“That’s better.” Jason crossed his arms and started tapping his foot, his eyes wide and nervous.
“And your little dog, too,” I murmured. I shook my head and cleared my throat. “Okay. I’ve got a counter offer. You listening?” I squared my shoulders, trying to support the weight of the decision.
“I am,” he purred.
I took a deep breath. “How about you pull your head out of your own ass long enough for us to meet up,” The two boys blinked and looked shocked, but Charles could barely hide his grin. “And I’ll push you in front of a moving bus. The city can clean up after. Sound good?”
I waited out the brief moment of silence, letting him get good and upset. “Strigoi, you—” he sputtered.
I hit the end call button mid-word.
Charles started laughing.
“As much as I appreciate your style…” Jason winced a little, sitting up.
“...Was that the best way to handle it?” Rain finished. He looked understandably worried.
I shrugged. “He was lying.”
“What? How do you know?” The young changeling furrowed his brow.
Charles chuckled darkly. “Because he’s a Sanguinarian. And because someone like that doesn't just refrain from exercising their power, their control over others. They revel in it. No matter what promises he made now to cement his success, eventually, he’d make good on those threats.”
“Either to make even more gains or simply because he could,” Tamara added, still looking down at her phone, sending off a series of texts.
“So what do we do?” Rain asked.
“What we’d already planned,” I said with another shrug, cracking my knuckles loudly. “We end him. Tonight.”
- - -
While everyone else finished preparations, I took a moment to myself. I needed some fresh air, if not for the normal reasons.
I wasn’t used to people looking to me for answers; in fact, I still considered it a pretty bad idea. But there wasn’t much else to be done. I stepped outside, going immediately to my right and sitting on the edge of the porch, as near the corner as possible to get as much privacy—and disturb as few patrons—as inhumanly possible.
Back inside, I’d tried to put on a show of having my shit together, but inside my little Ashes’ head it was a different story. The Sanguinarian’s call had, like it or not, substantially raised the stakes. Now not only was I risking the lives of my few friends and family in this world, but some relatively innocent acquaintances as well, along with potentially their whole damn families.
It was a lot to swallow, and it tasted like hubris.
Surely there was someone else, someone better, that should be making these decisions.
The only things I was an expert at were causing trouble, especially for myself, and letting people beat on me. Just because I’d been the first person to start putting the pieces together or to throw out a plan, everyone seemed to be following my lead. I didn’t know how to stop them though, or even if I should. So far, I had tried to help out a lot of people, but the “tried” was the whole problem.
Because from where I was standing now, that track record seemed pretty damn stained.
The heavy door to Bookbinder’s opened and closed, and footfalls approached. The background sounds were as muddy as ever, but the heartbeat stood out, even if I couldn’t tell whose it was. I’d expected that if anyone was going to notice I was upset and follow me out to talk, it would be Tamara.
Charles, on the other hand, came as a surprise.
He didn’t say anything. That was nice. He just sat there for a couple of minutes, taking occasional swigs from that flask of his. I wondered idly if he’d had it enchanted to never run out, and if so, how much he sold them for.
“It wasn’t you,” he said finally.
With those three simple words, the dam broke inside of me. “The hell it wasn’t. I’ve failed just about everyone. I failed those kids. I failed to protect Lori. I failed Rena. I failed all of those girls who died nine months ago.” I wanted to sob, but I failed to do that too. I slammed my fist down on my leg, so hard that Bookbinder's porch creaked from the impact. But I couldn’t feel the pain I deserved.
“Okay, yeah, that’s true.” Charles took another casual swig. “And so did I. If you recall, I did happen to be right there with you, almost every step of the way. If there’s failure to be had, spread it around like it deserves. At least you invited along the only two people—possibly in this entire city—that could track down their killer. I wouldn’t have.”
“Yeah. And I almost got them killed too. Because I thought I was stronger than the Blood Man.”
“You too?” he grunted, a humorless sound. “Again, I was just as stupid, right there with you.” He took an even longer drink. “Still beating myself up about that.”
I frowned. “That wasn’t what I meant. I wasn’t blaming anyone.”
He shook his head again. “Of course you were. You blamed you.” He took a deep breath. “My mother—and my mistakes—back in Arizona taught me a lot about responsibility. It’s my duty, both morally and as a member of the Grand Magisterium, to stop these things when they come to my city. But unfortunately, I can't do everything by myself. When we first fought the Rawhead, I thought I knew what we were going to be up against. I thought I had a handle on it. Turns out I didn't, and people got hurt. Then it happened again, with Corey, but even worse.”
He finally twisted to face me, his cinnamon eyes abruptly old. “The most important thing she ever taught me was this: we do the best we can with what we know, and when we learn better, we do better. Did we do the best we could? Did we stand up and act, when no one else could or would? Did we make a difference? Then we're not failures."
“Yeah, it’s fine to say you gave it your best shot if it’s a basketball game. Less so when someone dies, I think.” I dropped my head, as close to exhausted as I could come any more. “We still failed this time, Charles.”
“We killed the Blood Man. We stopped him. We’ll stop Salvatore and Maggie too. Just like we stopped Ariadne. Just like we permanently stopped the Rawhead.” He gave me a level look. “Not only did you provide those children with the vengeance they needed to rest in peace, you tracked him down.”
“That was Rain and Jason though, not me,” I protested, but I knew it was a weak excuse. I knew what he was getting at. “And if I hadn’t tried to follow my nose all the way through this, more people would be alive right now.”
“Nope.” He snorted. “When you know better, do better, remember?” He rapped me on the head with his knuckles. “I didn’t have any better ideas. It was only because you had us looking for Sanguinarians that I dug up Salvatore’s hideout and started disrupting his plans. Look how important that was.”
“Yay. I’m accidentally helpful.”
He chuckled, very briefly, very quietly. “You tried. You did some good in a world gone mad. Sometimes that’s all anyone can do.”
We were both silent a long moment before I finally spoke again. “I guess a dead Rawhead does make for a lot of saved lives down the road.”
“You saw that lair.” He glanced at me, letting the flask dangle from his long fingers. “Six out of a dozen saved at that final ritual. Would it really have been better not to act?”
“And the ten before that. They weren’t okay, but we saved them,” I said.
He nodded. “It’s human nature to look at the bad side of things.”
I managed the barest hint of a grin. “Maybe it’s vampire nature too?”
He eyed me, unreadable. “Maybe in your case.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. “But now what? Tamara’s little sister is depending on me. And possibly a whole war needs to be averted. This is big, Charles. We can’t half-ass this one. What if I fail again?”
With a tired groan, Charles levered himself to his feet, tucking away the flask again. “You want to do better?” He looked down. “Then fucking do better.”
Salvat
ore had backed us into a corner, and I’d made a heavy decision for everyone tonight. But I had a feeling that no one here would have backed down, even if I had. And I knew that Lori would never have approved of the cost of her protection, not if she knew.
Charles stuffed one hand into his heavy coat, then held out the other. “So are we still doing this, or not?”
- - -
It was almost time to get down to business, and set events in motion that would decide the future of way too many people.
But first, I had a call to make.
I started to croak out a voicemail, my throat rusty from the night’s constant use, but Lori picked up on the fourth ring.
I smiled, despite everything. “Hey, you,” I rasped. “Kind of surprised you answered. Thought you might be asleep.”
“I was up thinking about...things.” Her voice was soft, sleepy. But she sounded happy too.
Thinking about me? I couldn’t help but wonder. Thinking about us?
“What is it?” she asked gently. “I can tell it’s something important.”
“It’s just…” I paused, thinking over what to say. I smiled. “I just wanted to make sure our date for later was still on.”
She was quiet a moment. “Ash, are you okay?”
I had to think about that answer for a moment. “Yeah. But something rough’s come up. Something I gotta take care of.”
“It’s dangerous.” She didn’t ask; it wasn’t a question. “Can’t someone else do it?”
“No, love. Just me.” But I’m okay with that. “I guess I’m a bit of a special snowflake these days.”
She was quiet again, just long enough for me to get anxious. “Well…” She started, then paused. I faintly heard her taking a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was more solid than it had been in a long while. Music to my ears. “Well, just remember, that date’s in just a few hours. You’ve never stood me up before. Don’t you dare start now.”
My face split into a grin I couldn’t restrain. “I wouldn't dream of it.” The next words tried to catch in my throat, coming out rough. “Timeline might be tight.” I got quiet. “If I’m late…Will you wait for me?”
Another pause, but not as long as the last. “Yeah Ash. I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”
I could have cried. Well, I would have, assuming I could.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
And I thought one was too many
The scrapyard was an entirely different beast with its master dead—or was it? I pictured it lying in wait, the illusion of normalcy cast by the lack of bleeding fog, emotion-bending magic, and labyrinthine impressions—all simply a ruse to lure me into an even deadlier trap.
At least, I hoped so. I’d hate to have come all this way for nothing.
So I threw off my clinging shadows, tied my hoodie around my waist to conceal all the things I’d brought with me, and strode into the haunted junkyard like I owned it.
- - -
We were far enough away from the busy parts of the Birmingham night for the air to be quiet and undisturbed; only the occasional rumble of an airplane takeoff or landing disturbed the silence. It was even hushed enough for me to faintly hear the grinding of rocks in the distance as I reached the wide clearing at the center of the scrapyard, the corroded crane and its magnetic disk hanging overhead like a skeletal appendage.
I hadn’t expected to wind my way through all the piles of quietly rusting scrap and the treacherous path up the hill without interference. After all, if I knew I was coming and could summon defenders to stop myself, I’d probably have set up a nice ambush too.
“You might as well come out,” I raised my voice to a hoarse, raspy shout, the sound assaulting the crisp night air. “I’m not as stupid as I look.”
The sound of stone on stone intensified, followed by a powerful thump as something heavy hit the ground and started moving.
Big and broad, a husky behemoth stepped out to block my path, a barrel-chested, thick-shouldered figure of rocky, discolored stone chunks. White and gold buds peppered its shoulders and drew a line across its upper chest that I hadn’t noticed the first time we’d fought. As before, its only clothing was a now-dented metal plate loincloth and two studded leather bracers that I could have worn as corsets.
It took one good look at me and stopped, beady red eyes going wide amidst its craggy face. Then it paused, stooping to scoop up the trailing leather edges of its loincloth thingy and tie them up around its legs, literally girding its loins to keep the long metal plate from dangling.
At least he remembers me. “Wow, Flowers, didn’t expect to see you here.” I was honestly kind of glad he was alive, despite the context of our previous encounter and despite the fact that he almost certainly wasn’t here to give me a box of chocolates. “Small world, I guess—”
I swallowed my sarcasm hard as the second troll came around the outcropping of jagged junk.
This one was dressed more for the occasion, decked out in what D&D had taught me to call heavy plate-and-chain armor, glittering mail and armor plates coating him from upper chest to toe in shimmery, silvery steel. The ebony-inlaid, chrome warhammer he clutched in one massive, stony hand theoretically might’ve been less dangerous to my bludgeon-resistant body than Flowers’ massive sword—but I’d have been more certain of that if it wasn’t the size of my torso and being wielded by an angry troll.
From his massive, unarmored stone shoulders sprouted spiky, creeping vines that crawled their way down both arms and intertwined with the chainmail on one side of his body, dancing in and out of the heavy silver links. This one didn’t hesitate at the sight of me. Instead, it roared a challenge that hammered the air, a sound so threatening, so expansive that it probably had people miles away sitting up in their beds, suddenly sweating and wondering what was out there, going bump in the night.
As an added bonus, he was also a good head taller than Flowers with bonus muscle and girth to match.
“Uh oh.” Suddenly caught in a troll tag-team scenario, I glanced around for an out. Not just an escape; that would have been easy.
I had to beat them. Somehow.
Flowers grabbed his new friend’s shoulder, stalling him and giving me a precious few seconds to think. Tapping the larger troll’s chestplate indicatively, he gestured at their crotch plates and pointed my way, rumbling something in what I assumed to be their flinty, guttural native language. Thorny just shrugged him off though, curling his stony lips in an approximation of a sneer and shoving the smaller troll out of his way. Then he bellowed again and charged me, becoming fully my problem.
Great, not just a troll, but a troll bully.
The ground shuddered and piles of metal hopped, creaked, and groaned as he picked up speed like a runaway locomotive. An angry locomotive. An angry locomotive wielding a freaking warhammer. With no master plan coming to mind, I dealt with it the same way I had before: I turned and ran.
Darting out of the way just before he got to me, Thorny collided with the twisted wreckage of a stack of junked cars, managing to wreck them even further. But he was too strong and too big to be entangled for long, roaring and ripping his way free as Flowers joined in the chase.
That was okay, though. All I really had to do was outdistance them in the winding guts of the junkyard long enough for a plan to come together. I couldn’t let them stop me, but that was easier said than done. Flowers had easily been a match for me in straight combat. Thorny was overkill. Water had worked before, but there wasn’t enough in the rusted metal jungle for me to pull the same shit twice. I had iron claws and there was iron all around, but I needed something that didn’t involve having to outfight two experienced Fae mercenaries head to head.
I ran this way and that through the scrapyard’s tangled pathways, trying to keep the skyward arm of the rusty crane in view. Losing my way wouldn’t be good, but it was definitely the lesser of the two evils at the moment—a point literally driven home as I dodged around a mound of debris and nearly came face to face
with Thorny’s massive, Ashes-crushing hammer.
Desperately, I dove under him in a baseball slide, but the ebony and chrome head of the bulky weapon still clipped me high on my forehead. The blow snapped my head back brutally even as I slid through his legs and disoriented me with the imparted force. It didn’t break bone—lethal or not, I didn’t want to experience what would happen if something managed to crush my skull in—but I felt it tear the skin along the edge of my scalp, and I could feel some of my thick, dark blood dribbling like molasses from the new wound.
I scrubbed some of the fresh ichor off of my forehead as I came to my feet behind him; my supernatural speed still gave me an edge over either troll, just not by as much of a margin as I would have liked. I twisted around and lunged at Thorny, claws bursting from my fingers. As sharp as they were, they barely broke through the thick, trollish armor at the back of his knee. But when they did, he let out a savage wail of pain, and I could see his rocky skin boiling away where my claws cut into his flesh.
Thorny buckled and fell forward, catching himself with one thick arm and blocking Flowers’ way. Before he could recover, I leapt at him, landing a dropkick square in the middle of the massive expanse of his back, toppling him into Flowers and provoking irate, gravelly growls from both Fae.
Any fun idea I might have had to set two irritable trolls on one another failed before I could employ it. Flowers grunted a warning to his bigger friend as he tore something free from the closest scrap heap, and the armored troll ducked down to let Flowers chunk the rusted hunk of some old jalopy at me with a grunt of exertion. Caught in the middle of another leap aimed for Thorny’s back, I took the hit full in the chest—the heavy projectile didn’t even slow down. And since automobiles weigh more than Ashes, it took me along for the ride.
The junked auto and I slammed into a tall double-stack of other ruined cars together. With a crash of bending, shrieking metal, the cars deformed around me instead of breaking me—Strigoi flesh once again proving itself more durable than mere steel, iron, and fiberglass.
Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 2) Page 25
