King of Ash and Bone
Melissa Wright
Copyright © 2017 by Melissa Wright
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Smashwords Edition
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Contents
King of Ash and Bone
I. Iron Bound
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
II. Painted Lions
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
III. Coming Home
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
The Story Continues…
Also by Melissa Wright
Acknowledgments
About the Author
King of Ash and Bone
Part I
Iron Bound
Chapter 1
It started with a crack. A roll of thunder. It might have been any other storm. It might not have been world-altering.
And then came the howl—the roar of wind like a train blasting past just outside—and the rush of air as it was stolen from their living room. Mackenzie opened her mouth to scream for her brother, to tell him to take cover, but they could barely make out the debris pelting the windows and the creaking shift of the house’s wood frame over the noise. He looked at her, eyes wide, and she had a remembered flash of terror, of a younger Riley calling her name during a long ago car crash.
“Kenzie!” His voice broke through now, a desperate shout in the squall of the tempest, and she was running, both of them frantic as they headed for the safety of the basement. She shoved him through the hallway, his arms rising to cover his face as the kitchen door slammed open, throwing leaves and limbs and dirt onto a rain-slicked linoleum floor. The sight seemed wrong to her, so unnatural against the lifelong image of it clean. And there was something on the wind, some strange mix of ozone and cinnamon that burned her nose, that made her wonder if lightning had struck outside. But there had been no flash. Only darkness. Wind.
The roar.
“Go!” she yelled, but Riley couldn’t hear her. He was seventeen, but suddenly a boy again, shielding his face from a coming blow. She had to force him through the door that led downstairs. Her eyes caught on the wooden trim, the peeling paint and the worn metal of the lock chain.
Mackenzie gripped her brother’s arm, pulling him with her down the basement steps. It was dark, and damp, and the tearing wind was louder than the pulse that thundered in her head. She shoved him toward the heating system where it fronted a small concrete alcove she’d been terrified of as a kid. Riley wasn’t a child, but she held him to her, covered his ears to shield him from the otherworldly scream of uprooted wood and twisting metal, waiting for the fury to cease.
It didn’t cease. It carried on and on, growing wilder, bringing with it strange scents and inhuman shrieks. Light flickered through the cracks, electricity buzzed and popped in an overhead fixture that hadn’t worked in years. It was a horror film, and the buildup of fear had them hearing things they could not have heard. Between the wail of the storm, rending metal and screams had given way to harsh shouts in a foreign tongue, and to cries in their own language that did not feel recognizable. The words were familiar, but wrong. They did not make sense. Creatures. Demons. Flying men. The fear, she told herself. It was fear and adrenaline and nothing else. The storm had caused explosions, from gas lines or electricity. They were hearing things that were not truly there.
Mackenzie had no idea how long the tempest’s rage lasted, though she would relive it in a thousand nightmares. She and Riley stayed there through the night, huddled together until the trembling in their limbs had exhausted them both. But they didn’t sleep.
There was something in the air that warned them, some unknowable thing that swore: this was no true storm.
In the purpled light of dawn, they climbed slowly from their alcove, stepping clumsily over a debris-scattered floor. Neither of them spoke as Riley freed the jammed door from its frame, and they each stepped into what had once been their home.
Light came from spaces in the structure, casting shadows in unfamiliar paths. The doors had all blown open, leaves and limbs and dirt cast about. It was reminiscent of a tornado—or at least of the photos she’d seen. But that didn’t account for the pattern of the damage, for the broken bits of house that shared space with those that were intact and clean.
Riley stared out a window edged with shattered glass. A few of the neighbors were assessing their own homes, moving awkwardly out into the street. Mackenzie must have been in shock, because the idea they might need help came slowly, moving at a speed behind that of her feet.
She walked through her front door and onto a concrete step, crushing a feather beneath the sole of her shoe. The plume was long, and golden, and absolutely not from a bird. Thin flecks of red touched its edges, too sharp, too unnatural. She had a brief moment of confusion, of trying to piece together what it might have been, and then Riley made a noise beside her… some unidentifiable, guttural thing.
She looked up, and saw the devastation.
The neighbors hadn’t walked from their homes, they had walked from the places their homes had been. Mackenzie stared into the lightening sky, because the sky was all that was left. Nothing remained of the houses around them, except for piles of wood and trees. Overturned cars and twisted metal, chunks of plastic in pink and green. It didn’t make any sense. Her eyes could not adjust to it, her mind would not let her see. It was disorienting, dizzying.
She leaned on Riley for support. And Riley leaned right back.
“Kenzie,” he whispered. All she could do in return was let out a choked whimper.
They walked together into the street, a dazed Mrs. Johnson standing in her nightgown, clutching the remote for her television. Something strange was happening to each of them, some unknown pull to find the source, to understand. Mackenzie and her brother walked down the center line of their small blacktop street, not stopping to speak with their neighbors. It was as if they were in a bubble, a moment of time that wasn’t quite real.
When Mackenzie looked back on it, she would remember what she’d heard them saying.
Magic.
Fae.
Monsters.
None of that was real now, none of it sinking in. She’d convinced herself in the darkness of that basement that she’d imagined the whole thing. She’d convinced herself the truth could not have been. They walked forward to find some other reality, one that made more sense.
She would regret that moment eternally, replay in her mind until time’s end.
Because it was the moment their lives had changed forever.
* * *
Two weeks later, Mackenzie Scott stared into the wispy clouds outside her window, alone in the house since Riley had gone. She wasn’t simply unaccompanied in their home now, but the entire street, most of the neighborhood. They had run, all of them. She couldn’t blame them. She’d have gone too if she’d had some place to go.
But she didn’t. And she was alone. There was nothing left to do but face the facts: There were creatures outside her window, and there was no place safe on this earth.
Chucks folded at the ankle, she tugged the strap of the backpack higher on her shoulder before wrapping a hand around the hollow metal bat. Her other hand hesitated, hovering above the door handle so that she had to force herself to release the latch.
“Batter up, Mackenzie,” she muttered, resisting the urge to take one last glance at the room behind her. “The world’s not going to save itself.”
They’d been her brother’s words to her over endless video games when they were children, and a nervous chuckle escaped as she touched the silver lever. It was the last sound she made before stepping into the bright light of the sun.
She’d barely seen the daylight since the incident, spending most of her hours holed up in the basement on a makeshift cot to hide from what their neighbors had called spirits and fae. Mackenzie didn’t know what those monsters were, but she knew this wasn’t magic. This was real life, not some ridiculous fairytale. They were in the middle of nowhere, Ohio. It was about the most unmagical place she could think of.
As far as she was concerned, these were beasts. And beasts could hear footsteps, they could smell their prey. So her steps were as quick and quiet as they’d ever been, though she might have been able to run cleaner without the two-handed death grip on Riley’s West Ridge Sluggers Little League bat.
She had a plan, and she was going to follow through. No matter what.
There was nothing else to do.
The sights made her chest hurt, that part never went away. It had been disorienting at first, the mess of half-formed houses among piles of lumber and upended cars. But now that she understood, she could barely stand to look. Not that she’d given herself much time for that. She and her brother had gone back inside, latching a cover over their hiding spot and cowering for a full day after he’d been scratched.
A scratch, she thought again, it was only a scratch.
Mackenzie couldn’t shake the regret. It had been her fault. She hadn’t been brave, she’d been stupid.
They’d been in shock, she was sure of it. Some medical form of denial. It was the only way they could have made such a disastrous choice. They’d decided the tempest was gone, the creatures with it, moved on to some other area of town. And in the tinted light of daybreak, they had walked the center line dividing their street.
It had been one of the most incredible, terrifying things she had ever done. Their steps were slow, measured by a dreamlike sense of timelessness, and Riley, nearly eighteen and on a constant tear to prove he was a man, had slipped his fingers into hers. They’d been children once more, misplaced and alone in a way they’d never been, not even when they’d lost their parents.
So stupid, she thought again, wiping at her cheek with the back of her hand. There were no tears there; she hadn’t truly cried since she was a girl, but somehow the shame of it remained, and the instinct to clean the dampness away before anyone would see. She bit down hard against it, determined to pay attention to her surroundings despite the hammering of her heart.
It didn’t look much different than it had the morning after the attack, aside from the absence of people. She recalled the way they’d looked during that early dawn. No one had been doing much more than staring toward the horizon—in the direction the creatures that had destroyed their homes had flown. Except for Mrs. Miller. Once the monsters had returned, she’d just closed her eyes and screamed. It had been a never-ending shriek, like rending metal, a fitting background to the scene before them.
Mrs. Miller hadn’t made it back to safety. She hadn’t even tried to run.
Mackenzie took a deep breath, clamping down on the handle of the ball-bat. Each time she thought of one of her neighbors who’d not escaped, her mind gave her an image of Riley. Riley, who was out there alone.
Riley, who had left her. To save her.
“The Johnsons’ house,” Mackenzie whispered beneath her breath, determined not to lose her way. She’d not left the safety of the road, but she needed to keep track this time. On her own, knowing exactly where she was in this foreign landscape suddenly seemed more important.
After she took her photos, she’d need to go back to the house to gather supplies. To wait in the safety of that basement alcove until the next morning’s dawn.
A flattened patch of yellowed plants spread across the square of land that had once been Arnie Jackson’s house. He was retired, a lawyer or accountant, she couldn’t remember. But he’d spent nearly every afternoon in that garden, unable to bear the sight of a single weed. Mackenzie had never taken food from him in the past, but she would have given just about anything to have a chance at one of those red, ripe tomatoes now.
“Fourth Street,” she said, glancing at the crossroad with a growing unease in the pit of her stomach. She was getting nearer and nearer to the spot where it had happened.
Where they’d gotten Riley.
Movement caught her attention, a small, skittering mass near the front of what was once the Ellis place, and she froze, grasping the bat with the loose, ready-to-swing grip her mother had taught her. Heart racing, chest heaving, she watched, waiting for the thing to move for her. But it did not. Its glassy black eyes narrowed for a moment before flicking to the ground beneath a shattered wooden door where a wad of paper rested. The paper must have smelled of food; the creature’s clawed hands, nimble as a squirrel’s and in contrast with its spiky, matted fur, clasped the garbage, shredding it to bits as it searched for the source of the scent.
Mackenzie slid slowly to the side, away from the creature. It was a small thing, hidden in the shadows. It would not hurt her. It was not like the others.
She glanced back as she moved, uncertain now that the daylight held as much safety as she’d hoped, but when she reached the next crossroad, she realized it was mere blocks from the site near the park where the truly dangerous ones—the ones that had come at her brother—had been. She wiped a hand across her forehead, brushing back a loop of chestnut hair that had somehow managed to escape her ponytail, and fought the instinct that told her to run. It was safer now, so much easier since the others had moved on.
But she couldn’t keep from remembering, couldn’t stop the image of that first up-close encounter with the thing that had cut her brother. She could still feel Riley’s fingers tighten in her grip, sense his terror that not only mirrored, but magnified her own as creatures filled the sky, soaring birdlike overhead. They had arms and legs, humanesque forms. But they were no humans. Feathers and horns, claws, teeth… God, their teeth. They had laughed and cackled, screamed in incoherent streams that sounded at turns tribal and Latin, and some other long-lost tongue Mackenzie had never truly heard. She and Riley had been stunned into mute disbelief as the creatures dove and withdrew, circling closer and closer as they went.
“Sixth,” she said now in a breathless whisper. “Sixth Street. Only three blocks to go.”
She could still see the thin black pupils piercing the gold irises of the beast that had come at them, the way his deep-set eyes narrowed on his prey, the darkness that lined them making them only more alien. She and Riley had run. At the beast’s first dive, a primal drive had taken over and she and her brother had moved, pulling their grip free to save themselves.
His instinct had been to run toward home, to the house they’d grown up in, to the one place he’d always felt safe. But not Mackenzie. Mackenzie hadn’t felt those feelings about her home for the last nine years. There was only one place she could go. One place she could remember that sense of safety. To the park. To the tree where she’d sat with her mother so many years ago, and her only sanctuary since.
The tree that would be gone now. The tree these monsters would have taken from her.
Now her feet stopped of their own accord, and she looked up, searching the sky for the unearthly crack she’d seen when her brother had been attacked. This was ex
actly where she’d stood then, but the shock of that event was gone. It felt so different now, less like awe and more like pain.
Then she had gazed at the vast opening that tore through the sky, lost in wonder for unmeasured moments. Moments that might have helped her save her brother, might have kept the beast from reaching him.
When she had looked back, seen that Riley had turned, she’d run for him, leaving the gaping hole in the universe at her back. She’d come upon them just as the creature, cloaked in fur and painted with a dark red that she would later decide was blood, struck out at him, thrusting his claws forward to hook Riley’s arm, scarring him.
Marked, the shaken news anchors were calling it. Bits and pieces of information were all Mackenzie and Riley had been able to get, scratchy clips they could barely decipher through the static of a battery-operated radio she’d played with as a kid, and a few wild postulations they’d found on Riley’s wireless tablet before the internet had quit. Riley had been terrified. Marked, like something out of a sci-fi film. For nearly an hour, she’d had to convince him this was not some zombie plague. They were just creatures, just claws. He’d been cut as the thing had tried to grab him.
But that wasn’t it. Because they’d Marked more than just Riley. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Maybe more.
Since those first few nights, the house had been mostly without power, though now and again the lights would flicker, a low brownout-type draw that destroyed more appliances than helped her get any sort of contact with the outside world. And that was what she needed: to let them know.
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