Ash in the Blood

by Lyn Forester

  Contents

  Also By

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Five Years Ago

  New Path

  Current Day

  Ripfield Sanitarium

  Rockabye Drake

  Blueberry Muffin

  Sticky

  Elbows, Knees, and Nose

  Four Seconds

  Program FunTime

  Are Sky Skipper Edible?

  Prime Real Estate

  Stains Become Her

  Relics of the Past

  Not The Brightest Idea

  Bangin Bum

  Flashing the Flash Tape

  Challenged

  Book Three

  About the Author

  ALSO BY LYN FORESTER

  Poison World Universe

  Poison World

  Beneath a Holo-Sky

  Ash in the Blood

  A Darker Shade of Gray (Coming 2017)

  Poisoned Houses

  Falling for Them Anthology (Includes House of Glass)

  with Autumn Reed & Julia Clark, Rebecca Royce, Ripley Proserpina, Amy Sumida,

  AJ Anders, RM Walker, GE Kelly, AS Oren, CL Stone

  House of Glass (Coming 2017)

  House of Artifice (Coming 2017)

  Tails x Horns Universe

  You to Me

  Just Not You (Coming 2017)

  Standalone Novels

  Thread Reader (Coming 2017)

  LYN FORESTER

  ASH IN THE

  BLOOD

  A Poison World Novel | BOOK 2

  ASH IN THE BLOOD: POISON WORLD NOVEL | BOOK 2

  COVEY PUBLISHING, LLC

  Published by Covey Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 550219, Gastonia, NC 28055-0219

  Copyright © 2017 by Lyn Forester

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Illustration Copyright © 2017 Lyn Forester

  Cover design by Lyn Forester

  Book design by Lyn Forester, www.lynforester.com

  Copy Editing by Laura Tom

  Chapter opening illustrations © 2016 Lyn Forester

  Printed in the United States of America.

  First Printing, 2017

  www.lynforester.com

  To my wonderful readers.

  Thank you for your words of encouragement.

  I’m so glad you enjoy these characters

  as much as I do.

  Five Years Ago

  Location: Leton

  Season: Fall-Cycle, Day 75

  Year: 894 PL (Post Landing)

  NEW PATH

  “Now loading, transport shuttle five, destination Holstar.” The conductor’s voice rings over the milling crowd of citizens who await departure out of Leton.

  Reaching the rim had taken most of the day. My feet throb in protest as I shuffle forward with the masses. Every minute trapped in Leton is an opportunity for discovery. Japhrey has to have watched the surveillance videos by now.

  The credit sticks I stole burn against my skin. I moved them from the stolen gym bag into the band of my underwear when paranoia had me jumping at every possible pickpocket I passed. No way I was risking Japhrey’s wrath only to have someone else nab the credits while I ran for my life.

  While the sum isn’t enough to ruin the club, the betrayal means instant death. Japhrey can’t allow one of his own people to steal from him and go unpunished. March’s boys will be combing the streets for me. Hackers will already be infiltrating personal surveillance cameras to run facial recognition.

  They’ll have guessed I would go straight for transport out of the city, but hiding in Leton poses a bigger risk. In the four years I’ve run with Japhrey’s gang, he’s risen in the ranks to the point that some whisper he’ll soon become the next Mr. Black. The current head of Leton’s Black Corporation is old, he’s warmed his seat too long, and the younger gangs whisper of a change in power. Japhrey’s reach spreads throughout the city. His eyes are everywhere.

  Short strands of hair tickle my ears, and I resist the urge to scratch. I hacked it off in a public restroom outside the transport docks. My head feels lighter without it, my neck cold. The boyish style matches my new clothes.

  I’d almost given up on finding the perfect person to mug. Not a lot of dark-haired, lanky people leaving the city. When the right one finally passed by, speed born of desperation had given me the upper hand. I had him in the restroom and out cold in a matter of seconds. He’d wake up in a couple hours, locked up naked in the maintenance room at the back. The cleaners will let him out during Star-Light, long after I’m gone.

  Strips from the gym shirt bind my breasts flat. With my target’s baggy clothes and my new short hair, I can pass for a boy. Dirt rubbed over my cheeks and forehead help smudge out my features. Not a mirror image of the man, but close enough to pass at a glance.

  In front of me, the line winds forward. I shuffle along, the man’s large boots rubbing against the sores on my feet. Ahead, the conductor scans a woman’s datband and waves her on.

  I twist the thick band of brown rubber around my narrow wrist, uncomfortable with the slack that leaves space between it and my skin. With time being of the essence, I hadn’t been able to modify it in any way to make it fit like it belonged.

  “Next!”

  As the person in front of me disappears, I find myself face-to-face with the conductor. The polish on his black hat reflects the holo-sky overhead as he tips his chin to peer up at me with a frown. I’m not the dirtiest person waiting to board the ship, but I’m close. Most of my fellow passengers look like they showered today. A few even look nice in business attire.

  Holding his gaze, I extend my wrist to be scanned. He can deny me passage, but I’ve given him no reason to. Despite the dirt, I don’t smell bad. I’ve been patient and quiet.

  Nose wrinkled, he scans the stolen datband, gaze focused on the reader. After a moment, he passes another narrow-eyed glance over me. “How long will you be out of Leton, Mr. Markham?”

  The question catches me by surprise. He hadn’t questioned the other passengers. His eyes shift minutely to the strap of my gym bag as his hand drops toward the baton on his waist. On his shirtsleeve, he wears the small black seal of Black Corporation.

  Sweat breaks out under my arms. Did I mug someone on Black Corporation’s wanted list? That would be just my luck.

  I force a smile, dropping my voice into a more masculine rumble. “Just a day trip. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “I’ll need you to step to the side, sir.”

  “No problem.” I keep a calm expression in place as panic rolls my stomach.

  He waves to one of the other conductors, a larger man that tops my height by a few inches. He steps forward to take my elbow and lead me toward a small booth. Fingers tight on my arm, he keeps his other hand on his baton. He expects trouble.

  Inside the booth, the single overhead light barely illuminates the tiny room. A square table takes up most of the space. The chair, positioned in the corner of the room, sits in shadow. I’ll be trapped. My heart lurches into a frantic pound as I set the gym bag on the table and force myself to sit.

 
; Shoulders hunched to appear small, I glance up at the large man. “Can I ask what this is about?”

  Without answer, the conductor unclips a palm-port from his belt. The screen illuminates his face in bright white as he punches in a number. A moment later, he lays the device on the table in front of me.

  Shock ripples through me as I stare down at the small face on the screen. Mr. Black’s personal secretary. I’ve never seen him in person, but every gang member knows the faces of the top-level employees at Black Corporation. All part of standard survival. I could pick out his pink, coiffed hair and narrow features in a crowd of other Riellio halfbreeds in a heartbeat.

  Slow, so I don’t draw attention to the motion, I lean back to cast my face deeper into shadow.

  “Mark,” the small man on the palm-port barks, eyes down as he types away at a keyboard. “What are you doing going to Holstar? Didn’t you get your reassignment?”

  I glance up at the conductor to find his back turned toward me as he guards the door. “Must have missed it, sir.”

  He scowls, squinting through the device for a brief moment as his pale coral lips twist into a tight line. “I sent it to your palm-port forty minutes ago.”

  Right about the time I stuffed the real Mark Markham into the maintenance closet, tied up in his underwear. I’d thrown his palm-port into the incinerator. No reason to risk a tracker.

  “Some kid mugged me on the way to the ship.” I roll my shoulders in a shrug. “I planned to buy a new one after I landed.”

  “Did you tag the street rat?” The click of a keyboard taps through the speakers. “I’ll have the kid brought in for reprimand.”

  “No, there wasn’t time.” I force myself to stay still and focused. This conversation has already gone on too long. Every new sentence is a landmine that can reveal my subterfuge. “Kid was scrawny, though. I don’t think he’s affiliated with a gang.”

  “Then he’ll get cleaned up soon enough anyway.” The secretary chuckles, an evil sound of delight. “Just more meat for the composters.”

  I fight back the wave of irritation and force out an appreciative laugh. Not all gangs hunt down free-range kids, but enough do to make it a morbid reality. Japhrey has taken in a lot of abandoned kids over the years. He trains them, then, if they don’t want to stay in the gang, he lets them go. They are released back into the world as legal citizens with Black Corporation-sponsored datbands, the narrow bands of plastic that every functioning person needs in order to be recognized as a member of society.

  But not all gang leaders are as benevolent.

  “What’s my reassignment?”

  “Roen.” More clicks come from the other side, and a moment later, a green light blinks from the upper right of the screen. “I’ve sent the new details to this palm-port. It’s now yours until you return. The conductor will lead you to the new transportation dock.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You don’t need to be reminded of the consequences of failure, right?” A feathery, pink brow arches as he stares at me.

  I show him my teeth in a semblance of a smile. “I don’t fail.”

  “See that you don’t.”

  The screen goes black, the green message light blinking.

  “We need to hurry.” The conductor turns around and motions for me to follow. “The ship for Roen leaves in five minutes.”

  I grab the palm-port and my gym bag as I stand to hurry after him. Roen hadn’t been my first choice. As Leton’s direct neighbor, it’s too close. I wanted more distance, half a planet to be exact, between my old gang and me.

  For now, though, I’ll need to roll with the dice.

  The large conductor pushes his way through the crowd, making judicious use of his baton when necessary. I stay close to his back, head down, senses on high alert.

  We make it to the loading dock just as the ground workers prepare to raise the gangplank. My escort shouts, arms waving, to gain their attention. They wait as I run forward, awkward in my stolen shoes. The corrugated metal sends vibrations up through my legs.

  I park myself in the first empty seat I spot and strap myself into the harness, tight so the straps dig into my shoulders. This is only the second time I’ve been on an airship. The idea of hurtling through open air makes my stomach cramp.

  As a distraction, I open the message on my new palm-port.

  The airship ramp lifts with a clunk to lock us inside as I stare in shock at the screen. Building schematics, employee hours, most-common job functions. Camera locations. Weapon stashes.

  A complete map to Roen’s Black Corporation. Mark Markham is an assassin. His next target, the Mr. Black of Roen.

  Limp, my hand drops to dangle between my knees as I lean my head back, eyes closed. Thoughts whirl by, too many to focus on. Scenarios spindle out, one after another. They overwhelm me until one single path pops out. Shiny, like the stars just before Lights-Out.

  A smile tugs at my lips as I open my eyes to stare out the window. The ship lifts into the air, leaving Leton behind as we head toward a new future.

  I know who I’ll be next.

  Current Day

  Location: Roen

  Season: Spring Cycle, Day 74

  Year: 899 PL (Post Landing)

  RIPFIELD SANITARIUM

  REAGEN

  The other patients of Ripfield Sanitarium go about their business as if nothing has happened. Margie’s outburst, and subsequent medication-induced unconsciousness, must be the daily norm around here. Just like the screaming woman down the sheet-draped hall.

  I want out of here before that starts up again. My ears can’t take that high, continuous shrill again. Antiseptic stings my nose with an alcoholic burn that makes me want to sneeze. Leaving can’t come soon enough.

  We’d come to Ripfield Sanitarium in the hopes that Margie could lead us toward the Ash distributor. Instead, the aphremore addict had turned out to be the murderer of drug den employee William Chattle. Gold star for us. We solved a case for the blue guard, pro bono, but Margie’s fried brain got us no closer to solving our real case.

  “You need to start talking, Reagen,” Drake hisses into my ear. “Who’s this guy with the weird eyes?”

  His hot breath fans my hair, and I pop an elbow into his gut. He moves back with a grunt, but his anger cloud ripples against me with persistent heat. Still too close, inside my personal bubble.

  I turn my head far enough to glance at him from the corner of my eye. “I already told you, it has nothing to do with this case.”

  “It’s a potential lead.” He moves to my other side, out of my line of site. The skin between my shoulder blades itches, but I refuse to let him know he’s getting to me. His voice drifts over my shoulder, quiet so it won’t carry. “Whatever this guy is to you, he might have seen something. We need to talk to him.”

  No fucking way I’ll search out March. If there’s any chance his presence here is a coincidence, then I’m staying off his radar.

  “He was a passerby after Margie already attacked Chattle. He doesn’t know anything.”

  “You can’t know that.” A quiet clicking comes from behind me as he taps his tongue ring against his teeth in irritation. He needs to work on that tell. Maybe I should stun him again and take it out. Do him a favor.

  The doctor returns, giving me a reason to ignore Drake for now. Not that I need one. I can ignore him whenever I want.

  “I’m so sorry about that.” The woman smooths nonexistent wrinkles from her lab coat as she stops in front of us. “Sudden violence is an unfortunate side effect of the blood fever.”

  Drake steps up to my side, hands shoved into his coat pockets. Professional courtesy hides the scowl from moments ago as he addresses the doctor. “Will Margie recover?”

  “It’s unlikely. Her fever continues to increase.” The doctor shakes her head, though the look of regret on her face falls flat. She’s become numb to her patient’s pain. “At Ms. Saline’s current rate, she’ll be brain-dead by tomorrow.”

&n
bsp; “Unfortunate,” I murmur as I glance up at the walls, near the corners where security cameras will have the best coverage. Whoever installed these ones did a good job, the glint of lens almost imperceptible. Blue Hall, the law enforcement for humans and halfbreeds, will want proof of Margie’s confession so they can close the case on Chattle, even if they can’t convict the murderer.

  “Let me take you back downstairs.” The doctor turns to lead us out of the ward.

  As we pass by, the other patients keep their madness to themselves. Beneath the gray gowns, bruises mark the arms of a few. Purple and green blotches pressed into papery skin. A byproduct of the restrain needed to subdue their violent outbursts, or evidence of abuse? White-uniformed nurses hover in the corners, vigilant, with eager hands close to the pouches on their belts. The mentally unstable are easy targets.

  Fifty-fifty, today’s surveillance will disappear.

  Out in the hall, the doctor pauses long enough to make sure the door closes tight on the blood fever ward. The paper sign, tacked at an angle to the door, waves goodbye to us. Bright overhead lights flood the white corridor and reflect off the metal bar attached to the wall. At the end, a red lockout panel glows next to the elevator.

  The doctor’s shoes squeak quietly as she walks toward it in silence. As we pass another ward on the left, Drake’s footsteps hesitate, his gaze focused on the small window set high in the door. After a moment, he strides past, steps long and ridged. Whatever he sees in there makes him angry. I pass without glancing in. Nothing I can do, no reason to know.