Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 2)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  “She’s probably fine,” I said, hoping I was correct. “She seemed able to take care of herself. Resourceful.” I thought about it. “I think she expected it all to happen.”

  “Hopefully.” Something seemed to be bothering the wizard, but I figured I’d get nowhere by asking about it. Instead, he gestured for me to hold out my hands, then dropped a fistful of tiny metal slivers into them. “Iron shavings,” Charles clarified. “I noticed a scattering of them around her house. He cut her connection to the Next Door, then slipped in and destroyed the circle itself.”

  I caught on. “Yeah, since Sanguinarians don’t need invitations, the bastards. And the resultant blowout of released energy from the possession caused the incredibly convenient blackout.”

  “Got it in one.”

  “So,” I leaned back in the seat, “you realize it can’t be coincidence that he jacked up Mama Flora’s ritual when he did.”

  “No such thing as coincidence,” Charles responded automatically. “But we still don’t know what it all means. It does throw more breadcrumbs toward the Sanguinarians though. Just like the Moroi kidnapping.”

  I drummed my fingers on the dark leather seats. “Then why do none of the Sanguinarians we shake down know anything? Why do our trails go suddenly dead, like...”

  “Like they disappear into thin air?” He finished dryly. “The real question is where the hell do we go from here?”

  - - -

  The metal handle clicked repeatedly in my hands as I finished pumping Charles’ truck full of gas. We’d been guzzling it lately with our constant back-and-forth across the Magic City. I rounded the side and climbed in again, trying my best not to be too hard on the door handle this time. I found the tall wizard in the process of stuffing his mouth with the last vestiges of a bear claw, then washing it down with a jumbo off-brand energy drink. I shook my head, waiting for him to finish and get us on the road again, but he just sat there.

  We were both silent for a moment, save the hungry rumbling of the Silverado’s powerful engine. Much like earlier, Charles seemed like something was bothering him. He stared out the side window with a thoughtful expression. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked sad or even down.

  “What’s up with you now?” I rasped after the quiet had lingered too long.

  Instead of responding immediately, Charles shifted gears and rolled out of the gas station parking lot. “The Magisterium calls them Low Mages.” Starting out onto the pitch dark lingering stubbornly beyond the streetlights, he drove slowly with one hand, the other resting on his chin thoughtfully. “The term’s supposed to simply denote a certain level of innate, but minor, talent.”

  “But?” I prompted.

  “But it often ends up being a slur instead,” the wizard sighed. “You see, the Authority of the Grand Magisterium is made up solely of powerful practitioners. Wizards. You have the different degrees of initiation and rank, as well as the different Orders, but they all depend on a combination of experience, knowledge, and pure ability.”

  “Which leaves those born without enough magical talent to cut it left out in the shit?” I guessed.

  He frowned, almost a scowl. But this was the most he’d ever talked about the inner workings of the Magisterium. “Only in a sense.” He shook his head, clearing away the frown. “They may not get positions or votes in the Magisterium, but we still police them, protect them, and act as an umbrella for them to come together under.”

  I eyed him. “Which is to say, you make them follow your laws, but they have no say in them? Sounds like magical classism to me.”

  “It's not like that.” He really sounded like he wanted to believe that. I wondered if I should just stop asking uncomfortable questions and let him. “There are flaws in the Magisterium; there are flaws in every organization. But we bring together all of the lesser practitioners, all the witches, the alchemists, the soothsayers, and all of the hedge mages of every stripe. All of those mages of Low talent and simple, singular abilities, and we protect them. It’s a way for things to be better than they were hundreds of years ago.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “In that case, why didn’t they show up to help the people at Bookbinder's when one of their own got kidnapped by the Rawhead? Where were they then?”

  He frowned heavily, thoughtfully, before responding. “They did. I did. I was there. I helped stop it. It was my responsibility.”

  “Because they sent you, or because you knew it was the right thing to do and happened to hear about it?”

  He shook his head. “The people from Bookbinder's came to me for help, remember? That’s exactly how it’s supposed to work.”

  “That’s not an answer to my question,” I retorted. What Flora had said irked me, especially combined with what I’d seen of the Magisterium so far. The simple fact that Charles had to send Corey away lest they kill him had put them on my shit list.

  “A thousand years ago, we were a scattered collection of priests, shamans, and village wise men with talent, trying to figure out the best way to keep ourselves, our homes, and families intact against the overwhelming powers of things like vampires, demons, and Fae. Against all the things that that go bump in the night, for which humanity—magical talent or no—had few answers.” He gestured at me. “Now we’re one of the strongest powers in the world. No one can single us out and destroy those under our protection or visit untold horrors on us, our people, or humanity as a whole.” He looked out the window, gripping the wheel with renewed firmness. “And now we’re responsible for all of those people. We have to be good enough for those we protect. There’s no one else who can do it.”

  That cooled my ire a bit, and I consciously relaxed, settling myself even further. But if things were as Charles said they were, why did he seem so bothered—for Charles, anyway—by what Flora had said? It wasn’t my place to rattle his worldview, so I tried to let it go. But I couldn’t. “But? I’m hearing a ‘but’ in there somewhere. And what was all of that crap about women and the Magisterium?”

  He sighed again, deflating a little. “But they say in the Halls of the Grand Magisterium that there’s no true way to predict Next Door, to map it and connect it to our world. Only to, as you’ve seen, use whatever is already there on the other side. Just like it’s commonly accepted that female physiology does not lend itself to powerful magic as well as a man’s. Thus the low number of female leaders among the Grand Magisterium.” He glanced at me as I narrowed my eyes. “It’s all explained quite thoroughly, I assure you.”

  I tried to keep a hold on that calm. “But?”

  But…” He hesitated before finishing. “Her theory was sound. And she was a skilled practitioner—magician, I should say. Even if not on the same level with me. Not unlike my mother...”

  He looked off, only to shake his head and continue a moment later. “I’ve heard similar theories before. Heard them derided in the Halls of the Magisterium, rejected out of hand. And I’ve wondered to myself: why?”

  “Maybe it’s because of where they came from?” I proposed.

  He shook his head, his sharp, intelligent eyes uncertain. “It’s neither here nor there, and affects us little at the moment,” he finally said, his voice growing firm again. “We’ll soon see how much her theory applies to our search.”

  I figured it was about time to drop it anyway. There was no way for me to convince the stubborn magician of anything, especially something I didn’t even know the truth of. Charles was Charles, and he’d convince himself...or not. I pulled out my phone and powered it up to check my messages. Luckily, it had survived all of the punishment I’d been through tonight; I mentally thanked Tamara once more for the heavy duty, shock-absorbing, waterproof case she’d sent me on my birthday.

  My phone buzzed as it picked up on all of tonight’s missed texts, all three of them. There was the much hoped-for and expected one from Lori sitting there, but it was the most recent one from Tamara that caught my attention the most, only about fifteen minutes old. I clicked
it open to find an address and a short, to-the-point message that got me sitting up straight.

  Ashes. Bring Charles, and you’d better get here quick. There was another kidnapping—two hours ago.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Leads: Get them while they're hot

  “Alex and Rebecca Redgrave,” Tamara said solemnly, gesturing toward the house we’d gathered in front of. “Parents of Rena Redgrave, now missing.”

  I eyed the home, but to my highly amateur detective’s eye, you wouldn’t know there’d just been a disappearance—or possible murder—here. In fact, there was nothing to tell it apart from its suburban clones lining both sides of the street in both directions. The streetlight directly in front of the unassuming home was out, but that could have been a simple blown bulb or electrical short, not necessarily evidence of magic or foul play.

  We made our way across a series of precisely arranged stepping stones to the front door, and it swung open before Tamara could even knock twice. A slender, worried-looking man with dark skin and a tear-stained face stood on the other side of the open portal. He stared at us a moment, looking hopeless and lost.

  “Don’t just stand there, dear,” the softer, female voice belonged to a shorter woman with fair skin and golden blond hair, and looked to be in her early thirties. She came up from behind and ducked under his arm, wrapping one of her own arms around him to lend support. I assumed these were the Redgraves and tried to offer them a comforting, non-scary smile from my place behind Tamara’s shoulder. Her eyes were bloodshot, though her heartbeat was steadier than his. I could also hear one more, the quicker cadence of a younger person, beating away from somewhere deeper inside the house. “Please, come in.”

  I took the invitation likely intended for Tamara and made my way inside with the others. During the flurry of texts I’d exchanged with Tamara on the way here, I’d learned that this time, we were going to get to see the scene of the occurrence first hand, even before the cops. It turned out that the Redgrave family were occasional patrons of Bookbinder’s and in the know about the supernatural. It was a lucky break; hopefully, we could turn something up before ordinary people had a chance to muddy the energies, scents, and other real clues about the abduction.

  We filed in and found ourselves sitting around the Redgraves’ kitchen table, while Rebecca offered us coffee and Alex buried his face in his arms. Tamara smiled and seemed properly sympathetic; Charles and I looked uncomfortable and out of place.

  “No thanks,” I waved away the steaming mug Rebecca tried to set in front of me. “Coffee and I broke up months ago.” I noted that, unlike my companions, she eyed me warily, despite Tamara’s reassuring presence. I shrugged mentally. I was here to save lives, not to make friends.

  “I’ll take hers,” Charles cut in, taking my mug from Rebecca as she passed and setting it next to his own, already half-drained one. He had to be using magic to drink it that hot. “And thank you.”

  “No, thank you. All of you.” Rebecca’s words were shaky but obviously heartfelt; Alex raised his head and nodded a sorrowful agreement to his wife’s statement. “Tamara said you’d all do your best to find our daughter, to stop whatever’s doing this.”

  I nodded. “That’s what we’re here for,” I rasped out a promise I intended to keep, and they both cringed a little at the sound of my voice. Alex shivered. I wondered if I should just let Tamara do the talking.

  “We’ll do everything we can, I promise,” Tamara said smoothly, the mere sound of her voice seeming to relax them both. “Thank you for letting us take a look before calling the police.”

  Alex shook his head bitterly, still leaning heavily on the kitchen table. “What good would they do? I’ve heard the stories about last year’s disappearances, with Jennifer and those other girls. What did the police do then? And now there’s already been what, five others before…” He choked up a little and shook his head more insistently. “All the police can do is sit on their thumbs and wonder what’s going on. There’s no one to take care of people like us.” He sounded justifiably angry.

  “We will,” Charles interrupted firmly. “Believe that.”

  With a shallow nod, some of the fire went out of Alex. “We’ll call the police in the morning and say we found her missing when we went in to wake her. Mostly to make sure they don’t blame us.”

  “They’re not going to blame us, honey.” Rebecca came around the table and leaned on her husband, wrapping her arms around him. “Just because they’re not equipped to handle this doesn't mean they’re not honestly trying.”

  Alex snorted in response, gripping one of her hands firmly like a lifeline. “Like they did with the Keys?” His eyes were tired and sad. “How many years were they under suspicion for their daughter’s abduction? The stigma was so bad they moved away.”

  I blinked. “You mean Maggie Keys?”

  Alex nodded. “You know the Keys? They used to live a couple of houses over from us.”

  Before I could do much more than exchange significant glances with both of my companions, the thump of bare feet on wood drew our attention to the stairs. I glanced up at the staircase as the third heartbeat made its way down. “Mom...Dad…” That heartbeat and the new voice belonged to a wild-haired teenaged girl in a sleep tee and pajama pants. She stared at us with hesitance and curiosity on her tear-stained face.

  “Sweetie, please go back upstairs,” Alex replied softly. “Everything’s going to be alright. We’re taking care of it.”

  “But Dad…” The girl paused before protesting. “It feels...bad up there.” She wrapped her arms around herself as she ventured into the kitchen. “I’m scared, Dad.”

  “Since it happened upstairs, it might be a good idea for you to all stay together downstairs for the time being,” Tamara said softly.

  “Okay, sweetie. Go to the living room and stay in there for now, okay?” Alex tried to give his older daughter a reassuring smile, but the expression faltered and failed, falling apart on his face. She stared openly at us as she did as her father said, her face a mosaic of emotions.

  Charles leaned toward me, his voice low. “If it feels strange or ominous up there, that means some energy from Next Door still lingers. We may have gotten here in time to sense something more detailed than before.”

  “Resonance? Trails?” I tossed some of Mama Flora’s words at him, nudging him with my elbow.

  The wizard grunted noncommittally in response. “We’ll see.”

  “That’s our daughter, Mara,” Alex said abruptly, leaning on the table as if it was all that held him up. His wife hugged his shoulders. “We adopted her years ago, because we thought we couldn’t…then, well...Rena, she’s only four years old...” He dropped his face onto his arms, tears flowing freely as he shook and sobbed. Rebecca pressed her face into his shoulder, still holding him, the rock to keep him upright, even as her own shoulders shook with grief. Charles and I exchanged a glance. I don’t think either of us knew how to deal with a severely distraught father.

  Tamara stepped in to save us. “I tell you what, let's go into the living room and you guys tell me everything you remember about what happened, and Charles and Ashley will go and check on things upstairs.” The Moroi smiled softly at the family, rising and patting both parents softly on the shoulders, gesturing for them to follow her to the living room where Mara was. She nodded at us and the stairs up as she passed; I nodded my thanks back.

  I wasted no time in going up the stairs, Charles close behind. The best thing I could do for the grieving family was to find the cause and rectify the problem as quickly as possible, hopefully fast enough to see them reunited safely. Any additional motivation I might have required was provided by the happy family pictures lining the walls on either side of the stairs.

  We needed no directions to find the right room; I could smell the blood well before I hit the top step.

  “Four, Ashley. Four,” Charles growled. It wasn’t hard to hear the anger engraved in the words. He held up a hand to halt
me as we came to the door and took a stance to one side, waiting for me to open it. He had his staff with him this time, his strong hands gripping it like a shotgun. “That makes her the youngest yet.”

  I nodded and opened the door, Charles rolling through it, staff at the ready, only to declare the room clear a moment later. I swept in quickly behind him anyway, scanning over the room with my own unnatural eyes: a normal, middle class suburban child’s room…Except for the stench of blood, of course. The smell was much thicker inside, drowning out any other scents until it was all I could smell. I felt the rumble of a growl beginning to roll its way up from the pit of my stomach and frowned; there was no way I was hungry again already. Besides, not a drop of the blood in this room smelled appetizing.

  Splatters dripped stickily down one side of Rena’s child-sized bed, splashing the floor and leading toward the open window. A broad fan of droplets decorated the area and marred a hand-painted mural of fanciful, prancing unicorns. My face twisted, caught somewhere between anger and revulsion, and I bent to sniff the bloody mess more thoroughly, careful not to leave a telltale bootprint in blood for a CSI team to find tomorrow.

  The smells were just like they had been at the other places we’d been to. There was a mix of old, “soured” human blood and gross, sickly sweet near-human blood: Sanguinarian blood. That was actually a bit strange; I’d have figured time would’ve changed the scent in some manner.

  “Death energy, right?” Charles kept his voice low as he scanned the room, investigating as only a wizard could, with sight that could touch on what lay Next Door.

  I frowned. It felt like something dead had recently been in this room for sure, just like every other time. Exactly like every other time.

  I stopped and thought it over. The traces of death were weak here, weaker than what I needed to cross Next Door. If there had been a recent human death—especially a violent one—I should’ve had more than enough juice for a quick jump to the left or step to the right, as it were. Especially left alone in a protected home with its own threshold still intact. While such energies always dispersed over time, this didn’t feel noticeably different from the other abduction scenes days or even weeks after the fact. Though there was one side of the room, over toward the window, where the entropic emanations felt slightly stronger…