Smoke and Summons (Numina Book 1)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Rone turned toward her. “What?”

  Nine feet. Eight. Seven.

  “Vre en nestu a carnath.” Pressure flooded from her head into her limbs, straining on the border of tearing. Readying her for the excruciating pain that came with possession.

  Kazen tilted his head. “Sandis, what are you mumbling?”

  She hooked her foot around Rone’s and jerked it back, sending him to the ground. Leveling her gaze with Kazen’s, she finished, “Ireth epsi gradenid.”

  Her body exploded.

  The light was blinding, searing, burning. Fire engorged her chest and cut off her air; hot coals raked down her back and breasts. Her body contorted, twisted, wrenched—

  And stopped.

  It stopped there, at the height of agony. Sandis blinked flames even as they seemed to flay the charred skin from her body.

  She saw Kazen. The Aces. Kuracean.

  She was on fire.

  She was going to die.

  And yet the moment she thought it, she felt his presence. Ireth. His essence braided into her own in a way it never had before, filling her nostrils with the scent of molten iron, her skin with ripe agony, her heart with . . . a strange sort of pressure. Like an embrace. Like being wrapped in the arms of her parents, shielded from the rest of the world.

  Despite the sensations of her body tearing in two, her blood boiling beneath her skin, and her bones warping and snapping, Sandis smiled.

  Forward. Fight. Destroy.

  She understood.

  Sandis threw the pain and the tremors and the burning forward, engulfing the alleyway in white fire.

  Chapter 15

  The amarinth wheezed as it spun. Tears from the blinding light poured rivers down Rone’s face. A great, low bellow filled his ears—the cry of Kazen’s monster, punctuated by the screams of burning men.

  He pressed himself into the ground, his face inches from Sandis’s ankles. Ankles that were on fire. She was on fire. Everything was.

  The amarinth spun, its gold tines reflecting bursts of red and white. The hairs in Rone’s nose singed, as did the threads of his shirt. While instinct told him to cower, he looked up.

  Her body radiated impossible light, blinding him from the surrounding world. She was still Sandis, but a halo of white fire surrounded her, and her eyes—her eyes were blacker than coal.

  He gawked, feeling heat that should have flayed him, but the magic of the amarinth spun around him, carrying its soft, protecting song.

  For a fleeting moment, Rone forgot to breathe. Then, like the snapping of fingers, the fire snuffed out and cast him into absolute darkness.

  A body thudded down beside him.

  Rone blinked wet eyes. Rubbed them. Darkness turned to colored spots. To bits of light. He lifted his head. Blinked. Ash filled the alleyway.

  The monster was gone. And Sandis—

  He turned. She lay on the broken cobbles—unconscious and completely naked.

  For a moment, Rone simply stared at her. Not at her nudity, but in utter awe. How?

  The amarinth stopped spinning. In the silence that followed its magic, Rone came to himself.

  This wasn’t over. This was far from over.

  They had to run. Now.

  He grabbed Sandis, shoving one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. His bad shoulder shot a spike of pain up his neck, but he couldn’t exactly take a break and massage it. He hooked his pinky around the amarinth almost as an afterthought. He sprinted down the alleyway, kicking up ash as he went. One of the men moaned close to the junction near the road, trying to drag his devastated body to help.

  Sandis couldn’t have killed all of them—there wasn’t enough ash, and the stretch of burned brick didn’t reach far enough. Kazen, where was Kazen? And his monster? There was no enormous pile of embers to mark the incineration of the numen, and both it and Kazen had been far back in the alleyway. Had they run?

  His vision swirled with black splotches. He was still in their territory—but he wouldn’t be able to get far. Not in daylight. Not with a naked, unconscious woman in his arms. He had to hide. Hide.

  He started down a wider road, purposefully leaving an obvious trail of ashy footprints, then turned around and retraced his steps, walking as close to the wall of a decrepit building as he could. Pushed himself down alleys that were not meant to be traveled. Found a warped door and kicked it in, then quietly pressed it back into place with his shoulder.

  It was dark inside, save for a few glimmers of light from windows on the second and third stories that shone through the holes in the roof above him—a floor that could likely come crashing down on them at any moment. They couldn’t stay in this abandoned place. They couldn’t leave.

  Rone checked for debris with his foot before laying Sandis down. He took her face in his hands. “Sandis,” he whispered. She felt warm under his fingers. Not fire warm, but fever warm.

  Had she summoned Ireth on her own? She hadn’t brought forth the numen, however. Only his fire.

  He shook his head. Patted her cheeks. “Sandis. Sandis. God’s tower, please wake up.” His heart sped. Sweat traced trails down his forehead. She breathed steady and slow, like someone in a deep slumber.

  Rone checked himself. He didn’t feel any burns—thank the amarinth for that—but the back of his shirt was charred and threadbare. Even as he pulled it off, he felt ash fall into his hair. Whatever. He could afford a new shirt. He laid the ruined article of clothing over Sandis. His eyes were starting to adjust, and he didn’t trust himself not to look.

  She’d saved his life. The least he could do was not ogle her while she was unconscious.

  Rone sat next to her and wiped a filthy hand down his face. First the one-winged, claw-handed woman, then that . . . pincer monster. The more he saw of the occult, the more it scared him.

  He glanced at Sandis’s supine form as he shoved the amarinth into his trouser pocket. This Kazen wanted her back. Badly.

  Exactly what sort of hellish creature had possessed her?

  Rone didn’t want to explore much, for fear of the building falling on top of him, not to mention worry that any noise would bring both grafters and numina upon him. But he looked around, searching for anything that might be of use. He found a lot of old nails and other debris. Mice, dead and alive. That was pleasant. No food, but if he had found food, he wouldn’t have eaten it.

  He did locate a curtain. It was yellowed and ugly, but it was intact fabric, so it would do.

  He settled it over Sandis and waited. When the light outside began to draw a purplish tint, she finally stirred.

  He was at her side in an instant, surprised by the extent of his relief. “Sandis? Sandis?”

  She groaned. Lifted a hand from under his shirt and the curtain and pressed it to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open and shifted back and forth in obvious confusion. They finally settled on Rone’s face.

  She stared for a moment. “We’re alive.”

  Rone grinned. “Hell yes, we are. But keep your voice down. Just in case.”

  She blinked. Examined their surroundings. Sat up, grabbing the fabric and holding it to her. For some reason, being naked didn’t surprise her. Did her clothing spontaneously incinerate often?

  Though he’d expected the decision to become Engel Verlad would bring him adventure and danger, he’d never fathomed getting tangled up in something like this.

  Her shoulders tensed. “We’re still here.”

  Rone sat back. “Yeah. I don’t know how many of them survived, but at least one person has walked by in the last six hours. I couldn’t get far with a naked woman in my arms.”

  She glanced back to him. “Six hours?” No comment on the nudity. Maybe he should accept nothing scandalous was going to come out of that.

  He nodded.

  She frowned. Looked at her palm in the dimming light. Opened and closed her fist. “I’m usually out for longer than that.”

  “Longer?”

  She nodded. Studie
d one arm and then the other. “But this wasn’t the same.”

  “The summoning?”

  She licked her lips. Cleared her throat. “Water?”

  Rone frowned and shook his head.

  She accepted it with a nod of her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never done that before. But that was . . . Ireth. Part of him.”

  Rone ran fingers back through his hair. “So you mutter something in . . . what, ancient Noscon? And you get fire powers?”

  She hugged her knees to her chest. “It felt like a summoning. The heat, the pain—”

  “So it does hurt.” There was a hitch in his voice, and he cleared his throat.

  She met his eyes. “Like nothing I can describe. Like . . .” She thought for a moment. “Like every fiber of your body is being torn apart. Like it’s burning up, but the fuel never runs out. Like you’re twisting into something else.”

  Rone’s stomach tensed. He tried to imagine it . . . but all he felt was a nauseous shiver that made him grateful their roles weren’t reversed. “That . . . sounds awful.”

  She simply nodded. It was all so ordinary to her. How could something like that be anything but horribly spectacular? “It happens all at once, and then you wake up the next day. But this . . . this wasn’t like that.”

  Setting his elbows on his knees, Rone shook his head. She talked about pain like it was a bad storm that had happened last week. Talking about possession like she would a case of the sniffles. He let out a short, heavy breath. “You’re incredible. You just . . . lit up like a torch and destroyed them. There was ash everywhere . . .”

  The smile faded. She hesitated before saying, “I suppose that’s for the best.”

  “You suppose?”

  She shrugged. “I . . . no one ever tells me what I do as Ireth. Usually I don’t remember enough to put the pieces together. Though I suppose I wasn’t entirely Ireth this time. I was conscious.”

  “How?” Rone asked, meeting her eyes. “How did you do it if it hurt that badly? If you were . . . half-possessed, unable to fall into the bliss of unconsciousness?”

  The smile returned. And with the utmost sincerity, she answered, “Because I felt Ireth’s love for me.”

  That was not the reply Rone had been expecting. He tried to speak, choked on a few possible responses, and settled on, “. . . the fire horse.” One of the hell demons cursed in scripture and preached against by any and every person who donned the four-petaled lily. One of the deranged beasts used to bribe children into eating their dinners and brushing their teeth. A weapon used by the lowest and darkest scum in the city.

  She shrugged. Black ashes, a slagging fire demon loved her, and she shrugged. “I felt it. I connected with him like I never have before. It . . . I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” She looked up, peering at the darkening windows through the wide holes in the floors above them. “We can’t stay here.”

  Rone ran a hand down his scruff-lined cheeks. She was so . . . different. And it bothered him that that didn’t bother him. “No. But I’m positive there are grafters and mobsmen crawling all over this place. Maybe police farther out. The moment we leave, someone will be tailing us.”

  Sandis considered this for a moment. “If we wait a little longer, we could go to Helderschmidt’s.”

  “The firearms factory? Did you really used to work there?”

  She nodded. “Before the slavers took me. It’s closed at night, except for custodial work, so it will be mostly empty. I know how to get in. We could arm ourselves and hide, at least for the night.”

  Rone licked his lips, considering it. They weren’t terribly close to Helderschmidt’s, but they also weren’t far. If they could get on a roof, it would be better.

  “All right. Here, I’ll rip armholes in this curtain. You can put the shirt on backward underneath. It’s . . . something. I’ll try to snatch from a clothesline on the way.” He stood.

  Sandis handed him the curtain. “I don’t want to take from anyone—”

  “Then you’re going to get a lot of attention.” He looked knowingly at her bare legs. His shirt only covered to the tops of her thighs.

  He looked for a little too long.

  Sandis frowned, but whether it was at him or their situation, she didn’t specify. Merely nodded.

  After Rone measured the curtain as best he could with his eyes, he used his teeth to start a hole for one arm, then the other. They were more or less even. He held it up to the fading light. “I should have gone into fashion design.”

  Sandis chuckled.

  He handed the overly long curtain vest to Sandis, whose eyes fell to his chest, his stomach.

  Feeling oddly self-conscious, he asked, “What?”

  She shook her head and took the curtain. “Nothing. Thank you.”

  He turned around so she could assemble her pathetic outfit. When he turned back, she’d tied the bottom of the curtain together around her legs in the semblance of an ill-fitting diaper.

  “Nice.” He tried not to laugh. Laughing was loud, and they needed to keep a low profile.

  Sandis shrugged. “The amarinth?”

  “Spent. Otherwise I’d be crispy in that alley, too.”

  She blanched. “Oh God, Rone. I didn’t even think—” Her voice jumped nearly an octave as it choked up her throat. “I could have killed you. I’m so sorry.”

  Taking a step forward, she reached out her hand, then awkwardly dropped it. She looked like she was going to throw up.

  Rone blinked at her. The grafters, the fire horse, the nudity . . . none of it had garnered much of a reaction from her. But him nearly dying? That’s what got to her?

  Something twanged in his chest. He couldn’t tell exactly what, but it hurt and excited him at the same time. Dissolved, for a moment, the constant pain of that ball of guilt in his stomach.

  She cared about him. His own father didn’t care about him. But she—

  Clearing his throat, Rone glanced away. “It’s fine. If I hadn’t spun the damn thing, I probably could have jumped behind you. Either way, it’s nothing to fuss about.”

  She swallowed so hard he could see it through the muscles of her neck. Her stomach rumbled. She pushed a fist into it.

  “Are you able to run?” She had no shoes, and he could only imagine summoning a fire-beast into oneself was exhausting.

  She took a deep breath. “I think so.” She didn’t sound sure. But it would have to do. Their options were too few and far between.

  “All right,” Rone said, scanning the rafters. “Let’s figure out a way up.”

  There was no exhilaration in jumping from roof to roof this time. No sense of freedom. His heart pounded harder than it usually did. Perhaps because he knew they were being followed. Perhaps because the amarinth was spent. Perhaps because Sandis was slow and achingly pale. That bizarre half summoning of hers had saved their lives, but it had obviously taken a toll on her, and Rone couldn’t do anything about it.

  He could at least see her dressed. The first clothesline he found, he confiscated a dress and threw it to her. She put it on without complaint, looking more thankful for the chance to rest than the fashion upgrade.

  They dropped back down to the city near the smoke ring. Factories were not the easiest buildings to jump around on, especially if they had smoke towers or steam vents. Except the cotton ones. Cotton factories were nice, long boxes with barely a slant to their roofs.

  Unfortunately, they also operated all hours of the day. Sandis and Rone wouldn’t get far into a cotton factory’s packed looms before someone threw them out or called the police. With his mother already imprisoned and his father an unfeeling bastard, Rone didn’t have anyone to save him if he had a mishap with local authorities.

  That ball of guilt rolled in his gut again as he pushed Sandis across an intersection. His mother. She was still there, rotting away. Because of him.

  I’m coming, I promise. Rone glanced over his shoulder, searching for pursuers. He knew they were there. He sensed them
like the beetles beneath an overturned cobblestone. His bad shoulder throbbed all the way to his neck from all the looking and lifting and fleeing for his life he’d been doing. It usually didn’t get this bad in the summer.

  Sandis’s breaths were heavy, her voice raspy and dry. “Over here,” she said as they approached the firearms factory. The late hour meant few people walked the streets. Near Helderschmidt’s, there was only a beggar and two kids with their heads pressed together, reading a grubby book of some sort.

  Rone didn’t know if Sandis planned to pick the lock—the large man standing guard made that unlikely—find a key hidden under a mat, or access some sort of secret tunnel. As far as Rone knew, none of the sewer entrances that went into the building were large enough to fit a person.

  Sandis wrapped around the building to the narrow four-foot-wide alley separating it from its counterpart. A network of pipes ran up the brick. Sandis squeezed past several feet of them before reaching a water meter. She hoisted herself on top of it, arms shaking, and began to climb.

  “Sandis?” Rone whispered after her. She didn’t answer, so he followed. Twice, the climb became precarious—he had to reach across an expanse of no pipe to grab a broken brick or window ledge to pull himself up. Sandis’s foot slipped at one point, but she found purchase. They made their way up to a dirty glass window. Sandis pressed against the pane, straining, and it creaked open.

  Her sigh of relief was loud and sweet. She climbed in. Rone followed after her and found himself in some sort of smelly rest facility.

  “Anon broke the latch in here years ago and was too scared to tell anybody.” She eased the pane shut. “Security is heaviest downstairs.”

  She ran to a water pump in the corner. Rone almost stopped her, telling her the noise might attract someone, but her thirst was written across her skin, so he helped her instead.

  She drank more than should fit into a person’s stomach, then took over the pumping so Rone could drink, too. The water was stale and metallic. He didn’t care.

  Something clunked nearby.

  Sandis froze. “We should move,” she whispered. “Not too far . . . but we should go.”