Daughter of Souls & Silence

by Annie Anderson

  “It’s my sister, Ian. Would you leave your brother behind? Would you let him die alone and scared because you were a little hurt? No. You wouldn’t. So, don’t tell me I’m not going. I’m going. Either with you, or through you, but I’m going to find my sister,” I seethe through gritted teeth.

  “I’m not saying don’t help her. Let me and Aidan go. We can find your sister.”

  He’s talking reason, but I’m not having it. I don’t know what mess my sister is in, and I’m not leaving her to Fate at the hands of Ian and Aidan. At this point, Aidan would rather let me and my sister die just to protect his brother. I can understand the sentiment, but it doesn’t instill much confidence in me being left behind.

  “Aidan would rather throw me off this roof than let you go back out there and stick your neck out for me.”

  Can I blame him? No, no I can’t. Ian’s face is still healing, the purple almost black around the inside of his eyes, the swelling still there if faint. There are probably even more wounds I can’t see under his black t-shirt and green hoodie. More than I can’t even dare to think about.

  A concussion and probably a bruised lung. That’s what Aidan said. Ian might be up and around, but he actually wasn’t much better off than I am.

  “Let’s call him, then,” he taunts, tugging the bag fully out of my hands while he dials the phone. This time I don’t try to get the bag back. It’s too big of a feat to stay standing, the dizziness seeming to seep into every part of my brain.

  Blood loss can just fuck right off.

  Not a second later, Aidan arrives on the rooftop in a swath of black smoke.

  “Weren’t you leaving town?” he offers in greeting as he traipses to us, the confident swagger of a man with zero fucks to give.

  Even if he’s wearing a beanie on his head.

  In August.

  “My sister needs my help, but your brother won’t let me go alone. Since standing is a bit of a problem, I can’t exactly say no to the offer. You coming?”

  Aidan’s expression goes from taunting to speculative to concerned. Ahh, so he does still have a heart underneath it all. Good to know.

  “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Twelve

  MAX

  Touching down on the pavement, I barely avoid giving into my burning need to vomit. I hate traveling with Aidan, and the sadistic bastard only seems amused by my inherent motion sickness where this particular Wraith ability is concerned.

  Resting my hands on my knees, I take deep breaths to avoid all my internal organs hitting the sidewalk, and pray a little to any God, deity, or power that be that will keep me from chuffing on the pavement. Luckily, someone listens – either that or my equilibrium finally settles from having all my molecules ripped apart and put back together wrong.

  When I can breathe again, I take stock of the deserted street. There are two very different parts to Denver’s warehouse district. The trendy, gentrified parts, and the deserted war zone looking parts. Every city has them, the places no one up to any sort of good wants to go. It makes so little sense why my family would be here, but since we’re less than a full city block from Aether, the stretch isn’t exactly thin.

  I examine each building, looking for the telltale signs of warding sigils or hex lines. Something, anything that says a Witch has been there. I’d take a neon sign spelling out the word ‘trap’ at this point. Walking west is my only option on this dead-end road, and I begin scanning each building for the luminescent pale silver hex lines that only I seem to be able to see.

  I’ll never forget when Caim found out I could see and smell magics. I’d never felt so odd before, and that’s saying something. Honestly, tattooing ‘freak’ on my forehead would be a time saver for everyone.

  Each building has the façade of a crumbling wreck, and no doubt some actually are, but others aren’t what they seem – I know that much. I might not be able to completely see past their glamours, but I can see enough of the magic to know they are there. Granted there is enough ‘go away’ magic to fill the ocean, but those spells don’t always work on me.

  I blame the half-breed Demon mojo for that.

  But I’m looking for something specific. The silvery warding lines from a Witch, which would surpass any glamour for security. But it’s tough to see past the two men who seem to be trying to keep me from my end goal. Aidan and Ian both shadow my unsteady steps, one behind and one in front, in a dumb as shit protection sandwich that I want no part of.

  I catch a bright spot out of the corner of my eye, flickering hex lines of a ward that is slowly dying.

  “There,” I point and take off running, drawing the energy from pure adrenaline alone. Or maybe from the scant amount of hope that still lingers in me.

  I make it ten feet from the deserted husk of a building before Ian drags me back, his thick arm catching me by the middle. As someone who has never required permission from anyone, this new turn of events pisses me right off.

  “That’s a warding line. I see the hex marks,” I try to explain before losing all patience and whisper hiss, “Let me go, you idiot!”

  Ian’s arm goes slack, but he doesn’t quite let me go.

  “Do you have any idea how many Ethereals are in this part of town? Hundreds, maybe thousands. Just because you see warehouses and crumbling buildings, doesn’t mean they are actually there,” Aidan chimes in, and I’m so happy to have a Wraith explain Witch things to me.

  For real. It’s my favorite.

  This takes mansplaining to a whole new level.

  I resist rolling my eyes and punching him in the jaw again by sheer force of will alone. “I know. I can see past the glamours. I can also see the hex lines of a ward, and the sigils look familiar, so…” I trail off looking pointedly at the arm still circling my middle.

  Aidan gives Ian the man nod, a pretentious little chin tip, and I have to force myself not to light them both on fire. I maneuver closer to the building, careful not to step on a hidden ward or sigil which is tough to do when there is trash and grime everywhere. Carefully, I approach the peeling wood of a door that looks like it’s holding onto its hinges by a wing and a prayer, as I study the familiar hex lines keyed only to a specific bloodline, a hopeful smile curving my lips.

  Teresa Alcado never could figure out how to keep me out.

  Debating for half a second, I try to decide whether I should pluck the lines and let everyone in, or just walk right through the ward and leave the brothers behind. Tickled at the thought, I pick door number two, their curses following me in the building as I turn an ancient knob to the equally old door.

  Inside, the furnishings are quite a bit nicer, that is to say, the ceilings are complete, and I can’t see the sky. But while the walls and floor are new, freshly painted or papered, the room is a total wreck.

  An antique red velvet settee is turned on its back, one leg hanging precariously by a thin splinter. One lone overhead light casts deep shadows on the broken remnants of the room, the smell of ozone from spent magic is high in the air. Walls are cracked, the plaster bowed or in rigid peaks as if it were exposed to a flash fire or an extreme heat. An upholstered chair lays on its side far from the circle of seating, its fabric slashed to ribbons. Smashed glass from broken lamps litter the thick pile Persian rug, their remnants lying broken, their cords wrapped around table legs like coiled whips.

  But Maria isn’t here.

  Not in this room anyway, and I’m hesitant to carry on further if this is what the living room looks like. I can’t sense another presence, and that is the part that scares me most of all.

  Retracing my steps, I head back out of the ward and begin plucking the hex lines apart. I can feel the brothers’ stare, but I don’t explain – can’t explain what’s inside.

  They have to see it for themselves.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Ian’s hot whisper hits my ear along with the warmth of his breath. But it isn’t just his breath I feel, no. His rage presses into me like a smothering bla
nket.

  “Nope. Just tired of you two keeping me from doing my job. I thought I could go in there and get her but…” I trail off shrugging as I pluck another hex line and watch as it fades away.

  “But what?” Aidan asks from behind me.

  “She isn’t in the living room, and the place is blown to shit,” I murmur, plucking four or five lines at a time, trying to get the ward down faster. “If she’s in there, I can’t feel her. If I can’t feel her, then something else could be in there too. Hence me unraveling these stupidly complex warding lines so we can all go in to be murdered.”

  Last one, I think and pluck the lone remaining hex line.

  “Okay, it’s down. Give me my weapons,” I order Ian, who's holding my bag.

  He unceremoniously drops it at my feet, and I crouch to dig through it, grabbing the throwing knives, bone knife, rope dart, and the athame. I don’t know what’s in there, and honestly, I hope I don’t find out. But just in case I do, I want to be armed. I tuck the athame back in its spine sheath, stuff the throwing knives in my bootie, snap the clasp on the bone knife holster around my waist, and wrap the rope dart around my wrist, tucking my index and middle fingers in the loop of the push dagger.

  Aidan seems to already be through the door, and I move to follow him when Ian stops me.

  “You be careful. Stay behind us, and no cowboy martyr bullshit. I will knock you out to keep you safe, don’t fucking try me.”

  More Wraith bullshit.

  Like my life matters when Maria is hurt or dying. Like my breath is more important than hers. I feel my magic rise in me, the crackling sort of power that flows from my chest, down my arms manifesting in green-hued molten fire skating over my fingertips.

  “You get in between me and finding my little sister, so help me, I will put you down. I can’t die. She can. Don’t fuck with my family, Ian,” I volley back, my threat palpable in the scant space between us.

  Ian takes a step back, hurt tracing over his face before he masks it. I want to be sorry, but I’m not. I’m not sorry for needing to protect my sister. I’m not sorry for being willing to give my life – such as it is – for hers. Ian might not realize it now, but he’d do the same for Aidan. He’d steamroll anyone in his path to keep his brother alive.

  Even me.

  He heads into the building behind Aidan. The room is just as decimated as before, only slightly more illuminated by the green tinge of my magics that I can’t seem to suppress.

  And I feel nothing.

  Not my sister, not another presence.

  Just… nothing.

  That is until a tiny flare of something to my left pricks at my consciousness. Like a flickering flame, it sputters, ready to die out. I don’t think, I run – past Ian and Aidan, and wrench open a battered door. Only with the added light of my magics so I now notice the faint smear of blood leading to the door as if someone was either dragged there, or maybe… if someone crawled there herself.

  I don’t see her at first, the closet too dark that even the feeble light from the room and my magic does nothing to penetrate it. Icy chills rake up my spine. This blackness is too big, too thick. Something is here, cloaking her, hiding her. My only hope is I have enough juice in me to knock the darkness back.

  “Detrahet me in lucem,” I mutter, a faint breathy whisper of hope. Bring me light.

  And then she’s there, curled up in a bloody ball covered in heavy coats and furs. If it weren’t for the blood, she’d look so much like the sleeping child I left behind all those years ago.

  “She’s here,” I whisper yell, alerting the boys so we can get the hell out of here.

  I reach for her, ready to pull her from that abyss of a coat closet when a hard body knocks me away, slamming me into the floor. I try to breathe, but all the air is sucked away by a putrid, rotting flesh smelling... thing. I can’t see what attacked me, but if I were to take a guess a zombie wouldn’t be far off.

  Not that I think zombies are real, but if they were, this is exactly what they’d smell like. I reach for the rope dart, re-coiling it around my wrist, ready to let the dagger fly as I scan the room for what hit me. All I see is Ian and Aidan back to back, blades drawn and braced. Aidan is bleeding from a gash in his upper arm, and Ian is unsteady on his feet.

  There are too many shadows in this room. Too many places for things to hide.

  “Detrahet me in lucem,” I command, my magic rising in me and exploding from my fingers like the sun.

  The spell bathes the room in light, the sources coming from all directions all angles so that there are barely any shadows, and oh, how I wish I could unsee what resides in them. Crouched in a corner is a monster if I ever saw one. Naked, pasty flesh of a human body, the head of a crow missing its feathers, talons instead of fingers, hooves instead of feet. Ripped from the very depths of Hell, this is something that should have stayed in the dark. Its talons grip the sheetrock as if it is gearing up, preparing itself to launch.

  And then it does, pushing off its great hooves, bypassing the brothers, talons reaching not for them.

  But for me.

  It’s fast, darting towards me like a missile. The rope dart leaves my fingers before I ever tell it to fly, sailing around the monster’s neck, the short blade of the push dagger imbedding into the flesh there. Black blood as thick as tar pours from the wound, but all I’ve seemed to do is give it a leash for me, a tether to yank me from my feet.

  And it does, it so does.

  It reels me in until I have enough sense to let the rope go, but my hesitation means I’m down again, and all too quickly it’s on me, taloned hands gripping my upper arms as it looks me over. Intelligent, ruthless eyes assess me and quickly find me lacking, the crow’s head emitting a coughing sort of bird chuckle. It’s mocking, derisive and if the human shaped part of him had anatomy, I’d kick him right in the nuts.

  Too bad he doesn’t have any.

  You think you can best me, child? I’ve been rending flesh from bone before humans even existed. There is no torture that I cannot create and no punishment out of my reach. You will not kill me, child. Not with your puny Witch weapons.

  “What do you want, then? A cookie?”

  “Who the fuck are you talking to?” Ian whispers, and it takes a second to realize that they can’t see what I can. They can’t see this monster holding me hostage.

  They cannot see me, silly girl. That’s part of my charm. People fear more what they cannot see, cannot perceive, so much more than what they can.

  I highly doubt if someone saw this monster they wouldn’t fear him. Not unless they were stupid.

  Tell them to leave. You can even have them save your baby sister. But you’re staying here with me. We need to have a chat.

  I nod, and the bird-human-horse man lets me go.

  “Aidan, get your brother and grab my sister and get the fuck out of this house. Now,” I order, my voice low and as calm as I can make it. Ian wouldn’t do what I need him to, but Aidan? I know he will – he won’t even hesitate.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Ian hisses as his brother herds him to the closet.

  Aidan reaches, pulling my sister’s limp body from its depths, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Not because I’ll be okay. I highly doubt I’ll come out of this unscathed.

  But because the people I care about will.

  Chapter Thirteen

  MAX

  I don’t bother looking behind me. I know what I’ll see if I do. Ian’s hurt, maybe enraged face as his brother pulls him from the room. Maria’s blood-covered face, her body barely clinging to life.

  I don’t need to look. I’m too busy standing in between the monster and my family. Too concerned with keeping his beak on this side of the room.

  “I’m coming back, Max, and you better be alive when I do,” Aidan calls from the door, his voice like an ice bath of vengeance and promise.

  The last traces of my power crackles in my hands as I look over my shoulder, Aidan’s coal black W
raith eyes taking over the green, bleeding into the white sclera, piercing me where I stand. I only say one word, but it’s enough to shock even Aidan who probably cares the least about anyone except his brother.

  “Don’t.”

  I turn back to the crow Demon, staring him down. Preparing myself in case he decides to go back on his offer of letting them go. If it came down to it, he would win. Probably. Aidan might have taught me a few new tricks in the last month or so, but training with him is a far sight different than fighting a Demon in real life. Thankfully, this Demon in particular doesn’t seem to want to feast on my flesh.

  At least now right now.

  I feel it crackle in the air when they leave, my body bereft of them even though I wanted them to go.

  “Okay, they’re gone. What do you want?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s a dumb stance, Aidan has told me so on a number of occasions, telling me to always be loose, ready. But I can’t right now.

  Relax, child, I am not your enemy. I take that back. I could be your enemy if you don’t give me what I want.

  No shit. That’s the beak of a carrion bird if I ever saw one. Mr. Crow Man would eat me without a second thought and we both know it. “And that is?”

  The blade, girl. Why else would I drag myself up to this frigid place? My master wants, I retrieve. It’s not that complicated.

  He’s right. It isn’t complicated at all. I don’t even consider it. Not after what I saw come out of the bone blade, not after what I felt. It is a soul stealer, and I won’t let it fall into the wrong hands.

  Not again.

  “No.”

  Miraculously, the naked crow face morphs into what I assume is shock. I didn’t think birds could have expressions, but hey, you learn something new every day.