Heavens Aground (Treble and the Lost Boys Book 2)

by G. R. Lyons

  Ryley blinked. “Seriously?”

  “Indeed.” The mage waved his free hand. “As an example, I once visited the Emir of Indisar on assignment for the Vakti, and upon my return, I inadvertently left behind a text of mine. A wave of my hand, and–” He snapped his fingers. “The book was back in my possession.”

  Ryley nodded slowly. “But only because you knew exactly where it was.”

  “Correct. Had the book been moved, the spell would have been less successful or not worked at all.” The mage waved his hand again. “You could use this spell yourself. If, perhaps, there is some item you left behind on Agoran you wish to retrieve, this simple spell would bring the item to you.”

  Ryley nodded again, frowning at the pebble still lying on the mage's palm. “Assuming the things are still there.”

  “Yes.” Master Ross tilted his head in question.

  Ryley glanced at him and shrugged. “For all I know, my house has already been repossessed by the bank. It's been three months, after all. All my stuff might just be gone.” He shook his head. Good gods, what had he done just walking off the way he had? Stupid.

  But it was too late now.

  “Well, then,” Master Ross said, “all the more reason to continue your efforts.” He lifted his palm.

  Ryley glanced at him, then nodded and took a deep breath, focusing on the tiny stone.

  * * *

  ASHER SPENT a few days conducting research before he made his move. If there was one thing his uncle had taught him—and one thing life on the island had constantly reinforced—it was that success and survival, both in business and in life, wasn't always about having better strength, speed, or skill. Sometimes, it all merely boiled down to finding a tactical advantage, and taking it.

  Sometimes, that tactical advantage was as simple as getting somewhere first, establishing one's presence before one's opponent could arrive.

  But not too early. Asher checked his facts several times before he decided on when and where. Arriving too early would give him too much time to lose his nerve. Being there, though, ready and waiting, when the man walked out that door, would give him just the advantage he needed.

  Asher left his uncle's house and hailed a cab. The driver took him to the address he requested, and he paid the man, got out, and watched the car speed off again before he paused to look around. The office building in front of which he stood fit in perfectly with the old-fashioned Ceynesian architecture that made up Morbran City, but this particular structure, true to the whims of its owner, was considerably more grand than some of the others that surrounded it. The place seemed more a nobleman's mansion than a place of business.

  Pulling out the mobile phone his uncle had given him, Asher checked the time. Just five minutes until noon. Perfect. If everything he'd read—and everything he remembered—was true, the man would be walking out the front door any minute now, just like clockwork.

  Asher checked the time again a few minutes later, then shoved his phone into his pocket before wiping his palms on his jeans. He could do this. Ryley was out there, facing his nightmares. Asher could do the same.

  Finally, the front doors swung open, a group of men emerging from within. That was no surprise. Silas Arden never went anywhere or did anything without either having an entourage of hangers-on clamoring for his attention or with business associates and advisers, constantly making deals no matter where he was, even if it was on the way to lunch.

  Asher nearly shrunk back at the sight of the man. Thirteen years. Thirteen long years since he'd set eyes on that face, but it was recognizable in an instant. Perhaps a bit aged—a few more wrinkles around the eyes, several more strands of grey on his head, a touch more fat around the middle—but still undeniably the same man.

  That man froze in the midst of chatting with someone at his side. He stared at Asher, blinking stupidly, assessing him as though Asher were familiar but couldn't quite be placed.

  The moment seemed to stretch on forever, but Asher held his ground. He wasn't going to back down. He wasn't going to bolt. He was going to stand there and face that man, no matter what it took.

  Then he saw the instant when recognition flashed across the man's face. Silas Arden took a shuffling step forward, then another, shooting out a hand to tell the others to stay where they were as he slowly made his way across the small plaza that fronted the office building.

  He came to a stop, looking up at Asher—and wasn't that an unusual thing in and of itself, considering the man had once towered over him—slowly shaking his head.

  “It's not possible,” the man whispered.

  Asher took a deep breath, bracing himself.

  “Hello, Father.”

  Chapter 24

  ASHER WATCHED a look of horror cross his dad's face as the man continued to stand there, staring at him.

  “You're dead,” Silas Arden insisted. “You can't be here. This can't be possible.”

  Asher shrugged. His racing heart slowed as the nerves simply vanished. He'd thought he had to face the man who so cruelly betrayed him. Thought maybe they needed to have words or even a full-on fight in order to find closure for what his father had done to him all those years ago, but Asher realized in that moment that he'd already won. Simply by surviving, he'd won.

  “I'm sorry to disappoint you,” Asher said, then added, “again.”

  His father's hands clenched into fists at his sides as his face began to turn red. “How dare you? How dare you approach me like this, after all this time! What the hells are you doing here?” he demanded.

  Asher looked at his father and slowly shook his head. “I guess a part of me hoped that–” He sighed. “I should have known you'd never change.”

  Silas glared at him. “Do you have any idea what it will do to your mother to see you again? She's convinced you drowned out there. She grieved for you. I will not have you upsetting her–”

  “Oh, you mean by making you have to explain what happened that day?”

  “So help me, boy–” Silas fumed.

  Asher held up a hand, cutting him off. “Don't worry, Dad. I have no interest in being part of your family anymore. I've got Uncle Greg, and I have friends who care about me. I don't need you.”

  A weight lifted from Asher's shoulders as he said the words, not even quite realizing they were true until they came out of his mouth. So many years he'd spent on that island, feeling heartbroken, betrayed, lonely, abandoned, and wishing, all the while, that his dad would regret what he'd done and come looking for him, begging Asher's forgiveness and welcoming him back into the family. Now, Asher didn't want any part of it.

  His father started to say something else, but Asher turned away. The man would have to yell at him if he had anything more to say, but then he'd run the risk of others nearby hearing whatever came out of his mouth, and that was something Silas Arden wouldn't dare do.

  Asher hailed a cab, got in, and shut the door, a bittersweet smile on his face as the car pulled away from the curb. He didn't even look back to see whether his father was watching him go or if the man had gone back to his business discussions already, putting Asher to the back of his mind once again.

  Asher laughed.

  The cab driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, a questioning look on his face, though the man didn't say anything.

  Asher shook his head, and the driver returned his attention to the road, but Asher couldn't stop smiling. In that moment, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life.

  He scooted forward in the seat. “Sorry. Change of destination.”

  “Sure,” the driver said, pulling over to the curb and selecting an option on his nav screen, the map currently showing a route back to Uncle Greg's house.

  “Denmer University,” Asher said.

  The driver nodded, found the address from a list of popular local destinations, and took off again.

  They reached the campus, and Asher went straight to the registrar's office. He gave his name, which was already in the system
thanks to his uncle having registered him for those assessment classes when he first returned from Erostil, classes he'd never actually gotten to take in person because of his stay in the hospital. After a few minutes, he got to sit down with a degree counselor to see what path he'd need to take in order to reach his new goal.

  By the time they were finished discussing his options, Asher had a packet of information to review, a list of required classes, a prospective schedule that would get him to his degree as quickly as possible, and a list of textbooks he'd need for his first term, the classes already picked and paid for with a bank card Uncle Greg had given him. The course load was daunting, and Asher would probably have to work a lot of hours to pay his uncle back for it all, but it would be worth it.

  He had a couple months until the Spring semester would start. Maybe now was the time to find a job somewhere—sweeping floors or stocking shelves, something along those lines—so he could get more used to being around people, as well as start making some money of his own in the process so he could pay for his classes without his uncle's help.

  Armed with a plan, Asher stepped outside and called Vic.

  “Hey, Asher, how's it going?” Vic answered after a few rings.

  “I'm great. How are you?”

  “Busy,” Vic said with a sigh. “Tedious paperwork.” He chuckled. “What can I do for you?”

  “Is there any chance we could meet sometime this week? I have an idea I want to run by you.”

  “Yeah. Sure. What works for you?”

  They made plans to have Vic over for dinner at Uncle Greg's the next night—Asher hoped that his uncle might be able to take part and offer them advice if needed—then rang off. Asher went home with a grin on his face.

  Finally, he felt like he had a purpose.

  * * *

  RYLEY COLLAPSED in exhaustion, not even caring that he hadn't bothered to bathe before going to bed. He was just too damned tired.

  He felt like he'd spent years trying to get a damned pebble to move, and the results still eluded him. If he ever managed to finally accomplish the spell, he was pretty sure he would never want to see a pebble ever again in his entire life. Then again, he was probably already at that point. He dreaded the very thought of spending another endless day, sitting out there in the garden with Master Ross, trying to make that pebble go anywhere other than Master Ross's palm, but he knew he had more of that in store for him the next day. Ryley groaned at the thought.

  Who knew that just concentrating on something for hours on end could be so tiring? His whole body felt wrung out. Drained. Empty. He was half convinced all his muscles were sore as though from a vigorous workout.

  Of course, that was probably half the problem. He hadn't exercised in ages. His legs twitched with the need for a good, long run, but at that moment, he didn't have the energy to move.

  Maybe tomorrow. Maybe he'd ask Master Ross for a break and go for a run. Not that he had his running shoes with him. Or proper clothes in which to exercise, for that matter. Ryley snorted a laugh. If only he could master the damned transportation spell, he could magic his gym clothes right into his hands from his house back on Agoran with just a thought.

  Assuming the clothes were where he'd left them. He had no idea whether his house still belonged to him or not, and he couldn't go back yet to find out.

  Ryley fell into a heavy sleep, only to be tormented with visions of blood.

  Gods, it was everywhere. Blood seeping into his pores, matting his hair, filling his lungs, blinding his eyes, sticking to his fingers. So much blood.

  Ryley bolted out of bed, sucking in a breath and clawing at his chest, feeling like he couldn't breathe. There was too much blood. It was drowning him. He couldn't escape it.

  “Ryley.”

  Ryley gasped and whirled around. Master Ross was there, looking like he'd just tumbled out of bed himself, watching Ryley pace. Ryley turned away and kept moving. He had to escape the blood.

  “You can breathe, Ryley,” Master Ross said. “You are awake. You are quite safe.”

  Ryley shook his head, though he tried to focus on the mage's words. Master Ross wasn't nearly as soothing as Vic when it came to the nightmares. Even Asher was better at calming him down when this happened, but neither Vic nor Asher could be there. He had Master Ross, and the man had taken to setting a spell on Ryley that would alert him whenever Ryley had a particularly violent experience of the nightmare. That way, Master Ross could transport himself into Ryley's presence and help him try to calm down.

  Not to mention, make sure nothing dangerous happened.

  Which, Ryley had to admit, was necessary. The more he had the nightmare, lately, the more strange things happened around him in response to his uncontrolled bursts of magic. Even now, a fire erupted in the hearth where there had been nothing but fresh, cold logs lying just a few hours ago.

  “Breathe,” Master Ross insisted.

  Ryley shook his head. “I can't,” he rasped. Logically, he knew he was breathing, but his throat felt too thick, his lungs too weighed down with sticky blood.

  “Count your breaths,” the mage ordered him.

  Ryley sucked in a breath, then forced it out before he could make himself start counting.

  Inhale, one. Exhale, two–

  He gasped, swallowed, and started over. Inhale, one. Exhale, two. Inhale, three…

  He counted all the way up to ten, and found himself standing still by the time he finished, his eyes closed and a hand pressed to his chest as he finally felt the sensation of air in his lungs. Ryley took one more deep breath, held it, and let it back out as slowly as he could.

  “There,” Master Ross murmured. “There you are.”

  Ryley nodded slowly, and took another breath before he felt ready to open his eyes. He watched Master Ross wave a hand at the hearth, helping the fire die down to embers now that Ryley's magic was no longer charging through the room.

  “How do you feel?” the mage asked.

  Ryley scrubbed his hands over his face. “Wiped.”

  Master Ross tilted his head. “I must say, I do not understand your use of that word in this context.”

  Ryley snorted a laugh. “Sorry. I'm just exhausted. Tired,” he added.

  “Ah. Well, perhaps we both ought to return to our rest.”

  Ryley nodded. “Yeah.” He covered a yawn. “Thanks, man.”

  Master Ross gave him a curious look, then shook it off, nodded, and vanished. Ryley blinked, focused on the point where the mage had been standing, then shook his head and walked back to his bedroom, flopping back down onto the bed with a groan.

  Good gods, if he could just live without the damned nightmares! But he had no idea how to make them stop. Then again, that was hardly his priority. He needed to be making headway on learning to control his magic, but he seemed to keep failing at every turn. Other than being able to open doors, he had yet to master one single thing. Hells, all he wanted was to learn how to keep the cursed power restrained, but since he had yet to get a solid grasp on the awareness of his power, he first had to learn how to really use it so that he could feel where it resided in his body. Only then would he be able to focus enough to keep it contained, even under emotional duress.

  Ryley sighed. Unless he had some sort of miracle breakthrough, he still had a long way to go.

  * * *

  ASHER RAN to the door when he heard the bell.

  “I'll get it!” he called out, seeing his uncle rise from his desk as Asher breezed past the study.

  He reached the front door and found Vic on the other side.

  “Hey!” Asher beamed. “Come on in.”

  Vic shook Asher's hand as he stepped inside. “Thank you for having me.”

  Asher shut the door and ushered Vic into the house. They stopped when Uncle Greg stepped out of his study and closed the door behind him, a sure sign that he was putting business aside for the night so he could focus on Asher and his guest.

  “Victor, good to see you again,” Unc
le Greg said, shaking Vic's hand.

  “Mr. Arden. How are you?”

  They exchanged pleasantries, then Uncle Greg escorted them all to the dining room, where the housekeeper was just finishing setting out dinner. The three men took seats, waited while wine was poured, then engaged in some polite small talk. Asher listened while Vic and Uncle Greg spoke, digging right into his dinner just for the sake of having something to do.

  It was almost half an hour before Vic finally turned the conversation.

  “You said you had something you wanted to talk about?” he asked, looking at Asher.

  Asher quickly swallowed as he bobbed his head in a nod. “Yeah, I had an idea…” He looked at his uncle. “And I'd like your take on it, too, if you don't mind.”

  “Certainly,” his uncle said, setting down his fork and taking up his wine glass instead.

  Asher looked from Vic to his uncle and back, then said, “I want to help kids, like you do. You know…give them therapy they need to recover from bad situations.”

  Vic got a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, I'm not really a therapist, but–”

  “Ryley said you were.”

  Vic chuckled. “Ryley loves to oversell what I can do.” He shook his head. “No, I have just very basic psychology training, just enough to help me get kids comfortable after I find them, and then I pass them off to a professional, someone better equipped to help them.”

  Asher straightened, his eyes wide and an eager smile on his face. “Perfect. Alright, that's even better than I was thinking. What if I studied psychology, and then we could set up a sort of…I don't know…like a halfway house? A safe place for kids to go between being rescued and being put back out in the world? Sort of like what you and Ryley and all the doctors did for me after you found me, but more streamlined?”

  Vic's eyebrows went up, and he nodded slowly, thinking. “That's definitely a noble pursuit.”

  Asher looked at his uncle, who had yet to say a word, then returned his focus to Vic. “I saw my father yesterday,” he said, and he saw Vic's eyes go wide. “And I realized that, had things been different—if I'd come home to him instead of here—the transition would have been so much harder. Without your help—without both of you caring so much and getting me what I needed—I'd probably only be getting worse instead of better.” And he wouldn't have had Ryley, either. There was no way his father would have allowed it, if the man would have even accepted Asher back home, which Asher now knew was an absolute impossibility. “But what if we could do that for others?” he went on. “What if we rescued abandoned kids and took care of them and helped them get something like normal lives?”