Shattered Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 3)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  By the time I’d finished with my bout of hoarse laughter, we were halfway to Charles’ sanctum, and he still hadn’t explained.

  I gave him until our arrival to give me some answers, or I was going to get really annoying.

  As Charles threw the Holy Duffle onto the couch and the door clicked closed behind us, I frowned up at him.

  “Okay. So, Lori—and Tamara—are out there, with that demon doing who knows what to them, right now. How did this actually move us closer to—”

  Charles held up his hand, palm outward toward me, showing me the ruby-red, multifaceted, cut octagon gemstone resting there, the golden chain tying it tightly to his hand and running partway up his forearm.

  “Pretty,” I rasped, “but it’s the worst excuse for a spear I’ve ever seen.”

  Without a word, Charles picked up his sundered, blackened staff from the coffee table with the same hand.

  The transformation was immediate and remarkable. Golden wire grew from the wood itself, wrapping tightly around it, filling in where the silver filigree had melted away. Ruined runes shone briefly with a bloody light as the cleft wood sealed back together. Gray-hued hardwood became smooth and silvered like steel, inflexible and uncompromising.

  And in place of the absent eagle feather, elegant wrapped wire, and destroyed crystal that had once topped the arcane weapon, sprouted a long, shard of blood red ruby, jagged as if drawn raw from the earth.

  “Okay,” I amended, “that’s more like it.”

  “Rhongomyniad,” Charles said, holding out the weapon so I could see it better. “Caliburn. Gram. Caladbolg. Durendal. Excalibur-class weapons.” On close inspection, it was slightly see-through and wavery, as if still partly Next Door, and it emitted a muted golden light that made me want to shy away from direct contact.

  I nodded. “Thanks. I have no idea what that means.”

  He stared at me flatly, still holding out the gleaming staff-spear with a steady arm. “Those are a series of legendary weapons that—”

  “Yes, I get that.” I tapped my foot impatiently. “But what the hell is an ‘Excalibur-class’ weapon? What does it have to do with your fancy rock? I don’t speak wizard-ese.”

  “Those legends were—are—more than mere weapons, magical or not,” Charles elaborated, hefting the “spear” and giving it a good look-over of his own. “They’re ideas taken form. The stones are a piece of Next Door, harvested from primal realms whose very cores represent those ideals. A conduit.”

  I took a step back as Charles sent the weapon whistling through the air, testing it out. Though, instead of really whistling, it almost seemed to sing. “Honestly? Sounds like something from an anime.”

  “All ideas come from somewhere.” He paused swinging it around long enough to shrug indifferently. “For a wizard, a staff is a weapon, a companion, a tool, and a representation of self rolled into one.”

  What, then, had destroying his staff to defeat Meladoquiel and save me meant to him?

  “They resonate in tune with their creator’s energy,” he continued, “helping us to attune our minds to and draw power from Next Door, as well as acting as an early warning system should shit go sideways.”

  He tossed his staff to his other hand, and it was suddenly an abused piece of once-majestic wood again. He sighed. “Excalibur-class weapons are an order of magnitude more powerful than that, but similar.” He considered the gemstone smothered in his broad palm. “And with a bit of a mind of their own.”

  “So a bigger, better magical tuning fork.” I nodded; the idea of bringing a bigger gun to a demon fight was something I could get behind, even if I was starting to feel a little outclassed. “So what does this one represent? Why’d you pick it?”

  Charles swapped hands again, and his staff once more bloomed into the mythical spear whose name I couldn’t pronounce. “Fortitude? But with an air of...impartial savagery, perhaps. This was the same magic gifted to Mordred, after all, and with which Arthur was slain.” He frowned, just a little. “And I didn’t pick it. It picked me.”

  “Shame you didn’t get a sword, like that other asshole. You could have cosplayed the Grey Wizard himself.”

  “Gandalf?” Charles grunted. “Not even I’m that good.”

  “And there’s no time for you to grow a proper beard either.” The beginnings of my smile died before they could flourish. “But will your new staff-spear-thingy actually hurt Meladoquiel? Will it hurt Tamara?”

  “It resonates both here at Home and Next Door at once. It’s far more dangerous to Ca-Lethe than it is to Tamara, especially how I’m going to use it.” He nodded, seeming certain, determined. “No more help is coming.” He met my eyes. “It’s up to us, and what weapons we have, to drive her from Tamara and banish her back to her realm.”

  “You think we can do it?” I asked him bluntly.

  He smiled, honest but grim. “I give us a solid fifty-fifty odds.” He paused. “Well, maybe more like forty-sixty.”

  “Well, I guess I’ve managed worse.” I watched as Charles packed and unpacked the Holy Duffle, double checking each object. “You knew that one guy back at the Oakleaf. Why wouldn’t he help you at least?”

  Charles didn’t look up. “Because like any long-lasting governing body, the Magisterium has its share of red tape. Senate members, like Elouan, have their hands tied by obscure letters of law and exploitable loopholes.” He finished repacking the duffle and took out the Beretta, giving it a final combat readiness check. “In this case, Birmingham suffers from a low ‘index of protection’ value.”

  That even sounded irritatingly bullshitty. “No shit? And I guess that means ‘we’re not worth saving’ in layman’s terms.”

  “More like, ‘not worth starting a war over.’” He slid the magazine out, then checked the chamber, eyeing down the iron sights at a corner of his worn, tasseled brown rug. “Not only with Ca-Lethe herself, but we’re still ass-deep in Sanguinarian country, remember? The Treaty in Blood is still a thing. But it’s a choice too. To have their hands bound, that is.”

  “Well.” A sudden thought struck me. “What about contacting Tamara’s family? You could do that, right? I mean, the demon has her. Won’t they help?”

  “If they would listen to me and believe me, possibly.” Charles finished with the Beretta and slipped it back into its holster. Then, while I watched and blinked, dumbfounded, he pulled a thin Kevlar vest from beneath his center couch cushion, took off his coat, and started putting it on while he spoke. “But in time? That’s another matter. And assuming Liandra even feels up to it. There’s no love lost between the two of them, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  I frowned. “You think she’d let Tam die? I mean, Tam still seems to care about her family, even the ones she dislikes.”

  “Tamara’s also a lot...nicer than most of her older relatives.” Charles finished with the vest, then strapped on the Beretta.

  “So, wait,” I wanted to get ready for war, too, but all I had was myself, and I was already as ready as I could be. Physically, at least. “What does that mean for Petra? If they’re willing to abandon Tamara to the demon…”

  Charles shook his head. “Lillith wouldn’t. Tamara is one of her daughters. Liandra might. I have some serious concerns about her piss-poor handling of Daniella’s abduction.” After a final double-check of his gear, Charles opened up the half-empty whiskey bottle and took a swig. “Petra’s just a half-blood. She’s as good as dead when someone hears she’s a liability.” My eyes went wide in surprise. “With their weak blood and weaker supernatural powers, the Moroi don’t seem to care much about them, as long as they stay out of the way and serve the family interests. But step a toe out of line…”

  Charles settled onto the edge of the couch and found a half-clean shot glass somewhere. I’d have been concerned, if I hadn’t remembered how drugs and alcohol actually made it easier for wizards to slip their minds Next Door. For him, it was just the final stage of battle preparation.

  That, and i
f I looked very carefully, I could see his hand shake as he held the shot glass.

  “It’s almost time,” he mused, considering the shot for a moment, seeming momentarily distant. “The plan’s this: you hold her up as much as you can physically. I’ll try to take her down with everything I’ve got without actually killing Tamara.” He took a deep breath and downed the shot, thumping the empty glass down on the table. “You know. Teamwork. And when shit inevitably goes wrong?” He grinned. “We improvise.”

  I shook my head; for whatever reason, I couldn’t help grinning too. “Then, we’re ready?”

  “No? But it’s time to get her attention anyway.”

  All it took was one short text to capture Ca-Lethe Meladoquiel’s attention and draw the demon into our trap.

  I give up, it said. Meet us at the dam again, tonight.

  I watched Charles sweat while we waited for a response.

  See you there! My phone lit up with a message from Tamara, complete with heart emoji. ...And don’t dare keep me waiting.

  The wind whipped about us, frenzied, as we stepped onto the concrete dam.

  I didn’t know how Meladoquiel had beaten us here, but she had.

  Another, familiar heartbeat hammered out a panicked rhythm somewhere past her, pulling a growl of aggression from my throat.

  “How sweet!” she called over the wind and snapping of Charles’ thick leather trench coat. Tamara-Meladoquiel flicked her eyes over him knowingly, her stolen sapphire gaze lingering on the hidden Beretta, the ruby concealed in one palm, and his cracked hardwood staff. “You called me out here to trap me! I love it!”

  Grinning wildly, mirthfully, the demon stepped aside, revealing a heavily-bound and gagged Lori at the far end of the dam.

  And the genuine suicide-bomber vest strapped to her, heavily laden with C4.

  Tamara-Meladoquiel raised a hand and tapped the screen of Tamara’s cell phone, turning the lights on Lori’s vest from green to baleful red.

  The Ur-demon grinned. “I’d say you have about ninety seconds. Make it count.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  For the one you love

  I dove for Meladoquiel as Charles’ staff ignited, wood transforming into the steel, gold, and ruby of Rhongomyniad, casting dancing, red-and-gold light across the top of the dam.

  I swiped for Tamara’s phone, but enhanced by Meladoquiel, she was at least as fast as I was. She snatched it from my extended fingers, laughing as she danced away and tucked it into a tight hip pocket.

  A searing lance of light sheared open the night, shooting right past my shoulder; I winced, but I didn’t have the luxury of recoiling. Meladoquiel staggered as the beam lanced across Tamara’s exposed upper chest above the small, tight leather corset she wore. The beam didn’t sear flesh, but the demon snarled in pain through Tamara’s face nonetheless.

  I threw myself at her, tackling her legs, but she kicked me in the face, knocking me free before I could grip her. Ducking another burning lance of light, she snapped a scissor kick into my jaw, throwing me right back at Charles.

  The wizard stepped aside just in time to let me fly past, and I extended my claws and bent low, raking blood-rusted iron across concrete, dragging myself to a halt. Meladoquiel strode forward; my claws tossed sparks into the night as I reversed momentum and threw myself at her.

  Charles dropped low as I flung myself over him and barreled into the body-snatching demon. She sidestepped most of the force as I careened into her, but I grabbed her arm in passing and hauled her face into the path of Charles’ next beam of arcane light. She writhed and hissed in pain, and I palmed the back of her skull, grabbing a handful of Tamara’s vibrant purple hair and forcing her into the light.

  Despite my best attempts to keep Tamara’s body between me and Charles’ magic, fragments of golden light caught my exposed fingers and cut at my face, searing my flesh agonizingly, wisps of smoke rising into the air.

  Snarling, I held on anyway.

  Meladoquiel didn’t relent either, and Charles’ focused beam finally sputtered and went out. The demon wasted no time, dropping low and dragging me with her. Then she reached back and grabbed my skull, digging her thumbs into my eyes, forcing me to push her away or risk losing my sight to amplified Moroi strength. I shook my head, regaining my vision as she lunged for Charles.

  Before she could reach him, the wizard reached Next Door, his free hand blurring and coming back full of live, crackling lightning. The forking bolt erupted over the top of the dam, searing a path across my eyes and washing over Meladoquiel and myself alike. But where Tamara’s muscles seized up and she twitched in pain, I barely felt it as it coursed through my body and grounded out into the dam.

  I rammed Tamara and buried my shoulder in the demon’s back, driving her prone and pinning her to the ground while she stood transfixed by electricity. Seizing the opportunity, Charles took a step forward and stabbed deep into the flesh above her collarbone with the ruby-shard end of Rhongomyniad.

  Meladoquiel cried out, her agony overlaid across Tamara’s beautiful voice like an auto-tuned siren song. The demon spasmed powerfully, throwing me off her—

  —and off the dam entirely.

  I’d barely registered my head-first plunge toward the churning, inky waters when another burst of lightning crackled above, and a gust of wind caught me from below, tossing me clumsily back onto the concrete.

  I caught my balance and glanced at Charles, his free hand still crooked from calling wind from Next Door. We shared a nod and fell back into place, facing off with the Ur-demon shoulder to shoulder.

  Ten feet away, she grinned, her ink-tainted eyes glowing bright with stolen liquid sapphire. The deep puncture in pale Moroi flesh sealed over, the wound and excess blood evaporating under the demon’s power.

  “Not bad!” She grinned, clapping her hands together once. “Tick-tock!”

  I wiped my eyes as rain began to fall, feeling mild electric tingles as it hit my skin. Charles stepped forward, lashing out with repeated jabs of the Slayer’s Spear; this time Meladoquiel gave its ruby tip a wide berth with her superhuman reflexes. As she dodged to the side and closed with the magician, Charles slammed the staff-spear down onto the dam, and it quaked, static surging through the air.

  Meladoquiel fell to a knee, and I rolled across Charles’ braced back and kicked her in the face.

  The demon stumbled, and I kicked her hard in the chest. Charles lunged past me as I shifted to the side, spear tip opening a rent in Tamara’s laced leather pants to reveal pure white flesh and a gash of gory crimson down to the bone. Shoving herself to her feet anyway, Meladoquiel lashed out at the wizard with an open palm strike, but I stepped in the way, taking the blow to my chest instead.

  She tried to follow up as the blow rocked me back on my heels, but a gesture from Charles called the wind once more, taking out her legs in a concussive blast of stormy air. As Meladoquiel fell forward, I kicked her hard in the throat, flipping her a solid fifteen feet backward across the dam.

  Above us, the pregnant clouds abruptly burst open, a million daggers of gray rain slashing down and filling the sky. I felt the sting as it hit my face and cut across my hands, stealing some of their strength as they started going numb.

  I pulled up my cardigan’s hood, for all the good it would do.

  Meladoquiel pushed herself to her feet, and I could hear the crack as she popped Tamara’s neck, even across the sounds of the storm and thunder. I cringed.

  “Careful!” She called, her voice carrying across the wind and rain, the sound half aloud, half in our heads. “You don’t want to break her, do you?”

  Growling, I stepped forward but stopped as I saw her take a deep breath. Charles put his shoulder to mine and readied King Arthur’s spear in front of us like a barrier. We braced ourselves, hardened our wills.

  “Stop.” Tamara-Meladoquiel’s enhanced voice rolled across the dam, smothering all other sound, even pushing aside the rain for a moment, the slivers of cold water slowing
mid-air. “Fail. Falter. FALL. You cannot raise a hand against me.”

  The power of her voice enveloped us, tendrils of tainted emotion snaking into our hearts and minds, seeking to find the cracks to compel us to obey.

  They didn’t find any.

  Charles bellowed alongside my roar of defiance as we threw off her demonically magnified compulsion, our wills united and reinforced with Rhongomyniad’s power. The butt end of his staff-spear slammed down on the concrete, and Tamara’s power shattered, dissipating into the air.

  Meladoquiel’s crazed, mirthful laughter echoed behind the thunder and pounding rain.

  The demon started toward us, and I moved to meet her, the time ticking away in the back of my mind. I longed to break past her and rush to Lori, but I couldn’t leave Charles to fight her himself.

  If she chose, she could kill either of us alone.

  In the distance, a blade of glimmering lightning stabbed down into the trees, blowing one apart and igniting the remains; they sputtered fitfully, under assault from the torrent of rain. The same rain that lashed at my face, dimming my vision and numbing my skin. I could already barely feel my hands.

  Only an instant’s tingle in the air warned us before another bolt rent the sky, smashing into the side of the dam, leaving me half-blind once more, then deaf as the thunder followed like a bludgeon. The concrete pitched under our feet as the roar of impact stole my hearing, and I barely caught the motion as Charles stumbled and toppled off the dam.

  I caught him in the nick of time, my numbed fingers catching and clutching at the edge of his heavy coat.

  I dragged him back onto solid, rain-soaked stone and looked back up into a set of borrowed sapphire eyes.

  Smirking, Meladoquiel planted her palms flat against my chest and shoved me, pushing me back into Charles. I dug in my heels, barely able to prevent her from simply shoving us both off the dam.

  Our backs against the edge, I blocked her high kick to my torso, bouncing it off my forearms, then slapped aside one punch, then another, working on pure adrenaline and superhuman speed. Charles grabbed my coat, hauling himself out of the way as the force of Tamara’s blows scraped my heels a couple of inches closer to the precipice.