Wings of Ruin (Otherworld Book 3)

by Talis Jones

  “You can work here,” he relented at last. “Clean tables, serve food and drinks, and don't bother the customers. Don't even talk to them except to take their orders.”

  She tipped her head in thanks. “I'll only bother you until I've made enough to depart.”

  “Good,” he grunted.

  Having no possessions to dispense with she hung her cloak upon a hook, rolled up her sleeves, and placed her fists on her hips. “I'm ready to work,” she declared. “Now all I need are supplies and a name.”

  With an exasperated roll of his eyes he pointed to a small closet beside the bar. “Supplies are in there, kitchen is in the back, and my name is Master Sergei.”

  “Delighted,” she greeted dryly. “I'm Cassandra. Cassandra Korona.”

  When at last night fell far behind leaking into the early morn, Cassandra threw her cloak around her shoulders then hesitated. She hadn't quite thought about where she would sleep. She'd considered lurking in the tavern and curling up beneath a table but Sergei never let her out of his sight and besides, he lived upstairs. The woods it would be then. At least until she could begin to afford a room. The thought of spending her earnings on anything but a ticket chafed, but what else was she to do? Stealing scraps of food from patrons' plates might be fine for filling her belly, but sleeping in the woods was asking for trouble.

  “What's the problem?”

  Sergei's dark bark caused Cassandra to jump, something that made her very much wish to punch him in the nose and his next words doubly so.

  “Have you nowhere to go?”

  “Of course I do,” she countered, her pride seizing her tongue.

  With a huff and a shake of his head he beckoned her to follow. “Come. I have a cot you can sleep on.”

  “I don't need your charity.” Even though she very much did.

  “Then sleep in the woods and get eaten by a bear. I do not need you, but you need me. I suggest you accept what I am offering.”

  He stomped up the stairs tucked into the back corner of the tavern behind the bar to the sleeping quarters where he lived without looking to see if she'd follow. After biting her tongue she took the steps quickly. Sergei gestured to an old cot in the corner with a wool blanket folded atop.

  “Thank you,” Cassandra relented.

  Sergei shrugged. “Anton sleeps there whenever his mother is working. I won't kick him out if he comes so you might have to share. Don't cause a fuss and don't touch my things and you can sleep there for free.”

  Cassandra nodded her head, shaking his proffered hand. “Deal.”

  Remaining fully clothed she curled up beneath the blanket, her cloak spread out on top, she waited until Sergei returned from the toilet and collapsed onto his own bed. The moment he blew out the candle lighting the small space she found herself pulled into a dreamless restorative sleep. Falling asleep with a dinner knife curled in her fist she dreamed of nothing but haunting words of a prophecy spinning round and round in her head.

  The days passed quickly, her mind always focused on the horizon while simultaneously utilizing her place in the tavern to gather clues. Truly she couldn't have asked for a better job. While busy, tiring, and often disgusting, the tavern was a center of information and she did her best to perfect the art of eavesdropping.

  Between stealing snatches of conversation and forgotten newspapers she quickly learned that the year was 1934 (a thought that made her head pound until she finally forced herself to accept it) and Russia was no more, instead overtaken by a promise of equality. She found such a notion noble but foolish and if the rapid whispers that gathered in the same corner every night were anything to go by then some of the people had begun to agree. Anton's fear and Sergei's distrust suddenly made sense as even thoughts against the new regime could end in bloodshed.

  As soon as Cassandra received her first payment she purchased a map and it was the first time her heart sank before she could bolster herself against what she'd suspected. The small village in which she found herself was miles, days, maybe weeks away from Moscow, but if there was any hope at all for her quest to pan out then Moscow it simply had to be. Whether by train, horse, or foot, she would find her way.

  As Cassandra stacked chairs upon worn wooden tables preparing to mop the floor after closing up the tavern, Sergei broke the silence. “You act like a spy, but you are no spy I think.”

  She paused, a chair held aloft. “Excuse me?”

  He stacked glasses upon a shelf while he answered. “You think I do not see you cleaning the tables nearest my customers? You think I do not notice the newspapers you slip into the pocket of your apron? You act like a spy, Miss Korona, but my gut tells me you are not one we need fear.”

  Setting the chair down she straightened to her full height. “I do not work for any government agency, if that's what you are worried about. I am simply a traveler wishing to continue on my way.”

  He nodded, accepting her words. “And where is it you wish to go?”

  Cassandra pursed her lips before deciding he could not hinder her plans by knowing. “Moscow.”

  Sergei let out a low whistle. “That's quite a journey.”

  “As I've quickly discovered,” she grimaced. “But it is the capitol and where I am most likely to find the resources required for my quest.”

  He grinned. “A quest, hm? A quest for what?”

  Feigning nonchalance, Cassandra fetched the mop from where it leaned against the wall and dipped it into the pail filled with graying soapy water. “A compass.”

  Sergei's too-sharp eyes watched her clean, allowing silence to settle between them. When it was clear she would say no more he tsked. “Must be a special compass to cross oceans and continents for.”

  Cassandra paused in her work to level a cold gaze so serious Sergei's own spine straightened in response. “It is.”

  Chapter 22

  Months had passed forming new calluses on Cassandra's hands, but she'd worked each day in relentless pursuit of her departure. Standing in the clothing of a local, her pack filled with food, a knife, a map, basic toiletries, a clean dress, and all of her hard-earned coin, she stood at the train station, ticket clasped tightly in her grip and an excited bounce in the balls of her feet. Beside her Sergei waited in silence though his eyes never ceased his careful watch of those around them.

  As the train's smoke billowed and sharp whistles rent the air, Cassandra made to board the train at last but Sergei's hand held her elbow halting her. “Trust no one, Miss Korona,” he warned. “Keep your senses open, your wits sharp, and trust no one.”

  Her gaze was cold as a Russian winter. “Thank you, Sergei, but betrayal is one lesson with which I am well acquainted.”

  Sergei nodded. “Good luck. I hope the compass is worth it.”

  She grinned, giving him a quick salute. “Of that I am quite sure. Farewell, Sergei.”

  Dashing onto the train she turned for a final wave. Sergei lifted his hand in farewell then stood stoic until the train chugged and huffed its way out of sight beyond the horizon and only then did his shoulders ease for the first time since the strange girl from across the sea had arrived on his doorstep.

  As the train charged forth, growling and bouncing along the blood iron tracks, Cassandra stretched out on her narrow cot shoved into a musty, thoroughly third class corner. She'd never been on a train before yet something about it brought her peace. While babies cried, old men snored, and young fools gambled the hours away, Cassandra's heart steadied lulling her in a downward spiral towards blessed rest. She might very well have succumbed to sleep for a moment yet the lightest of tugs had her rolled onto her side with a knife pressed against an unwelcome throat.

  “You wish to rob me while I snore?” Cassandra hissed, a glint of amusement in her eyes.

  The young girl stood stone still with her hands out in a gesture of peace. “It's the best time to pinch a mark,” she sneered unapologetically.

  Using just enough pressure for the thief to obey without being injured,
Cassandra tilted the knife almost to the flat and pressed shoving the girl back away from her cot. “For a coward,” Cassandra agreed. Anger heated this stranger's face but Cassandra had no patience for her. “Now get lost before I decide to make an example of you.”

  Ears red with displeasure she obeyed, pausing in the hall. “So are you a thief yourself then?”

  “Isn't everything some form of thievery depending on the view?”

  The girl thought for a moment before stepping forth in sudden boldness. “Teach me.”

  Cassandra's eyes swept over her rosy cheeks, dirt-dusted clothes, worn boots, and the arrogance in her stance. There was something familiar about it but she refused to tread down that path. “No. I haven't the time nor the interest and if you're smart you'll give up this life of petty thievery.”

  The girl's shoulders pulled back sharply as if struck. “What do you mean by that, eh?” she snapped angrily.

  They locked icy gazes and Cassandra asked, “What is it you truly want? Not in the now, but ultimately.”

  A moment passed then her eyes flicked towards the floor uncertain. “I want security, comfort, a happy family to come home to.”

  “So go work in a sweet shop, make an honest wage, and plant yourself in the path of a warm and decent life. Thievery will only leave you lined in fool's gold and robbed of your heart's truest desire.”

  With that Cassandra hopped down from her lofted cot, slinging her bag across her shoulders, then shoved past the gaping girl now facing down two paths. Her words were true for the good hearted, but Cassandra did not pander to man's stark ideals of morality. She'd rather wear a corset for eternity as it would feel far less restricting. Criminals had their place in society if not only to keep the world in balance and for Cassandra they'd help her in the next step towards reclaiming her throne.

  No, proper detectives would never do. Criminals are what she wished to employ and criminals were too often motivated by money. Slipping inside a small closet crammed with shoddy cleaning tools she wiped grime from the window and withdrew a stack of smuggled American papers from her pack. A beaming blonde stared back at her with the name “Cassie Halloran” typed in the article beside it. Miss Halloran was an Irish-American heiress and Cassandra's new identity. Miss Halloran, according to the gossip columns, was a bastard child to a very wealthy family and when her father died in a tragic automobile accident her grandfather took pity on her as his son's only child and bestowed upon the lucky orphan an annual allowance with a hefty inheritance to be received upon her marriage. Soft hearted old fool. Her story would hold so long as she could play the part thoroughly and they underestimated her as a woman.

  Cassandra physically recoiled from the thought of being called Cassie again, her father's gentle voice and Liam's incessant whine echoing in her ears, voices she'd never hear again. Sentimentality was never a part of Cassandra except for when it came to her father and somehow Liam's sticky presence would always follow swiftly behind. Steeling her spine she berated herself. She could endure the silly nickname. It was temporary and she could not pass up such a beautifully perfect identity to borrow. It was just a silly nickname.

  With only enough money for a week's rent of a small room left after the ticket cost, Cassandra readied herself to begin her masquerade and she only had the train ride to accomplish it. Alexei and Suyin may now be only God knows where, but it was never them she really needed. It was their potential, their skills.

  Swiftly she snatched a dirty servant's uniform and slipped it on before carefully hiding her bag beneath the clutter. Stepping back out into the hall she walked the train as if she owned it until managing to step foot in first class where she was summarily yanked aside by a stern older woman.

  “What is this?” the woman hissed gesturing at her disheveled appearance. “This is unacceptable!”

  “I'm sorry,” Cassandra apologized meekly. “I was sent to bring a message to a passenger in third class–”

  “Third class?” the woman screeched in a whisper. “Was it that idiot, Tomas? How many times have I told you silly girls to only take your orders from either Mr. Petrova or myself?” She yanked Cassandra to another car muttering, “He flashes those big blue eyes and you all fall to pieces...”

  Shoved into a small changing room she swapped her wrinkled dress for a fresh uniform and used the cracked mirror to fix her hair. Once approved she followed orders to the dining car, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

  Over the course of the journey she lifted a few jewels from dancing ladies, a fur-lined coat dropped on the floor by the bar, a silk dress with intricate beadwork tossed into the laundry for a tiny wine stain, a fine pair of heels left outside someone's door awaiting polishing, and a leather case tossed in the trash due to a scratch. With these objects squirreled away in a bundle of sheets she'd stripped from a bed she disappeared back into the cacophonous netherworld of third class to fetch her hidden pack just as they arrived in Moscow.

  When the train at last slid into the station, Cassandra slipped from the shadows and the city witnessed a charming young woman of means descend the steps onto the platform clutching a shining leather suitcase and all the proud confidence due someone of her station. Porters rushed forwards to offer their aid, pickpockets licked their lips at the arrival of fresh marks, but Cassandra settled in a taxi with only her next goal in mind: rent a room, sell some of the jewels, strategically stumble across the path of a powerful pawn. Simple. Or so she demanded.

  Chapter 23

  Oneiroi

  She was gone yet the Whispers still had yet to take a full breath. After so long an age of peace, to have it suddenly ripped out from beneath them and by one of their own no less, their hearts still pounded at everything that had happened. So unexpected, so quick, so impossible...yet it had been prophesied. They'd been warned and they'd failed. All of this filled the Council room like an oppressive fog, filling their lungs and choking their hearts.

  In a flash of fury Abel turned on Titus. “How could you have let this happen?” he demanded angrily, his voice rising in pitch. “How could you have given her those powers? Why weren't you watching her closely? Where have you been??”

  Titus eyed the Whisper, his calm showing no cracks to fuel the fire. “I felt the pull,” he answered simply. “When I saw her with lungs full of embers, I looked into her eyes and knew she had what it took to become my apprentice. I am nearing my end, a choice has to be made and I made it though now I suppose I will have to choose again.”

  “You're a fool if you couldn't see her for what she was,” Abel sneered. “Perhaps she could handle the power, but did you not once think about what she'd do with it?”

  Titus' eyes narrowed, anger beginning to slip through. “I said she had what it took. To wield the powers, ja, but also to look death in the eye and never flinch. To hold a dying child's hand and bring them peace whether that meant coming here or accepting their final rest. She had what it took.”

  Glaring at the gathered Whispers he shifted, “Perhaps I did not keep as close an eye on her as I should have, but forgive me if I assumed you would take up the duty whilst I was gone. You've no idea what goes on in the Outer World, you've no idea the call that cannot be refused that drags me between worlds. I could not and would not scrutinize her every step. Leaving her in your care I did not think I had to.” His voice lowered to a dangerous pitch that had the Guardians averting their eyes in discomfort as his words twisted in their gut. “I warned you to love her, and all you did was carve villain across her heart. Thank yourselves that Oneiroi burns and a people are enslaved.”

  “Sometimes love is saying no,” Sa whispered, unshed tears shining in her downcast eyes, “and sometimes love is not enough, especially when it is unwanted.” Not even Titus had a response for this painful truth.

  “She is gone now,” Abel pointed out, shattering the uneasy silence. “They are free.”

  “Is she dead?” the Collector asked softly. Silence was his answer. “Until she is dead, they are ne
ver free.”

  “It isn't as if she can ever come back,” the boy scoffed.

  Titus' gaze remained steady. “Can't she?”

  At this the atmosphere in the room constricted until only fear pounded in their ears. Heartbeats raced, breaths turned to pants, and the mere suggestion threatened to overwhelm them all.

  “Nyet,” Abel answered defiantly. “She can't.”

  “If anyone could find a way, it would be her,” a soft voice spoke up. In the silence Kenshin's words seemed to cut through the room and they all turned towards the cursed Whisper hunched in a shadowed corner.

  “Traitor,” hissed Abel beneath his breath.

  “Leave him alone,” Sa warned. “He's right. If anyone could, she could. Even if she doesn't return we have her twin to wait for and to sit here and do nothing in preparation would be idiocy. We cannot risk a repeat of the tragedies that have already scarred the Island.”

  The Council sat in silence and for once it was thoughtful. After what could have been minutes or hours, Abel met Titus' gaze.

  “I think it time I chose my gift,” he announced though it almost sounded like a cautious question.

  Titus nodded. “And what shall it be, Whisper?”

  Abel had been so worried to choose wrong he had never chosen at all and the feeling threatened to surge once again, but he'd made the decision and he wouldn't back down. He only hoped it was the right choice. “A gift to bind loyalties.”

  “You would force this on the free souls of Oneiroi?” Titus asked carefully.

  “Nyet,” Abel swallowed thickly. No, that would be against everything the Island stood for. He would not do as Cassandra had done. “Just the Whispers,” he clarified. “We are all already sworn into duty for the Island, it is something we cannot break, so why not swear ourselves to each other as well? If I've learned anything it is that we must maintain a united front. We must work together. To fracture us would be– has been... disastrous,” his voice trailed off as he remembered what had not been but a full day past.