Ashes and Ice

by Rochelle Maya Callen

  “I was sent for you.” Dominic’s voice is his own, “You may deny me now, but one day you will be ours.”

  “What?” My mind whirls with questions. “Who sent you? Who are you?”

  Dominic backs away. The smile rearranges into a devilish smirk.

  “Who—?”

  “Oh my princess. I am Lust.” He slowly licks his lips, his eyes tracing me. “You know that.” He winks at me. In that subtle motion, his glamour disappears leaving his face and body covered in sores, lesions, and terrible blisters. Lovers’ diseases. STDs. Lust’s mark. I recoil and fight the urge to retch. His smile widens and his pretty face slips back in place.

  Something is wrong. The edges of Dominic’s frame seem to crystallize and shimmer, dissipating into a flutter of snow, dissolving him wholly. His image fades and resurfaces. Before he can disappear, he whispers, “Your Mother sent me, Princess.” Shadows hover around him.

  As I look at them, I realize within them is a small orb of black—true black—and I can sense its emptiness, its need to consume, its vile wanting. That small black mass is Dominic’s essence.

  “Come to us, my sweet. You are strong and we will make you stronger.”

  “I don’t want your strength.” The shadows falter and retreat an inch as if I had slapped them. I step forward and the shadows retreat again. “I. Am. Not. Yours.”

  With that, I thrust my hands forward and latch onto that black orb. I feel it pulsing between my fingertips, wanting me to hold and claim it. It shifts with a ripple of laughter as if it knows I will accept and cling to it, lost in its power.

  Instead, I feel my strength swell within me, my will and anger vibrating under my skin. With one vicious heave, I rip it out from the shadows. The blackness screams and wilts, folding in on itself. I feel the orb of ice melting and dripping in my palms. A sudden sucking, gasping sound slurps out of the shadow before an explosion of air and black, flapping wings. I slam backward against Giovanni, the force of the wind and wing beats knocking me down.

  Then silence.

  I scurry on my hands and knees towards Connor knowing I don’t have enough strength to stand. And there he is. My Connor—broken.

  The looming trees that once offered solace shudder like a fragile world about to crumble. I gather Connor’s limp body in my arms. Smeared with blood, his body is still. His heartbeat, gone. Mine still beating. It isn’t fair. The tender lines of his face are marked by dark bruises, his limbs barely held together from the lashes of Dominic’s talons. His blood crashes over me in heat and waves of salty-sweet smell.

  The pit in the deepest, untouchable part of me is shaken, recognizing with terrifying certainty he is gone. The realization scratches underneath my chest, leaving my core tattered and raw. An overwhelming pressure weighs down, crushing the life out of my veins.

  Shards of glass seem to score gaping wounds within—wounds whose scars will never fade, whose pain will never heal. Wounds that shatter the soul and leave me broken. I feel combustible, as if all the forces of the universe are about to ignite and implode, scorching the world and my small place within it, leaving me nothing and no one. The fuse ignites. I can’t even feel the scream coming. It rips through me, piercing the air. It leaves me trembling, shaking.

  Blades tear at the delicate fibers in my throat, I feel a dizzying surge of warmth. An unfamiliar light veil of clear liquid blurs my vision.

  I smell Connors sweet blood, flowing from the gaping holes in his flesh and seeping into the stagnant earth, taunting the monster still inside. But the creature lurking under my skin which begged to take control is silent. I will not yield to it. Daggers slide down my throat, the warm liquid clears, removing the translucent haze that rushes to the rims of my eyelids.

  A single tear spills over, slowly lining my cheek with a burning stream of moisture. My first tear. It rests on my lips, its salty purity nestled in the crevice there. And for the first time, the pain of tears I have desperately tried to free, flow. I know a new pain. Another tear. It slides down my cheekbone and drips off my face, falling onto Connor’s skin. I lace my fingers through his and squeeze tightly. His hand is already cold.

  “Be still.” Giovanni’s voice is calm, but cautious.

  “What?”

  “Be still.” His words are slow and deliberate.

  I want to ask why, but words lose their way. Giovanni stands on the crest of the shadows. Observant and contemplative. My eyes wide, another surge of liquid escapes from their guarded terrain, spilling everywhere. His eyes search my own as if he is looking for answers, but I have none to offer.

  I trace the world with my gaze and wonder how it could be so cruel and merciless. Part of me never wants to look at Connor’s eyes again, his brown eyes flecked with amber and gold. I know by now, all life within them has vanished. That is not how I want to remember him. An all-encompassing yearning ties me down as I wrap my arms completely around Connor’s body, holding tight onto my grip of his hand, never letting go. Please. My voice is soft, but determined like the wings of angels soaring into heaven in their glory and grace, but with a holy, formidable purpose. Take me instead. The words slip out, breathlessly. “Connor, I love you.” My salty, unfamiliar tears drip one by one onto Connor’s pale skin and I hear the man in the shadows gasp.

  The earth suddenly pitches forward and I feel a whirl of energy and heat stretch up from Connor’s limp body. A gold haze seeps past his frame like a fog weaving in and out of the elements. My tears’ moisture, still puddled on the length of his neck, ,dry up and flutter about like gold dust in the wind, swirling about his body in a dizzying whirlwind. I feel a blade-like object tear at my throat. It bears down on my chest, knocking me away from him.

  My body writhes in a pain emanating outward, forcing me into a coiled, fetal position. I brace myself against another invisible blow. The fog smothers me as I gather my strength to crawl and reach for Connor again. I cannot lose him now.

  Giovanni emerges from the dust and stands looming over Connor, a steady rock against the wind. His hair rises and falls on the air. His lips in a tight line, his presence an ominous and somehow threatening element in the atmosphere. “Get away from him!” My voice barely breaks the howling wind.

  His eyes dart to mine. “What have you done?”

  .He breathes in and, for a moment time stands still. The dust, the wind, the magnolia leaves are all frozen in place, defying gravity, hanging in the air. And then time slows, reversing itself.

  Connor’s whole body is lined in a white glow that seems to breathe. I look at Giovanni. What’s happening? He flinches as if he heard my thoughts and quickly looks away. His eyes slant toward me at an angle. As he stands in the darkness, I see flares of red fire dance out around his frame and disappear. “What—”

  A harsh breath, a distinct inhale and exhale, sounds from the precious boy in my arms.

  “Connor?” I search his face, the white glow gone.

  He continues to breathe, the rise and fall of his chest revealing the presence of life.

  “ Connor?”

  “He can’t hear you.” Giovanni steps forward, avoiding my eyes.

  “What?”

  “He’s alive. But he can’t hear you.” He pauses, “He is emerging from Death’s Realm.”

  “But will he live?” My eyes burn, my insides raked mercilessly from sobbing, from living, from loving.

  Giovanni is silent for a moment and looks away. “Yes.”

  And with that simple word, the world breathes again. I lower my head, burying my face in Connor’s healing body and whisper his name.

  My heart beats in my chest along with his. I know what love is now. Love is a sliver of sunlight peeking through the darkness; a whisper of hope when all is lost. I love. I kiss Connor’s bloody cheek, “You are my sunshine and I won’t ever let you go.”

  Epilogue

  Giovanni

  I stare in through the hospital window. The buzz of the nurses, the doctors, and the moaning patients surrounding th
em, the pure, hectic scurry and beeping of it all tick at my nerves. But the activity doesn’t displace my unwavering gaze into the little bland room, a very un-extraodinary boy, and a too-extraordinary girl.

  No, not girl. A chimera. No, not one with a beast’s body and a woman’s head, or a convergence of animal limbs. One body with two distinct selves clawing to reach the surface. A splice of brutal opposites, terrible power, insurmountable unpredictability, and the one and only link between Heaven and Hell. Jade.

  Jade clings to the boy, whispering something in his ear. There is tenderness in the way she touches him, in the way she looks into his eyes—eyes that aren’t even open—as if she already knows the secrets within them. There is a scratching beneath my ribs, a heat flaring to the surface and it makes me want to burn something.

  Beneath her façade of compassion, however, is a dark fragility—a tendency so deadly no amount of humanity can save her—not even that wretched beating heart. Seeing the blackness in her eyes, her desperate need to consume, her near completion of the Ritual, I know she is wicked, perhaps more wicked than I remember. Those are the thoughts I usher into my mind as I try to battle the other thoughts away because I can’t bear the truth. I can’t—especially not while looking in on her as she clings so desperately to someone else.

  I hate her, I tell myself. Another emotion simmers under the surface begging to pour out of me, but I silence it. I prefer to fester in anger, in lies, than in a truth that leaves me vulnerable. I am Seraphim. I am fire and light. And this girl carved of ice will not bring me to my knees. At least, not again. I square my shoulders, turn the doorknob, and walk into the room.

  “We have to go. Grab your things and meet me outside.”

  She nods, kissing the boy’s cheek and tucking a note under his hands. I hold my breath.

  I wait for her to leave before plucking the note from the boy—pathetic as he is, all pale and gray. He should be dead. But he isn’t. Who knew the power of new life would dwell in the tears of a bastard daughter of the Queen of Hell and apparently, if Lynx told the truth, a Seraph, an Angel. I know it’s true.

  Unfolding the note, I see Jade’s graceful script scrolling down the entire page. I read every word.

  I’m so sorry…

  Please forgive me…

  I promise I will be back…

  But it is the last line that Jade wrote in the note, the line she underlined twice that uncoils in my gut and pulls every muscle in my body taught.

  Because of you, I know what love is. I love you. Always have, always will.

  The breath catches in my throat. I look at the boy in the bed, clinging to his life, recuperating. I know this boy loves Jade, too. It infuriates me even more. She isn’t his to love. I swallow hard. But then, neither am I.

  I stare at the note. I hold the letter, feeling the impossible weight of it in my hands. It feels poisonous, as if its venom could seep into me, paralyze me, kill me. It is killing me. I shake my head. This is foolish. We need to find Lynx and ready ourselves because soon, wings and nightmares will blot out our world’s skies and tear it apart until all that is left are ashes and ice.

  Can we even stop it? Jade, Lynx and I? Lynx, of course, has his own plans for peace. But I, I am an Angel and I won’t let our legions fall. War is coming. It all hinges on where Jade’s allegiance will lie. If Jade doesn’t take on a life as a Seraph, if we can’t prove her worth and obedience to the Seraphim, then… then, I must carry out the mission I left Heaven to complete.

  I tuck Jade’s note into my pocket. This world is not hers. My fingers brush against a small orb in my pocket and I close my eyes. The ash on my fingertips glides over the small golden marble. I hope Jade will let go of this world. Because I—no, we—can’t lose her again. I won’t let her live in this world. And if she resists, I…

  I push that thought aside, feel the smooth glass under my fingertips, and remember a time when I held Jade under the magnolia trees, dreaming our future could be stardust and miracles.

  Acknowledgments

  This novel has been in my heart for years. I feel incredibly blessed to be able to share it now. It wouldn’t have been possible without a collection of incredibly gifted, loving people nudging me, pushing me, sometimes kicking me forward.

  My grandparents, Larry and Willa, valued creativity and urged us all to be expressive and imaginative. Their love for the arts trickled down and touched all of us. I love them both. I miss you, Pops. Keep heaven laughing.

  My aunt, Holly, brought me to my first writer’s group meeting when I was a pre-teen. Years later when I finally recommitted myself to my writing, she brought me back into her circle. We have talked about our novels and creative projects for hours over the years. She has always been supportive and has been there as a fellow brainstormer, an amazing editor, friend, and mentor.

  Through Holly, I met Gale Deitch. Gale is the leader of my writer’s group. The group has helped me become a better writer. Their feedback has been invaluable.

  This book wouldn’t have been finished if my sister, Martina, did not threaten to never speak to me again if I didn’t get the rough draft done by her birthday (2012). She didn’t want to hear my excuses; she wanted me to fight for this dream of mine. It worked! Her love for Connor also fueled my desire to write. Love you, Chivi.

  Talking about people who can whip me into shape, I also want to give a huge shout out to my editors Annetta Ribken and Jennifer Wingward. Annetta’s expertise, encouragement, and honesty helped me get this book done and make it pretty. Jennifer worked her tail off to make it prettier. I hope you guys never leave me!

  Many thanks to my mom, Erin, who constantly shows me that with hard work and big dreams anything is possible. I marvel at what she is able to accomplish. She has been my partner in crime, my biggest cheerleader. I want to thank her for our coffee table time where our life’s plans come together. My sister was in on these chats too. We are three musketeers! Nothing will ever break us.

  I want to thank my funny and cuddly husband, Jese, for loving me, my adorably sweet daughter, Juliette, for giving the best hugs, and my God for putting this dream in my heart and sparking it to life.

  Lastly, my heartfelt gratitude goes out to all the bloggers and readers. Without you, none of this would be possible. I heart you.

  About the Author

  Rochelle grew up dreaming up stories. When she entered high school, she tucked away her creative side and jumped head-first into academics, work, and service projects. She graduated summa cum laude with a degree in Political Science and Communication when she was twenty years old. After years away from her writing, Rochelle picked up a pen and started fleshing out a character sketch that she outlined when she was twelve. That sketch was the start of the Ashes and Ice story. Rochelle lives in the DC metro area with her husband and daughter. By day she works as a behavioral therapist. By night, she is a dreamer and is busy tapping out new stories on her keyboard.