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

by Gwen Mitchell

  The heat hit her first, before the flames and smoke registered. Those blasted forward next, swept into a frenzy by the open door. Huge wings beat against Bri as the owl made its furious escape. She ducked into a ball in the doorway. A trail of fire outlined the perimeter of the room, starting at the counter and climbing up the shelves. More shattered glass littered the floor.

  “Earl!” she screamed, coughing as her lungs filled with heavy black smoke.

  He was a large man, and it was a small room. He wasn’t there. Her gaze drifted across the floor as the flames ate the gnarled wood planks in neat little rows. One square panel in the middle remained untouched. Bri crawled over to it, her vision spotty. Her fingers found a purchase and she flung open a trap door. The air from the cellar was blessedly clear. She hung her head over the edge to suck in a few gulps of it before attempting to scale the ladder.

  Sirens blared in the distance. Help would be there soon.

  “Earl! Hold on!” She swung her legs over the side, found a rung with her good foot, and climbed down. It wasn’t far to the dirt floor. When she reached the bottom, Bri turned in a slow circle. “Earl?”

  An eerie silence met her. Whatever had been fueling her heroics plummeted out of grasp. Her heart was thundering, her clothes sticking to her sweaty skin. She glimpsed the man-shaped lump five feet away on the ground, and a dry sob bubbled up her throat.

  Was she too late? All of that for nothing? What was the point of her visions if she could do nothing to change the outcome? She staggered to Mr. Moaggen’s side and fell to her knees.

  “Earl!” She gripped his shoulders and shook him. His face was ashen, jaw slack. “No.”

  Bri fell over him, her limbs lethargic and thoughts hazed from lack of oxygen. Was this the cost for trying to help her? How many more deaths would she have on her conscience? Something creaked overhead. She looked up, half-expecting to see the shadowy figure from her vision. A part of her would be glad to face him, to meet her destiny. She was so tired of death.

  Instead, bits of burning debris rained down from the orange-lit opening above as the wood groaned and cracked. She covered Mr. Moaggen’s body instinctively. She hugged his massive shoulders and pressed her face to the cool, dank earth as the fire roared above them. The shelves upstairs collapsed. A heartbeat later, the ceiling came crashing down.

  ***

  The Synod’s lack of action sent a clear message. They would do nothing to stop the slaughter of yet another coven. It would be suspect, especially with the Church’s bloodhounds on the loose. All of Vivianne’s efforts to save those she loved had proved to be in vain. She had spared them from the Black Death, only to lead them into the noose.

  She’d weighed the risks, and deemed them worthy. How easy it was to bargain with lives when one didn’t believe they could be wrong. Pride — her only true sin. A costly one.

  They would all hang on the morrow.

  She’d balked at advisories from the Synod, at the speculation of the court gossip-mill, at the rules against her unblessed union. For the sake of love, she’d broken one of the Threefold Laws and done forbidden magic. Now she would bear the stain of eight other deaths on her soul; nine, counting the one in her belly.

  Such a heavy price Fate exacted as penance for her blind, bloody pride.

  Soon they would return to begin the questioning. By the time the sun rose, she would be in a new dimension of suffering. Her blood froze in her veins. She clenched her hands together in her lap until they ached. She didn’t fear death, but she did have regrets. She would not see Marguerite blossom into womanhood, nor bring the fruit of her love with Lucas to birth.

  Lucas was the one thing she could not regret. She’d known completion for a time, and true, sublime happiness. Enough to last several lives.

  The door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and a faint orange light bounced off the damp stones.

  Had they come for her so soon?

  Other prisoners shifted across dirt floors, some to the edge of their bars, some melting into the farthest corners. Vivianne waited in the middle, beneath the small air shaft, where a thin beam of moonlight reached her face. She drew strength from it and bolstered her courage to endure the trials ahead.

  She was not prepared to see Lucas’s face. Nor for the selfish anger that ripped through her at the sight. By the Stars, how she wanted to live!

  “Ana.” Lucas dropped to his knees beside the grate, lowered his lantern to the ground, and reached through the bars.

  Vivianne spilled forward in a tangle of soiled gowns, her chains clanging across the floor. She pressed kisses to Lucas’s hands as he pulled her closer. His lips, normally so warm and welcoming, were chilled and salty with tears. Bitter streaks met and mingled on their tongues. She pulled away, gasping. She had never thought to see him again. “My love, you should not have come.”

  “I had to,” Lucas growled. “I will not stand for this. I will find a way to save you. I’ll ride to the Synod and tear down the Arcanum one brick at a time if I must. I will make them intervene.”

  She forced out a humorless laugh. “We both know it would do no good. They are not wrong to leave me here — my choices have cost too many lives already. I do not want any more blood spilled for my sake, last of all yours.”

  She ran her fingertips down the crease between his brows. This was the last time she would look at him.

  “Then I will take you away from here.” His grip on her shoulders tightened. “We can run.”

  “And be twice-hunted? The Church would come for us, as would the Synod for risking more exposure. You cannot fight them all.” She stroked his cheek with all the tenderness she had left. Her heart heaved and sank. She would miss his face, the golden fire in his eyes that burned only for her. “These are not choices. They are the impulsive thoughts of a desperate man.”

  “Yes,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I am desperate. I cannot lose you now.”

  Vivianne held back her next wave of tears and clasped his hands. They both knew this day would come: she was mortal, he was not. She just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. “You must get Marguerite away from this place. You know where I keep the gold. There’s enough there to travel for a year. Take her to Scotland — we have family there, Clan Cameron. My great aunt, Eileen. Promise me!”

  “I will see that she gets there safely.”

  She let go of him to reach into the inner pocket of her gown, then held out the key she had hidden there. “See that she gets this. Our family’s Legacy is hers to protect now.”

  He clutched it in his fist. “I will.”

  “Promise me something else.” She sought his flickering gaze in the dimness. The intensity of it stole her breath — a treacherous play of light and shadow that saw into the deepest, forbidden parts of her.

  “Anything.”

  “Live. Live, and find me again.”

  He gave her a pained look, the stern determination faltering for a moment. Tears welled in his eyes, like swells in a storm-swept sea. She shuddered, sick with love and grief. This immortal, who had seen more souls come and go than she could fathom, shed tears for her.

  She kissed his closed fist, and stumbled back before the strength to let go abandoned her.

  Lucas unfolded from the dirt like a Nekros from the grave, took a wooden step towards the stairwell, then paused. “I will never stop searching for you, my Ana — my heart — I swear it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Kean had Sundays off, but he usually hung around the station anyway, grilling steaks and watching ESPN. And when he was in a mood — like he had been since leaving Bri’s last night — there was plenty of work there to distract him. He was halfway through the third coat of wax on Engine Two when the alarm sounded. He flipped on the truck’s radio and listened as Island Dispatch relayed the call.

  “All cross-island engines report to downtown corridor. Multiple alarm fire at 423 Front Street. We have one adult male presumed to be in the building, and one adult female seen
entering the building through a broken window.”

  His muscles bunched like a snarl of barbed wire, every cell in his body tingling with intuition.

  Bri.

  By the time the station bell started ringing, he was already out the door, sprinting headlong for the marina. He didn’t gear up or wait for the truck. Not the brightest idea, but when it came to Bri, he never had a lick of sense.

  A crowd had gathered on Front Street to watch as black smoke billowed through the windows of Moaggen’s Tobacco. The buildings on either side would catch any moment. He could feel the whisper of imminent disaster, the tide pulling back before the tsunami hits. The rush would normally thrill him. Not this time.

  Nervous energy bounced around his body, his magic combining with adrenaline, making him anxious for a release of power.

  The crowd kept its distance, frozen in awe of the ominous cloud pouring through the broken front door. Maude Troudeau was in the front, recounting how “that Spurrier girl” had smashed into the shop with a flowerpot before running into the fire.

  What the hell was wrong with her? He regretted not grabbing his gear.

  He cut down the back alley, where he could fade without being seen. The steel door of the shop was hot to the touch. He normally wouldn’t even consider going blind into a blaze with no alternate exit, but Bri was in there. She was alive — for now — he could feel her.

  There was no other option.

  He appeared in the cellar and got his shields up just in time. His warding protected them from the heat and smoke as the floor above gave way. He deflected the largest chunks of collapsing debris with a push of power. It only bought him seconds. The air was a hot, heavy cloud, laced with charred powder. Flames cascaded down on all sides in an orange froth.

  Earl Moaggen was dead. No energy signature emanated from his limp body. Bri was wrapped around him as if her life depended on it. She only held on tighter when Kean tried to pick her up. He couldn’t waste any more time — the whole place was collapsing around them — so he yanked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and faded back to the alley.

  He set Bri on the ground and knelt to check her over. Her skin was hot, blackened, and glistening with sweat, but she appeared unharmed.

  Thank the Stars.

  She let out a frantic whimper, her eyes squeezed shut.

  “Shh, you’re okay.” He was surprised at the calm in his voice. He cradled her as she sucked in big gulps of air and hacked them back out. If he’d been just a second later, if he’d hesitated… He shook his head and buried his face in her hair. When it came to this woman, sense he might be short on, but his instincts always served him well. That was why it was so easy to love her. He didn’t have to think. It didn’t have to make sense. It just was.

  Bri was alive and whole. That was all that mattered. He let himself savor that fact for a few seconds, until his brain kicked back on. He carried her down the alley and met the ambulance as it pulled up to the curb.

  Underneath a thick layer of soot, Bri wore the grey, ashy look of someone in shock. She hadn’t said a word. He gave her an oxygen mask. Her breathing slowly evened out as he wiped her face and hands. Her smoke inhalation wasn’t too bad. Her blood pressure was elevated, but within normal ranges. He cleaned her bloody feet with antiseptic and wrapped her swollen ankle in an ace bandage. She answered his questions with vague nods, or sometimes not at all.

  “She gonna be alright?” Andy, their newest transfer from the mainland and assigned as Kean’s shadow hovered over his shoulder.

  “She’ll be fine. I’m gonna take her home. I’ll watch her tonight. Tell the chief for me.” He wasn’t letting her out of his sight now.

  Andy swept a lock of hair off his forehead and studied Kean with excited brown eyes. “What about the shopkeeper?”

  Kean glanced over his shoulder. The fire was blazing in earnest, despite the fact that both trucks had arrived. The buildings on the waterfront were old and packed close together — a row of tinder boxes. It would take a few hours to put out. No one was going in for what was left of the body until then. Kean shook his head. “I was too late.”

  He wrapped Bri in an emergency blanket and walked toward the station with her tucked to his chest. He’d only gone a block when the curtain of clouds overhead pulled back, and the rain started to fall. He adjusted the blanket into a hood, but she pushed it back and let the rain fall on her face.

  “Kean?” Her voice was scratchy and raw.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why couldn’t I save him?”

  He clenched his jaw and shifted her weight a bit. “It wasn’t your job to save him.” He should’ve been looking after Bri, not nursing his stung pride. If he’d been there, none of this would’ve happened. He’d almost lost her. He didn’t notice he’d stopped walking until she reached up and touched his wet cheek.

  Her eyes were bloodshot, the pupils dilated so that only a faint ring of green showed around the edges. But her voice was calm, and so certain it sent a chill down his spine. “It was. I saw the killer. He was there. I tried to save Earl, but it was already too late.”

  The rain fell harder against them, drops beading together into streams on Bri’s face, cutting white stripes through charcoal. “You had another vision?”

  She nodded weakly and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “Did you see his face?” He would love to have a target for the fury funneling through him. He’d wanted justice for Cecelia and Tara, but now this bastard — whoever he was — had almost taken Kean’s woman. Now it was real personal.

  “No.” Her eyes fluttered closed as more heavy raindrops splattered on her forehead and cheeks. “Only shadows. I was too late.”

  “We both were.” By the time they reached the station, foreboding clouds had taken shape, darkening the sky. He settled Bri into the passenger side of his truck and turned the heat up full blast. The cab filled with musty warmth, which seemed to revive her some. She sat up and spread her hands in front of the vent. Thunder growled in the distance.

  “None of this is your fault.”

  Her brows knit together. “How can you say that? We’d just been to see him. He was making a potion for us, and now he’s dead. I tried to save him and I failed at that too.”

  Kean turned onto Mill Pike road so hard, the ass-end of his truck fishtailed. Bri gripped the dash with both hands. He righted them and let out a long, slow breath, counting to ten in his head. Okay, five. Bri had been selfless, acting on instinct. He couldn’t fault her for that. “You tried, which is more than most people would’ve done. Hell, if I’d been with you, I wouldn’t have let you even try. You nearly got yourself killed. Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

  Don’t you understand how much I need you?

  Bri sniffed and wiped her eyes with the corner of the blanket.

  Shit. He pulled her across the bench seat to nestle beside him. “I’m sorry, baby. Please don’t cry.”

  Bri shifted away and wiped her nose on her sooty sleeve. “No, you’re right. I’m only making things worse. I’m a danger to everyone. I should leave before anyone else gets hurt.”

  He pounded the flat of his hand on the steering wheel. “That’s not what I meant, dammit.”

  What was so hard about letting him protect her? What did he have to say to make her let him in? He’d never been good with words. They usually just got in his way. With Bri, there was a mountain of them she needed to hear, and he had no idea where to start climbing. All he knew was that if he didn’t find a way to break through soon, he was gonna lose her for good.

  Not an option.

  The rain was falling in sheets when they pulled up to Bri’s house. She didn’t jump out of the truck and slam the door in his face the minute he killed the engine. That was a good sign. They sat in silence for a spell, until he realized she was probably too exhausted to move. He carried her as far as the upstairs bathroom before she came back to herself enough to shove him into the hall so she could shower in
private. He was relieved to have her bossing him around, which was the only reason he complied.

  He waited downstairs and debated how to get the thought of leaving out of her head. It was a delicate job, and he never did delicate well. Only one strategy came to mind, but it was risky. He could go straight for the summit. If he took Bri to bed, their bodies could do all the talking. He could tear down the walls between them. She would have to admit they belonged together. Done deal. Simple.

  He liked simple.

  But… it could backfire. If he pushed her too far, she would shut him out. He couldn’t afford to take that kind of hit. Too much was at stake — not just for him, but for every Zyne on the island. They had to stick together. Not to mention that she’d already turned him down twice. He was obviously off his game.

  After washing his face and hands in the downstairs bathroom, he scrounged up a clean shirt from the back of his truck. He found Bri in the kitchen, clean and dressed in a tank-top and pajamas, making tea. The determined look on her face was all Spurrier grit. She was no stranger to the aftermath of disaster. That woman was stronger than she realized. After everything she’d been through, she still kept fighting. Life knocked her down a lot, but she was never out. They say the Universe tries those marked for great things the hardest. He’d always known Bri was destined for greatness.

  How does she not see it?

  Her fresh face, rosy cheeks, and the wet hair sliding over her bare shoulders made up his mind. He dropped his shirt on the floor and slid up behind her.

  ***

  Bri froze when the heat of Kean’s presence coiled around her. His breath whispered over her neck and sent a wave of tingles down her body. Why did being near him have to feel so good? She couldn’t help leaning back, wanting to soak it in. His intoxicating evergreen scent further blunted her resolve to keep her distance.