Heavens Aground (Treble and the Lost Boys Book 2)

by G. R. Lyons

  They fell silent, just lying there against one another.

  Eventually, Ryley broke the silence with a whisper: “How could I forget them, Ash?”

  Asher blinked, trying to pull himself out of the doze he'd been on the verge of slipping into, and pushed himself up onto his side, looking down at Ryley. “What's that?”

  Ryley didn't even look at him. Just kept staring up at the ceiling with his brow furrowed. “My parents. How could I forget them? Especially after what happened.”

  Asher rested a hand on Ryley's chest. “Trauma makes the brain do strange things. I'm sure you didn't want to forget them, but your brain was probably protecting itself. Protecting you.”

  Ryley shook his head. “It seems so…disloyal.” He grimaced. “Then again, I guess that's me all over, isn't it?”

  “Hey.” Asher shook him, and waited until Ryley finally met his eyes. “That's all behind you.”

  Ryley blinked, then his eyes went wide. “Ash. Shit. I didn't mean with you. I've never cheated on you, I swear–”

  “I know, babe, I know,” Asher assured him, giving Ryley a smile. “I trust you, remember?”

  Ryley searched his eyes, then let out a sigh. “It is me, though, isn't it? I've never really been loyal to anyone. Until now,” he added, squeezing Asher's hand. “I cheated on Vic. I cheated on the guy I dated before Vic.” He paused, then added, “I forgot my own parents.” He shook his head, his expression full of wonder. “Gods, what the hells is wrong with me?” Ryley squeezed his eyes shut, but not before a tear escaped. “Fuck,” he breathed. “My parents are dead.”

  Asher held Ryley as the man finally—twenty-three years after the fact—found the chance to grieve.

  Chapter 28

  RYLEY STARED up at the ceiling, half-listening to Asher's soft snores while the images from the video—the images from his nightmare—played on a loop through his memory. All that blood. The reek of it filling the air, the sticky thickness of it coating his skin. The piercing screams—his own screams—shattering what should have been a perfect day.

  No wonder he never wanted to celebrate his birthday.

  But how could he just forget like that? His own parents! Ryley scrubbed both hands over his face, wincing at the grittiness of his eyes. Throwing back the sheets, Ryley eased out of bed, his whole body slightly achy, and not in a good way. He must have been far more tensed up than he'd realized, both watching that video and then finally letting it all out in Asher's arms.

  Ryley shuffled into the washroom and went straight to the sink, not even bothering to turn on the light. He wasn't ready to see more flickering, even if he did feel far too drained for any uncontrolled outbursts of magic to occur. In the grief and rage that had poured out of him after frotting with Asher, the lights in the room had all gone so berserk that he'd actually popped a few bulbs.

  Bracing his elbows on the edge of the sink, Ryley slapped some cold water on his face, then hung his head.

  At least Asher was safe. Whatever the doctors had done for him had made it so that Asher had been able to properly heal without leaving behind anything that Ryley could accidentally rip out again. But Ryley was still dangerous. He knew that. He couldn't properly rest until he had his power under control.

  Which would mean going back to Jadu'n. For how long, he had no idea.

  But at the moment, he didn't even have the energy to consider going back there. The endless, exhausting hours of work seemed impossible with as weighed down as he felt.

  His parents were dead. He'd never get to know them.

  And his adopted parents—the people he'd taken as his mother and father all his life, the people he loved more than anyone else in the world, the people he should have been able to rely upon and trust in all things—had lied to him. Sure, they'd said it was for his own good, but still…

  If they'd just told him the truth, he could have gone to Jadu'n years ago. Gotten trained. Never hurt Asher in the first place. All they would have had to do was sit him down, tell him what happened, show him the evidence.

  Ryley looked up, just catching his reflection in the mirror, the room dimly lit by what little evening sunslight was coming in from the bedroom windows. Water dripped down his face as he hunched there, thinking. Evidence. Ryley snatched up a towel, hastily scrubbed away the water, and tossed the towel aside. He strode through the bedroom, not bothering to grab his pants along the way as he headed for the dining room. He was pretty sure he'd seen Asher leave it there.

  Sure enough, Ryley's bundled-up shirt lay on the corner of the table next to a pile of receipts. Ryley flicked back the folds of the shirt, not letting his fingers touch the knife once it was exposed. The chain of evidence was already tainted just by his magical transportation of the blade from its sealed bag to his bedroom on Jadu'n. That was going to take some explaining. He had no idea what Parker was going to think.

  But that wasn't really what troubled him at the moment. That knife had been inside a box of evidence at the place where he worked, which meant Sturmwyn Insurance had originally handled the case.

  And Vic had requested that particular box to be signed out to his desk when they'd returned from Erostil. And he could only do that if he had worked on the case, whether originally or in review. Vic was far too young to have worked on it originally, so that meant he'd been assigned to it at some point, for reasons Ryley couldn't fathom. The case was closed. Old. There'd be no reason for the company to have Vic review it.

  Yet he had. And he'd requested that box, which meant he wanted to go over something about the case again after they got back. Except Vic had been torn up with grief over Cam and never made it in to the office that day, leaving Ryley there to question its presence and look inside.

  If he hadn't, he would have never seen the knife, never been chilled by its presence, never known its location so that his sleeping mind could transport it halfway around the world by magic.

  Ryley pulled out a chair and sank into it, resting his hands on the table on either side of the knife, staring down at the blood-stained blade. Vic had known. All this time.

  Which meant he'd lied, too.

  Ryley shoved back the chair and ran for his bedroom, scrambling about for his running shorts and shoes while trying not to wake Asher. He needed to get out. Go for a run. Clear his mind before he did something catastrophic.

  He found his shorts, neatly folded in a drawer—hells, it seemed all his clothes were neatly put away for the first time ever, thanks to Asher living there—and yanked them on. He snatched his running shoes off the seldom-used shoe rack in the closet and stuffed his feet into them, nearly tearing the laces as he scrambled to tie them.

  Ryley bolted from the room, stopping just long enough to grab his house key before he flew out the front door. He squinted against the setting suns at the horizon, but it didn't slow him down. His feet took up a brutal pace right from the start. He was going to be regretting that by the time he got home, having not properly stretched or warmed himself up, but at the moment, he didn't really care. He needed to move. He needed to run away for a little while and clear his head.

  Then figure out what the hells to do next.

  * * *

  RYLEY STUMBLED to a stop when he saw the starglass Gates up ahead. He bent over, planting his hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. Good gods. He'd run all the way downtown without even realizing it? Not that the distance was all that unusual for him, but just the fact that he was there, of all places, without a conscious decision, was enough to throw him.

  He tried to straighten, wincing at a stitch in his side. Still panting, Ryley eyed the Gates. Maybe it was just some sort of instinct to run back to Jadu'n, back to where he ultimately needed to be, back to where he'd escaped to before.

  Or maybe he just still needed some fucking answers.

  Ryley charged right at the Gate to Jadu'n, passing through the starglass portal without hesitation. He didn't stop to look around once he was on the other side even though the sudden c
hange from twilight to sunsrise was a bit of a shock to the senses. He stormed along the garden paths, skipping right past his cottage and heading straight for Master Ross's place.

  Ryley banged his fist on the door.

  It opened a moment later, Master Ross looking as though he'd just gotten out of bed.

  “Father's love,” the mage mumbled. “I was not expecting you so soon. I know that you are quite eager, dear boy, but–”

  “I need to see the Vakti,” Ryley interrupted him.

  Master Ross blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Now. I need to see them now.”

  “Ryley. My gods. Are you at all aware of the hour?”

  Not really. “Yeah. And I don't care. I need to see them.”

  Master Ross sighed and shook his head. “Very well. Though you will certainly not be going dressed as you are,” he said, waving a hand at Ryley.

  “What–” Ryley looked down at himself, remembering he only wore shorts and shoes. “Oh.” He shrugged. “Whatever. Can we go?”

  Master Ross sighed again and waved his hand, a garment of some sort appearing out of nowhere. “Put this on, and we shall go.”

  Ryley grumbled, but did as his mentor said, wrapping the blue-grey robe around himself. It was a bit too large for him, probably more Master Ross's size.

  “My old robes,” Master Ross said as he stepped outside and waved his door shut. “You ought to be wearing some of your own here, except that you expressed a desire not to pursue full training.”

  “Ah.” Ryley glanced down at himself, feeling ridiculous. Wearing stuff like this all the time? Definitely not for him.

  “Very well. Let us be off.” Master Ross held out his hand. When Ryley only gave him a questioning look, the mage moved his hand closer. “I shall transport us up there.”

  “Oh.” Ryley took the man's hand, and before he could draw his next breath, he found himself standing on the edge of a courtyard, looking out over the valley of Jadu'n. He blinked and closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. The sudden transportation from one place to another was a bit more jarring than what he experienced when traveling through the Gates, even though the principle was the same.

  “Come,” Master Ross called.

  Ryley turned away from the edge and followed Master Ross toward the Grand Temple. He could barely spare the grandeur of the place any thought, too determined to finally meet these Vakti women and get some answers.

  Master Ross waved a hand, and the grand doors slowly opened, allowing them inside. The antechamber was empty, their footsteps echoing about the space in the early morning hour.

  Before they could go far, Ryley spotted a dark figure emerging from a small doorway at the far left of the room. It seemed to float rather than walk. Ryley blinked and looked again. It appeared to be a woman, but the black gown that covered her from throat to floor, even all the way down past her wrists, combined with her long, black hair, made her seem something almost supernatural.

  As he got closer and spotted the tattoos on her face, it only added to the impression.

  “Master Ross,” the woman called, her soft voice carrying through the space. She floated toward them as Master Ross led Ryley across the chamber. “What brings you here at this early hour?”

  “Lady Qora,” Master Ross said, “may I introduce–”

  “Novice Skye,” Lady Qora said, looking at Ryley before Master Ross could finish speaking. “I wondered when we might see you here.”

  Ryley frowned. “You were expecting me?”

  “We have been expecting you these twenty-three years,” she said, giving him a hint of a smile. She looked at Ryley's mentor. “Thank you, Master Ross. You may go.”

  Master Ross looked like he wanted to argue, but he bowed his head instead and backed away. Ryley heard the doors shut behind him, and turned his attention back on the strange woman standing before him.

  “Come,” Lady Qora said. “We have much to talk about.”

  No shit, Ryley thought, following her in silence as she led him across the room and through another small doorway. He found himself in a sitting room of sorts, and watched as Lady Qora closed the door before crossing the room and offering Ryley a seat.

  Ryley struggled to straighten out the stifling robes as he perched on the edge of a chair. Once he finally felt more or less composed, he looked up to find Lady Qora studying him in silence.

  “You remember now,” she said, her tone full of certainty.

  Ryley nodded. “Everything,” he said, then shook his head. “No, not everything.” He frowned, studying the woman's face. “I don't remember any of you.”

  Lady Qora nodded. “Which is to be expected. You fell into something like a comatose state after the initial horror of the event wore off, and remained that way for nearly two days. Once you regained consciousness, you spent several days barely aware of your surroundings. It was during that time that we taught you to count your breaths to keep yourself calm, encouraging you to focus on that to the exclusion of all else. We monitored you for several days, and it became apparent very quickly that the entire episode had been locked away somewhere in your memory, and that you had no idea any of it had happened, nor that you'd lost your parents. You accepted your adopted parents without question, and though you quickly managed to remind yourself to breathe any time you got worked up, there was nothing else you seemed to recall about those first few days.”

  Ryley slowly shook his head. He knew, logically and theoretically, that the brain was powerful enough to repress memories, but it still amazed him that he could lock away something like that so thoroughly. One would think a little kid would be intrigued enough to remember a woman who looked like Lady Qora, yet he had absolutely no memory of her, blocked out by the crushing trauma of witnessing his parents' murder.

  “We tried asking you,” Lady Qora went on, “about what you saw, but you were entirely incapable of answering. We had our suspicions, of course, especially with the intensity of the manifestation of your power that we felt, but if it weren't for that video, we may never have known exactly what happened.”

  Ryley nodded absently, trying to picture it from her perspective: coming upon a scene like that, seeing three adults dead with one little boy sitting in the midst of it all, and then discovering the camera and witnessing the whole thing as it actually happened.

  Ryley frowned, looking straight at the woman. “How did it all get caught on film?”

  Lady Qora tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…magic affects electronics, right?” he asked, and the woman gave a nod. “So why didn't the magic interfere with the camera? The picture never wavered.”

  Lady Qora gave a dainty shrug. “You were merely a child. Your range was minimal. Combined with the intense focus of your target, your power wouldn't have been able to spread very far.”

  Ryley went still. “And now?”

  The woman gave him a questioning look.

  “If that same thing happened now,” Ryley clarified.

  Lady Qora gave him a slow nod. “With the level of rage you experienced in that moment? It wouldn't surprise me if you brought the whole house down around you, just to start.”

  Ryley stared at her, then slumped back in his chair. “Fuck,” he breathed. He knew he was dangerous—what he'd done to both Asher and the intruder proved that—but now it sounded much worse than he'd imagined.

  “I need this gone,” he insisted, looking intently at the woman. “Please. I have to get this out of me.”

  Lady Qora's eyes turned sad, but she gave him a nod. “If that is what you wish…” She took a deep breath and sighed. “I'll need time to assemble seven magi for the Circle. I can let you know when we're ready.”

  Ryley gave her a sharp nod even as a pang of fear ran through him, the core of his power pulsing within him, almost as though begging him for attention, begging him not to rip it out. But it had to go. He couldn't risk hurting anyone ever again.

  Chapter 29

>   ASHER WOKE from his nap and knew instantly that Ryley was gone, even before he opened his eyes.

  The bed—hells, the whole house—felt too empty.

  He rubbed his eyes and turned to look anyway. Sure enough, Ryley wasn't lying on the other side of the bed. Asher slowly sat up and looked around. Two of the dresser drawers had been opened and not fully shut again. The closet door was ajar. Asher got up and looked to see what was missing, intimately familiar with Ryley's clothes after having put them away himself when he moved in and got the house tidied up a few days ago. Not much had been disturbed, other than the obvious fact that Ryley's running shoes were gone and one drawer looked particularly rifled through. Asher straightened the contents of the drawers, realizing a pair of gym shorts weren't there.

  Asher shut the drawers with a sigh. Maybe Ryley had only gone for a run. At least, he hoped that was the case. Ryley had already walked away once after an emotional upheaval. Asher wouldn't put it past him to do so again.

  Dragging on his discarded clothes, Asher went to check the rest of the house. It was too quiet. Too empty. He stopped in the dining room, noting a chair that had been pulled out and not pushed back, the shirt unfolded right before it, the blood-stained knife on display.

  Asher looked at the front door. Ry, where are you?

  Ryley's phone still lay on the table. Asher checked it, and pressed the power button. The thing had still been off, which meant Ryley probably hadn't even touched it since he'd been back. Not that he'd been home all that long. But he hadn't taken it with him, either, just like last time.

  Of course, if Ryley wanted to leave, Asher was in no place to stop him. Ryley had to do whatever was right for him.

  Asher got up, pushed in the chair, and folded the shirt around the knife again, wanting the damned thing out of sight. He went to the kitchen and tried to put something together for a late dinner. It wasn't much—he still had a lot to learn about how to cook—but at least it was hot and edible. Weird how having all those tools and appliances at his convenience actually seemed to make meal preparation harder. He'd gotten so used to making do with crude tools and his own two hands that being able to open a can and dump it into a pot on the stove seemed almost foreign, even after having been back on Agoran for months.