The Darkest Edge of Dawn cm-2

by Kelly Gay

  They were the same patterns on the warehouse walls, and the same odd script I kept seeing beneath my skin.

  “It’s a coffin,” Hank whispered.

  I eyed the enormous agate box. “You don’t think that’s …”

  “Solomon? No, I don’t. If there’s a body in there, it could be an old priest of Solomon’s, a jinn, or it could hold a very powerful object. Agate is said to mask power.”

  “Or it could hold the star Llyran has been going on about.”

  It was obvious the thing hadn’t been opened. It was perfectly aligned. No crowbar marks of any kind. Not a single scratch that I could see. But then again, some beings had the power to move things without the use of tools. The stone was incredible, the undulating waves of honey, flaxen, and tawny yellows ringed with jagged cream lines and flecks that sparkled in the light.

  “Tennin has to be involved,” I said tightly. “Llyran has the ring. Tennin has this … whatever the hell it is.”

  “Tennin is a jinn. His association with Solomon is only natural if what Cerise said is true … Question is, are they working together?”

  “Well, if they’re not, Tennin’s got his hand in it, playing the situation somehow.” And he sure as hell wasn’t dumb enough to leave his property unprotected like this … unless it was a set-up or he wanted us to find it.

  A bang echoed from somewhere in the warehouse.

  “Shit!” I whispered, spinning around as my eyes quickly scanned the room. At the far end was a long wall of closets. We hurried over and ducked in the open side as a cloaked figure swept into the room and immediately went to the stone sarcophagus.

  Please don’t let him sense us. Please.

  I did my best to envision my usual black curtain sliding over my aura as I watched the figure kneel down and bow his hooded head. Then, nothing. We stayed like that for at least five minutes before Hank nudged my arm. We needed to find out who was beneath that cloak. I turned sideways and eased through the space. Once out, I squared my shoulders, took a few quick breaths, and then marched purposefully across the floor.

  “Put your hands on the back of your head,” I said a few feet behind the figure. The head slowly lifted and then stilled. I repeated my request.

  The figure stood, rising to a height similar to my own. I felt Hank’s presence behind me, and knew he’d have his Nitro-gun pulled.

  “I’m going to ask one more time …”

  The figure didn’t listen and instead turned, the face shadowed in the darkness of the hood. Slim bare hands reached up and pulled the hood back.

  “Bryn?”

  I squeezed my eyelids closed and then opened them again.

  My sister?!

  Her features seemed glazed over as though just waking from a dream. The moment realization hit her, she went white and tears sprung to her confused eyes, sliding down both cheeks.

  “Bryn,” I repeated, grabbing her arm, “what the hell are you doing here?”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t know, Charlie. I don’t know.”

  During the drive back to the station, Bryn wouldn’t speak. She just cried softly as I sat there cycling through fear, shock, betrayal, concern. I finally gave up trying to talk to her, instead shooting glances in the rearview mirror to check on her, to see if that was truly my sister sitting back there.

  Once we were back at Station One and in our office, I helped Bryn remove the cloak. Her aura, oddly enough, was completely blank. Totally unreadable. She sat down in the chair that Hank had pulled from the many extras littering our space, put her hands in her lap, and waited as I leaned my hip on the edge of my desk.

  “Guess I’ll start,” I finally said. “Who the hell are you and what have you done to my sister?”

  Bryn frowned. “Ha ha, Charlie.”

  “Okay, then explain to me what you were doing in a warehouse that Grigori Tennin owns, worshipping some sarcophagus.”

  She squirmed in the chair and her cheeks flushed. “I told you, I don’t know. I don’t even know how I got there.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, in complete disbelief. At her words. At the fact that she was here. What the hell had happened to her? “You really don’t know.”

  “No, okay? I don’t. I told you already, but in case you weren’t listening: I don’t remember going there. I don’t remember putting on this stupid cloak. And I don’t remember kneeling down at some stone box. Get it? I. Don’t. Remember.”

  I let my eyelids flutter closed. I counted to three. “Did you go to the support group meeting this morning? Do you remember that?”

  “Yes. I did. We all talked afterward, had coffee and Krispy Kremes, and then I left. I don’t remember anything after that.”

  “What about when you were in the warehouse, in front of the sarcophagus?” Hank said. “Anything? Even emotions will help.”

  Bryn bit her bottom lip, her brows scrunched together. “I don’t know, I felt … relieved … impatient … wanting to see her.”

  “See who?” I asked.

  Bryn blinked. “What?”

  “You said ‘her.’ You wanted to see her.”

  “Oh.” Bryn’s face twisted in confusion and she rubbed both hands down her face, leaving her palms over her eyes for a moment before dropping them in her lap. “I don’t know. The person inside the tomb, I guess.” She suddenly threw her hands in the air. “Don’t ask me. I don’t even know why I said that.”

  “Bryn,” I said carefully, “I think you should see an exorcist.”

  She shot up from the chair. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think I’m possessed! No way. Forget it. I’ve gone to two of those damn ash meetings—I’m not going to an exorcist.” She paced back and forth, completely shell-shocked and disgusted at the thought. “You really think I’m possessed? Look at me. Look at me! I’m not. I know I’m not. The only thing that could possess me is a Wraith. Revenants contract first—Wraiths don’t. Wraith possession changes your eyes to glow-in-the-dark green. Do my eyes look glow-in-the-dark green to you, Charlie?” She forced down a swallow, her jaw tight as she tried valiantly to stay calm, but the tears were there, they just hadn’t spilled over yet.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, her anguish tugging at my heart. “You’re not possessed.” I went to her and hugged her tightly because I couldn’t help myself. My sister was in pain and didn’t know the hows and whys. “Something else is wrong, then. We’ll find out what it is, okay?”

  She nodded against me, her entire body trembling. “You believe me, don’t you? I need you to believe me, Charlie.”

  I stroked Bryn’s hair. She smelled the same. Felt the same.

  “Yes. I believe you.” I looked over her shoulder to Hank. “Let’s get a surveillance team on the warehouse, see if anyone else shows up. I’ll take Bryn home.”

  I drove Bryn back to her apartment and escorted her straight into bed. Then I called Aaron.

  He arrived on the landing outside of Bryn’s door ten seconds after I called, a perk of being a Magnus mage. I let him in, being as quiet as possible. His strong face was pale and shadowed. I had to put my hand on his chest to stop him from going right into the bedroom, but the damn nymph instantly transformed into a black wolf, his clothing disappearing, and loped around me.

  Well, that was just great. Usually Aaron was one of the more controlled nymphs I knew, which came from his dedication and study as a Magnus-level warlock. But control obviously didn’t have a place when it came to my sister. Those two had a history neither one would talk about.

  I followed him into Bryn’s dark bedroom. He stood at the side of the mattress, staring at her for a long time before looking back at me, his eyes catching the light behind me and glowing green. Emerald green. With that strong Celtic face, tough muscled frame, and black hair, I wasn’t surprised at all that his animal form was a black wolf.

  Aaron shifted back to nymph, a process that took less than three seconds, calling his clothes to his body in less time than that. He stood at the bed dressed a
s before, his head bowed, all of his attention on Bryn. He mumbled under his breath. A current of energy electrified the air, making it waver for a moment. Then he turned to me. “I put her in a deep sleep. She won’t wake up until I say so.”

  “What do you think is wrong with her?”

  “I detect no evidence of possession by either a Wraith or Revenant.”

  “Well, those are the only two beings that I know of that can possess a person. So what now? Mind control? Llyran is powerful, but why would he make Bryn bow down in front of an agate sarcophagus?”

  Aaron’s brow raised in surprise. Concern settled over his features as he escorted me from the bedroom, closing the door quietly. “Are you sure it was agate?”

  “I’m sure, and it had the same script around the rim that’s written on the warehouse wall; why?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, his face shifting into deep contemplation. “That star your victim mentioned …”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been doing some research … The star is synonymous with Ahkneri or the Sword of Ahkneri. Most often these two are interchangeable, as though they are one and the same—the being and the sword.”

  “Llyran mentioned raising ‘the star.’ Could he mean liberating this sword? Is that possible?”

  A sharp laugh, devoid of humor, escaped Aaron’s pursed lips. His head shook. “You think it’s bad now with the darkness … Supposedly, the weapon is divine, Charlie. Ahkneri was the Creator’s chosen one, a First One, his ‘star,’ but some unknown transgression caused a rift between them. Ever since that rift, she was known as … how do I put this … as Vengeance. Retribution. Punishment. The sword is a named weapon, which means it is divine in nature. It’s called Urzenamelech, which loosely translates into ‘Anguish by fire’ in your language. You transgress, and you answer to the blade.”

  “That’s a little dramatic.”

  “No, that’s me putting it mildly. Llyran must believe in the myths. And he might for good reason. Better to believe as he does for now. To think like him. If it is true … He’ll think he can handle it, but he has no idea what he’s about to unleash. Charlie, you need to strike him down, and fast. And if the weapon does, indeed, lie inside that tomb, do not touch it. It’ll kill you. Instantly.”

  “Great,” I said. “Then I’ll let Llyran open it and when he grabs it, he’ll be dead. End of story.”

  “No, it’s not ‘end of story.’ If Llyran wrote that script on the warehouse wall, then it’s likely he knows a great deal about the myths in the Old Lore. He’ll know he can’t touch it. Only a divine being can wield the sword.” Aaron’s eyes widened. “That’s why he needs you. That’s why he changed his plans after searching your mind. And that’s why you can’t touch it, because you’re only halfway there, if that, if my theory about you is even correct. Either way, touching that sword means you die.”

  I rubbed my temples and muttered, “God, this is making my head hurt.” I looked up. “None of this explains why Bryn was there in that warehouse, and what Llyran’s connection to Grigori Tennin is, or what Solomon and his artifacts have to do with a First One.”

  Aaron shook his head, black hair falling over his profile and obscuring my view. “May I stay here tonight?” His green eyes had become glassier, more worried than I’d ever seen them.

  “Sure. I think that’s a good idea.”

  “I’ll need to retrieve a few things from the League and then I’ll be back.” He paused. “How is Emma doing?”

  “She’s fine. Mad, but fine.” I shook my head. “I’m at a loss with her …”

  “Sometimes, Charlie, the best thing you can do for those you love is give them the freedom their spirit craves. When it’s a child, it’s a give and take, but she’s a smart child, and that’s because of you. Trust her. Trust yourself. It’ll work out.”

  I gave him a halfhearted nod and then watched him stride to the front door, one second a physical body, and then, the next, a mist that vanished, clothes and all, into the door. For a long moment I stared at the spot, my mind a total blank. I was tired and hungry, and didn’t know what to do next. But I could eat.

  I grabbed a water from the fridge, and the half-eaten bag of Doritos that I’d bought for Bryn the day before, and then slumped into the loveseat and finished the bag.

  15

  Aaron shook me awake. I must’ve been more tired than I thought because I’d drifted into a sleep deep enough to dream—a dream that kept repeating scenes of Emma running away, me falling forty-six stories, and the sunken corpse of Daya sneering at me with bloody lips. A glance at the clock told me that I’d only been out for twenty minutes.

  The apartment was so quiet I could hear the muted sounds of Underground from beyond the brick walls. As I roused myself, Aaron went into the kitchen and began cleaning up, packing up the overflowing trash and taking care of business as silently as possible.

  I stayed in the loveseat for a moment, letting the fog of my dreams clear. We needed answers. Needed to find Llyran and stop him from doing whatever the hell he was planning. But how the hell did you find a guy who could pop in and out of thin air? I grabbed my phone and texted Hank.

  Where are you?

  Home. Why?

  I’m coming over.

  I pushed off the couch and went into the bathroom. The light brought tears to my eyes, a big contrast from the darkness of the apartment. After they adjusted, I washed my hands and then pulled my hair into a ponytail, using a borrowed band and tucking one side of my bangs behind my ear. I straightened my T-shirt, a black stretchy V-neck, and adjusted the charm necklace Bryn had made for me, the small disk nestling in the center of my cleavage.

  Once I returned to the living room, I secured my shoulder holster and grabbed my jacket. “I’ll be back,” I told Aaron as he stood at the sink, washing utensils. He nodded and then returned to his task. “Call me if you need to.”

  It was a short ten-minute walk from Mercy Street to Helios Alley. I was tempted to stop at the bakery, but kept going instead. Helios Alley was lively, in the midst of the dinner rush, but it didn’t have any effect on me; inside I felt quiet and very much alone. After I passed the butcher shop I slowed my pace as I came to Off-world Exotic Pets and next to it, Skin Scripts, a tattoo, branding, piercing, and ceremonial marking parlor.

  In the window of the pet shop, a gargoyle pup slept in a cage next to a moon snake, and I shivered despite the distance and safety—the one at Ebelwyn’s apartment had totally freaked me out.

  Skin Scripts also had a glass front where passersby could watch a patron get inked or branded, but most would agree the ceremonial markings were the best ones to watch. Done with the freshly cut twig of a Throne Tree shaved to a needle-fine point, the inside of which dripped an indigo-colored substance, the mark was scratched into the skin to form intricate symbols relating to vows, religion, or anything that was binding. And once the marks were made, there was no turning back—you were forever bound. Go back on your chosen vow and the Throne Tree ink embedded in your skin turned to poison.

  Today, however, the patron inside, a young human male—a college student if I had to guess—was getting pierced in the navel by a darkling fae artist.

  133 Helios Alley was accessed by a tall, black door sandwiched between the pet shop and Skin Scripts, the apartment above running the length of both businesses. I pressed the buzzer. “It’s open,” Hank’s deep voice crackled through the small speaker.

  With a fortifying deep breath, I opened the door and jogged up the hardwood stairs. At the landing, I paused briefly, about to knock and ready myself, but the door swung open.

  Hank stood in the doorway in an untucked white dress shirt, rolled to the elbows and open at the neck, with a tumbler glass filled with amber liquid and ice in his hand. He wore jeans, with a hole just above the right knee and the ends frayed to white threads at his feet, which were bare. He stood aside, inviting me into a professionally decorated apartment that struck me as being more a showplace t
han an actual lived-in home.

  “You cleaned,” I said. Last time I’d been here, it looked like a cyclone had hit.

  “Zara had it cleaned.”

  He closed the door behind me. “Just grabbing some dinner. Figured we were going out again after you took care of Bryn.”

  I followed him across hardwood floors and into the kitchen with its cherry cabinets, stainless steel everywhere, and a smooth cream and black marbled countertop. He stood behind the counter where an entire array of lunch meats, condiments, and toppings had been dumped. After a long drink, he set the glass down. “You want a sandwich?”

  My stomach growled. Obviously the Doritos hadn’t cut it. “Sure.” I removed my jacket and my weapons harness, setting them on the stool next to me. “Just fix me whatever you’re making. What are you drinking?”

  “Yrrebé.”

  I made a face. The Elysian drink made from the Yrrebé root was not a favorite of mine. Way too bitter for my tastes. “That stuff is nasty.” And strong. “How many have you had?”

  “Three. You want a beer or something?”

  “I wish.” Unfortunately, I didn’t have the liver function of a siren. Alcohol went through their system so quickly that Hank could drink three Yrrebé on the rocks, experience a buzz, and be fine within the hour without any ill effects. “Why do you even bother?”

  He shrugged. “Because it tastes good, and it helps me relax. Here, have a soda, then.” He pulled a Mountain Dew from the fridge and handed it to me. “How’s Bryn doing?”

  Hank had to possess the same kind of crazy metabolism I did because he was in the process of making the biggest sandwich I’d ever seen in my life. It didn’t seem like he had any rhyme or reason to what he was doing either. Just picking pieces of lunch meats, piling them onto giant kaiser rolls, and building higher and higher …