The Darkest Edge of Dawn cm-2

by Kelly Gay

  Way to go, Charlie.

  I hunched my shoulders against the rain, folding my arms in front of me and quickening my pace.

  The sirens living on our world were required by law to wear a voice-mod, a torc-like device, around their necks for everyday public interactions, since the power that often leaked into their voices was far too entrancing and distracting for the rest of us to function properly, and it was difficult for most sirens to control it, or to remember to control it, on their own.

  It made me feel like shit to know Hank’s greatest power, the very thing that made him who he was, had been caged inside of him. Hank was my lion—big, intensely beautiful, exuding an easy confidence and mellow demeanor that could only come from being near the top of the food chain. Except now he was shackled by the voice-mod and way more ill-tempered than usual.

  The same dark figure that had guarded the gate before stepped out of the shadows at my approach, the tip of a cigarette glowing bright and orange, then slowly disappearing. He pushed open one side of the gate for me to pass. “Your friend already left,” he said with an amused tone. I stopped, spinning on my heel as he gave a low chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to be you right now … or him, for that matter.” The gate shut, and the dark-clad nymph disappeared.

  No car. Hank had deserted me.

  Fucking hell.

  Not that I didn’t deserve it.

  After standing there, hands on hips, for a good ten seconds, I released my damp hair to re-knot the long length tighter and more orderly than before—no thanks to Pendaran’s dragon-out-of-water routine. I then began the hike down Tenth toward West Peachtree to catch the MARTA.

  The constant darkness, the constant tingle, the constant volatile mood coating the entire city had become exhausting. I needed another lesson with my warlock teacher, Aaron. And no meditating. I needed to fight, to release some of the built-up power in my body, or I was going to completely lose it.

  That, or lose my life like those other poor souls who’d been lab rats for Mynogan.

  They’d come before me, but had been unable to handle the DNA of two different races injected into their bodies at once. It tore them apart from the inside out. So far, my body was handling it due to ancient bloodlines of both Elysia and Charbydon DNA already in my family tree. Mynogan’s gene manipulation had been successful, had brought me back to life, and had created a being capable of summoning primal darkness with a gift of blood. I’d done what I’d been created to do, but one day, just like all the others, the two opposing powers inside of me would take their toll. It was just a matter of time.

  Relax. Center yourself like Aaron taught you.

  The walk helped ease some tension from my shoulders, despite the rain. I loved my city, the people, the traffic, the noise. Yes, there was a freakish, supernatural mass of gray overhead that was making life pretty difficult, but beneath it, Atlanta still thrived in a sea of colorful lights that burned day and night. The darkness would never change the fact that this was my home, and I’d love it regardless.

  I decided to get off at the Five Points Station and head into Underground before returning to the station. Hank was probably sitting in his office chair with a mug of coffee and his face planted in front of his computer screen, thinking I’d show up at the station any minute.

  Whatever. I didn’t care.

  Okay. I did care. And it pissed me off.

  I replayed the scene over in my mind, trying to figure out why he’d even say such things about me. And then a thought occurred. He’d thrown me off the scent. Distraction Techniques 101. He’d known the right words to say to get me to stop the questions that had been gathering about him and Pendaran. How it seemed like the Druid knew Hank, or knew of him. That had to be it, because Hank being a jerk just for the hell of it didn’t sit well with me. The stuck voice-mod couldn’t have changed him that much.

  Maybe his reputation in Elysia preceded him. Charbydons came to Atlanta for obvious reasons—their world was a hot, crowded, hellish place, and it was slowly dying. Elysians, on the other hand, lived in a heavenly paradise. Didn’t seem like a place anyone would want to leave, unless you were running from something, or wanted an escape, or your own territory, or were simply following leaders or loved ones.

  I never really questioned why Hank had left Elysia.

  Maybe I ought to start.

  6

  The minute I crossed the plaza where Mercy Street, Helios Alley, and Solomon Street converged, a huge sense of relief washed over me. Out of the drizzle, thank God. At least here in Underground, the darkness only rolled in via the fog when it rained heavily.

  Underground was the largest off-world sector in Atlanta, with three main streets that divided the population. Elysians had claimed much of Helios Alley and a few areas Topside, just as the Charbydons had filled Solomon Street to the brim—the jinn, the Mafia of Underground, going so far as to carve out their own territory in the bedrock beneath the streets of Underground.

  I headed for Mercy Street, the dividing line, the buffer between the two off-world factions. Mercy Street provided a nice balance of human, Elysian, and Charbydon businesses run and patronized by those who cared more about making money (or spending it) than old wars and endless grudges. Restaurants, shops, nightclubs, bars, spell shops, apothecaries—everything existed down here, and if your need was the slightest bit peculiar, supernatural, or off-world, you’d find it on Mercy Street.

  As I strolled over the brick pavers that made up the carless street, my thoughts turned to my sister, Bryn. I hadn’t seen her in two days. And she hadn’t bothered to return my calls, though I knew from Aaron that she was okay. It was time for a visit.

  I stepped around a sales cart on wheels that held an assortment of rough-cut off-world stones, and shook my head to the vendor, a goblin. For a second, my heart contracted. Auggie, one of my informants, had been a goblin—a bony, yellow-eyed, blunt-toothed, cash-loving guy with a penchant for spellmongering and gossip. I missed him calling my name from the shadows. In the end, he’d tried to protect me from three jinn warriors pushing ash on the street. He’d died for the effort, and I’d never forget him.

  I went to open the door to Hodgepodge, my sister’s variety shop, expecting the tinkling of bells and to hear Gizmo’s squawk as he patrolled the comings and goings from his perch atop the bookcase by the door. I was slowly warming to the little gray gargoyle even though I held my ground on the fact that a spell and a gargoyle were no substitute for a real security system.

  The door didn’t open.

  Frowning, I pulled again, realizing it wasn’t stuck, but double-locked. What the hell? I tried my key, but it didn’t work. I cupped my hands and peered inside, then stepped back and noticed the small sign in the window.

  “Closed until further notice?”

  “Been closed three days now,” the goblin’s sandpaper voice called from his cart. Three days? My stomach dropped out, and he must have seen my alarm. “Oh, she’s fine.” He glanced up at the apartment windows over the shop. “See her shadow passing every once in a while.”

  I stepped away from the door and approached the cart. “How often does she leave the apartment?”

  He wiped the stone dust from his long, skeletal fingers, leaving shimmering gray streaks on his dark apron. “More information will cost you.”

  The anticipation of money set his dull yellow irises aglow, and I smiled in spite of myself as I reached into the back pocket of my jeans with a brief second of hesitation. I was about to buy information on my own sister.

  Bryn hadn’t been the same since waking up in the hospital after her forced ash overdose, and I was getting increasingly concerned.

  “Here’s a ten.”

  He licked his cracked lips and reached out, carefully pinching the corner of the bill. Once he had it, it went to his large nose, where he drew in a breath so deep that it sucked the ten against his nostrils. “It’s old.” He folded the bill and shoved it into his pocket.

  “The new ones are f
or serious info. All I want to know is if she comes and goes and how often.”

  “The Hodgepodge woman comes out once a day to take pizza delivery or delivery from Abracas.” He motioned to the popular restaurant and pub across the street. “No more, no less.”

  Damn it. “Thanks.” I paused and turned back to the goblin. “What’s your name?”

  His eyes went narrow, assessing, deciding if there was worth, a monetary future, in telling me. “Otto.”

  I nodded and then walked past the shop’s main entrance, past the display window and a span of brick wall to the door that led to Bryn’s apartment over the shop. I had a key, but I didn’t use it. Juvenile, maybe, but I wanted my sister to get up, to show some fire, some interest in life. I pressed her buzzer and held it for a count of five. I was about to press it again when her voice came over the intercom.

  “What?”

  “It’s Charlie; let me up.”

  “Use your key.”

  “Just buzz me in.”

  Silence. And then, “I’m busy …”

  “What, taking the day off? If you don’t let me—”

  The door buzzed. I growled, jerked it open, and then jogged up the steps. As I reached the small landing, she opened the door.

  “Damn it, Bryn …” She was pale. Hair in unwashed tangles. Wearing boxers and an old Georgia Tech T-shirt. Dark smudges cradled her eyes. She looked … muted. Grayed out. My chest hurt.

  A spark of annoyance lit her eyes, but she stepped aside, letting me into the gloomy apartment, the only light coming from the spastic blue glow of the television set.

  Immediately I began opening the blinds for some street light as she plopped on the sofa and watched me with indifference before grabbing the remote and flicking through stations. Once the blinds were open, I grabbed a towel from the bathroom, dried my hair, washed my neck the best I could, and then replaced my shirt—since the collar was damp and reeked of hellhound breath—with one of Bryn’s clean, dry ones.

  Her fridge held nothing but condiments and spoiled leftovers and a few bottled waters. I grabbed one, noticing the trash was overflowing with takeout boxes. Gizmo had curled his cat-sized body into an open pizza box on the floor and was snoring away.

  I went into the living area and handed her the water.

  Bryn opened the cap and took an angry drink, before leaning back into the cushions and drawing her feet up under her. I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to shake her, to yell because the change in her was so extreme and I had no idea how to help her. I wanted my sister back, the vibrant, auburn-haired, freckle-nosed earth mage who walked around in flowing skirts and tinkling ankle bracelets.

  “Please make an appointment to see someone.”

  She laughed. “Who would you like me to see, Charlie? I don’t think there’s a shrink who deals with forced drug addiction.”

  “So?” I sat on the arm of the love seat. “The point is to talk. You used to love to talk. All the time. About anything.”

  A snort came from her pale lips, and she scratched her dirty scalp. “Yeah well, that was before I became hooked on ash.”

  “Will you stop it?” I jumped to my feet. “Just stop it. You’re on ash because if you don’t keep taking it in regulated doses, you’ll drop into a coma and die. Just like Amanda and everyone else who survived using the drug in the first place.” I paused, trying to sound calm. “A few of them have formed a support group. Why don’t you go? Talk. There’s a meeting tomorrow. I can take you.” I sat back down on the arm of the loveseat. “Doctor Mott is going to figure out a cure, but letting yourself shrivel away like this”—I slid from the arm into the seat—“it’s not you.”

  My head fell back and I shut my eyelids tightly against the rising tears, repeating that last sentence over again in my head.

  I hated this.

  The frustration made me throw up my hands and give her a defeated look. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry that it was because of me and Emma—”

  “Oh my God. Enough with the guilt routine, Charlie. If you say you’re sorry one more time, I might actually vomit.” She got up and walked behind the couch, her hands braced on the back. “I knew the risks. I love Emma. I love you. It was my choice to go to that bath house that night, my choice to fight, and I’d do it all over again. Just … let me deal with this on my own, okay?” Her eyes drifted closed for a moment. Her shoulders lifted and fell tiredly. “I’m tired. Can’t you just come back later or some-thing?”

  I stared at the wall for a long second. “Sure.” I shook my head, feeling exhausted myself. “I’ll bring some groceries in the morning. Before I take you to the meeting.”

  “Whatever you want.” She shuffled into her dark bedroom and closed the door.

  I left Bryn’s apartment, keeping my head down and my gaze averted as I passed the goblin, letting my steps carry me toward the plaza on autopilot, too overwhelmed with worry and frustration to notice much around me, just knowing I had to fix things.

  The despondent aura surrounding her was eating away at her light, her spirit, at everything that had made her Bryn. My sister. The earth mage. The independent business owner. The much-loved aunt.

  I didn’t go back into the office. Instead, I got my Tahoe from the back lot of the station and drove down I-85 to the outskirts of the city, to the grounds of Mott Tech.

  The guards at the gatehouse waved me in now that I had a full-clearance badge.

  The complex was Titus Mott’s baby—the underground research facility that allowed him to work on all of his off-world and human inventions. After he and his team had discovered the alternate dimensions of Elysia and Charbydon, he’d acquired the massive funding needed to create his scientific empire. But I didn’t plan on seeing Titus. Not tonight. I’d been coming here on and off since I’d brought darkness to the city, not even sure why I chose this place of all places to come.

  The cool night air made me pull my jacket closer around me as I got out of my vehicle and headed across the parking lot, grateful that the inside lining was dry and warm. My footsteps shuffled over the flagstone pathway that led through the manicured grounds to the romantic Victorian-style pavilion perched on the edge of a calm lake.

  The breeze was heavy down here, like always. I rounded the grassy edge of the water, coming to the idyllic bridge that spanned the small creek that fed the lake and led to the pavilion. A bench had been placed near the bridge and I sat in my usual spot, on the right side, facing the circular meadow where I’d first called the darkness. Where I’d fed on Mynogan’s blood, the blood of an Abaddon elder, killing him.

  The center of it all.

  I didn’t know why I kept coming here, envisioning the past, replaying that night over and over in my head, and taking out Grigori Tennin’s card from my inside jacket pocket. I like what you’ve done with the place, it said.

  The small card had come with the flowers he’d sent via florist to the hospital just as I was leaving. The flowers were long gone, but the card I’d kept. It was wrinkled and bent now, but it reminded me of my place in this game. Grigori had had a hand in bringing darkness to the city; I just didn’t know the part he played. His card reminded me to be vigilant, to always watch my back because he wasn’t through with me. And I sure as hell wasn’t through with him.

  I stared at the meadow, my gaze not really focusing on any one thing as I flipped the card slowly through my fingers, thinking about the victims in the warehouse. All Elysian. There’d be no one who would benefit more from a war than the jinn tribal boss. The entire tribe would be eager to fight and get back to their warlike ways. And while the jinn and other Charbydons would be battling the rest of us, Grigori would, no doubt, benefit from the distraction. Law enforcement would be completely overwhelmed, leaving Grigori to expand his many illegal endeavors.

  That was worst case scenario. And Pendaran would play right into Grigori’s hands, starting a battle with the jinn over Daya.

  A green flash snaked through the da
rkness above, lighting the meadow for a moment in a soft green glow.

  I tapped the edge of the card against my cheek, opening my mind, letting in all the possibilities, all the paths this case might take, and where they might have originated. My thoughts turned to Llyran, the Adonai serial killer, a Level Ten felon who had escaped Titus Mott’s lab around the time I’d brought darkness to the city. Llyran had disappeared. No word. No sightings. He could be back in Elysia by now or right in my backyard, laying low.

  Or—goose bumps sprouted along my arms—he could be killing his own kind. I hugged myself against the sudden chill. An Adonai killing his own kind? His own race? Seemed shocking, but why not? Humans had been killing humans since the dawn of time. The question was: did he have a motive? Or was he simply killing for the love of it, for a reason only understandable to the serial killer mind?

  Pendaran’s ultimatum of one week—one week to find Daya’s killer before he confronted the jinn—grated on every last nerve. One week to find a serial killer powerful enough to kill not one, but seven of the most powerful beings in the city.

  Hardheaded dragon bastard.

  It was either lock the Druid King up and prevent him from waging war—which was guaranteed to cause serious injury to all parties involved—or find the killer. Or, I thought, biting the inside of my cheek, find something or some way to convince Dragon Boy to back off and let us do our job.

  I slipped the card into my pocket and slouched further down the bench, bracing my boots in the grass.

  A chuckle stuck in my throat as the realization of why I kept coming here, given the circumstances, dawned on me. This was the only place where I could just sit and not be bothered or worry about anyone else. This was the only place where I felt like I belonged, because, really, who else would belong at such a place except me?

  This was the site where the warring genes in my body converged, melded, came together in one cohesive, perfect moment. Did I know that for certain? No. But it had felt like it. Thinking back on it, I was pretty certain Mynogan’s ritual was what gave me that sense of oneness. I’d heard the drumbeats in my mind and body. I’d been thrown back to a time so ancient it felt like the beginning of time itself, and in that moment I was whole, not fractured like I’d felt before or after.