A Path of Oak and Ash

by M. P. Reeves

  The front door popped open without anyone laying a finger on the keypad. "Shall we?" Erik offered with a sly smile. She was beginning to wonder if there was anything this Erik could not do. The three of them had flown from Latin America to New York via private charter. No one had requested a passport stateside, only a limousine awaited their arrival. Driven by a cheerful man who referred to Erik as Mr. Jones-although she doubted that was his last name-they had made it to her home in record time while sipping champagne of all things. There was money, old money, in what these people did.

  The entryway was as she had remembered it, the small occasional table covered with roses under the chandelier, the wide staircase with its cherry steps and wainscoting along the wall.

  "Stay here for a moment." Erik ordered her as he headed left towards her father's study, Aurelian went right through the formal living room towards the kitchen. Impatient, Bethany grew restless staring into her mother's hallway mirror.

  Slowly she meandered into the formal living room, running her hand over the back of the white leather sofa. She had never been allowed in this room growing up. This was the adult room, where her father entertained clients and partners. Being the traditionalist that he was, the no children allowed rule had been severely enforced in this space. Her brother had once been grounded two weeks for simply touching one of the sculptures displayed on the console table. Mom had gone on and on about the cost of the item, not that it was anything new. She was always flinging money around. In fact, her mother had spent over seven thousand dollars on this white couch, another two on the coffee table and who knows how much to the designer who picked it all out and set it every so expertly in front of the large bay window.

  On impulse she walked around and sat on the cold leather, even put her dirty shoes on the walnut coffee table between the serving tray decorated with candles and candies and the wire horse sculpture that sat atop a stack of New Yorkers.

  A sad smirk crept across Bethany's face. All those years she had eyed this room in wonder, never daring to disturb it for fear of her parent's wrath. How many countless times had she eyed this very spot, wondering what it would be like to sit with the adults and sip tea or brandy in the evenings? Now that she had broken the cardinal rule, the very concept of it seemed lackluster and borderline absurd. Nothing but a dismal view from the most uncomfortable couch she had ever had the pleasure of planting her butt upon.

  The familiar sound of the front door opening snapped her to her feet at a run. Not towards Erik or Aurelian, but the door in a primal misplaced urge. "Mom?"

  Rounding the corner she came face to chest with four of the most handsome yet scary looking men she'd ever seen in her life, literally running into the man in front of the group. Taking a step back, the newcomers pine forest scent hung in her nose. She looked up into the hooded eyes of a man who's dark hair matched his clothing, trying to decide whether to scream or say hello. In spite of his fierce gaze and hard jaw, there was a slight blush to his cheeks triggered by her touch.

  "Liz?" That voice...

  She scanned their faces, landing on the brilliant oceanic blue eyes of... "Rick?"

  He smiled, that was all it took.

  Eyes watering she ran at him, brushing past the man in black, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Wow he was...no longer the lanky guy that had taken her to homecoming. His frame had doubled in size, thick muscles roped over his arms, legs and even his neck had thickened. His alabaster skin now carried the dark summer color typical of lifeguards. Dark short hair now fell over his shoulders, small strands braided with no particular rhyme or reason. His face held no boyish charm, he was a man plain and simple with a strong jaw and angled cheekbones. Surrounded in his cedar scent, she felt a strange weight lifted from her chest.

  "Carrick, actually. Carrick Slaine." He mumbled into her hair.

  "Bethany, actually. Bethany Blair." The smile on her face felt natural for the first time in forever. "I thought I'd never see you again."

  "Bethany dear...who are you talking t..? Oh my." Aurelian's eyes widened, scanning the group. She quickly dropped her hands from Rick, moving to stand behind Aurelian. Which in honesty made little sense. She'd known Richard a lot longer than she had her short statured savior. Still he had become somewhat of a human security blanket. "Hail friends, what brings you so far from Dre'ien?"

  "Who are..." Rick..er...Carrick started to ask, he trailed off soon as Erik came into view at the other end of the hallway. The look exchanged between them was born of surprise yet grew into mutual anger. As though their flesh was conceived of magnets, the pair moved away from the group and yet closer together. Their words angry whispers.

  "Why are you here?"

  "I could ask you the same."

  "Do you they know each other Aurelian?" Her question hung momentarily against their unintended awkward eavesdropping. Surprisingly, she seemed to be the only one bothered by it. The redhead had taken the top magazine off her mother's forbidden coffee table, flipping through pictures with an odd look of glee on his face. The blond had moved past the formal living room into the kitchen. The two remaining men remaining took up watch; the one in black by the front windows, the one in green she assumed by the sliding door off the kitchen out of her line of sight.

  Aurelian nodded. "Family resemblance is often striking, wouldn't you agree Quin?" The one in black turned towards her and Aurelian, his oddly hued eyes softening for a moment when they fell upon her. She looked down, brushing her now dark hair out of her face.

  "I have no family." The one he called Quin said quietly, words that brought a fresh tinge of grief to her. Oh how she knew what that was like, to loose everyone she cared for. Behind them Erik and Carrick were still in the midst of a quickly escalating argument. Their voices no longer attempting angry whispers, but full on shouting.

  "I told you to stay in Dre'ien!"

  "What are you doing with Liz? Did you kidnap her too?"

  "Of all the scapegrace..."

  She couldn't listen to it anymore. Aurelian had excused himself, moving to stand between the two shouting men. Clearly he was trying to diffuse whatever it was they were about to come to blows about. She wondered if this was the father Aurelian had been referring to, although that didn't seem right. If he had been Carrick's father, wouldn't he have introduced himself as such?

  Since everyone seemed occupied, Beth turned the corner out of the formal living room toward the stairs. Taking the rich cherry wood two at a time-as she often did- she was on the second floor landing in the blink of an eye. Eyes forward, she warned herself. This beige hallway was home to every family portrait and fondly framed vacation memory her family had. Disney World, Hawaii, San Diego, London...all those wonderful carefree days felt like someone else's life. Her room was the second door on the left, the brightly colored sign she had painted in first grade that read 'Elizabeth's Room' had been taken down. Odd. Perhaps her mother had given it to her grandmother or something. She turned the knob and her heart sank.

  Her beautiful iron canopy bed had been partially disassembled, the bed linens changed into the spare whites. Her pictures, trophies and dolls had been packed into cardboard boxes piled in the corner of the room. Her mother's beautiful cursive writing marked them as 'Storage' on the side. Not Elizabeth's. Not my daughters. Just Storage.

  Beth fell to her knees on what used to be her plush chevron rug. It too was gone. Just like her it had been replaced. Designer ivory twill dug into her knees, not that she minded. The pain did little to distract from the one in her chest.

  "What are you doing?"

  Beth whirled around to find Quin standing in her doorway; face unreadable, arms crossed.

  "Ah I'm sorry, I..." She wiped her eyes, unable to think of anything to say. Through the floor she heard the shouting escalate, something was tipped over with a crash. Someone laughed.

  "It isn't safe to wonder out of sight." His tone was very fatherly, although he didn't look more than a year or two older than she was. "Come back
down with the others."

  "Okay, just give me a minute." She muttered, tucking her hair behind her ears. He nodded, turning to leave.

  "This used to be my room." He paused at her words. "I'm dead. To them, I mean. Murdered and buried not long ago and this...this used to be my room." She sighed. "I guess I never thought my family could just box me up like this. File me away as a memory so quickly."

  "Those we are born to do not always fit us. Take solace in your real family, the one you keep in your heart." She was surprised to hear such beautiful words out of one so dark.

  "Quin, is it?"

  He turned around, his steel eyes seemed to shimmer against the small rays of light that caught his face. "Yes."

  She flipped up the rug. "Come here, help me with this board." It hadn't been nailed down in ages, her father had added the screws eight years ago to stop the squeaking. Addressing what he referred to as 'builder incompetence'. What her father-and everyone else for that matter-didn't know is that she had used this revealed hollow under the floorboards to stash all of her secrets.

  "I can't get it, my nails are all ruined." Beth hissed, clawing at the wooden floor anyway. This had been so much easier pre-captivity, she'd lost anything that resembled feminine hands through torture. Even though the bones were mending and the scabs were about ready to come off, her digits didn't operate with the upper class grace they used to. Not that she really cared, returning from the brink of death puts bad manicures in perspective.

  "Here, allow me." His voice seemed to have dropped an octave as he approached. Crouching down next to the broken board, it dawned on her this was the first time she had ever really had a boy in her room. Her Dad had been a stickler about that kind of thing, any company was to be kept in the living areas in plain sight far from any beds or closed doors. Sure she'd try to sneak off a few times when she was a sophomore but her bother had always ratted her out, forcing her to use the showing him where the bathroom was excuse. Beth realized in a way this didn't even violate her Dad's rule, as clearly this room was no longer hers.

  Removing a handmade necklace from his thick neck, he used the animal fang that had been tied onto the leather to turn the screw.

  She blushed. "Thank you." He smiled, two rows of perfectly straight brilliant white teeth. He was far less scary when he smiled, hell he even had dimples.

  As Beth reached to pull up the board, Quin's massive hand's shot out and grabbed hers. "What happened to your hands?" He asked, rolling them over in intense examination.

  She pulled away from his soft touch, clearing her throat. "I was...tortured." Looking away she focused on popping up the wood, it came free with the same ease it always had. Underneath lay a navy blue knapsack, just where she left it. With a smile, Beth tugged it free of its hiding spot.

  "Why?"

  "For this." Loosening the top, she carefully pulled out the small leather bound book. The gold piping on the strange symbol on the cover seemed to shimmer when it caught the sunlight.

  Quin gasped, his eyes filled with reverence as he looked upon the object in her hand. "The Leabhar Fìrinn. Never in my life did I believe I would lay eyes upon it." Quin's steel gaze flicked to her. "How did you get this?"

  She opened her mouth to respond. "Bethany darling, are you up here?" Aurelian's voice cut off her story, scrambling to her feet she took a step back from Quin. Aurelian's silhouette was in her doorway just a moment later. The sarcastic smirk that typically decorated his face faded instantly. Eyes wide, Aurelian approached with the same solemn awe that Quin displayed. "I thought it was a myth. All these years, the whispers in the trees, complexities in our web, and lo the truth hidden in the palm of the seat all along." Aurelian smirked. "Clever bastard."

  "Take it. Please." Beth pushed the book into Aurelian's hands. "It has brought me nothing but misery." She took one more look around what was left of her old life. "I want no more part in its tale." She mumbled mostly to herself.

  "And yet you will never escape its story." He ran a reverent hand over the cover before tucking the item into his shoulder bag. "Ironic."

  Quin growled, still kneeling he was eye level with Aurelian. "Show the girl some kindness Whisperer."

  Bethany was somewhat surprised-and touched-the massive stranger was quick to defend her, however she didn't need defending. "He has. He has shown me nothing but." She smiled at Aurelian, then Quin. "It’s okay. Really."

  Outside there was a loud howl. Then another. Similar to the sound wolves made on nature documentaries late at night in the deep woods. There couldn't possibly be a wolf in the city, someone had to have turned on the television...

  "We've got trouble." Quin leapt to his feet, pulling a large sword off his back. Pressing firmly on the handle there was a clicking noise, the blade split into two identical slender pieces. He transferred one to his left hand flipping his wrists, the metal whirled in the air. Who is this guy? She wondered.

  "Will you get her out of here?" Aurelian asked Quin, transforming the question into an order. Quin frowned, then rejoined his weapon into a single sword. His free hand shot out, grabbing Bethany by her forearm. With a quick tug he moved her behind him.

  "Time to go!" One of the men downstairs hollered, tone suggesting compliance was not optional. Another loud shout was drowned out by the sharp clash of broken glass.

  "What of you?" Quin's skeptical gaze irritated Aurelian, it was obvious.

  "I can find my own way," he grumbled, "regroup at the diner two blocks west. I'll order some food." With that he exited her room, turning left towards the master. Is he going out the window?

  "Stay close. Trust your instincts." He barked crossing the threshold out of her room.

  "Why would I need..." Bethany trailed off as they reached the hallway. At the bottom of the stairs pale men in black leather were engaged in all out combat with Carrick and his friends. A stream of fire left the hands of the taller one closest to the door poised to hit the handsome blond with the daggers. He ducked at the last moment.

  "Come on." Quin hissed, pulling on her hand, he led her down the stairs so quickly she almost fell. As they rounded the base, Erik threw one of them into the console table; broken wood, roses and water splashing against the marble floor at her feet. Not fazed by his injuries, the strange man leapt to his feet pulling some kind of gun from his coat. The sound of the weapon drowned out her senses, forcing her to navigate the chaos without auditory assistance. Mouths moved, things were being broken, yet only a deafening ringing lingered in her ears. One of the attackers turned toward her, his eyes seemingly void of iris', blackened teeth filed to points visible through his sneer, his gun raising towards her.

  The redhead with the accent tackled him, a flash momentarily parted them as the weapon went off. Her savior took it in the side, blood visible on the back of his cloak. On impulse she wanted to rush to him to patch that wound but Quin yanked her arm towards the kitchen. As they ran through the formal room, Bethany noted with much pleasure the white sofa was riddled with bullet holes.

  As a bullet hit the cabinet inches from her head, Quin practically pushed her through the kitchen and out the back door. Stumbling over the lip of the sliding glass door's track, she came face to face with something that scared her more than the gun fight inside.

  Two massive wolves were poised and snarling in her back yard. The red one larger than a motorcycle, the black one that of a great dane. Eyes wide, she backed up until she bumped into Quin.

  "We are going that way." He pointed forward, over her head.

  "You're out of your damned mind!" Bethany hissed, she'd lived through too much already to be torn to shreds. Much to her chagrin, Quin walked past her right up to the black wolf. It calmed instantly, nuzzling against him almost like a pet.

  "Please do not make me carry you." Quin frowned impatiently.

  "Move move move!" Someone inside shouted moments before an explosion shook the ground. Bethany ran from the back porch, diving to the ground as the house was engulfed in flames.
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br />   38

  Joseph Johnson kept his poker face as Steve Something and the India native- who's name escaped him entirely-walked into his new office. Setting down one of the thick manila folders that had recently been delivered to him as need to know, Joseph turned his attention to the wide eyed analysts standing awkwardly in the center of his office.

  The pair couldn't look more removed from their natural habitat; dressed in jeans, oversized t-shirts heralding infamous science fiction heroes, their faces obstructed by thick lensed frames, ratty off brand sneakers upon his imported Abyssinian rug. If he had a sense of humor he would have found it comical.

  "Initial reports from the New York Op have come in." The fatter one spoke in a nasally voice, pushing his glasses up on the brim of his nose approximately every forty five seconds.

  Which was about how much time Joseph gave him before he prompted. "And?"

  "Target a umm," he paused to flip through his papers, "Richard Smith, was traveling with four white males, early twenties, visual contact made outside of," Joseph was only half listening as the analyst rattled off the address and geocode of the location then went into a play by play of their successful tail of the group to the home of the deceased Elizabeth Waters. When the field agents had called it in from the Water's place they had been ordered to stand down. The Boss had specifically requested direct engagement was to occur using his 'specialized' resources. As much as those freaks disturbed Joseph Johnson, he had no choice but to comply with the mandate. "once the strike team arrived, field agents retreated as requested. No report was filed by the strike team, no telephone number was left for follow up contact either so we'll need to obtain that for our final report. The ah, fire department was dispatched to the address at approximately 7:05 PM Eastern. The event will be logged as a gas leak for public record. Four bodies were recovered from the scene, badly burned. So far police unable to ID; no prints, dental records match nothing on file."

  "Ours?"