Ashes of the Firebird (The Firebird Fairytales Book 2)

by Kuivalainen, Amy

  “Do you still have that dream?” Mama Lya asked. Abélard had been a young man when he had a vision of battles in the Heavens, of Archangels and demons, of a human fighting in the middle of it all. He had dreamt of it every six months since.

  “Of course I do. Perhaps I’ve had it so I could help Mychal myself.” Abélard took a long, thoughtful drag of his cigar. He was a lot more nervous and excited that his calm exterior betrayed. She knew him better.

  “Do you really think we should interfere?” she asked after a while.

  “If it’s really him, which is yet to be determined, then we have a duty to let him know who he is.”

  ***

  In his dream, Mychal was running. His chest was aching and the pain was becoming harder and harder to bear. A screech rose from behind him and he knew they were close. They had found him after four days of running and hiding. A part of him wanted them to catch him, and to rip his body and soul apart. He wanted it to be over.

  In the distance, he sees someone running towards him. He sees the glint of steel. Mychal is falling and it didn’t even register that he had been hit until he was on the ground. Sharp piecing pain runs down his body and he can’t get up. He can’t feel his arms or his legs. His spine has been severed. He hears someone shouting at him and sees the flare of a priest’s coat.

  Mychal manages to roll onto his side and look up at his defender. It wasn’t Vadim at all, it was Aleksandra. He tried to call out but his voice won’t work. He watches in horror as the demon lands on her. You are too weak to save her, the demon taunts. Its sharp talons burst through her body and she explodes in a blast of white light. Mychal woke with her screams still echoing in his ears. A concerned passenger was looking down at him.

  “You okay there, son?” the old man asked.

  “I’m fine, bad dreams.”

  “I still get the night terrors. Never mind, at least it was only me who heard you screaming.” He continued his walk through the carriage. Mychal wiped the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He didn’t know where he was or what country he was in. The rattle of the train was a lot louder now that the passengers that had filled the carriage were gone.

  Mychal had left Aleksandra, walked to the nearest train station and purchased a ticket. He didn’t bother to check where his destination was. He did know he had been on the train for three days floating in and out of consciousness. The exhaustion had finally caught up on him and he didn’t have the will to fight it.

  He felt overwhelmingly guilty about leaving Aleksandra. Mostly, he was lonely. He had never been lonely before. The crazy witch and the circus that she lived with had gotten to him. He had been listening in on them for weeks and knew the insides of their lives. He knew them. Worse, he was involved with them. And he missed her. He liked the way she saw straight through him and his hostile ways.

  “What the hell am I doing?” he asked the heavily stained and slightly ripped chair in front of him. It didn’t reply.

  At the next stop, Mychal got off the train.

  Chapter Twenty-Six- Tricks and Travelling

  Vasilli traced the huge magical residue from one side of the city to the other. It was definitely Anyanka’s, mixed with something stronger and much, much older.

  He had not told Ragana of tracking Anyanka instead of Mychal. Ragana was suspicious but not powerful enough to provoke him. She had felt the huge pulse of magic like every other sensitive person and supernatural in the city. She was choosing to ignore it.

  Vasilli knew the taste of Anyanka’s magic. His scars tingled and ached as soon as he drew near to it. It had taken him three days to find where the magic explosion had occurred. It was a magnificent sprawling mansion in a high-class area of the city. He touched the lock on the outside gate and it melted, pooling like quicksilver at his feet.

  Cautiously, he stepped over the threshold of the mansion and moved in silently. It took a moment to feel a magical, pulsing thrum from a nearby room. When he opened the door, an exotic looking man was standing there looking calmly at him. He held a long, curved scimitar and had the aura of someone who knew how to use it.

  “Vasilli, I had a feeling you would show up sooner or later.”

  “Where is Anyanka?” Vasilli asked. He had no knowledge of this man. He hadn’t been in Russia when Anyanka had burnt him and didn’t recall seeing him in any of Ragana’s files.

  “You are too late; she has already left Budapest for the New World where you can’t reach her. Give up on your revenge.”

  “Who are you to tell me what to do?” Vasilli tried to step towards him but as he did he hit an invisible barrier.

  “You’re not the only one with power, Vasilli, and I have no quarrel with you. Leave here and never bother me again and I promise I shall do the same.”

  “You protect her?”

  “No, I don’t. She doesn’t need protecting. She can take care of herself. The scars on your body are proof of that. For your own sake, stay away from her. She has stronger powers after her than you or the Darkness.”

  “Why give me this warning? You know I want to kill her and there isn’t anything that will ever change that.” The man seemed genuine, which was confusing considering he was clearly on Anyanka’s side.

  “I told you, Vasilli. I have no quarrel with you. I’m neutral in every way so this is a friendly warning and you should take it as such. We could fight it out by pitting my magic against yours and I would win. I’m much older and much more powerful. You can feel that. Killing me, if you can, will do you no good. What you seek is not here so leave.”

  Vasilli felt himself unexpectedly outmanoeuvred. Clearly, whatever power this man had was enough to take him on.

  “You present a strong argument so I will bow out gracefully. I will not give up on my search for her or my impudent brother.”

  “Good luck to you. You’ll need it. She protects him and won’t ever let you get close enough to harm a hair on his head. She loves him deeply, even if she doesn’t know it. Please leave now and never return.”

  “As you wish, though I cannot extend that promise to the Darkness.”

  “I wouldn’t trust them for much longer, Vasilli, if I were you. They have been playing you like a drum.”

  “You are a Rouge and a neutral. You know nothing of loyalty or honour,” Vasilli spat. The man laughed loudly.

  “That may be true. They are keeping big secrets from you, Vasilli, I hope you don’t believe that you’re in their inner circle. Oh, you do? So that must mean you know that Yanka is still alive. You didn’t? Why, I’m sure Ladislav knows.” Vasilli felt himself pale with anger.

  “You lie.”

  “Afraid not. Now I suggest you turn around and leave my property.”

  Vasilli backed out of the room, the man watching him. He stepped out into the cold air and shook himself. That wasn’t like him. To back away from an obvious challenge wasn’t in his nature. He looked back at the silent house and tried to shake the fog from his mind. The man was right. Vasilli had no quarrel with him. If he found out the stranger was telling the truth about Yanka then Vasilli would need his strength for the war.

  ***

  Look through the darkness and into the Land of Dreaming. On the edge of the forbidden forest, Yanka stands with a knife in her hands. It doesn’t quiver as she runs the blade over her pale skin. Anya had called magic in this place. An impossible feat for one so naive and untrained.

  The blood drips from her arm and onto the runes she has sketched into the earth. There is a shaking snapping sound as she focuses her magic and pulls it to her. Sweat beads on her forehead as she struggles to focus. There is crack in the sky like thunder and a dark man appears in a heap before her.

  “How dare you summon me!” he shouts as he scrambles to his feet. Yanka steps backwards, gripping the knife tightly in her hand.

  “Yanka?” The man pushes back the dark black hair from his face. He stares unbelieving at the woman in front of him.

  “Vasilli,” she sa
ys holding the blade to his throat, “It has been too long.”

  ***

  Anya had spent the last two days wondering why she had pressed so hard for them to leave Budapest. Planes, she had learnt quickly, did not agree with her.

  She had spent the last two hours listening to Hamish complain about how you couldn’t get a decent drink on a flight anymore and how, “his piss had a higher alcohol content.” Isabelle warned him in threatening tones that if he didn’t shut up she was going to put him down in the cargo hold with all the other mutts.

  Anya turned up the volume on her headset and stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. At least they were in first class sleepers. She had glimpsed at the other passengers in coach, stuffed in like sardines. She had decided if she was the one wedged between a screaming four year old and an overweight person she would cheerfully claw her face off.

  Anya’s hand brushed against paper in her pocket and she pulled out the scrunched up letter from Silvian. She opened it and admired the beautiful flowing handwriting.

  Anyanka,

  Beware of Álfr that are not Aramis. You have the elvianth and they will try to get to you by any means necessary. If you succeed in rescuing Yanka, know that she has a temper and will try to kill her captors. Be very careful not to get involved in the drama that is her and Aramis’ relationship. It is going to get ugly when the Álfr find out that she is alive. If they begin to show an interest in you get out of there and use the enclosed credit card to come back to Budapest.

  Most of all be cautious of one that looks like Aramis with black hair and green eyes. He is the Dauđi Dómr, the Death Judge, for the Álfr council. His name is Søren and will most likely be sent to kill you. If you see him, hit him with as much magic as you have and run as hard and as fast as you can. Feel no remorse if you damage him for he will do worse to you if given the chance.

  I hope you live long enough for me to see you again, my darling girl. Silvian

  Anya took out the credit card and slipped it inside the bag that Cerise had bought for her. She felt oddly comforted that she didn’t have to worry about money if she really had to escape the situation. Silvian had effectively given her an “out” even though she doubted she would get far. She had someone else waiting out there to kill her. Perfect.

  “Are you okay?” Anya looked up and noticed Trajan on the other side of the aisle watching her. She slid off her headphones.

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  “You look really sad and upset.” He looked concerned which was like a knife to her heart. If things hadn’t gone so horribly wrong between them she would have shared the contents of the letter and her concerns.

  “I didn’t know you were watching.” Trajan looked a little embarrassed and fiddled with the scarf around his neck. It was red and a particular favourite of hers.

  “I don’t mean to,” he said softly.

  “It’s fine, this plane is so boring it’s no wonder you were looking for something odd to look at.”

  “You don’t look odd. You look tired but beautiful. You should try to get some sleep. We should land soon,” he suggested gently. He had called her beautiful and it still made Anya’s neck grow warm. She had barely talked to him in a fortnight and she missed him. It hurt for her to see him. Her hands itched every time he was near with the need to touch him. She wanted nothing more than to run her hands up under his waistcoat and hold him tightly to her. Anya clenched her fists, her nails cutting sharply into her palms.

  “You liar. We still have hours and hours left on this flight.” She smiled at him because she couldn’t stop herself.

  “That might be true but think how much less time it will take if you sleep for the remaining few hours.”

  “There is too much noise to sleep. Unless you have some really strong sleeping tablets, it isn’t going to happen.”

  “I don’t but there is a trick that I can do that will make you fall asleep.”

  “You can try,” she scoffed. Trajan leaned across the aisle and took her face in his hands. They were gentle the way she remembered. There were also shaking which made her think that maybe he was as nervous as she was.

  “You want to go to sleep. Every fibre of your being is feeling heavy,” he said calmly, “Stop fighting it. Go to sleep and know that you’re warm and safe. When you wake we will be in New Orleans.”

  Anya felt like she was falling, as his eyes locked on hers. She saw the darkness creeping into her vision; saw his open handsome face.

  “I miss you, Trajan,” she whispered and all went black.

  Anya woke with a start as the plane touched down. She felt disorientated and Trajan sat across from her pretending to read.

  “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she said huffily. He smiled and said nothing.

  The airport was crowded and hot. The humidity clung to Anya’s skin and she had to shed her coat in an effort to cool down. Music was playing loudly and kids were screaming all around her. People were joyously greeted mixed with sobs for those departing. As they walked through the doors and into the terminal, she felt two strong, familiar magic signatures in the room. Chayton and Honaw were walking towards them in jeans and cotton tee shirts. She squealed as Honaw lifted her into a fierce hug.

  “Don’t squeeze me too hard or I will pee,” she laughed. Honaw kissed her cheek and pointed her into the direction of the ladies bathrooms. As she washed her hands, she did a quick assessment of her appearance and cringed inwardly. Like divine intervention, Cerise glided into the ladies room.

  “I hate flying! It is pure havoc on a girl’s complexion,” she exclaimed. To Anya, she looked perfect as always. It made Anya feel completely helpless. Cerise smiled at her, “You poor thing, don’t worry. I will help.” Ten minutes later, Anya had make up on, a new silk top from Cerise and her hair magically de-frizzed and hanging in perfect waves.

  “You should’ve been a stylist,” Anya commented and managed a smile at her reflection.

  “Thought about it, figured I would put my time to better use. I like medicine because it is always changing whereas true style never does,” Cerise said as she touched up her red lipstick.

  “Thank you for coming here with me,” Anya said quietly. “I don’t think I could’ve handled losing you and Trajan.”

  “You haven’t completely lost him, Anyanka. Give him time. Besides, it’s New Orleans,” she smiled savagely at the name. “We are going to have so much fun, you wait and see.”

  “I hope so. I’m tired of being sad.” Cerise hugged her close and then refixed her hair.

  “Don’t worry about it. These things have a way of working out. Now, let’s go see where all my baggage has got to.”

  “Whoa! What did you girls get up to in there?” Izrayl teased. “You walked in as hags and came out hot.”

  “The magic of Cerise’s hands,” Anya said.

  “That is so dirty,” Hamish laughed. Izrayl smacked him in the back of the head.

  “Grow up, pervert,” Isabelle said as she pushed past him, “I called Harley. She has organised the cars we have ordered to be waiting at the hotel for us. I suggest we grab some taxis and get settled in.”

  “Listen to Isabelle taking charge,” teased Chayton.

  “This is my adopted city and I don’t want anything going wrong while we are here. There are a lot of supernaturals here and at least half of them are pissed off at me.”

  “Can’t imagine anyone being pissed off at you,” said Hamish under his breath. Anya tried not to smile as she followed the others out of the airport and into the moist tropical air. Winter was barely noticeable compared to Budapest. As one, they seemed to shed any extra layers.

  “God, it’s hot,” Anya said to herself aloud.

  “You will get used to it in a day or so. It was only two degrees when we left Budapest,” Aramis replied. He had been standing beside her and she hadn’t even noticed. His milky white skin was glowing in the sun. Instead of reflecting the light, he absorbed it. He still looked per
fect and uncreased in his suit, his trench coat over one arm. Her magic preened at him and she knew he felt it. She couldn’t hide it from him anymore.

  She still hadn’t spoken to him since they left Budapest and was feeling guilty about it. He had been trying to do the right thing breaking up her and Silvian. As for the elvianth, she didn’t even know what that was.

  “I’m staying in your room. If I’m around these loved up couples any longer, I am going to scream,” Aleksandra whispered on the other side of her. She looked haggard and physically exhausted. When they were alone, Anya was going to have a decent talk to her. According to Aleksandra, nothing had happened between her and Mychal but she was too sick for that to be true.

  They climbed into the back of a taxi and Aramis gave the driver directions. As they drove in silence, Anya put her head on Aramis’s shoulder. He didn’t push her off which was a start.

  “I’m sorry,” she said very quietly.

  Aramis seemed to breathe a sigh of relief before he said, “I am too.” He put his hand gently over hers. Her magic touched his and they mingled together gently in a touch of reassurance.

  At Cerise’s demand, their hotel was in the French Quarter and was of course the most opulent one that she could find. Anya was getting used to it but sometimes the money they liked to spend was mind-boggling.

  Anya and Aleksandra were placed in a suite together with doors separating their bedrooms and small sitting rooms. Their balcony was shared and was decorated with hanging ferns and bright fragrant flowers. She spotted Cerise having a cigarette on the one next over.

  “Keeping an eye out for Lestat, are you?” Anya teased her.

  “Very funny,” she called back. Anya noticed she didn’t try to deny it.

  Aleksandra was lying on her four-poster bed, her gloved hands wrapped tightly around a pillow. Anya kicked off her shoes and sat down next to her.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently. Aleksandra fiddled with the cross pendant on her necklace. Anya knew that there was about to be tears.