Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 2)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  I furrowed my brow. “And yet you don’t seem too freaked out.”

  “I’m freaked out,” Rain mumbled quietly.

  Jason shrugged. “I just saw a ghost and magic. So those I can buy. But vampires?” He eyed me. “Not so sure.”

  I had a feeling he was digging for proof. But before I could oblige, Charles finally stepped up to my shoulder. “Charles Monroe,” he said, reaching out to shake hands. “And the thanks aren’t necessary. We might not look like it,” he prodded me with his staff, “but we wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.” The three exchanged nods, but Rain especially was distracted, staring at my damaged body and duct tape.

  “So…” Jason met my eyes. “Vampire?”

  I gave him a big grin, baring my fangs. Jason blinked, eyes going wide, and he stepped away from me. Rain’s eyes went wide too, but instead of stepping away, he tilted his head as if curious and opened his mouth, then shut it again as Jason put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back a couple of steps.

  Nothing caught attention like proving oneself a monster.

  “Don’t worry, she’s not going to hurt you.” Charles interjected helpfully. “Even if she wanted to, I wouldn’t let her.”

  I nodded.

  “Wow. Okay. Well, yeah.” Jason took a couple of steps to the side, drawing a hesitant Rain with him as he sidled away. “We really do appreciate everything, guys. Thanks a ton.”

  “Wait. Why were you two out here alone after hours?” Charles asked. “You shouldn’t be. It’s not safe.”

  “You know? I think they noticed that,” I mumbled at him. He ignored me.

  “Um…” Jason hesitated, obviously eager to be gone.

  “It was…a dare. From some people at school.” Rain blushed. It was easy for me to see the blood flush his cheeks, even from this far away. “It’s dumb, I know.”

  I frowned. “Hey. We all do stupid shit to impress people. Look at me,” I gestured at myself, drawing a timid grin from the teen, who lingered a moment to listen to me. “But don’t let people pressure you into dangerous bullshit like that. If they want you to do crazy crap to prove yourself, they’re not worth proving yourself to in the first place. Trust me.” At my shoulder, Charles nodded.

  So did Rain. “Thanks,” he said, wearing a hesitant smile.

  “You two should be more careful and avoid Sloss,” I added. “There are worse things out than ghosts.” Things like me. “And you should go by Bookbinder’s on Robert Arlington Boulevard. Talk to anyone working there. They’ll help make certain you know as much as you want—or need—to know.”

  “Will do!” Jason replied, continuing to pull his friend along with barely disguised urgency. “Dude, come on.”

  Rain, on the other hand, threw me a brief wave as he finally gave in and ran off with his friend, the pair keeping low and out of obvious sight of Sloss’ security cameras. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but just as he turned away, I saw the light glint oddly off his eyes one final time.

  Charles and I stood there a moment after they were gone, listening to the handful of crickets brave enough to make Sloss their home.

  “Did you have fun?” I glared at him.

  He shrugged it off. “Wanted to see what you’d say.” He stared after the two boys. “Do you really think that was a wise idea? Showing them your fangs like that? They’re pretty distinctive parts of your anatomy.”

  It was my turn to shrug. “They hardly seemed like Sanguinarian agents. More than a few low-tier Bloodbangers have seen them, anyway. I doubt it matters.” Not with one of them holding onto my blood after all. I made a face, thinking over the encounter. “I guess I ran them off,” I said finally, stretching with a grotesque series of slightly meaty pops and cracks.

  “Of course you did.” The wizard cringed slightly at the sounds I was making. “Just means they have good sense.” He turned to go as well.

  I considered, nodded, and shrugged my agreement.

  CHAPTER NINE

  That something that you do

  We were halfway to our next stop before I figured it out.

  “They weren’t human, were they?” I glared at Charles.

  The wizard made a sound deep in his throat, either chuckling quietly, or hopefully choking. “You finally figured it out?”

  “And you just stood there like a turd and let me give them Supernatural 101 like a dumbass. For fuck’s sake.” I took a deep breath, trying not to laugh. It was kinda funny, after all. “I hope you catch fire.”

  Now he was definitely chuckling. “So can you guess what they were?”

  I thought it over. This was one of those situations where I didn’t know how much I didn’t know; at this point, there could be a hundred types of supernatural humanoid I’d never even heard of. But surely Charles wouldn’t have asked me if it wasn’t something I could figure out. While he was an asshole, to do otherwise would be the trivia equivalent of boxing a toddler.

  “Remember your legend lore,” he added after a moment. “I know you know some of the old tales.” He shifted, glancing at me expectantly.

  “Changeling?” I finally guessed.

  It would make sense. Changelings. Shapeshifters. Those Left on the Doorstep. When certain creatures from Next Door take a piece of a human child away at birth, leaving a bit of something Other in its place. The result was something not quite human but not really Other either; born between worlds but members of neither. I knew I’d seen something strange glimmering in the depths of their eyes, and this would explain it—if only because none of my other answers quite fit the bill.

  Charles nodded appreciatively. “You’re right. I’m surprised.”

  I huffed at him. “So what does that mean, then? Being a Changeling?”

  He cleared his throat. “Shapeshifters, Werewolves, Changelings…It’s all just different shapes cut from the same cloth. One of our powerful Neighbors reaches across and splits a newly formed soul in twain, replacing half with a half of their choosing, something from their domain Next Door.”

  I shuddered. “Really? That doesn't sound very comfortable. Or very nice. Why do they do it?”

  The wizard chuckled again, but this time his humor was darker. “Who can say for sure? Simple amusement? The furtherance of some inscrutable, eldritch machinations? It’s best not to try to apply human logic to something that’s more like a force of nature or state of being.”

  “Hmmmm. So it could even be a gift?” I asked hopefully.

  “Or a curse or something in between.” He grunted. “But ‘gifts’ from Next Door are rarely free. They come with strings attached, debts to repay, or some greater purpose behind them, even if that purpose is something simple like entertainment.”

  I wheezed out a deep breath. To hear Charles tell it, nothing Next Door was remotely benevolent. I wondered if he was right. A year ago he’d thought the same about vampires too.

  I was still working on proving him wrong.

  “You know, none of that really tells me what a Changeling is,” I said. “Is there a layman’s version?”

  “Changelings are touched by the Fae. They have a dual nature, a twin soul. They have heightened senses, heal quickly, and they can change between their human and Fae bodies nearly at will, as their other half always waits just on the other side.” He eyed me. “That better?”

  “So less shapeshifter, and more shapeswapper,” I commented.

  “You could look at it that way.” He nodded. “The other form is usually that of an animal archetype. It’s where the legends of all different forms of shapeshifter come from. Some of the greatest could supposedly take the form of any animal they could imagine, but I think that’s just a myth personally.”

  “So one moment a security guard or whatever then poof! You’re a wolf?” I frowned. “Must be pretty awkward.”

  “Maybe.” Charles shrugged. “Their minds change too; personalities shift, priorities rearrange, instincts suddenly develop while others atrophy. They’re the same person—or rather, per
sonality—but now filtered through a different lens of perception.” He glanced over. “That’s about it. You realize we’ll probably never see those two again, right?”

  “I dunno. It’s not that big a city.” Probably depends on how bad I scared them.

  We pulled up at a one and a half story home that looked like it was built in the 1940s; it generally looked like every other building in the neighborhood with a poor quality, matte stucco exterior slowly crumbling and discoloring under the unrelenting pressure of the elements. Like the house itself, the neighborhood looked like it’d seen better days or at least wealthier ones. That was how things went in this city though. Not really in the best or worst area of town, it was still one where I was surprised to find an old woman living alone. I didn’t even see a car.

  “So what happened with that ghost?” He asked as we got out of the truck. “What really happened Next Door? You said you ran it off, why didn’t you just destroy it?” He looked amused. “It’s not like you to let them escape.”

  I paused by the hood. “It was her again. The little girl from my dreams. Maggie.”

  He frowned. “The one Tamara thinks started it all? The original victim?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. She fought me until she recognized me, then stopped. She said something about needing body parts for her father.” I grimaced. “Then she disappeared. I can’t say I recommend the overall experience. Why do I keep seeing her? What’s going on?”

  “I wish I knew. That father part is disturbing as hell and makes no damn sense.” Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But she wasn’t at Sloss tonight looking for you. She was hunting those boys.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way, but Charles was right. I’d caught Maggie’s ghost totally by surprise when I tackled her. Unlike in my dream, there was no way she’d been there waiting for me.

  I followed in Charles’ footsteps as we made our way around a healthy herb garden and up to the flower-covered front porch. “I hope this isn’t a waste of time,” he grumbled. “I just don’t see what she could offer us.” He jabbed the doorbell with a finger, holding it down a long moment before stuffing his hands back in the pockets of his heavy coat. He wasn’t carrying his staff. Bringing what was essentially a magical weapon of war into another practitioner’s house was not only asking for trouble, it was poor etiquette. Though I doubted Charles cared much about that.

  “We could waste our time with other things instead, if you like,” I retorted hoarsely. “But I think we can give Tam’s contact a try at least, don’t you?” He grumbled some more under his breath, knowing I couldn’t understand him, but I knew if he was really opposed to what we were doing he wouldn’t be standing here.

  Instead, I’d be dragging him. A promise was a promise, after all.

  “Hold on now, I’m a-comin’,”An aged voice with a mild Creole accent dimly penetrated the front window as a shadow inside approached us. The front door popped open just as far as a steel chain would allow it, and I saw a diagonal sliver of a woman at least in her seventies with ebony skin and medium length, curly black hair under heavy assault by gray. One lively, steel-gray eye peered out at us critically, sharp and scrutinizing us both with an energy that belied her apparent age. The three of us looked each other over for a moment. “What are you chil’ren here for? Y’all missed the costume party by about a decade.”

  Charles and I exchanged a glance, and he gave me a firmly raised eyebrow. I shrugged. I still didn’t get why he was so automatically dismissive of the woman. I cleared my throat, drawing her attention with the loud, grating sound it made. “Well, ma’am, we’re here to see Flora. I think Tamara said we were coming? I’m Ashley, and this is Charles—”

  The chain clicked and fell away as the door opened wide. “Aww, I know who y’all are. I’m just messin’ with ya.” She eyed Charles. “Assumin’ you can handle it.” She shook her head, not waiting for his response. “Ya’ll come on in now.” She looked pointedly at me when she said it. “We got a lot to talk about.”

  At first glance, Flora’s house looked just like your average, little old Southern lady’s house. Quaint, full of mementos and pictures of friends and family, with an old, well-loved piano, vases of fresh garden flowers, and a bunch of handmade doilies and colorful crocheted afghans. But the further in we went, the more divergent the decor became from your average Southern grandma’s house. A man in one picture had a top hat, a cane, and white skull makeup. The flowers looked real and alive, but the dust collected on them said they’d been sitting a while without maintenance—or withering.

  My favorite part was the intricate, sugar-skull-shaped doilies. Then we went upstairs, and all bets of normalcy were off.

  The stairwell darkened noticeably as we followed her up, to the point my vision was helpful, if not necessary, and Charles kept a tight, cautionary grip on the handy wooden banister. Once we crested the top of the stairs, it was brighter, but a whole different ambiance subsumed the second floor. A hallway of dark, stained wood branched into three different rooms, all of its sharp edges and corners blunted by spider webbing of black, lacy cloth, little silver charms suspended within like tiny, trapped stars. One door was cracked, and I could see it contained a normal-looking bed and a bunch of keepsakes, jars, and magical paraphernalia clustered and crowding each other across numerous shelves.

  On the other side of the hallway, we passed one room with bookcases for walls, all of them packed; dark, leather-bound journals shared space with modern, printed occult books, loose documents of yellowed paper, and more typical volumes on modern medicine, physiology, and psychology. A couple of plush, black-and-silver chairs and an ancient-looking table covered in sigils and symbols clustered in the center of the open space, as if trying to make as much room as possible for the surrounding knowledge.

  The final room that our elderly-yet-energetic host escorted us to didn’t have any furniture at all. Instead, taking up the entirety of the open floor was the most intricate woven rug I’d ever seen: multiple different complex shapes sharing a big circle. The more I stared at it, the more hidden symbols I noticed, all of them merging into a big, stylized mural splayed across the floor. Even Charles looked like he might be impressed.

  The walls were packed with shelves that were, in turn, crammed with a grand variety of interesting objects from animal bones and jars of mystery liquids to oversized worry dolls and boxes of little beads carved from bone, all packed tightly together and remarkably dust-free. Between skull statues and skeletal hands, candles, bundles of incense, and scattered scraps of paper bearing exotic sigils and signs, the shelves were littered with unusual bits of clutter from dollar bills and coins to half-empty bottles of liquor, cigars, clubs of tobacco, and other assorted odds and ends, the purpose of which I couldn’t have guessed if I’d tried. The rare blank spot on the walls featured a tacked-up piece of parchment with a symbol inked carefully into it, some aged and curling at the edges.

  “Wow, nice place,” I rasped honestly.

  “Thank you, child,” she replied, stepping inside the third room and gesturing for us to follow her. “Well, young’uns, welcome to Mama’s inner sanctum,” the old lady stated. “Might not look like much to the Magisterium’s ilk, but it suits me just fine, fine.”

  Charles just nodded thoughtfully, not responding, stepping around the room unbidden to look at the articles on display, keeping a respectful distance. I tried to cover for his lack of manners. “Thank you for having us over.” She nodded. “I don’t want to be pushy, Miss Ramona, but—”

  “Aww, hear now, child. You call me Mama!” She interrupted me firmly. “Or, if you prefer, Mama Flora’s fine too. I’ll take either one.”

  I grinned, nodding respectfully. “I like Mama Flora, myself.”

  She broke into a warm smile. “Me too, child. Me too. Now, you two’re here about those missin’ chil’ren.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head as she lowered herself onto the rug with a little effort, inviting us to do likewise. “An’ I don
’t believe we got much more time for foolin’ around, no sir. The spirits are agitated as all get out, an’ there’s a storm a brewin’, you mark my words, yeah.”

  She had Charles’ sudden and undivided attention. “What do you know? And how did you find it out?” He turned around and stepped forward, unintentionally towering over the little old lady. At least, I hoped it was unintentional.

  Mama Flora cut him a single, unimpressed glance, then ignored him. Instead, she looked firmly into my eyes. “You see, dem Magisterium folks, they think they know it all right good, yeah.” She jerked a thumb toward the looming figure of Charles, then continued speaking as if he weren’t there. “Got no respect for they elders, nor for ‘low-mages’ of any kind, no sir. No respect for us women-folk neither.”

  I furrowed my brow. I was a women-folk.

  Charles opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with an imperious finger-wagging and impressively stern look. “Oh, you hush up a minute, youngun, an’ sit down. You might learn y’self a somethin’ for a change, if you don’t think you already know it all. And if you want my help, you’re gonna have to listen to y’Mama with your ears open and your mouth shut, y’hear?” To my surprise, Charles tilted his head a little and blinked at her as if bewildered, then actually shut the hell up.

  “And you!” She turned that sharp-as-steel gaze on me, and I flinched away from the tiny old lady. “I expected better from you now, sure ‘nough. You should’a been here a couple nights ago. I’ve done heard better things about you than that.” Properly chastised, I shut my mouth as well. After all, she was right. “You set y’self down here, too. They’s dark things afoot. Dark, dark. But we can still fix ‘em, if ya’ll’s willing to do what it takes.”

  She waited until we’d both settled ourselves on the rug. I just thumped gracelessly down, but Charles dropped fluidly into a cross-legged, lotus-style position and put his hands on his thighs, apparently ready to listen. Mama Flora closed her eyes and took a moment of quiet, deep breathing before continuing.