Rain of Ash: Skydancer Book 1 (The Zyne Legacy)

by Gwen Mitchell

  “What is it then?”

  “It’s silly, just…” She felt like a pariah, like everyone was waiting for her to start spewing pea soup and spinning her head around. As if to illustrate the point, Charlie Sheppard drove by in his family’s produce truck. He waved at Astrid, but looked away when Bri smiled, and she’d let him get to second base in middle school. The truck doused them in a cloud of exhaust. Bri cleared her throat and resumed her march up the sidewalk. “I could never come back here for good. I don’t want to be that girl anymore.”

  “What girl?” Astrid hopped off her bike and started walking it. The dangling pink braids of her Bavarian ski cap made her look about twelve, but the expression on her face was much older.

  “The sad one with the crazy mother, the family curse, and the tragic story.” Bri was used to a certain amount of isolation, but in Sydney the distance was on her own terms. Here, all it did was hurt.

  “C’mon.” Astrid pulled her down the alley. “I want you to meet someone.”

  “Where are we going?” Bri didn’t recognize anything, though the buildings on that block were some of the oldest in town. How had she left a single stone on the island unturned? Or had it really been so long that she’d forgotten?

  They’d only gone a few steps when an invisible cord yanked at her stomach. Her skin erupted in goose bumps. She would have run in the other direction if Astrid hadn’t kept such a tight hold on her arm. The brick walls on either side of the alley seemed to lean in to the point of toppling down. They blotted out the sky and encased the narrow walkway in thick, prickly shadows. Cold crept up Bri’s spine, setting off instinctual alarm bells. She planted her feet, which were heavy as lead anyway, and squeezed out a few shallow breaths.

  “Oh, shit. Sorry! It’s okay. They’re just aversion wards to keep out mundanes.” Astrid dragged her a few more steps, and like a bubble popping, the ringing in her ears ceased.

  The oppressive shadows lifted away. She shook herself and inhaled a deep breath of plain old moss-scented air. She still felt a bit woozy. “You could have warned me.”

  “I didn’t know they would work on an uninitiated Zyne too.”

  They stopped by a rusted green Dumpster beside a steel door painted to blend in to the brick wall. Astrid tapped on the door in a sharp four-beat staccato with one of the many silver rings on her right hand. Bri glanced back down the alley. A few tourists passed on the street, but no one noticed them.

  The door rattled and opened inwards to reveal a familiar face looming above them. Mr. Moaggen’s mustard yellow handlebar moustache and bushy eyebrows had silvered at the tips. The frown lines on his forehead and cheeks had splintered off into a hundred more papery wrinkles, but his frosty blue eyes still made Bri freeze like a rabbit caught in a clearing, or like a fourteen year old caught smoking stolen cigarettes.

  He sized the two of them up from his towering six and a half foot height and poked his polished bald head out to check the alley in either direction.

  “Hullo, Earl.” Astrid grinned and batted her lashes. The legendary Edgewood charm had gotten the two of them out of quite a few sticky situations, but Earl Moaggen appeared immune. His lips rolled in a gesture suggesting he was about to either snarl or spit. The door opened a crack wider.

  Bri’s feet didn’t want to cooperate, but Astrid led her into the gloom. She sneezed repeatedly as tobacco smoke, pungent herbs, and a thick coating of dust filled her lungs. Mr. Moaggen slammed the heavy door. One foot dragged slightly as he shuffled behind a long wood worktable in the corner. Her vision slowly adjusted to the dim.

  The back room of Moaggen’s Smoke Shop was an infamous adolescent dare on the island. Many attempts had been made to infiltrate, but no one had ever returned to tell the tale. Those who tried ended up hauling ass up Front Street with a Viking berserker limping after them, broom in hand. Looking around, Bri now understood why.

  The shop was a cover.

  Glass vials and bottles of every shape, size, and color lined the oddly-angled walls from grimy floor to cobweb-ridden ceiling. A few choked-out plants struggled for life on shelves behind the back counter. A gigantic stuffed owl with reflective yellow eyes stared from the doorway to the front shop. Astrid walked over to stroke its breast, and the bird blinked.

  Bri clutched her purse tight to her chest.

  Astrid cooed to the man-eating sized creature and whispered something under her breath.

  “Don’t be givin’ him any ideas,” Mr. Moaggen grumbled.

  The owl fluffed its feathers and tilted its head, inviting Astrid to scratch its neck. She smiled and obliged. “He wants you to let him out more. He can’t stretch his wings in here.”

  Mr. Moaggen’s chuckle sounded a bit like a rumbling chest cough. He didn’t look up as he shaved pieces of some knotted root into a beaker, which bubbled over an open flame. The congealed brown liquid belched occasional puffs of steam.

  “Did you have a reason for disturbing me, or did you just come to see Loki?” His smile twisted at an odd angle, pulling at a scar on his cheek. Grotesque, but a smile nonetheless.

  Astrid huffed and slid behind the counter. “You don’t have to be so grumpy. Bri’s scared shitless of you already.”

  Bri shuffled her feet when he paused in his carving to study her. Those eyes — so light they were almost white — were like brittle ice over aqua water, threatening to crack and swallow her up. She gulped.

  “Besides, if I didn’t pay you regular visits, your plants would die.” Astrid fondled the leaves sagging miserably on the back shelf. They stirred and uncurled, the stalks straightening. The greenery darkened, and a few sparse buds opened up, as if they’d soaked in a week’s worth of sunshine and fertilizer. Astrid sauntered over to the table and sniffed at the beaker. “Mariposa Thrall? Who the heck actually buys that stuff? Are you selling to tourists now?”

  Bri took a tentative step forward, her curiosity getting the better of her. This was a deeper glimpse into the world of the Zyne, the one all her family had been a part of without her. Plus Mr. Moaggen — good ol’ Earl — didn’t look like he was going to beat them with a broomstick any time soon.

  He sighed and set aside his root and knife to regard them both, stroking the left side of his moustache. “What kind of mischief are you looking to get into today, Miss Edgewood?”

  Astrid didn’t waste the opening. “I need a Sight potion, and I’m not talking about that Peyote-laced crap you sell to the mainlanders. I want the good stuff.”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but Astrid held up a hand to stop him. “I know you have some, Earl. You’re the only person on this side of the Rockies who does. I asked around.”

  His gaze slid from Astrid to Bri. Something in his shoulders stiffened, making them seem even lumpier. He measured her up and down. Bri could feel the ice shifting under her feet as she tried to hold his stare. She looked away first, judging the distance to the door.

  He grunted his dismissal and reached for his knife.

  Astrid covered the blade with her hand. “Earl. This is important. Please.”

  Mr. Moaggen’s eyes narrowed into glacial slits. “What are you up to?”

  Astrid put on her best nonchalant act, but he only crossed his beefy, tattooed arms over his chest.

  “Fine,” Astrid said, exasperated. “Bri’s power is bound, but Ce-Ce sent her a message from beyond that she wants her to See. Her power is flaring, we just need a little something to help things along.”

  Earl shook his head. “No.”

  “Without the potion, all we can do is a séance, and it won’t even be the full moon.”

  “No,” he said again. His cheeks started to redden. “You should know better. She hasn’t been prepared. It’s too dangerous.”

  Astrid opened her mouth to argue, but Bri grabbed her arm and shuffled them both toward the exit. “It’s okay. We can think of something else.”

  She had no idea if that were true, but she also had no desire to see the Viking berserker come out
, while her best friend seemed hell-bent on it. Astrid twisted her arm free, but Bri swung the door open. Cold air from the alley swept in, dank and smelling of rotting lettuce. Freedom was imminent…

  “Come here, girl.”

  Bri froze, one foot out the door. She turned back to Mr. Moaggen, and Astrid shouldered her into the center of the room. Her heel snagged and she tumbled forward, catching herself on the workbench.

  His lip twisted again. She couldn’t tell the difference between the snarl and the smile. “Give me your hand.”

  Behind her, Astrid closed the door and leaned against it, sealing off their escape.

  Bri took a deep breath to steel herself and laid her hand lightly atop Mr. Moaggen’s large, calloused one. She met his gaze again, a blizzard of ice and salt. She felt naked under it, disturbingly bare to the elements. She flinched away, but his fingers closed around her wrist.

  “D-don’t.” Before she could struggle, Astrid wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  “He just wants to taste your power.”

  “Do w-what?” she squeaked.

  Astrid made an impatient noise. “Earl is a Ward. He’s going to test your energy. It doesn’t hurt if you don’t fight it.”

  The reassurance did little to quell the flow of electricity bouncing up Bri’s spine and bursting at the base of her skull. Mr. Moaggen closed his eyes. A subtle warmth wrapped around her hand, oozed up her arm, and poured over her shoulder to glide down her back. He let go, and the feeling slowly faded, leaving only the echo of sensitized nerve endings, like emerging from a hot tub into frigid air.

  Earl looked pointedly at Astrid. “Her magic is potent, but it feels contained. You really think you’re going to uncover the truth of what happened to Cecelia?”

  “That’s the plan.” Astrid offered no further explanation.

  Earl turned to Bri. “You understand the risks of taking the potion?”

  She chewed on her lip, rubbing her fingers together. They still felt charged with some kind of static. She could potentially end up lost in the proverbial woods, basically schizo. But the alternative was to do nothing and maybe wind up dead. “Yes, I do.”

  He studied her face for a moment, then hefted himself from the stool and disappeared.

  Vanished. In the blink of an eye.

  Bri jumped back and jammed her hip into the counter hard enough to bruise. She knew — theoretically — that Wards could fade, but she’d never actually seen it happen with her own eyes. It was a lot more dazzling than the subtle Oracle powers she’d been exposed to for most of her life. She cleared the nervousness from her throat. That would take some getting used to.

  The owl clicked its beak, as if it was laughing.

  Under their feet, there was a loud thump, followed by a crash and a string of curses. Mr. Moaggen reappeared in the center of the floor, his cheeks a blotchy red.

  Astrid raised one eyebrow in her classic High Noon style.

  His flush deepened as he ran a hand over his smooth head. “I, uh…just broke my last vial.”

  The owl fluffed its feathers, and the plants rustled with a hair-raising whisper.

  “I have everything I need to brew a new batch. I just need a few hours.”

  Astrid nodded, and the tension evaporated, like the mist from rain on a hot day. “Okay, sure. I’ll pick it up on my way home, after the dinner rush.”

  Earl’s eyebrows furrowed as if he were thinking really hard about how to say something else.

  “Yes, I’ll bring you a crab potpie,” Astrid said, sounding put-upon.

  His teeth flashed. They were surprisingly straight and white. “I’ll have it ready.”

  “Great! Thanks, Earl.” Astrid was back to her normal chipper self. “C’mon, Bri.”

  Bri hovered at Earl’s side until he glanced up. “What changed your mind?”

  Mr. Moaggen re-situated himself on his stool and bent his head over his carving. “Way I see it, things got tied up a might too quick, and a might too tidy. Something feels off about it. I knew your grandmother well. We weren’t close friends, but she helped me a time or two. She was a good woman. If somebody done her wrong, they deserve justice.”

  She needed no magical talents to see true remorse for her loss in Earl Moaggen’s face. It meant the world to her to be reminded there was more to her family name than an ugly rumor. Her grandmother was a great woman, and had touched many lives. Just when she thought the whole of Evergreen Cove had turned their backs on her, she found support in the most unlikely place. She smiled, blinking back tears. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  His expression softened. “You be careful. You’re all that’s left of your Legacy.”

  “I will.”

  A lump formed in Bri’s throat as they walked back down the alley. She hadn’t realized she was the last of her Legacy until that moment. Zyne bloodlines were traced through the mother. Bri had a great uncle, but his children took his wife’s name. She was the last living Spurrier. Maybe that’s what Ce-Ce had meant. Protect the Legacy could very well mean stay alive.

  I hope I don’t let her down this time.

  Chapter Nine

  He waited for Briana and her friend to leave the shop, seething at this unwelcome development. Ruining the potion should have been enough to waylay their plans until he could find a more suitable alternative. He’d underestimated Briana’s ingénue appeal. It seemed the shop-keeper had a soft spot for lost little girls.

  He would burn the whole harbor down if it would stop the genesis of yet another meddlesome Spurrier witch. But he was far too close now — subtlety served his purposes better. Briana had to leave the island, whole and alive. He hated to show mercy, but on this single matter, his host held too strong to make the effort worthwhile. Briana could not be harmed without risking the loss of his host.

  His psyche pressed at the edges of its flesh prison. Very soon, he would be free. All of the Zyne would suffer for his time spent in this infernal half-life. He would glut himself on their agony.

  The shop keeper faded back to the basement and hunched over a chest in the back. It would be so easy to rip away those feeble shields and feast on the pain underneath, but he mustn’t forget his primary objective.

  Patience.

  He’d waited centuries. What was another few earthly days? Crush a few potions, chase Briana away, find the key—

  An energy blast slammed against his invisibility shields, and they dematerialized. He blinked at the witch, who stood facing him with both palms together, calling power.

  “You,” the shopkeeper snarled.

  Another blast hit his shields and bounced off, shattering the shelf of glass behind him. His eye twitched. He dusted the debris from his shoulder.

  “Yes, me.” He smiled as his power punched through the Ward’s shields. Another tendril wrapped around the weakling’s windpipe and slowly squeezed.

  Chapter Ten

  Eric didn’t answer his phone. Bri didn’t think too hard about the wash of relief she felt when his voicemail picked up. She left him a detailed update, assuring him she was keeping busy getting things wrapped up. Easy-peasy. Cool as a cucumber. Lie. Lie. Lie. Just as she hung up, she walked by Starling’s Fine Art, and halted. The ground beneath her lurched.

  The window display featured a huge print of the painting in Tara’s bedroom — hypnotizing swirls of gold, green, and blue — a perfect reflection of the sun on turquoise waves. Smaller pieces were tastefully arranged around it on easels. In the right corner was a portrait of her baby sister, next to a vase of white lilies.

  Bri stared at the photo, trying to copy it over the last time she’d seen Tara face to face. She’d grown up so beautiful. She took after their father, with her sleek ebony hair, deep blue eyes, and thick lashes. The only feature the two of them shared was the smattering of freckles across their noses. Angel’s kisses, their mother had called them.

  The image of Tara went wavy, turning glass to water. She reached into her purse for a tissue. At tha
t moment, a gust of wind swept up the street and tore it from her fingers. She grabbed for it, but from the corner of her eye, she saw another silhouette in the window, just over her left shoulder. She turned…no one behind her.

  When she looked back, she could clearly see the figure of a man, shrouded in shadows. Fire pooled at his feet, and before him, on his knees, was Earl Moaggen. Earl had both hands crossed over his throat. His eyes bulged with terror. Another breeze pulled some hair into Bri’s eyes. She blinked, and the image was gone.

  See.

  “No,” she whispered. Not again. Her mind hadn’t caught up yet, but her body was already in motion. She marched back down the lane, lashing down her panic. She rounded the corner and tripped, rolling her ankle. She picked herself up, tossed off her shoes, and starting running full-out. She forced herself to ignore the pain zinging up her leg with every other step.

  She prayed it was nothing — just her mind playing tricks — but knew with every molecule of her body it was real. Her breath sawed in and out as she launched herself down the alley. The aversion wards pulled a ghastly moan from her throat, but she pushed through.

  She skidded up to the door and banged her shoulder on the dumpster. There was no handle on the outside. How was she supposed to get in? She pounded on the hollow steel, clawed frantically at the rusted edge. “Earl! Damn it!”

  She ran around the corner to the shop front. The door was locked, the inside dim and still. The placard in the window read Closed for Lunch.

  Bri banged her fists on the window until it rattled in its frame, shouting for Mr. Moaggen. No one came, except for the barber next door and the store clerk from across the street. They stared like she was a woman gone mad. No one was going to help her — she had no choice. Bri picked up a ceramic flowerpot, and threw it through the glass door.

  “Hey!” a man yelled. A woman let out a startled gasp.

  She barreled through the mess, heedless of the broken glass under her feet. She saw the blood, but didn’t feel the cuts. Adrenaline spiked in her veins, making it feel like time slowed down. She hurled herself over the counter and through the door into the back room.