Falling Ashes

by Annie Anderson

  She stands tall, only three or so inches shorter than me. Her board-straight, dark mahogany hair is down and long, almost brushing her elbows. Her slender limbs are covered in a thin, open-weave, emerald green sweater with sleeves so long they cover the heels of her palms, and with a collar so wide, it falls off one shoulder, exposing two thin, delicate black straps and a scar on her neck I hadn’t noticed before. It’s a silvery almost blue that looks the most organic of all her scars. It spans the length of the slim column of her throat and has the eerie resemblance to a lightning strike – a single jagged bolt stretching to her collarbone and the forked tines reaching into her hair like fingers.

  It takes a minute for my eyes to move from that beautiful, yet haunting scar and take in the rest of her. She is wearing jeans that flatter the gentle swell of her hips and flat open-toed sandals on her feet. She looks casual and relaxed, an ease to her I haven’t seen before. It shocks me still how fast Phoenixes heal. Half a day ago, she couldn’t even walk, and now she stands tall and proud, and so beautiful it blanks my mind and stills my breath.

  “Is there something you need, Asher?” she asks me softly, her face worried, but also open and searching. She’s happy to see me, I think, and my heart does a nice little double bass tap against my ribs.

  “Uh… are those new clothes?” I ask lamely. Considering she’s worn nothing but a hospital gown in my presence, I sound like a fucking moron.

  She gives me a look that tells me she agrees and says, “Yes. Evan got them for me in Oregon, evidently. Somehow, she knew my sizes,” she ends with a slightly uncomfortable shrug.

  “Good, good. Do you know where your sister is? John needs her help,” I blurt.

  Her face falls, looking hurt for a moment before wiping clean. When she speaks, her tone holds just a hint of pain, and I feel like a douche. She can’t think I don’t want her. Not when my default mode around her toggles between stalker and possessive asshole.

  “She’s training with Aidan in the gym,” she says, her voice flat.

  Jesus. She seriously must think I don’t want her. I have to fix this. I have to. I can’t let her think… I have to make her see it. I know it is the bond that draws me to her, but it isn’t what keeps me here. It is her silent strength, her worry for a stranger whom she might have hurt, it is the way she seems to have picked herself up and dusted herself off from nearly a lifetime of adversity. It is her that keeps me.

  So much for staying away from her.

  “I guess he’s trying to get her back for smacking him on the head with that bokken.”

  “She hit him in the head? A Wraith? Aren’t you guys supposed to be harder to fight?” she asks, the worry for her sister stealing across her face, puckering her brow.

  “We are. Your sister is deadlier than any Wraith I’ve ever met. She put our King on his ass the last time they sparred. I’m not worried about your sister,” I say, reassuring her.

  “I didn’t realize she was so… adept. The Aurelia I knew so long ago couldn’t hurt a fly. Well, she could slay one with her sharp tongue, but a fly could kick her ass.”

  “Yeah… not so much now. Do you want to come with me to get her?” I ask even though I think she’ll say no. I’m shocked when she nods and steps from the room like she’s jumping off a cliff.

  “We’re just going to walk, right? None of that swirly black smoke stuff. Because that was unpleasant,” she says, her nose scrunching into a wince.

  “Yeah. Traveling takes some getting used to. We can walk if you want,” I concede as I grab her hand. I don’t hesitate. I don’t flinch. I touch her as I would anyone else, except I don’t want to hold anyone else. I don’t want to love anyone else. And I’m certain however long I have left on this earth, I’ll never love anyone else as much as I love this woman.

  9

  Losing It

  MENA

  I stare at him in shock as we walk down the hall, and I don’t come out of it until we take the first steps down the staircase to the first floor, and I have to watch my footing before I slip. It takes until the blood comes rushing to my cheeks and my heart to decide it wants to trip out of my chest before I remember I’m staring at him like a moron, and I drop my eyes.

  His hand is rough and warm, and I’m so happy I didn’t shock him that my knees have gone rubbery. I never thought this was possible for me. Simply holding his hand, my fingers tangled with his, is more than I’ve willfully gone with anyone. I’ve never dated anyone, never been close to anyone. I’m one hundred and eighty years old, and I’ve never had a boyfriend.

  How pathetic am I?

  My joints quit aching after a very nice bath in a tub the size of a small swimming pool. Aurelia spooned in some lavender salts from a giant cork-topped canister and left me to it. Well, she left me to it after I gave her the look of death after she offered to wash my hair like I was a toddler.

  After I got out, my hip had finished healing, even most of my bruising was gone, and I could walk around for the first time in a long time. It is amazing how quickly one can heal if they are fed and not repeatedly reinjured. I got to primp and play with the makeup – not that I put much of it on – and brush my hair with something other than my fingers. After the relative metric ton of conditioner I used on my hair – that was possible. I felt pretty for the first time in forever, and I felt better after I saw the outfits Aurelia laid out for me on the bed. I’m not sure how Evan knew my sizes, and I shudder to know how she knew what my bra and undie sizes were.

  Now, here I am, holding hands with undoubtedly the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I can’t trust it. Too much good too soon.

  So instead of the incredible rush I should have, it turns sour in my belly. By the time we get to the gym, I’m cold again. It stings after the warmth and happiness - so much it steals my breath. There is this emptiness growing in my chest – getting so deep and so wide I don’t think it’ll ever get filled.

  I need to enjoy this time. I need to clutch every second to my breast and keep it there for as long as I can. I won’t get very many more moments like these, and it doesn’t matter if they’re real or fake.

  They’ll need to last me a long while.

  My feet reach the final step of the last staircase trailing behind Asher, my hand still twisted in his and I see Aidan and my sister dancing around each other on a blue mat. They are holding wooden sticks shaped like swords – bokken if memory recalls – and my sister looks like a ballerina, spinning and stepping out of Aidan’s way as he tries to get in a hit. Rhys is sitting on a nearby bench, laughing so loud I can barely hear the music blaring from the tiny speakers sitting at his feet. Aurelia is completely unscathed, but Aidan’s nose is bloody and he’s listing a little to his right, nursing a broken rib or two by my guess.

  Asher whistles and the combatants lower their weapons, but when Aidan tries to leave the mat, Aurelia smacks him on the shoulder with her sword. Aidan rolls his eyes before turning and bowing to my sister and then stows his weapon on a long wall filled with what looks like every knife, gun, and sword ever made.

  “What’s up?” Aurelia asks, eyeing our joined hands, her face blank.

  “John wants you to see Olivia. He thinks maybe you can figure out what’s wrong with her,” Asher informs her, but he does something strange then. He tightens his grip and puts the hand that’s holding mine behind his back, taking a step in front of me, putting his body slightly in front of mine.

  “Asher, what are you doing?” I murmur, “She isn’t going to hurt me.”

  He turns his head, casting his eyes back at me, giving me such a look of pain and anxiety; I can’t help but be confused.

  “No, she’s not going to hurt you. She’s going to take you away from me, and I don’t want to let you go yet,” he whispers.

  My heart tries to beat its way out of my chest before dying a slow agonized death. He’s going to let me go. I shouldn’t care because at some point I’ll be leaving, but… it still burns.

  “But you will
let me go,” I say, sounding almost like an accusation.

  “I suppose at some point I’ll have to. But it doesn’t have to be right now, and it doesn’t have to be today,” his low voice almost pleads.

  I do the only thing I can. I lie.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, and the look of relief on his face is almost enough to cure my bleeding heart. Almost.

  “Good,” he says.

  “Asher,” Aurelia calls, and he tears his eyes off mine to look at my petite, menacing sister.

  “If you hurt my sister in any way, shape, or form I will set you on fire and smile while you die screaming. Do you understand?”

  Rhys pipes in from the bench, leaning his body to the side to be seen around Aurelia, “And I’ll help.”

  Asher nods and smiles, not the least bit scared. I don’t like them threatening him – especially when it will most likely be me hurting him – but Asher doesn’t seem to mind.

  Cam takes that moment to smoke into the room, and I slide a little farther behind Asher. His fingers tighten around mine, and the tension in my chest eases a bit.

  “I talked to him. He should be nicer now,” Asher says as he steps to the side, bringing me with him.

  “Let’s go. Maybe if you can find out what’s wrong with Olivia… maybe there’s still time,” Cam chokes out, and Aurelia’s eyes start swimming.

  “I’ll do my best. I’m ready. Let’s go,” she says even though she’s wearing workout clothes and no shoes.

  “Shoes, Gorgeous,” Rhys says as he tosses her flip-flops by her feet and grabs her hand as she slips into them.

  “Cam, take Aurelia and Rhys. I’ve got Mena,” Asher says as he turns to Aidan. “You coming?”

  “Nope. Holding down the fort. Give her our love,” Aidan says.

  Asher pulls me closer, wrapping me in his arms.

  Wait a minute.

  I didn’t know I was going.

  The feeling of ripping apart is accompanied by the swirling smoke of his traveling from the relative safeness of the Black compound to the unknown. I nearly pass out when we settle on solid ground.

  Mother of all that’s holy, please let us never do that again, I think as I rest my forehead on Asher’s chest, taking deep breaths to ease the pain from the traveling.

  “Oh my God, that is awful. Why do you people do that all the time? Christ on a fucking cracker…” Aurelia says as she puts a hand over her mouth looking green around the gills. Rhys looks just like he always does, yet his brow is lined with concern for my tiny sister. He leans down and whispers in her ear, and Aurelia nods – taking a deep breath – and rallies.

  “It doesn’t hurt us. Quit being such a wimp,” Cam teases her, jostling her with his shoulder goodnaturedly.

  “Shut up, jerk,” she grumbles, rubbing her belly. “Good to see you got the asshole out of your system.”

  “Anything for you,” Cam grouses as he ushers us through a set of mahogany double doors inlaid with an intricate circular carving of a tree of life – well the doors seem old enough, they could be from the tree of life.

  The room beyond is dim, only lit by a single glass-bowled lamp on an accent table next to a chaise loaded down with a sleeping West sprawled across the upholstery – his massive boot clad feet resting on the floor on either side of the chair. Curled in his lap like a purring cat is Evan, softly snoring with her hair looking like a hurricane hit it – the curly blonde tendrils half covering West’s face.

  John and what I’m guessing is Olivia are curled in the huge, beautifully carved walnut king-sized sleigh bed, covers all but obscuring a tiny body playing little spoon to John’s big spoon. Two walls of the room appear to be floor to ceiling windows, the thick drapes drawn, obscuring the outside view.

  Asher releases me for a moment to gently rouse John, but Aurelia’s yell startles the room into wakefulness.

  “Oh my God! Every Wraith out of this room right now!” she exclaims, her eyes turning a bright blinding white, heralding a vision that will most likely steal her sight for several minutes.

  “Why did you wait so long, John? Why did you wait to tell me?” she moans, one of her hands in a tight fist and the other gripping Rhys’ hand so tightly it might snap from the strain. Her back is beginning to bow, like an invisible string is pulling her chest to the ceiling so hard her toes start to point, bending her further and further. Her head is making a slow ticking motion as her eyes stare off into the distance – seeing things that have yet to be. I hope she is seeing something she can prevent because her expression is more than a little grim. Grim would be a step up from this.

  This is devastated.

  This is agony.

  This expression is hell.

  I have to snap her from whatever hell she’s seeing. From the little bits I’ve gathered, the last few weeks of her life have been awful. I can’t stand for her to have more. Her Aegis is barely visible, and I find it almost funny that I hadn’t noticed it before now. To me, it is very nearly cute in how small it is. How small and faint, it is barely visible to the naked eye. It isn’t hurting Rhys, merely coating him in the soft blue netting of electricity, but he looks afraid to move, so I do the only thing I can.

  In the chaos of people jumping from their slumbers and John starting to yell in objection, I grab Aurelia’s wrist and pull her out of Rhys’ grasp snapping her head a little. Her Aegis pulls mine from my skin, sucking a little of my energy before her eyes dim and she takes a long slow blink.

  “Thank you. That was bad. Oh, no…” she says as she puts a hand to her mouth.

  Her face is an awful grayish-green and Rhys gives her a nearby trashcan just as she plops down on her butt on the carpet and loses whatever she had in her stomach into the can.

  “You okay, Gorgeous?” Rhys asks her as we both kneel down next to her, and she heaves a second time gripping the trashcan like a lifeline in response.

  “Jesus, baby. It's okay, I’ll be okay,” he murmurs as he rubs her back.

  “Poison… She’s being poisoned,” she gasps in between heaves. “Get all the Wraiths out of the room. Don’t let them touch her…” she says, the words coming out in halting sobs.

  “How? How is she being poisoned, Ari?” Evan asks and her voice sounds like a car crash – all twisted metal and broken glass.

  “I ca-can’t tell you. You’ll touch it. You’ll get sick. You can’t get sick. You have to— you have to le-leave. Everyone has to leave,” she moans, her eyes squeezed shut, her breaths sounding like they are being ripped from her lungs.

  “Clear the room,” West says as he grabs Evan by the waist and Asher grabs Cam by his bicep and drags them out of the room. Evan struggles, begging to stay, but West tightens the band across her stomach and hoists her over his shoulder in the last few feet.

  Through all this, even with the chaos and her daughter screaming at the top of her lungs, Olivia doesn’t rouse. She doesn’t move. Beneath the pale blue down comforter, she looks like she’s barely breathing.

  “Tell me,” John orders. “Tell me what is wrong with my wife!” His face is ravaged, tears clogging his voice and racing their way down his cheeks.

  “You can’t touch it,” she pleads and only begins speaking again when John nods.

  “There’s Bixbite in the locket, and the locket itself is protected by a spell. It’s draining her. I need you to help Olivia to sit up and lean her forward. Try and get the necklace to hang forward. Mena. Shield yourself. Get her locket. Do-don’t be gentle, and don’t to-touch the pendant. Only the chain. Do you hear me? Even you could die touching that pendant,” Aurelia gasps out the last words as she starts shivering.

  “I don’t know how to do that,” I hiss, “What if I kill her?”

  “Try,” she growls through gritted teeth. “You’re the only one of us who can do this and not fucking die. You are the only one of us who can save her life. Just. Do. It.”

  I close my eyes and take in a huge breath, just trying to steady myself. No one is going to
die.

  I’m not going to kill anyone.

  I won’t.

  I loosen the reins on my Aegis – just a tiny bit – just enough to feel a surging warmth coat my body. It always feels so good in the beginning. But then I have to leash it again, and it’s like a shoe that doesn’t fit. First it’s just uncomfortable, and then it’s blisters and blood and broken bones.

  John is so careful with Olivia, and now that the covers aren’t concealing her face, I can see just how sick she is. Her skin is a pale unlined alabaster, but her pallor is almost gray, highlighting the fact that her hair is a brilliant white that only blondes get when they age. She is unresponsive, rail thin – not that I can talk – and her pale pink nightie hangs in great gaping sweeps of fabric from her shoulders.

  Then I see it, an oval, antique silver locket engraved with scrolling leaves and tiny roses. It’s so lovely, but I can feel the evil pouring from it – one better, I can see it – a putrid red and swirling black. Staining the locket, staining the skin of her chest, staining her light.

  I don’t register when the door opens, I’m still watching the necklace like one would eye an angry snake, but when Asher’s fearful growl reaches my ears, I know I have to act. I wince as I reach for the chain, gripping it in my fingers as I rip it down, breaking the clasp. As soon as the clasp breaks, Olivia takes a deep breath, and I see Asher move with a purpose toward me.

  He’s not supposed to be here. This thing, whatever evil it holds in its depths, will hurt him. I know it. So I do the only thing I can. I take off running toward the window, tucking my head and shoulder as I hit the drapes and break the glass.

  It takes less than a second to realize that the house sits atop an enormous mountain at the edge of a cliff, and I am freefalling to the earth.

  Oh. Shit.

  10

  The Fall

  ASHER

  Trying to hold onto a pissed off, scared-out-of-his-mind Cam is like trying to grip a wet fish – fucking impossible. West is no help because Evan has gone from the focused, linear-thinking, happy-go-lucky woman I’ve known all her life to a half-mad she-cat on steroids. Forcing Evan to do anything is like signing your own death warrant, so West is attempting to calm her down gently, but he’s not making much headway.