I do. You didn’t grow up with them like I did, for years upon years.” He frowned thoughtfully. “But maybe that’s part of the problem. Maybe you—and especially Flora—have some points worth considering.”
I blinked and turned in my seat to stare at him. “Charles,” I began slowly, “are you saying...that I’m...r-r-right?”
“Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” he replied. “Don’t let it go to your head.”