Ashes Reborn

by Keri Arthur

  “I doubt Luke was responsible for this,” I said. “It was probably done by the drug cartel using this place before he got here.”

  Jackson grunted. “I guess we’ve no choice but to keep searching and hope we find something we can get into.”

  We retreated and made a thorough search of the office. But there were no other exits, hidden or otherwise, and nothing in the way of computers, files, or paperwork of any kind. In fact, there was absolutely nothing other than the unmade bed and a lack of dust to even indicate this place had been used recently.

  “How many more floors has this building got?” I asked as we carefully made our way back to the stairwell.

  “Two,” Sam said, “including the rooftop.”

  “And the cloaks?”

  “If there are any more around, they’re certainly not moving.”

  “Which hopefully means the rest of the bastards are dead rather than just smelling like it.” Jackson thrust open the stairwell door and looked up. “All clear.”

  We made our way up to the next level, and with every step the stench increased, until it felt like we were breathing in a cesspit. The sphere of light cast orange shadows across the bare concrete walls, highlighting the long strings of cobwebs and sending all the spiders, except for the daddy longlegs, skittering away. There was nothing else here, nothing that gave any hint as to why that smell was so bad. Not that I really wanted a hint. Hell, I’d be more than happy to simply retreat and leave whatever it was alone. But I rather suspected neither PIT nor Rinaldo would appreciate such a move.

  The next door was locked. Jackson hit it with fire, melting the mechanism with a little more finesse than he’d used previously. The door swung open, and the stench immediately became a million times worse.

  “I really didn’t think we’d ever find anything that smelled worse than the decaying cloaks,” he said, slapping a hand over his nose. “But for fuck’s sake, this is vile.”

  Which was vastly underdescribing it, in my opinion. I’d never, in all my years of existence, smelled anything that came near the stench coming from this floor. Not even during the years when the Black Death was at its peak and the putrid corpses were tossed into the streets like any other rubbish.

  This wasn’t just the stench of diseased or rotting flesh; it was also thick with the smell of ammonia and shit.

  Swallowing heavily and trying not to breathe too deeply, I quickly spun more energy into the sphere and sent its light across the heavy darkness.

  What it revealed was as gruesome as the smell.

  The entire floor was a vast sea of human remains—not whole remains, but bits and pieces. There were decaying heads piled up in mounds and entrails hanging from the metal ceiling struts. Bones were scattered everywhere, many of them bearing teeth marks but all of them clean picked.

  “I think we just discovered one of the feeding pits for the cloaks,” Jackson said. “Although it could also be a rather awesome horror-movie set.”

  I took a couple of steps into the room, but stopped when the carpet began to squelch underfoot. I really, really, didn’t want to know what the black liquid that oozed away from my weight was.

  “This wasn’t always a feeding pit. Not initially, anyway.” I pointed at the nearest bones. “They’re human. The ones in the sewers were mostly animals.”

  “Maybe he simply ran out of animals.”

  “And maybe these cloaks were placed here to protect whatever might be hiding in the metal room below us, and they simply began to turn on one another when hunger became too great.” I waved toward the far side of the room. “I’m betting if we walked across, we’d see a hole that lines up perfectly with the portion of the ceiling that collapsed on me.”

  “That theory would make more sense if the collapse had happened in Luke’s office, not in an empty lab two floors down.”

  “Maybe he simply wanted to stop anyone long before they got anywhere near his office.” I shrugged. Luke was dead, so we were never going to really know what he’d intended here. “Shall we retreat to the roof and check that?”

  “What about the rest of that floor?” Sam cut in.

  “If you want this stinking cesspit checked, you can fucking do it. There’s not enough money on this entire planet to entice me to take another step into this room.” Jackson paused. “And anyway, it’s not like you’re paying us, is it?”

  “You’re not in jail or otherwise confined,” Sam bit back. “Right now, that’s payment enough.”

  Jackson snorted. “That would be a more acceptable answer if you weren’t also using us to do your dirty work.”

  “Gentlemen, enough.” The inspector’s tone was curt. “Emberly, if there’s nothing obviously related to the current search in that area, move on to the rooftop.”

  I stepped back into the stairwell and headed up. The rooftop door had been propped open by a large piece of metal, and the space beyond was littered with more body parts and dark pools of liquid. At least in the open air, the stench wasn’t so bad. We did a quick check of the entire area, but there was nothing else here beyond blood-sprayed satellite dishes and silent air-conditioning units.

  We reported all this and headed back down, detouring only to collect the three laptops we’d discovered. The cloaks that had littered the street in front of the building were gone; obviously, they were the ones I’d burned in the stairwell. The door leading into the old warehouse remained closed, but as we approached, its surface began to shimmer.

  “And that,” I said, “is warning enough that we’d better exit via the rubble pile.”

  Jackson immediately swung around and started heading toward it. “Wonder why the magic is still active? Rinaldo wants information, and he’s hardly going to get it by keeping us locked in—especially since the entire area is crawling with PIT and military personnel and not even a gnat could get in here right now.”

  “Maybe he’s not responsible for it. Maybe it was part of Luke’s trap.”

  “Luke was many things, but he wasn’t capable of magic,” Sam said.

  “Are you sure? Because he infected Frederick and the three witches, and maybe that connection enabled him to do minor magic.”

  “I don’t think the hive actually worked like that,” Sam replied. “If it did, he would have simply infected other scientists and passed the relative information to them from Baltimore and Wilson.”

  “Who says he hasn’t?” Jackson said. “For all we know, there’s a whole hive of scientists still working away in that metal box.”

  “Given there’s been no reports of other scientists being snatched, that’s extremely doubtful,” Sam said. “I’ll meet you out in the lane.”

  We began climbing the rubble. As I’d feared, it wasn’t exactly stable; bits of metal and brick slipped out from under each step and bounced down the steep slope, until it seemed half the pile was racing away from us.

  “This thing is going to collapse.” Jackson caught my hand. “Run.”

  We raced up the slope as it grew more and more fluid, until we almost seemed to be running through a river of metal, brick, and plaster. The flaming barrier of magic was pulsing, fading in and out of existence, as if the slide were also affecting it. Its magic burned across my skin as we tore through it, but it held little heat and certainly no threat. We began slipping—sliding—down the other side, and this time the rubble chased us, hitting our legs and backs with scary accuracy.

  It sounded like a goddamn express train was bearing down on us.

  Sam wasn’t waiting for us at the base, and we certainly couldn’t stop to look for him. As bigger and bigger bits of concrete began bouncing around us, Jackson tugged me over to the warehouse and all but threw me through the window. The laptop I was holding went flying as I did an awkward half roll and skidded on my back for several feet before coming to a halt hard up against the remains of a wall. I twisted around a
nd saw Jackson in midair. He rolled with a little more elegance than I, and somehow ended up standing. A heartbeat later, the entire wall shuddered as dust and small bits of stone came blooming through the window.

  “That was a little too close.” He walked across and offered me a hand. “You okay?”

  I nodded and let him haul me up. “Where are the laptops you had?”

  He grinned and tugged his somewhat loose bulletproof vest forward, revealing the slim sides of the two laptops. “Nice and safe. Yours?”

  I waved a hand in the general direction it had flown. “Over there somewhere.”

  “Actually,” Sam said as he appeared out of the gloom, “it hit me square in the chest and knocked the breath out of me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was deliberate.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know it wasn’t?”

  “Because you have the worst throwing arm I have ever seen.” His tone was dry. “I’ll take the rest of those laptops, Miller.”

  Jackson crossed his arms. “And what about Rinaldo? He threatened to send the cloaks into an infecting rampage if we didn’t hand over whatever information we found.”

  “I doubt there’re any cloaks left—”

  “He said he had the scientists,” I cut in. “And two men is enough to cause chaos. Do you and the inspector really want to risk that?”

  “No,” the inspector said before Sam could reply. “Hand over the laptops, Miller. We’re working on a solution.”

  “It had better be a good one.”

  He handed the laptops to Sam, who took them across to the window. A black-clad figure appeared, and fire sprung to my fingers before I realized he was military.

  Sam handed the soldier the three units, then said, “Laptops on their way, Inspector.”

  “Excellent. Remain where you are until otherwise advised.”

  “Remain where we are?” I echoed, “What the hell for?”

  “Because we’re undoubtedly being watched even if this is a controlled area.” The inspector’s voice was curt. “Until we know what is on the laptops, it’s better if no one is aware we’ve retrieved them.”

  “The minute anything leaves Brooklyn, Rinaldo will know about it.” Especially if he did have a mole in PIT’s ranks.

  “That is not a problem as the laptops are not leaving,” the inspector said. “We have specialists waiting in a nearby building. The hard drives will be cloned, then any pertinent information erased and the laptops returned to you.”

  Jackson snorted. “And you don’t think he’ll realize that’s happened?”

  “No, because you’ll be ‘escaping’ our clutches and finding your own way out of Brooklyn.”

  “There isn’t another way,” I said. “A bloody great trench surrounds the entire area, remember?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem for a being who can become flame or take a winged form,” Sam commented.

  So they knew about my firebird form. I wondered how, given it wasn’t something mentioned that much in all the myths about us. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night. I’m not about to risk outing myself by taking on a form that hasn’t been seen in centuries around these parts.” If it had ever been seen around these parts.

  “And it’s not like I can grow wings or become flame,” Jackson said. “So the trench remains a problem.”

  “I’m sure there’s enough rubble and scrap around to form a makeshift bridge,” the inspector said. “You have little choice, I’m afraid. Not if you wish to keep Rinaldo onside and endanger no one else.”

  And that was the shitty part of this whole situation. If we didn’t do as we were told, people would suffer. I already had the blood of one innocent on my hands; I really didn’t want any more.

  I sat back down. If we were going to be here for a while, then I might as well be comfortable.

  Sam stayed near the window, his arms crossed and his stance relaxed while Jackson prowled around like a caged animal. I closed my eyes and tried to catch some much-needed sleep; I must have succeeded, because when the inspector spoke again, I jumped.

  “The laptops have been cleansed and are on their way.” She’d barely finished saying that when the black-clad figure appeared at the window again and handed Sam a backpack. “Hardie Street provides the best exit point—the trench is slightly narrower there.”

  “Have the guards been warned we’re coming out?” I asked.

  “No. We need it to look like an authentic escape.” She paused. “Sensors have been placed on both sides of the trench. The minute you near it, the guards will be notified.”

  Meaning we’d be chased—and possibly even shot at. Wonderful.

  “Sam,” the inspector continued, “give them ten minutes, then report back to base.”

  “Will do.”

  “Oh, and, Jackson? Stop dumping the phone we gave you whenever you don’t want us to know your location. We need to be able to contact you on short notice.”

  “Noted.”

  In other words, he’d do what he damn well wanted, same as always. He flashed me a grin, then detached the com unit and undid the vest before dropping both on the ground. I did the same. Once we got out of Brooklyn, they would only attract unwanted attention.

  “Hardie Street runs off Francis. Follow it and you’ll come to the trench.” Sam handed Jackson the backpack. “The military aside, there’s no sign of movement in the whole area.”

  “And will the military stop us?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “What about the witch’s shield?”

  “It’s gone.”

  Meaning whatever had been used to anchor the spell in position had been part of the rubble pile. When it had collapsed, it had either shifted or destroyed the anchor and shorted out the rest of the spell.

  “I might just do a quick scout first,” Jackson said, handing me the pack. “Not that I don’t trust your intel, Turner, but, well, I don’t.”

  His grin flashed as he disappeared out the window.

  “I don’t know how you work with that bastard.” Sam turned his com unit off. “But his distrust at least gives you and me a chance to talk.”

  “And what do we have to talk about?” I crossed my arms and gave him a flat stare.

  “With our history? Plenty.” His voice was grim. “But the fact of the matter is we have to work together. I think it would be beneficial to clear the air.”

  Beneficial. It was such an inoffensive word but one that somehow had annoyance rising. “Again, why? Hasn’t everything that needs to be said already been said?”

  “Yes. No.” He thrust a hand through his short hair, and for the first time since I’d rescued him, I saw a hint of uncertainty. Maybe even a touch of vulnerability.

  Don’t read too much into it, that internal voice warned. Remember what he said in Brooklyn, and heed the warning.

  I might often ignore that inner voice when it came to matters of the heart, but not this time.

  “Damn it, Em,” he continued, “just meet with me once. Let me say what I need to say.”

  “Why can’t you say it here?”

  “Because Miller is on his way back, and I’d rather not have an audience. This is between the two of us. Not PIT, and certainly not him.”

  I hesitated. Meeting with Sam would be the stupidest move I could ever make. I knew that, but it didn’t stop the desire to say yes. If I heard what he had to say, then perhaps I could gain some sort of—if not resolution, then maybe peace—from the bitterness that still lay between us. And while Sam now understood the reason I’d had to be with Rory even though I’d sworn my love for him, his refusal at the time to listen to any sort of explanation remained a festering wound deep inside. Maybe if we sat down and talked about it like the adults we were both supposed to be, we could finally move on from the past.

  Not that I actu
ally could move on. He was it as far as this lifetime’s love was concerned. In all my many lifetimes, fate had never gifted me with a second chance. It never would; heartbreak was our destiny, our curse.

  I opened my mouth to agree, but what came out was a very flat, “No.”

  His expression tightened, but he didn’t say anything; he simply nodded and stepped back. The darkness wrapped around him like a blanket and snatched him from sight. It was a vampire trick the virus had gifted him with, and one that had both annoyance and disappointment surging. I guess part of me had been hoping he’d argue the point and try to change my “no” to a “yes.”

  But maybe his desire to meet had been nothing more than a token gesture on his part—something he felt he had to do to appease whatever emotion I’d briefly glimpsed, and one he’d known would be rejected.

  Whatever the reason, I doubted the offer would be repeated. Which was a good thing.

  And if I told myself that often enough, I might actually believe it.

  I spun around, hauled myself out the window, and strode up the street to meet Jackson.

  “Whoa,” he said, holding up his hands as if to ward me off. “Don’t aim all that fury at me.”

  “I’m not.” I kept on walking.

  “Good.” He swung in beside me and matched the length of his steps to mine. “What happened in the brief few moments that I was gone?”

  “Nothing.”

  “And that’s what you’re angry about?”

  I gave him a look. He merely grinned.

  “Do tell. Or shall I have to ferret away at your thoughts until I find out?”

  “Nothing happened, as I said. Now quit it so we can both concentrate on getting the hell out of here.”

  “The old saying, ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire,’ is decidedly appropriate right now, given you’re spitting flame all about the place.”

  I glanced down and saw that he was partially right. I wasn’t spitting fire, but every footstep unleashed a shower of fiery sparks. I laughed, as he’d no doubt intended, and reined the sparks in. “Did you find our exit?”

  He nodded. “I also checked out the trench. It’s just beyond leaping length.”