Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 2)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  So I made her stop and listen to me.

  “Stop!” I commanded in a thunderous rasp, the best imitation of Tamara that I could muster. Maggie froze midair, straining against me. “Aww hell no. This is my head. Get out.”

  “And this place is my territory,” she hissed in return, looking around at Monument Valley. I felt her press back against me, and I strained my will to hold her at bay. “I am strong here.”

  Monument Valley was Maggie’s home turf? I couldn’t spare the concentration to think through the implications of that. It felt like the little ragged ghost was trying to press her way into my head somehow, and memories surfaced unbidden of all the fabled creatures that could totally kill you in your dreams.

  Maggie crept closer, and I pushed all other thoughts aside, focusing on her. She stopped, still as a stone, resonating with rage. Our mental standoff stretched on and on before I finally felt her presence begin to recede. I grinned and pushed even harder.

  “I may not can kill you,” she snarled, her voice beginning to fade away, “but I don’t have to.” The sheer menace in her tone was astounding. “There are so many more I can kill now that I don’t have to worry about Father.”

  With a snarl, I flung her back, but she held on determinedly to my dreams, as if clinging to them with her blades.

  “If you thought the killings were bad before, just wait,” she hissed. “You’ll regret hurting Father!” Behind her back, her bladed appendages sharpened themselves on one another. “I’ll kill so many. I’ll never stop. I’ll make him proud. Maybe I’ll kill so many it brings him back.”

  I tried not to listen as I pushed what remained of Maggie Keys out of my mind. Her voice faded to a whisper, then an echo, then just a feeling trembling in the air of Monument Valley. Then she was gone.

  But the threat—no, the promise—she’d made lingered.

  I only got a little bit of that rest I’d wanted before dusk drew near and my eyes popped open. But even before I woke and read the emergency text from Tamara, I knew we weren’t done yet.

  We were going to have to do something about Maggie.

  Soon.

  - - -

  I was really glad to learn that today’s emergency didn’t involve a trip to St. Valentine’s.

  I had a sneaking suspicion they might remember me there.

  Instead, the text read: Ashes, meet us at Bookbinder’s as soon as you possibly can. Mama Flora’s here already, and… Something’s come up. Ashes, I need your help. Msg me when you’re up, and I’ll send a cab over or something.

  Briefly, I considered the offer of a cab but decided against it. For one thing, I really needed to clear my head, both after the previous night’s stack of disasters and my failure to find refuge in my own sleeping mind.

  But I also really wanted to try out other options. It wasn’t every day I manifested a new superpower.

  In no time at all, I was literally ripping through the shadows on my way to the local occult bookstore. After checking my directions and powering down my phone, I made a beeline for my destination, yanking myself along from shadow to shadow as if pulling at umbral threads.

  Maybe I wasn’t such a shitty Spider-man after all.

  What was at first disorienting, swiftly became exhilarating. I found I only had to wrap myself in a layer of shadow, then lay eyes on another area of shadow or deathly energy further away and pull myself sideways toward it—and I’d slide near-instantaneously along the border between realities, only to puff out of it in a flutter of weightless darkness. I threw myself over alleys and off of rooftops, only to disappear before slamming into the ground, sliding and slipping along the darkened boundary between our Home and Next Door to emerge a block away in an instant. Then I’d leap into the air, grab hold of the edge of a roof, a window, or a fire escape, and sling my relatively lightweight body as far into the sky as I could, only to start the whole process over again.

  I was reminded of what Jason had said the previous night. For a little while, despite my recent mistakes, despite my fears and doubts and worries, I actually felt free.

  It wasn’t without a bit of a cost, of course—I’d found that Charles was right, and nothing ever was. I felt the slight drain my supernatural workout put on me, though it was a drop in the bucket compared to the absolute height of fullness I’d found by exsanguinating the Blood Man. But there was still a cost, and that was worth knowing.

  That, and the trip still would probably have been faster in a car, though the fact that I could go as the crow—or vampire apparently—flew and not have to worry about traffic, stop lights, or the eccentricities of terrain put it into question.

  Either way, I still couldn’t convince myself that it wasn’t worth it.

  I dropped the superhero act with a degree of reluctance and walked the last block to Bookbinder’s, waving to Charles’ grumpy little house as I passed. As a supernatural predator, I didn’t want to come charging right up to the door of the largest concentration of supernaturally aware folks in the state. That would make a distinctly bad first impression.

  Someone might also set me on fire, and as I’d noted before, Fire was Bad.

  Really, I was surprised to be invited at all. The folks who ran and patroned Bookbinder's had never been interested in inviting me inside before—not that I blamed them in the least. I got no shortage of odd looks as I ventured up the wide, overgrown triple steps and onto the porch. As per normal, there were at least half a dozen people, any or all of whom might’ve been magical practitioners, milling about the exterior, chatting magical shop—or maybe just the news, TV, or the latest gossip. Mages were just normal people too, except for Charles.

  I ventured cautiously up to the door and stopped at the threshold. The heavy iron wheel of the Bookbinder’s sign hung over me like a headsman’s blade, dozens of sigils from every walk of magic were engraved symmetrically all around the edge, encircling the swirly book and flame symbol in the center. I knew I was gathering an audience behind me, but I couldn’t have gone further if I’d wanted to. Which I didn’t, because the doorway was almost certainly warded to hell and back by lesser magicians of a dozen different stripes, along with additional protections by none other than Charles himself.

  I stood there just long enough to start wondering if Tamara had typoed ‘Bookbinder's into her phone by mistake when the door popped open. I sighed reflexively in relief. I really didn’t want to stand here, menacing the threshold until someone decided to set me on fire.

  Tamara sighed in relief as well. “Oh, Ashley. It’s just you.”

  I made a face.

  She chuckled, but there wasn’t much heart in it. “They said there was a vampire at the door, and…” She shrugged and put on a tired smile. “It’s been a long day. Come in.” She stepped out of the threshold as she invited me in, wrinkling her perfect alabaster nose as I stepped past her, the doorway no longer an impassable, flesh-boiling barrier. “You could have gotten cleaned up, you know.”

  “I changed clothes,” I protested hoarsely. Oh, I knew full well how nasty I was under them, considering last night’s underwater adventure. But I didn’t have the lengthy time I needed to suffer my way through a shower that would leave me trembling and twitching either.

  I knew my poor personal hygiene wouldn’t make the best first impression on the patrons of Bookbinder’s, but I wasn’t completely certain it mattered either. My guess was that a lot of people here would see me as a monster no matter my outward presentation, and there was little I could do to change that. Besides, once again, I was here to help people, not make friends. Hopefully some people, at least, would judge me by my actions instead of my appearance. Or smell.

  Still, I stayed on my better behavior and didn’t stray too far from the beaten path. The first room was mostly devoted to a long counter and a pair of cash registers on one side, with a space for mixing coffees and smoothies behind it; none of which was of much use to a dead Ashley. Not that I minded. I hadn’t even been fond of coffee when I was aliv
e; that had been Lori’s thing. Display pieces and a small fountain set into the wall rounded out the room, but straight past it was another, larger room with many tables and chairs, several of which were pulled close together. I could see Charles and Mama Flora chatting and waiting from here, so I knew that was my destination.

  I couldn’t help taking a little peek into the side room though. Bookshelves pressed up against the walls were packed with little bottles of mystifying powders, stones, and fluids. They rested alongside enigmatic decks of cards and, of course, cryptic tomes of all sorts, both ye olde and new agey. Tables were covered in god and goddess statues, as well as crystal objects of all shapes and sizes. I didn’t let myself stall long enough to take everything in though; besides, the stairs curling around and upward in one corner said there was more to this place than I was going to get to see today, if ever.

  All in all, entering Bookbinder’s was like entering a little bubble of the the strange and extranormal. Not just the decor or the items and artifacts for sale, but the patrons as well. Mama Flora, in her white lace sundress, skull face paint, and tiny black top hat was the example, not the exception. People in long coats that looked suspiciously like robes or in full archaic attire mingled with plain clothed patrons in everything from an expensive suit and tie to T-shirts and daisy dukes. I wondered if there was any way to tell those with actual magical or supernatural ties apart from the random Joes coming in on a lark looking for Tarot cards or a Ouija board.

  Maybe they had secret handshakes.

  Regardless of their origins or supernatural status, pretty much everyone paused to give me a good stare as I passed through. Me, the ragged, bloodstained woman with holes in her jacket and duct tape around her wounds, who smelled like death and probably looked even worse. Most gave me the look over without even trying to hide it, and I did my best to pay it all no mind.

  The quickening heartbeats and ripple of shivering cold I sent through the crowd were harder to ignore, but I managed.

  Tamara led me directly to the large room at the back of the house. Its many tables weren’t completely devoid of other patrons, but we had the room mostly to ourselves. I nodded to Mama Flora as soon as I entered. I was surprised to also see Rain and Jason already present; I hadn’t been certain if they’d come back after last night. The room itself was old paneled wood, mahogany tables and chairs, and a solitary potted plant. One whole wall was dominated by a large brick fireplace and its substantial mantle with all the curios, offerings, and half melted candles it needed to make its appearance obvious as a communal altar—one that no doubt serviced dozens of different creeds and magical paths.

  I was pleased to see that the fireplace was also currently free of eminent, blazing Ashes-death.

  “About time you got here,” Charles grumbled as soon as I walked in. I ignored him and exchanged a wave with the two Changelings instead. Rain was dressed plainly but nicely once again, while Jason wore what appeared to be a black, freshly laundered shirt at least one size too large that read “This shirt has words on it.” I grinned.

  “You mind your manners.” Mama Flora eyed Charles reproachfully before turning to greet me with a sunny smile that somehow warmed me, despite the distorted caricature the painted white skull covering her dark-skinned face made as she did. “He’s just ornery about some old mambo having to come along and teach him some new tricks.” The wizard grunted noncommittally, but he didn’t deny it.

  “So, your emergency message?” I looked to Tamara as we both claimed ourselves a seat; something creaked noisily as I settled into mine, and I couldn't tell if it was the chair or my own joints. “None of you seem to be on fire.”

  Tamara took a deep breath. “We ended the ceremony for the victims about an hour ago,” she started. “Mama Flora spent the day doing what rites she could, then we and a bunch of people from the magical community drove out to the old abandoned Autumn Mines area. We laid them to rest and held a vigil till nearly sundown.”

  The Autumn Mines were a good choice. The old mines and their surrounding area were condemned and unstable and of no use to anybody except maybe the homeless—or the monsters. No wonder everyone still looked tired though.

  “We saw Rena’s parents already too,” Charles added.

  I blinked and wheezed out a sigh of relief. I wasn’t sorry to hear that the meeting had happened without me. I knew that Tamara had to have been the one to break the news about Rena to her family, and for that I was selfishly glad. I wasn't that strong. I’d rather have faced Flowers the Troll or the Blood Man’s junkyard labyrinth again before the parents of the little girl I’d failed.

  Tamara put a comforting hand on my shoulder, shifting her chair comfortably close. “It went as well as could be expected. They know we did what we could, and they’re glad that at least he won’t take any more victims.” She gave me a soft, sad smile, leaving out all the bad parts of the story.

  I just shook my head.

  “Missed your help with the digging,” Charles sighed, leaning forward. I could see the exhaustion hidden in the sloping set of his shoulders.

  “Would have helped if I could have.” I gave the table the best smile I could muster. “I just wish we could have done more, for the families at least. Most of them will never know what happened to their children.”

  “Not...necessarily,” Charles said.

  “I been workin’ all day long too,” Mama Flora said, adjusting her small, askew top hat. “I done called up the spirits an’ asked’em to look over them youngun’s an’ see’m to their proper places. Papa Ghede was very pleased, yeah. Said he’s gonna help ‘em find their families again, one last time before he sends them on their way.” She smiled reassuringly. “An’ don’t you worry now, child. Papa knows what he’s doin’. Gonna help set things to rights. Said he’s gonna take’em to say goodbye, even if it's just in dreams. An’ The Baron’s gonna take’em from there. He’ll take their little hands and walk’em right over to the Other Side himself, yeah. Tol’ me not to worry none, no. They’re all in his care now.” She met my eyes. “All of ‘em but two.”

  I tilted my head, confused. “What? We found more bodies than we expected, not fewer,” I rasped, leaning my elbows on the table.

  “And yet, we missed the two most critical ones,” Charles replied.

  “But I didn’t,” Mama Flora grinned.

  “And that’s why I called you.” Tamara rested a warm hand on my arm.

  I lifted a hand, pointing down at my own head. “Still confused,” I replied.

  “Charles probably ain’t told you how the worlds feed on each other.” Mama Flora leaned in, skull-masked face suddenly intent and unreadable. “Them wizards, they do like their secrets.” She glanced at Charles. “Keeps’em feelin’ high an’ mighty.”

  Charles looked off, expressionless but perhaps a little uncomfortable.

  The tiny Vodou Lady continued. “You know how we draw power from Next Door, how it can spill over on its own, an’ how in a wizard’s hands, it can change the world.” I nodded. “Well, suga’, the door swings both ways. Jus’ like there's a surge of energy every time he draws power for a spell, we also produce power every time we experience strong emotion, when we get so happy it hurts, when we hurt so bad it goes beyond words. When we die, when we’re born, when an idea becomes a reality. Why do you think we always feel so tired after any of those things?”

  I watched her lively gray eyes as they twinkled and she laid out the world before me in simple terms even I could understand. “That power bleeds over to Next Door. It connects one thing to another, like links in a chain.”

  “Each of those connections are an anchor,” Charles’ intelligent cinnamon eyes twinkled, and he gestured as he spoke. Apparently, only the promise of fresh knowledge got him this animated. “Link enough of them together, and while the Magisterium is right that Next Door can never be mapped…” He smiled a rare smile. “You can forge a road.”

  “Or follow one that already been forged,” Mama Flora sai
d. “Those same energies are what creatures like the Moroi feed on.” She motioned at Tamara. “And there’s many more things Next Door that feed off o’them too. Things that savor that which they can never know, and the things made from it.”

  She gestured suddenly, grandly, both hands outstretched to the sky. “There’s whole worlds made of it. Realms within realms, little as a room, or bigger than y’could imagine. Next Door spaces, all tied up in the concepts or feelings that made ‘em. And sometimes somethin’ over here gets tied to them things or places too, because it's all a big big cycle. Especially for things that start out as one thing, then somehow become another.” She watched me intently again, as if waiting for something. “Like that Blood Man. Monsters, humanity, an’ all that lies in between, yeah. You didn’t think all them demons like that Rawhead just come outta nowhere, did ya, child?”

  I frowned. “Maggie. He tortured her, and the experience changed them both.”

  Mama nodded grimly.

  Charles nodded too. “I imagine he started out as minor magician—maybe a necromancer. But he took her, killed her, and tortured her spirit afterward, until the pain and anger warped it.” He took a long, bracing drink from a tankard; I doubted it was just a latte. “Used what bit of magic he knew to bind her spirit here, then destroyed the body.”

  “So that’s why you didn’t find her,” I said. “There was no body to find.”

  Flora nodded grimly. “An’ that ain’t all neither. As they took more and more lives, they fed that cycle. Tied themselves together, changed each other. But they also changed the very world around them.”

  “So that’s where the blood pool came from,” Jason finally commented. “And all that tied them to a place Next Door, too?”

  Flora grinned, bright white teeth splitting the skull’s face in a grin. “See, child?” She elbowed Charles. “Even that young’n gets it.”