Falling Ashes

by Annie Anderson

  “She is a good match for you, but I think it will be difficult to win her. She is not built like the rest of them. There is a quiet strength to her. You will most likely have to wait for her to come to you. Be patient,” he advises.

  “So trying to touch her hand when she is vulnerable and scared was a bad plan. Got it. Any more sage advice to give me before I beat my cousin within an inch of his life?”

  “Maybe. These next few weeks are going to get harder for us. You may want to think about that before you go and burn a bridge.”

  “Aww. Why’d you have to go and pull the death card on me? Fine. I’ll talk to Cam first. But if he so much as puts a toe out of line near Mena, I will rip his head off without a second thought. Does that make you feel better?” I concede, but it feels like I’m giving Cam too much leeway again. Coddling that fucker irritates the ever-loving shit out of me. He frightened Mena, made her shrink back into herself just when I was getting her to smile. Dick.

  “Immensely.”

  I nod and make my way out of the room and slowly scale the stairs to the main level before this feeling of utter loss wars with the fury within my chest. John is dying.

  I know he is not my father, but I have called John family for over three centuries. I’ve had John for many more years than the people who bore me. Other than Cam, I have no other blood family, but when John and Olivia go, I will truly feel like an orphan – more than I ever felt when my parent’s necks met with John’s blade.

  It was merely chance that brought John into my life. In fact, had John not been out riding that day with Olivia and their Guardians, I would have died near the hearth of my childhood home with my mother’s fingers wrapped around my heart. I hate thinking of my parents that way. I hate remembering my mother’s twisted face, blood dripping from the wide-open maw of her mouth.

  Looking back, the bad stuff is sometimes all you remember.

  When I reach the landing, I find Aidan and Ian decimating the contents of the refrigerator. The brothers are what I wish Cam and I were. What I wish we could have been. Aidan and Ian have barely been in each other’s lives for fifty years and they are closer than Cam and I have ever been. We should have been like brothers, but we never have been even remotely close.

  We deserved better, I think, as I’m tackled from behind by someone the size of a Sub-Zero refrigerator. Before my face can slam into the hardwood, I smoke out from underneath him and reappear in my original position to watch Cam land in a face-first slide across the living room floor.

  “You know, I was going to be nice. I was going to talk it out, be friends, but now you’ve pissed me off,” I say as I plant my boot in his ribs, hurtling his body across the room like a rag doll. His body takes out an end table and a lamp before landing in a heap on the raised hearth of the stone fireplace cracking some of the stone with a hiss.

  “You’d really pick one of them. Over your own kind?” he groans from the broken grate. “After everything they’ve done to us?” Cam picks himself up off the stone, his joints creaking.

  “One, I don’t get to pick. You know that. I know that. Maybe it’s chemistry, maybe it’s fate. Whatever it is, it’s not up to me. Two, I could do a lot worse than a beautiful woman who has endured and survived when so many would not. Three, get the fuck over your hate. You’re not doing yourself any favors.”

  I know it’s strange to just be fine with finding my mate, especially in the middle of this turbulent time. I find I’m less concerned with the fact that I have a mate and more anxious that Cam could have hurt her. Mating is something I have always hoped for.

  “Oh, really? And I guess you are just looking out for me, huh?” Cam says as he turns his head to the side and pops his neck.

  “No. I’m not looking out for you anymore. I have a higher purpose than saving your ass from the fire. And trust me, you’re right in the middle of the flames.”

  “You know, you talk too much,” Cam mutters as he lunges for me. I smoke to the side, but he knows my tricks after nearly three hundred years of fighting side-by-side. He travels himself, catching me by the middle and slamming me into a wooden support column. Despite the fact that the pillar is the size of a tree trunk, I still hear the wood crack.

  Now, I’m really pissed off. I spring forward, head-butting him right in his dumb-fuck nose. The sound that accompanies the break is exceptionally satisfying. He goes to retaliate, but he is stunned by the blow to his nose and can’t quite catch me. And that is Cam’s biggest problem. For all his posturing, all his confidence, he is just one step slower, one step behind. Then, it goes the way it did just a few weeks ago. Cam tries to kick my ass, fails, and we completely destroy the living room – fireplace, furniture and windows included. Evan is going to kill us. The tiny blonde terror scares the crap out of me.

  I think I’ll blame Cam.

  Once Cam is in a bloody heap on the hardwood floor, I give him John’s message.

  “You have fucked up one too many times, cousin. John told me to give you a little warning. He is considering your dismissal. The permanent kind. The kind where you no longer have a head and the rest of your body is burned to ashes and given to your family as a reminder of your disgrace. Get your shit together, Cameron. As the only family you have left, I really don’t want your ashes on my mantle,” I tell him as I walk to the stairs.

  “Yes. You are my only family. Mom and Dad are dead. Burned to ash and God knows what else. Our houses burned to the ground. Our families. And who did that?” Cam gruffly shouts his question, his voice clogged with grief.

  I feel the agony of our losses just as much as he does, but I refuse to be hateful because of them. I refuse to be blinded by my grief. I refuse to blame all for the actions of a few. And while I hate that our numbers have dwindled to such a stark number, I will not parcel out my soul to hate a dead enemy.

  “Oh, and the King said you have to clean this up. Good luck.”

  “Fuck you, Ash.”

  “Love you too, cousin,” I say as I walk out of the room.

  5

  A Fire Extinguisher Isn't Going to Cut It

  MENA

  The room is cold. The stone of the floor bites against the bare skin of my legs, freezing me to the bone. My body has stopped shivering, and even I know that is a bad thing. My left ankle is rubbed raw from the freezing steel cuff latched around it. I can almost smell the coppery tang of the blood running down my foot, but the blood has run cool now.

  My shoes are gone, and so is anything else that could be used as a weapon or a lock pick.

  So cold.

  And dark. I can’t see my parents, but I know they’re there. I heard my mother whimpering a few minutes ago, but she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. My father has been silent as the grave, and I don’t know if he’s true dead or not. I guess all my time as a Gentry didn’t pay off as well as I’d hoped. Or maybe I’ve been without food and water so long I have lost what senses I do have.

  So much for all the training my father put me through. He taught me how not to get caught, not what to do once I was. I should have run the first time I felt the eyes on my back. I should have run as far and as fast as I could.

  Sorry, Papa.

  My parents got here after me. I was alone for a while, and the silence was enough to drive me insane. Just the sound of my mother’s breathing eases my nerves, even though I know my nerves should be shot to hell since I’m stuck in this dank prison cell for God knows what reason.

  A man brought them in, one on each shoulder, plopping them down like sacks of grain on the stone floor. It was hard to see his face, the glaring light blinding me for long after he left us all alone.

  I’ve been here for days.

  I think.

  There isn’t a window in this cell, but I feel the time passing in fits and starts. It has been so long, I think this must be an interrogation tactic. Other than my secret, I’m not sure what else I am supposed to know.

  I hear a long groan coming from my father, and listen
to his breathing go from nothing to labored, to panicked.

  “Papa?”

  “Mena? Baby?” Sometimes it stings that he never asks after Aurelia, it’s like he’s wiped her from his mind.

  “Yeah, Papa, Mama is here too, but she isn’t awake yet.”

  “Jesus. Do you know why we’re here? I didn’t see anything coming. I didn’t see…” he trails off.

  My father’s visions aren’t always right, but Aurelia got her Seer gene from him. He is the first male Seer in over a millennia, a fact he has been able to hide due to his eyes looking perfectly normal, if the palest green I’ve only seen on one other person – my twin. It’s probably an old wives’ tale, but I’d heard male Seers were killed at birth. The longer I’m in this cell, the more I think that the rhetoric and horror stories my parents have told me over the years have been true.

  Why else would we be here unless someone found out my family’s secrets?

  My mother stirs again, whimpering a low, pained moan before gasping an agonized breath. Her chain rattles in a horrible clank before my father calls out to her.

  “Rhea, darling, are you all right?”

  “Kale? What happened?” my mother groggily asks.

  “I don’t know. Mena is here with us.”

  “Mena? Baby? Are you okay?” her voice is shrill now, wide awake.

  “I’m fine, Mama. What is this place? I’ve been here for days waiting for the two of you to wake up. Did I do something wrong? I was good, I swear it.”

  I did everything I was supposed to do. Everything. What did I do wrong?

  “I know you were, baby. I don’t know why we’re here. Kale? Do you see anything that could help us?” she whispers her question to my father.

  “You know I can’t see around Mena, darling,” he whispers back.

  Of course. If you want to keep a Seer as weak as my father from his power, you put them in a room with an Aegis. Someone knows. Someone knows about all of us. My body turns to ice because I know, I just know I’m going to die in this room. Maybe once, maybe a thousand times, but I know death is coming.

  And now I know what my mother meant.

  Death is not the worst thing. The worst thing is waiting to die.

  Time passes, my parents discuss quietly ways to escape, with no new plan sounding better than the last discarded one. They don’t consult me, but that seems like a good idea. I’m probably the reason we’re here in the first place.

  I’m the reason my sister left broken-hearted. I’m the reason she and I drifted apart before she left us altogether. I’m the reason Mama and Papa nearly shunned her and continue to refuse to speak of her. You can’t trust your secrets to someone who isn’t capable of keeping them.

  There was no way we could trust her to keep our secrets. No way. The Primary would be inside her head, inside her memories, practically inside our lives.

  Everything had to be kept from Aurelia.

  Everyday with Aurelia with us was a constant struggle. Don’t draw attention. Don’t make waves. Don’t do this. Only do that. Be nice. Be proper. Do what you’re told. I was lauded for being the better sister – the more obedient one anyway – when I hated every second of it. I hated being alone when I was half of a whole. When shutting my sister out made my soul shrivel and die within me over and over again.

  Now, I’ll die for real.

  My thoughts are interrupted by the ratchet of the lock turning, and that cold, numbness is gone. In its place, I don’t feel the hopelessness of impending death.

  I feel the fear of the unknown.

  Someone turns on the light, and when the brightness no longer singes my eyes, I realize I knew nothing of fear.

  A man is standing in front of the closed door. I might find him attractive in other circumstances. He is not overly tall, probably matching my height of five-foot-ten. His hair is long and blonde — like the hippies I used to see so much of – tied back from his face with a leather thong. His muscles are thick and given the Soldier’s breastplate and combat skirt, it confirms the theory that we are being held by the Primary. His face is blank for the first few moments, and the full force of my terror slams into me when I see the leer ghost across his expression as he comes for me. Before he makes it to me, I go numb, and for a while I am thankful.

  Thankful I can’t feel it, thankful I can’t process it. I always thought that if something like this happened to me, I would fight, I would struggle, I would claw and scream and rail.

  But I didn’t.

  I didn’t do any of those things. Because I just couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I just couldn’t believe…

  What I did do was cry.

  It isn’t until he’s finished with me and what was left of my sanity and innocence lies in tatters on that stone floor, that the real horror begins.

  That itch, that urge to release my power can’t be contained anymore. When the numbness and shock fades, all I’m left with is disgust and pain and revulsion. I am disgusted with my own skin that smells of the man who robbed me of everything, with the dress that hangs in tatters from my shoulders as I kneel on the stone, with the blood that stains my thighs and the gritty floor.

  With my father’s screams of vengeance and my mother’s sobs of horror.

  I can’t hold it.

  I can’t keep it inside.

  The power builds in a crescendo, starting from my stomach and radiating out through my limbs like a brushfire, igniting everything that lies in its path. My pulse races and a buzzing starts, I think it’s my mother’s voice. In the back of my mind, I know she is trying to talk me down, trying to sooth away a hurt that will be with me for the rest of my short life.

  I can’t hear her words, though, and I think even she knows it’s too late. I look at my parents as the ice blue light emanating from my hands makes the room glow. I see them reach across the space between them so the tips of their finger touch.

  That’s the last I see as I close my eyes as a scream rips from my throat and the power wrenches itself out of my skin, sending great arcs of electricity through the room.

  When I regain consciousness, I wish my body couldn’t withstand the power I hold under my flesh. I wish I were blind.

  Or dead.

  Anything but to see the rubble of that stone room and the ashes of my parents.

  Anything but to hear that damned door open again.

  Anything but to hear the Primary’s disgustingly sweet voice congratulating me on killing my parents.

  Anything.

  * * *

  It feels like an earthquake, but I know it’s just me. Just like on the horrible morning so many years ago, I have blown up a room. It has been too long since I had this much power coursing through my veins. Iva used to drain me, keeping me weak and docile, practically sucking the marrow from my bones. It still surprises me that it took so little time to build the energy back.

  The bed I was lying on is decimated, blown apart and melted in pieces, flung like bomb shrapnel. I'm crumpled in the wreckage of what’s left of my bed on the remnants of the floor. The hard handrails that once helped me steady myself are nothing more than a blob in the rubble. And the floor…

  There is a two-foot-deep crater where my bed used to be, and I have blown through the flooring straight into the foundation, practically sitting in a bowl of ruined stone, metal and plastic. The walls are scorched in veins of smoldering black, and the sprinklers that once ran in exposed copper pipes along the ceiling have melted into twisted bows of metal. The curtain that briefly gave me privacy disintegrated to nothing, while the ones in the adjacent bays are still on fire along with the beds they used to surround.

  It takes me a minute to remember that I wasn’t alone down here and I look to the far end of the room and sigh a deep breath of relief that those curtains aren’t on fire even though they are blown back to reveal an unconscious man in the hospital bed. His bed has moved out of its position and has slammed into the nearby wall, thankfully staying upright. My deep breath
is cut off by a choking cough from the smoke.

  Over the sound of my lungs refusing to work, I hear a boom, boom, booming coming from the steel door and a squeal of the metal grating on itself.

  I don’t think they can open it.

  Burning alive is not an option for me, but death by asphyxiation is completely possible. It’s not my favorite way to take a dreamless nap, but I’ve done it before more times than I can count. I worry more about the immobile Wraith lying in the bed at the end of the room. Fire won’t kill me, but it will kill him.

  A thick swirl of black smoke, thicker and denser than the fire wafts into the place just before me, twisting and writhing before coalescing into the shape of a large man. Asher emerges from the smoke, his eyes frantically searching the room until they land on me.

  “Mena,” he almost whispers when he sees me. “Are you all right?” he asks as he jumps down into the pit of debris eyeing me warily as he goes.

  I don’t blame him.

  I’ve been here for one day and I’ve already ruined the place, injured someone and set fire to the house. I am a Murphy’s Law trifecta of destruction.

  I’m not safe to be around people.

  I hurt everyone.

  I kill people.

  “Don’t help me,” I choke out, “help him. The fire won’t kill me. Get him first,” I insist.

  His face twists at my demand, and he considers it for a few seconds before he growls under his breath. He turns swiftly, stalking to the inert man in the bed and grabbing him before smoking out of the room.

  He’s not gone for too long, though, before he comes back to me.

  “You should have brought a fire extinguisher with you. I melted the sprinklers,” I say as I point to the copper pipes that now look like spun taffy.

  “I don’t think a fire extinguisher is going to cut it, Princess,” Asher says as his lips pull into a half grin.

  “Ready to get out of here?” he asks as he holds out his hand for me to take. I ignore his outstretched fingers and try to stand on my own, but my legs won’t do what they’re supposed to do and they certainly don’t freaking work.