Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 2)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  “In my journey through this life, I’ve been blessed enough to come into contact with many spirits from Next Door. Sometimes, they show up with messages, whether I want ‘em to or not, yeah.” She snorted, as if at a particular memory. “An’ some of those spirits are what I know as the Loa.”

  I glanced at Charles, who nodded stoically. That was good, since I had little idea what she was talking about.

  She shook her head sadly. “Would that I always listened as well as I should, understood as well as I’d like. Got a message weeks ago about what was gonna happen. Didn’t understand it, though, till the story ‘bout them chil’ren going missing again made the rounds at Bookbinder's.” She grunted. “Nearly choked t’death on my coffee, yeah. Woulda served me right, but it wouldn’t of helped, no sir.

  “You know,” the old woman continued, her voice subdued, “I’ve lived in Birmingham for a long, long time. An’ I’ve heard those kids for years, but there weren’t nobody who’d listen that had the power to change things. To stop the thing behind it, the thing making itself into a real monster.”

  Charles and I both started to say something, but she shushed us both, staring deep into my eyes. “But you will, now won’t ya, child? You’re gonna listen to Mama Flora, and you’re gonna do something about it.” She shifted that stone-cold-certain look to Charles. “And you’ll believe me too, Mister Magisterium Magician, even if you don't right now, yes sir.”

  “Help me understand,” Charles’ tone was tight but quiet and more respectful than I’d expected. Maybe I needed to take authority lessons from Mama Flora. “A spirit of one of your gods brought you a message that the abductions were going to begin again?”

  She nodded wearily. “Yes, sir. The Loa told me right good, didn’t they? But I didn’t understand what they were tryin’ to tell me, no. Too cryptic for the likes of me, an’ I jus’ didn’t put it together till it was too late.” She paused. “Well, partially too late, anyway. This whole thing, it ain’t over yet. Not nowhere near.” She caught both of our gazes without wavering as she continued. “You see, Baron Samedi an’ Papa Ghede, they been comin’ to me still, almost every night.”

  Charles glanced at me. “The Vodou gods of death, essentially.” I nodded and kept my mouth shut.

  “Well, at least you’re half right,” Flora retorted before continuing, “Where the Baron is the keeper of the dead, Papa Ghede’s the one who sees their spirits don’t get lost along the way to the Other Side.” Her voice took on a fond, adoring tone. “But Papa Ghede, he loves the little chil’ren, yes sir. He don’t like it when a life goes over to his brother before its time.” She frowned sternly. “ And he’s mighty unhappy, yeah, ‘cause so many chil’ren been taken from their families, taken too soon, their lives unlived-out, their paths yet unwalked. An’ it ain’t right, no. The Baron, he’s mad ‘cause the ones that die, they ain’t comin to him like they should, an’ lettin’ him carry them on to their right place on the Other Side where they ought’a gone.” Her accent thickened as the passion in her words intensified.

  I couldn’t restrain myself. “You’re…saying it’s too late? That they’re already dead?” I felt a hollow feeling growing inside. Not again. I didn’t want to fail them, too.

  She sighed. “That ain’t what I said. Jus’ you listen.” I was eager to be wrong. As she looked between us and opened her mouth, the power suddenly flickered, going out then stuttering back on. In the dark, I saw her mouth press into a thin line, and I exchanged glances with Charles. “This started long ago. Been going for years, now, an’ we all know it’s getting worse, yeah.” We both nodded. “Now, those already passed on, they can’t be saved. Not from death, anyways. But there’s still hope for those taken fresh and for those that ain’t been taken yet. All those deaths, they ain’t for naught, because laid on top of one another, they made patterns, an’ a trail we can follow. Connections of blood and suffering, but a trail nonetheless.”

  Charles shook his head sharply. “That’s a common misconception among—” He sighed. “There’s no roads or maps Next Door. That’s been debunked.”

  “By you,” the little old lady retorted. “You and your people. But you don’t know everything, no. You don’t listen to the echoes and the patterns behind and underneath the worlds, not anymore, cause you think you got all the answers worth knowing already written down somewhere in some old book, in some old tower.” She looked to me and away from Charles. “You can’t make a blind man see if he won’t open his eyes, no.”

  I wasn’t sure where this was going. Charles looked, to my surprise, more unsettled than angry or irritated.

  Mama Flora sighed. “But all that’s neither here nor there. My point is that those that are dyin’ here are stuck here, waitin’ for this whole mess to be settled. Waiting for vengeance, for freedom. For rest.”

  Charles leaned forward. “So...Their spirits, the spirits of the children…they’re not passing on? Never going Next Door?” His dark, intelligent eyes glittered intently. “Has something tied them here purposefully?”

  Mama Flora smiled sadly and nodded. “Somethin’s keeping ‘em here, not lettin‘em find peace. It’s causing more than you know to fall outta balance.” She looked suddenly angry. “Somebody’s gotta serve justice and set things to rights. This has already gone on far too long, yes sir.” She looked at us.

  “I’m good for it,” I rasped harshly, and Charles nodded solemnly in agreement. “But how do we find who’s responsible? We keep going in circles, while things get worse.”

  “Well, it’s gonna get worse ‘fore it gets better.” She spread her arms, and I felt a swell of energy building in the air around us, something much weaker but more subtle than Charles’ workings. I looked to him with concern, knowing he had to feel the magic in the air too, but he didn’t seem concerned. “But why don’t y’all hear it from the source.”

  Without warning, Flora’s arms dropped limply to her sides, like the strings holding them up had been suddenly severed. The old woman’s head rolled forward, and she slumped; I moved to catch her, but she didn’t fall forward. Charles caught my arm and shook his head, his expression warning me not to interfere.

  Her head suddenly snapped up and I started; her eyes were cloudy and white, glazed with death. Her gaze landed on me and pierced through me effortlessly. Charles put out a hand, as if cautioning me to stay calm. A pall of energy blossomed around her form, and I felt myself growing stronger in its presence. Then she spoke, but the voice wasn’t Flora’s. It was masculine and nasal, too big and too hollow, like an echo from somewhere vast just beyond her. “Bonjou, bèl ti fi. Koman ou rele? Eske ou vle danse?” The voice laughed.

  I blinked. I had a sudden, sneaking suspicion that Mama Flora was out to lunch. “With all due respect,” I rasped politely, “I have no clue what the hell you just said.”

  Mama Flora’s lips split in a broad grin. “Hell is for sinners and saints, and you and I are neither, cher.” Flora’s body leaned intently forward, cupping a hand to her mouth conspiratorially, “An’ just between you and me, if I ain’t stumblin’ past Hell’s doorstep, it’s a wasted Saturday night!” He barked out cheerful laughter, and I couldn’t help but join in—it was contagious. He slapped me on the shoulder like a comrade and gestured toward me with a grin. “But it ain’t Saturday, an’ you got some work to do in a hurry, non? Ain’t no time for a good time. Promise me you’ll join me for a drink next time, yeah?” His Haitian Creole accent was crisper than Mama Flora’s, untainted by an Alabama drawl, but I noticed he spoke in a similar cadence and rhythm, an almost melodic manner of speech that drew me in.

  “I’m not really sure we drink the same thing,” I replied. I was fairly certain that this was one of the two powerful spirits Mama Flora had just mentioned, and if so, it was probably a really smart idea to stay on his good side. “But it sounds good to me.”

  "No one drinks the same, cher. Everyone's got their own poison to swallow. Their own ambrosia too." He tilted his head as if suddenly list
ening to something far away. "But we just ain't got the time to find ours today, non." He fixed me with a serious, dead-eyed stare, watching us from behind Mama Flora’s vacant orbs. “A pact has been made in blood, trading in stolen things that rightfully belong to my brother and me.”

  “What can we do to stop it?” Charles spoke for us both, respectful and cautious.

  “Long in coming, disparate forces now come together,” he replied, voice solemn and firm, as if commanding. “Restraint is gone, as blood enables blood. Even he who acts so rashly knows not how far events will—” The lights flickered again, going down longer and more fitfully this time. Charles looked around, suddenly paranoid, alarmed, and alert. The spirit possessing Flora paused, and she spasmed painfully, her eyes focusing and unfocusing rapidly.

  The lights snapped back on, and the swell of energy around us fluctuated, feeling like it was swirling around us, agitated. The spirit inside Flora leaned forward intently. “Listen close, cher. Before they bring this house of cards crashin’ down ‘round us.”

  “Before who does?” I could hear the sudden note of urgency in the speaker’s hollow tone. “I don’t understand.”

  “You must pursue the Fool, the Puppet, and the Hungry to the very end of their paths.” He continued as if I hadn’t spoken, almost as if he hadn’t heard me. The lights flickered again, like lightning without thunder, and just as ominous. The hollow voice raised nearly to a howl. “Each road must you follow, cher. You MUST—”

  Darkness slammed down like an iron curtain. Movement flickered in the sudden black.

  I lunged across the rug, shoving Charles and Mama Flora out of the way as something sharp and red burst through the floor, neatly slicing wood and rug alike before cutting across where they’d been sitting. The smell of inhuman blood cut the air just as sharply as something ripped across my ribs, shredding my tank top and throwing me to the side.

  Flora collapsed limply to the floor as a sudden, audible whoosh of energy left the room. It was only then that I realized the the now-destroyed rug had been a summoning circle, and something had just broken it before we could find the answers we needed.

  “Charles! Downstairs!” I snapped, anger edging at my voice. As if to prove my point, something moved below us with a heavy crash of shattered glass.

  “On it!” Charles growled. The wizard got his feet under him, trying unsteadily to rise in the lightless, unfamiliar room. I hauled him to his feet, but stalled as Mama Flora suddenly moved, grabbing our clothes and gripping them tight.

  “You two listen good, ‘cause I won’t be here when y’all get back,” she hissed, her voice sharp, low, and insistent. “Most folks’ll tell you there ain’t no rhyme or reason to Next Door.” She glanced at Charles. “But they’re wrong. You should know that, Strigoi. You’ve stepped back an’ forth. You know like makes like. There are anchors, an’ resonance makes the links in between. The more two things happen together, the more connected they are. The more they start to overlap, yeah.”

  There was another crash downstairs, louder than before. I looked to Charles, who was suddenly paying the old woman a lot of attention. I hoped he was following what she was saying, because I wasn’t. She didn’t wait for us to think it out, though, word after word tumbling hurriedly from her mouth. “Follow the Anchors and the blood trails, and you’ll find who’s behind this. And you’ll stop them.” Her eyes flashed fiercely. “Now get the hell down there and get that thing outta my kitchen.”

  Charles moved immediately as she released us, his hand blurring as he conjured a blazing white light to see by. I leaned close to Flora. “I can’t just leave you—”

  Mama Flora pushed herself to her knees, gritting her teeth with determination. “You got two ears, child? I said you got work to do. Now go!”

  Reluctantly, I let Charles pull me to my feet, nodding. “Thanks, Mama.” I thought I caught a smirk from the older woman as I turned and burst into motion.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Bloodbathing

  I overtook Charles in an instant, athletic wizard or no. I rushed past him before he could even take his first step down the stairs, bounding down the entire flight in one go. The wooden landing creaked beneath me.

  I sensed something familiar as soon as I hit the lower floor.

  “Charles! Blood scent!” Sanguinarian blood, a heavy odor of it, cut the soft floral aroma in the air like a knife. I was pretty familiar with that scent by now, since I kept getting covered in it.

  “Confirmed!” I heard him thumping heavily along behind me, no doubt wishing he’d brought his staff in and fuck decorum. I kinda wished he had too.

  As soon as I rounded the corner, I saw the intruder, still in Flora’s now-demolished kitchen. I recognized him too: a Sanguinarian with a perfect, dark complexion and long, thick, stiletto-shaped blood claws extending from one hand—claws almost as long as mine.

  Salvatore was a grinning, shadowy intruder dressed more for a night of fine dining than a night of destroying an old woman’s kitchen. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, either. That, plus the grin, probably should have concerned me; instead, it just made me mad.

  “You again!” I strode forward, giving him my best middle finger. “At least I don’t have to go looking for you.”

  Boots pounded floorboards behind me as Charles caught up, but before either of us could act, something smashed through the window from the outside. Something big. A massive, flowing something wrapped around the Sanguinarian and yanked him abruptly out the window, utterly destroying the glass and wood frame, tearing a chunk out of the solid wall as it retreated.

  I hesitated, unsure of what my eyes were seeing. I glanced at Charles. “Was that...a tentacle?”

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He gestured toward the newly-enlarged window.

  I caught his suggestion with a grin. “Ladies first then!” I called, and leapt out the window.

  No sooner did my feet touch the ground outside than something massive whipped out of the darkness and wrapped around me. My feet left the ground again as a thick appendage slammed me into the wall of a nearby house hard enough to rattle all the windows. I could only hope Flora’s neighbors weren’t home.

  Fluid swirled around me, thick, red, and cohesive, holding me tightly in its grip with my arms pinned firmly to my sides. Beyond it lay a hulking, amorphous humanoid figure of rich, semi-transparent scarlet. I could smell nothing but the stink of Sanguinarian blood—massive amounts of it—even before it crushed me against the wall, pouring itself against me and forcing sharp spines of itself into my nose and mouth.

  What once would have panicked a living Ashley...still panicked a dead one. Even after most of a year dead, I had to push down a spike of terror at something sharp shoving its way into my head, and the total inability to take a breath—no matter how unnecessary. This thing can’t hurt me, I insisted, reassuring my own reptile brain.

  Even so, letting it prod me freely in the brain seemed like a bad idea. I curled into a ball, breaking up its flow a little, and planted my feet on the fracturing stucco wall at my back. My muscles tensed like steel cords, and I pushed off; this thing might be big, might be strong, but I was stronger still.

  But that didn’t make it simple to deal with. It kept itself intact rather than allowing me to burst through it or break it apart, and blood splattered the empty street behind Flora’s house as it stumbled, flowed, and reformed, putting itself between me and its master.

  Salvatore.

  I got another look at him as his towering, bloody conjuration shifted: all dark hair, eyes, and skin, perfect goatee and features, dressed in charcoal and brazen ruby red, all offset by the incessant white flash of his grin.

  He looked like a jackass.

  I stayed still too long, and his blood guardian stepped forward, one viscous liquid hand forming into a hammer bigger than I was, one that aimed to squash me flat. It swept downward and I braced myself, but the hammer of blood burst apart several feet above my head with a b
last of bright red flame.

  I flinched as another lance of red-hot fire stabbed out of the broken window and seared across the dark night, sending monochrome and color dancing across my vision. The blood-form-thing stooped, swatting the magic aside even as it reached hungrily toward Salvatore’s obscured figure. The smell of old, burning blood worked its way through the air.

  “Ashley!” Charles hopped out of the window, boots crunching dirt, gravel, and yellow tulips. He kept his voice low. This was a residential area, and though it was dark and late and it looked like power along this whole block was out, it was dangerous for him to show off his supernatural abilities to the ignorant public. The Magisterium deemed “public magic” illegal, after all. I figured they had their reasons.

  I stood straight, wiping thick, coagulated blood off of my face. “I’m fine,” I wheezed, fluid lingering in my lungs and distorting my voice even more than usual. “Blood mage.” I pointed past the blood golem’s trunk-like legs at Salvatore.

  “You think?” He hissed in reply, his face taut with concentration, a blazing lance of fire focused between his hands, even thicker and more incandescent than the last one. The Sanguinarian gestured, and his creature lunged forward, raring back for another hammer blow, this time aimed at Charles.

  Wary of the building flame, I threw myself forward and slammed into the blood-golem, shoulder-checking it and smashing it aside as its blow came down well wide of Charles. The wizard let it all happen, stoically standing still and finishing the spell as we teamworked the shit out of the lumbering conjuration. His hands blurred and faded partially away as they reached Next Door, building his conjuration bigger and bigger before firing it at the blood golem like a cannon.

  The air vibrated quietly, and I tensed up as the the area between houses warmed, accompanied by a steamy hiss as the flaming weapon quenched itself in the golem’s body. It staggered again, roiling and bubbling as bits deformed and boiled away, but it managed to stay between us and its conjurer.