Circle of Ashes (Wish Quartet Book 2)

by Elise Kova

  Samson leaned away from the table, wiping his brow. “I think that’s it.” He tilted his head this way and that.

  “I got nothing else.” Jo affirmed. She tilted her head to the side, looking at the machine. As much as she didn’t want to come off as questioning Samson’s work, she also had a curiosity that couldn’t be satiated. “Shouldn’t it have rolls of paper, and a needle?”

  “Everything is internal here—digital. All the sensors are contained within so they have the least chance of being acted on by external forces. It was a modification I made early on, given your insights.”

  Jo gave an approving nod and slung an arm around his shoulders, giving them a friendly squeeze. “Well, I think you’ve done a great job.”

  Samson tensed initially, but relaxed before Jo could pull away. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “And thank you for your help with this.”

  “Anytime you need me to figure out how to break your things, I’m here. I did promise help with some of your other tinkerings.” And I won’t pry about your personal matters next time, Jo promised mentally.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Samson nodded. “For now, you should take a breather from this wish.”

  “What?” Jo stiffened. “Why?” She knew she’d messed up, but she’d been doing all she could to fix it. To be denied participation now—

  “Because you have been working non-stop. Give your mind a rest.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll get this to Wayne and Takako. They can get it to the scientists.” He lifted the contraption, starting for the door. Jo was close behind.

  “Are you sure?” Jo asked, cautiously believing that this decision truly came from a place of concern over her mental wellbeing and not some sly tactic propelled out of frustration for her ineptitude at the onset of the wish.

  “Working on a wish is exhausting. Let us share some of the load,” he said over his shoulder.

  “My mind is mush,” she admitted. “But I feel too wound tight to even relax a little. I doubt taking a break from the wish would make it any better.” If anything, it could honestly stress her out more.

  “Perhaps you should try anyway?” It was odd to see Samson so pushy. Jo took it as a sign of true concern, and a marker for the fact that she should actually listen to him. He certainly would know what he was talking about.

  “Well, I had been talking to Nico about picking up a new hobby,” Jo said as the door closed behind them.

  “Like what?”

  “He asked the same thing, and like I told him. . . I have no idea.” Jo grinned and, much to her pleasant surprise, Samson grinned back.

  “If that’s the case, then maybe I shall put forward my suggestion of continuing to work with me on my projects.”

  “I’d like that,” she said quickly, as if he’d think about the words for too long and then take them back, realizing what he’d offered. “Whenever you need me, Samson. It’s not like I don’t have the time.”

  They both shared a laugh at that, Samson’s significantly quieter than hers.

  “Until then, then.” He gave a nod, taking a step backwards toward Wayne and Takako’s rooms.

  “Until then,” Jo affirmed, turning on her heel and heading in the other direction.

  Her head was in a haze and her body felt energized. Taking a bit of a break actually sounded good, but she desperately did not want to be excluded from any steps of the wish. Jo was a mess of contradictions and obsessing over redeeming herself wasn’t helping anything. She needed a break, needed something else to look at for just a little while that would occupy more of her thoughts than Eslar’s book.

  She’d hoped to find Nico in the living room (he was always one for a pleasant distraction), but Eslar was the lone ghost haunting the space as usual. Jo’s eyes scanned the empty room, coming back to the elf who now stared at her.

  “How did it go?” Eslar asked.

  “What, do you have ESP now?” Jo asked, walking over to the kitchen.

  “If only.”

  She snorted at the elf’s comment. It was the most casual levity she’d ever heard from him. Jo wandered into the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets. She wasn’t actually hungry, so making something was merely another way to pass the time, another habit of humanity to indulge. What new habits of the immortal could she take up instead?

  “Well?” Eslar followed up when the silence had dragged on.

  “How did what go?”

  “Your work with Samson,” he clarified.

  She paused, turning to face the elf on the couch. “Really, how did you know I was working with him?”

  Eslar shrugged.

  “Are you sure you don’t have ESP?” she asked again.

  “If only,” he repeated in kind. Jo found it just as amusing as the first time and she shook her head. “Well?”

  “It went all right.” She hoped. “In case you somehow don’t mysteriously know all the details, I was helping him test the machine—” It was far more technical than a standard seismograph and deserved a better name, Jo just wasn’t up for thinking of one at the present moment. “And he seems confident it’ll work.”

  “Good, we need it.” Eslar turned back to the television.

  Jo turned as well, leaning against the counter. The T.V. was loud enough to fill the room.

  “The prime minister will be giving another press conference on the current steps being taken to prevent further acts of cyber terrorism and protect our nation’s digital borders. . .”

  “Cyber terrorism,” she repeated. It was a distinction she’d never earned before, yet Jo couldn’t find any pride for it.

  “They seem to be clinging to that label in regards to your hacking.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Jo turned away from the broadcast, eventually deciding on coffee. Ten hours without coffee did not a happy Jo make. At the least, the grinding, brewing, and pouring would keep her distracted from the news for just a little while longer.

  “. . . scientific community agrees that there is no evidence to support the evacuation order. . .”

  “Yet,” Jo spoke over the newscaster.

  “We hope,” Eslar added.

  Hope was an odd choice of words. It stuck out to Jo like an HTML tag that hadn’t been enclosed properly. An anomaly that was intentional, functional, yet wrong. Hope wasn’t going to complete their wish. And if they didn’t complete it. . .

  “Eslar,” Jo poured herself a mug and crossed the room to the elf as she spoke. “We all hope it works. . . But what happens if it doesn’t?”

  He looked back to the television.

  Jo placed her hands on the back of the couch, hovering over him. “Eslar. . .” she prodded, giving him space to interject. He said nothing. “You’re the oldest among us.” Jo chose the direct approach. “Surely you must know what—”

  “We’ve never not completed a wish.”

  Jo straightened away in surprise. “Never? Out of all the wishes the Society has ever granted?”

  “No.”

  “So what happens if we fail?” Jo asked, her voice falling into a weaker hush than what she would’ve liked. He said nothing, his face passive, his eyes avoiding her at all costs. “Eslar—”

  “I do not know,” he cut her off. His intensity only made Jo more suspicious.

  “But—”

  “I can only assume it wouldn’t be good.”

  “Why?” Again, he was silent. That cool distance he always managed to keep finally set Jo’s blood to boiling. She took a sip of the too-hot liquid in her cup. “Eslar, what do you know?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.” The word flew from her mouth faster than Jo could catch it. But seeing it land in the shock on the elf’s face, she didn’t regret it. “You know—”

  “I know nothing and I do not wish to be bothered any longer.” He huffed and threw open the book in his lap, looking between it and the television with a determined ferocity.

  Jo abandoned the elf and her mostly untouched cof
fee, storming out of the room in a huff. If he wouldn’t tell her, she’d find someone who would. There were only two people who were older than Eslar: Pan and Snow. Jo would rather eat her hoodie than speak to Pan. Plus, she didn’t want to bother with anyone or anything else when she could go straight to the source. She’d avoided him long enough; what better excuse than this?

  At the Four-Way, she heard voices in the distance—coming from the briefing room. Jo’s feet stilled and she squinted down the dim hallway. The door was ajar enough at the end that she could hear Samson’s voice, but she couldn’t make out his words.

  That same frantic, nagging feeling wormed up her neck from earlier and Jo started up the side-stair with purpose.

  Jo stood before Snow’s door for the first time in weeks. How long had it been exactly? The last time she was here was after her failed hack-a-thon. But she’d walked away that time like a coward, her tail between her legs. She couldn’t even knock.

  Not this time, Jo vowed to herself.

  She wouldn’t be denied and she wouldn’t be turned away. She wanted—needed—answers, and it seemed there was only one man who could give them to her. Jo raised her knuckle and, in equal parts anger and curiosity, but mostly sheer force of will, rapped on the door a few times.

  Just like the last time, it took Snow several agonizing moments to respond (long enough that Jo almost walked away). But when the door finally opened, Jo’s mouth did with it. She was going to ask him everything she wanted and not tolerate any kind of subversion.

  But her mind went blank the moment she saw him.

  He wore a knee-length silken robe in white that seemed to accentuate his lithe figure, with tight-fitting trousers of some variety underneath. If it didn’t somehow work so perfectly on him, Jo would’ve made a joke about looking like a second-rate rock star.

  But it did work perfectly for him. He looked like a vampire with an ethereal edge. A sort of angel-meets-demon forbidden combo that Jo couldn’t decide if she’d rather be smited or saved by. She’d honestly take a little of both, given the option.

  Snow stared down at her. She could tell he was trying to withdraw, trying to keep his face passive, but he failed (miserably). Jo saw the confusion, inquiry, and. . . something more.

  How long had it last been since they’d even just seen each other?

  Too long, echoed through her chest before she could think of the actual answer.

  Jo opened her mouth. She’d come here for a purpose. She’d come to pin him down and force him to tell her the truth about the Society. And yet, what slipped from her lips was a mirror to him that felt wholly necessary, like some subtle code they’d unintentionally created that meant nothing to anyone but them.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” she whispered. But what she really said was, let me inside.

  Snow stared, blinking in momentary surprise. The haze lifted and his eyes flicked over to the door at Jo’s left, his right. The black and ominous door that belonged to Pan.

  Wordlessly, he wrapped a hand around her shoulder and half-tugged, half-ushered her into the great unknown of the Society that was Snow’s personal space.

  Chapter 18

  A Step Up from Prince

  SNOW’S ROOM WAS unlike anything she could have imagined, and yet, in an odd way, it suited him perfectly.

  “What are you, some kind of prince?” Jo scoffed, pleased her snark had returned.

  She wasted no time in walking the perimeter, admiring the lux decor. Because it really did look like something right out of her childhood fantasies of royalty. Even in the dim lighting, Jo could see the immense amount of detail that went into every aspect of the architecture and the effects it housed; The lavish, four-poster bed bore a thick, dark purple comforter embroidered in colors and patterns she couldn’t quite place. The latticed windows overlooked an ornately landscaped lawn—complete with two fountains, winding paths begging to be walked, and neatly manicured shrubbery.

  Inside, there was even a fireplace front and center. It was composed of stone pillars and carved designs; a happily crackling fire gave the room a flickering, orange glow. Yet, for as much light as it gave, there was very little heat to match. The room was comfortable, if not a little cool.

  It felt like stepping right into the fancy bedchamber of a king’s castle. Well, at least her nickname of “King Snow” didn’t seem so far off.

  “I used to be.” Snow’s voice pulled her out of her musing at once. She turned to face him, expecting him to have followed her farther inside, only to find him still standing by the door, hand on the doorknob as if debating whether or not to let her stay. Jo crossed her arms over her chest, the mere thought of him pushing her away again settling beneath her skin like the annoying buzz of a bad caffeine hangover.

  “Used to be?” she asked, looking him up and down before raising an eyebrow at his tense posture. Snow’s head was slightly bowed, brow furrowed in thought and silver hair falling like a veil over his eyes.

  “You asked if I was a prince,” he said eventually, straightening back up and finally taking his hand away from the door handle. Jo guessed she was worth keeping around for a little bit longer. How nice of him. “I used to be. Of a sort, at least. Well, it’s what some called me.”

  There was something about the way the words fell from his lips that stilled her sass and made Jo’s heart ache. Even as he stood before her, tall, collected, and distant, she could see something in his eyes that spoke of painful memories. If he hadn’t done his damndest to keep her tiptoeing all this time just on the edge of curiosity and understanding, she probably would have hesitated in prying. But, much like that night in her bedroom, he seemed almost desperate for something—and Jo herself was desperate to know what that something was.

  Jo let her arms uncross and her hands fall to her hips. With an overdramatic glance about the room, she asked, “Is this what your ‘sort of’ princely quarters looked like then?” Whether or not he could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, she didn’t know. But when his lips cracked into the barest hint of a smile, she considered it a success either way.

  “I have made some adjustments over the years, but. . . mostly, yes.”

  Jo could see him physically relaxing under the meaningless chatter, and while she hadn’t forgotten her purpose for coming here, the sight set something warm to bloom at the center of her chest. She’d had a glimpse of the stress Snow had to endure months ago in the chamber where “he’d died,” and she could only imagine what else he kept secret from the group. Like, for example, what happened when they failed at a wish? But knowing she had at least a miniscule ability to put him at ease blunted the urgency of the inquiry more than she’d want to admit, and kept her tongue on safer topics.

  “So what were you like, then?” Jo walked up to him with a bit more of a saunter to her step then she’d intended. She licked her lips, ignoring the way her heart sped up as his eyes dipped down to watch. “As a prince?”

  “Surely you did not come here to inquire about needlessly long lineages, debates over technicalities of what makes royalty, or to hear tales of what messes all of mortal-kind were making at the time that I was left to oversee it.” At one point, he must have met her step for step, easing into her personal space without her noticing. They were only about a foot apart now, but Jo swore she could feel his presence like a physical press against her own body.

  “Not exactly,” Jo said, though it came out more as a whisper. Her gaze dragged up the firm plane of his chest, barely visible through the slit of his robe, to rest on his face. His steel gaze scanned her face from behind the fan of his hair.

  “Then what did you come here for?” Snow asked, and if Jo didn’t know better, she could have sworn there was something implied beneath the question, like a fisherman casting a line into the dark unknown of the sea—if she’d even dare let herself read into it that way. She had so many questions, had come here ready to demand answers, and in the end, all she could manage to do was take a deep, shaky breath.<
br />
  Jo licked her lips again—why was her mouth so dry? “I’m not sure, I just don’t know all that much about you, you know? Or the Society, or the wishes, really,” Jo added hastily, not wanting to give up entirely on her original mission. She wasn’t here for him. She definitely wasn’t here for him. She couldn’t let him, or her heart, get any misconceptions about that.

  “Hmm.” Snow’s hum wrapped around her like a fog, making it hard for her to think, or see, for that matter. Slowly, he took another step forward, their toes almost touching. She could feel the warmth of his body like its own touch, could see every detail within the contours of his absurdly beautiful face. “You know more than you think.”

  “Tell me about it? About your kingdom and your, how did you put it, ‘needlessly long lineages?’”

  Something clouded and sad drifted through Snow’s eyes at the question, though his smirk stayed firmly in place, keeping Jo from panicking. “I was not born, but created.”

  “What?” Jo whispered, oddly nervous.

  “It was the Age of Gods, before the Age of Magic.”

  “I thought you said you were from the Age of Magic. Back in the Ranger Compound.”

  Snow thought a moment. “I believe I merely said magic was real at such a time.”

  “Way to be technical.” Jo rolled her eyes. Age of Magic, that was the time when Eslar and Samson had made their wishes. What was the world like before then? “Was it common, in your time? To be made?”

  “Not quite. They called me a demigod.” His smirk had fallen into a small smile, still sad, but sweetened some with nostalgia.

  “Demigod? Age of Gods? Sounds like a step up from prince, Mr. Modest,” Jo teased, trying to laugh.