Body of Ash

by Eli Constant

  “Yes,” Mordecai said simply, getting up and going to a tall bookshelf in the corner of the room. “The Adam and the Eve. The seed of original sin.” He pulls something off the shelf. It’s not a book, as I expected. It’s so small that it is hidden in Mordecai’s fist. He walks to me, leans down and kisses my forehead in an almost...ceremonial way. Then he picks up my hand gently, turns my hand over and gently pries my fingers open from the weak fist I’d been making.

  In the center of my palm, he places the object he’s gotten. It’s tiny and I have to lean down to make out what it is. A seed. “Not to sound like an idiot, but I don’t get it.”

  “It wasn’t the fruit of the apple that poisoned the hearts of the originals. It was the seed within, that grew and grew. The seed that gets sunlight and water, it thrives. The seed that is born in darkness knows only shadows.”

  “But the magic sealing the Cage of the Unseen is unbreakable. A seed is meaningless. It’s nothing.” Liam stands up and begins to move nervously around the room.

  “You should understand that a seed is powerful. That a look or a touch can birth passion. That a harsh word can topple kingdoms.” Mordecai moves to Liam now and puts his hand against the taller fairy’s chest. “There is a seed here, my fairy foe, that has grown beyond your chest.”

  Liam flicks a glance at me and his face gains the slightest of pink hues in the cheek.

  “If the Cage of the Unseen is open, what will happen, Mordecai?” I stand up and try to redirect the conversation.

  “The five fires planted the seed, connected the points of the pentagram. The sixth fire watered the ground with blood of the originals. Daughters and sons of Adam and Eve. The death of magic came next, with its resurrection soon after.” Mordecai drops his hand from Liam’s chest, where it has rested long past the awkward stage. “Look to your ancient scrolls, fairy foe. You’ll find the dice have been rolled. Three sixes for the end.” He takes a deep breath. “I go to commune with the stones.”

  With that, the dwarf king walks out of his living room and into the belly of his home. He does not dismiss us, or say goodbye. He just leaves.

  And, though we have more information on what is happening now, I still don’t know what in the utter fuck is going on.

  “WHY DID HE CALL YOU his ‘fairy foe’, Liam?”

  “It’s a thing between dwarves and full-blood fae, my Queen.” I don’t look at him, my eyes on the road, but I can hear a small smile in his voice. He doesn’t elaborate, I don’t ask.

  “What do we do now then?” I turn onto my drive, my house looming in the distance like an old friend. “And stop it with the my Queen crap. It’s fine when you’re teasing, okay... I guess... when we’re around a dwarf king, but we’re alone now. So stop it.”

  “He said look to the scrolls, but I do not have access to them any longer.” The smile is gone, and now Liam only sounds thoughtful. “There may be a way I can get them, but it is not a way without risk.”

  “Then it’s not worth it, Liam. Not if it could land you back in prison. And what would the Light Court do to a traitor?”

  He doesn’t answer me.

  In my jean pocket, I feel the weight of the seed. How heavy it is, yet so small in the scheme of the world. The seed of evil began with the originals. Would it end with them too?

  “We need to find the coven leaders. The representation of Adam and Eve. If they’re connected to the Lazarus Eyes... If their power is what will open the Cage of the Unseen, then we have to... eliminate that power. We have to destroy the seed.”

  “I don’t think you realize what that will take, Victoria.”

  “I’m guessing they have to die, Liam.” I bite my lower lip. “And if that’s what it takes to save Bonneau and the rest of the freaking world, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  I park the car and go through the side entrance into the house. Liam follows close behind. “You don’t sound like yourself, Victoria. You hate having weapons on your person; I can feel the truth of that every time you carry one. You go to self-defense classes, but every time you throw a punch, you feel a knot in your gut. You’re saying that you’ll kill these coven leaders, like it’s grabbing a burger at a fast food joint. And you know, and I know, that you cry over killing a spider even though they scare the hell out of you.”

  “So what do you expect me to do, Liam?” I open my apartment door and stand to the side as he enters. “Let a Hellmouth open in the middle of town because I’m too scared to face a Black Widow?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m simply saying be true to yourself, Victoria. Despite what you are, death is not something you easily stomach.”

  “I’m true to myself every damn day, Liam. And as for death? Stomaching it’s sort of a lifestyle. Unless you’ve forgotten the funeral home beneath our feet.”

  I walk down the hallway towards my room. It’s not until I get to my doorway that I realize Kyle’s not here. He’s at Jim’s. I get my phone out and call Kyle, but he doesn’t answer. “Hey, babe. It’s Victoria. I mean... obviously. What other woman would be calling you and calling you babe? I mean, don’t answer that. Anyways,” I let my words trail off, feeling insanely awkward all of the sudden. “Kyle, just call me. Please. Let me know if you’re doing okay.” When I end the message, I hover in the doorway to my room, unsure what to do. I stare at the bed.

  “Would you like me to go check on our bear?” Liam is a breath away from me, so close I can feel the warmth of him radiating like embers dying. He’s behind me. I only need to turn. He’s here. Kyle isn’t.

  I turn, and that thought is on my lips like silk. Words want to slip from me like water. But I quiet them. I quell them with the force of my will. Because I am a one-man necromancer. And I choose Kyle.

  “No. That’s okay. I’ll... I’ll just try him again later. And go over there tomorrow if I don’t hear from him.” I turn away from my fairy. All I want is my room, and my bed. I want to close my eyes and greet the quietude of nothingness. Before I close my bedroom door on Liam, not knowing if he’d stay or retreat to his hideaway in the woods, I whisper ‘thank you’, because he at least deserves that—for caring for the man I’m with, despite his feelings.

  IT’S TOO EARLY FOR bed, but I get washed-up and changed anyways. I surprise myself when I hit the pillow and feel like I can fall asleep in a blink.

  And I do.

  A dreamless wave of nothing. Exactly what I want. I feel like I could stay there forever. It’s uncomplicated and oddly wonderful.

  A crashing sound startles me awake. I don’t feel like I’ve slept long, like I’ve only had a chance to doze, but I can see the outside is midnight dark on a waning moon. I move to the kitchen. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. My coffee cup from a few days ago is still sitting next to the coffee pot unwashed. There’s an opened sugar packet on the table. Tiny particles of white are spread across the wood surface.

  My throw pillows are in place, just so. The newest one with the tiny row of mice and the grandfather clock that says ‘tick tock, you blind bitches’ has replaced, momentarily, one of my very favorites.

  So what woke me up? What’s wrong here?

  I stand like an idiot there in the middle of my apartment and I can’t find any damn thing wrong. Nothing. Not a freaking thing...

  Except for the soft glowing light slinking into the apartment from beneath the front door. It’s a pale shine, the kind of luminescence I’d seen during a night-long TV binge of some nature show. I can close my eyes and see the darkest, deepest part of the ocean with all of its strange creatures radiating with their own natural brightness.

  Slowly, I move towards the door in a cautious daze. My fingers tingle as I reach for the bolt, then turn the doorknob. I never once consider not opening the door, not looking at whatever’s gleaming beyond the doorway. I don’t ignore things. Well, not important things.

  I might ignore an extra pound after a binge night of bad food.

  I might ignore a bill a few days past its due, whi
ch is terrible business acumen.

  But I don’t ignore really important things.

  Like possibly-supernatural-under-the-door-glowing.

  Deep breath.

  Open the door.

  I open it swiftly, ripping the bandage off as it were. There’s nothing sitting at the top of the stairs, nothing slinking up the stairs. Nothing on the ceiling or walls.

  No, it’s the actual door that’s glowing. It’s covered in symbols. In runes. In glittering, sparkling, neon. And it’s just like the Light Court writing that was on the double doors to Jim’s bar. Scouts. And this, I’d hazard a guess, has no possibility of being a coincidence.

  There’s also no doubt in my mind how the Light Court has finally found me. Braeden has made good on his promise. I wonder what will happen now. Will Oran, my would-be wedded-bliss, show up at my door, toss me over his shoulder, and carry me away?

  Maybe it would be easier. I’d be out of reach of Braeden. Bonneau wouldn’t be my responsibility anymore. A hellmouth could do its worst. Witches could kill and maim and embed Lazarus Eyes in their brethren.

  It wouldn’t be my circus anymore. Not my damn monkeys.

  I run my hands across the fairy markings. I wonder what they mean.

  Liam. Liam, I need you.

  Leaving the door open, I go to my room and get my phone. Before I can dial, fingers tap on my window. I turn, and can’t help but smile. He’s supposed to use the front door. That’s the rule.

  But he’s perched on the outside of the house, looking graceful. And it’s windy outside, and he’s in his full fae glory with pale white hair flying around his face. His skin shimmers, as if drenched in starlight. I’m caught in stasis as I observe, until he raps again and his expression changes to one of amusement... and possibly a touch of sadness. I can’t blame him.

  Mixed signals. Always mixed signals.

  I unlock the window and slide it upwards. He climbs in without a sound.

  “You called?” His gaze looks down at the phone in my hand.

  “I was actually going to call Kyle,” I finish dialing and am about to hit send, but Liam’s hand on my wrist stops me.

  “Do not wake your bear, Victoria. He is still unwell and needs his sleep.”

  “You checked on him, didn’t you?” A soft smile moves my mouth. Genuinely, his care for Kyle was the most romantic thing he could do for me. And I doubted he realized. He could hear my thoughts, and be hundreds of years wise, but getting to the heart of a person takes something beyond.

  “I did. I find that I’m restless. There is too much going on that I cannot control. I worry about what is coming. I have seen many times of darkness in my life. Experienced great joy. Knowing you, for some reason it...” Liam’s voice trails off; he takes a breath, “It was easier to check on Kyle than to sit at home with my thoughts.”

  “Thank you again, so much. I know it can’t be easy caring for Kyle.”

  “Why would it not be easy?” He asks nonchalantly, but also gives me a small quirk of the mouth to show he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “Right,” I clear my throat. “So, I called you for a reason.”

  Liam’s walked away from me and is stood in the hall just outside my room. “Yes. I can feel it from here. I can feel the touch of them.”

  He walks swiftly and I follow a little clumsily.

  As soon as he’s in front of the door, he’s whispering Elvish. The writing is no longer shining against the dark wood of the door. When he is done speaking however, it lights afire again, like a lighthouse beam focused on our faces.

  Liam releases a shaking breath as he studies the writing. “It’s for the bear. They’re simply tracking the bear.” Looking more relieved, and less sure of himself than I’ve ever seen, he moves to the couch and sits directly on my clock-and-mice pillow. “It is only a matter of time, before Oran finds you. I cannot shield you forever. With so much going on... so much.”

  “So, what you’re saying is,” I close the door gently, locking it, and then OCD checking the locks five more times before turning to face Liam, “right now’s an inconvenient time for me to meet my future fairy husband King... person? That maybe matrimonial bliss would be better post-Hellmouth situation?”

  “I do think that one complicated situation at a time is preferable, my Queen.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I move to him and squash down more pillows as I sit cross-legged on the sofa with my back against the furniture arm.

  “You will be though. It’s inevitable. You will be Queen of the Blood, Queen of the Court.”

  “Nothing’s inevitable. No one can force me to accept any role I don’t want, Liam. I don’t care how big and powerful Oran is. I don’t care if there’s some ancient fucking agreement that I’ll marry into this court or that court. I am not some pawn in a fairy story book.”

  His smile is definitely sad now, melancholy playing across his face. “You will not have a choice when the time finally arrives, Victoria. You will see. You do not simply say no to destiny.”

  “I make my own damn destiny.”

  We sit there then, silence lapping around us like waves against the shore.

  And in that quiet that lasts too long, I force myself to believe that my fate is still my own. That I make choices every day that change my future, because free will matters.

  That fate wasn’t the supreme ruler.

  Yet, every reassurance I gave myself felt hollow.

  Chapter Twenty

  I WAKE UP ON THE SOFA. The decorative pillows are neatly piled on the floor and the plaid blanket I keep in the linen closet is draped over me. I don’t remember falling asleep, or Liam leaving. I only remember the feeling of realizing that my life, in many ways, was no longer my own. How my brain had swirled around that fact with tornado intensity.

  No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that I was still the supreme ruler of my life, it felt like I was being dishonest. And you can lie to everyone around you, but you can’t lie to yourself. Not for long anyways.

  Liam’s gone. Of course he is, because that’s what fairies do, right? They flit around and disappear and leave sparks in their wakes.

  As coffee is brewing, I text Kyle. His responses are fast. Direct. And for some reason they make me a little uneasy.

  How are you feeling? Are you okay? The coffee pot sputters noisily beside me.

  Fine. Still a little sore. Not going to the bar today.

  Want me to come over? I want him to say yes, to want me around, because it makes him feel better. But, honestly? I want him to want me around, because it would make me feel better. Even the most unselfish person is selfish in some ways. Not that I’m unselfish. I’m the opposite really.

  No. I’m okay. Liam came by and treated me again. I’m good for a while.

  Are you sure? I don’t mind. Come on, Kyle. You don’t need to be macho. Just say yes.

  I’m sure. Just going to sleep.

  Okay then. I hesitate before I send the last, resisting my urge to write more and push the issue. I remember what my grandmother used to say though, when I was worried about a boy or had been stood up for a date.

  “If boys will be boys, my darling, then we girls must be women. Be strong. My granddaughter does not beg for attention from anyone.”

  So I place the phone down. I want a run, and then I want a hot shower. Then I should probably figure out what the hell day it is and if there’s any actual work to be done. Everything’s been such a blur lately.

  I RUN AS FAST AS I can down the road towards Mrs. Downing’s house. I see her in her kitchen window, a stark white cat I don’t recognize walking across the back of her sink as she washes dishes. She doesn’t look up. We haven’t talked as much lately—not since the whole body in the lake, heart earring in the fish she gave me, thing.

  I’m faster than I used to be, thanks to the self-defense classes and a pushy Terrance. I don’t even have a stitch in my side when I reach my typical turn-around place. I could go further no
w, push harder, but I don’t. A little sliver of me knows that if I keep going forward, I might never turn back to my home, my business, the life that has gotten so damn complicated.

  I walk back. Mrs. Downing is no longer at her window. The driveway to the Victorian seems longer than it should. The house stares at me. And I feel judged for some reason. Or maybe I’m just judging myself. I can stop worrying about Oran and Braeden. I can take control by making Liam take me to the Light Court.

  But I’m not ready.

  And besides, there are murderous arsonist witches on the loose and a town to save.

  “Dean!” I yell as I open the front door to the business rather than taking my home side entrance. “Are you here?”

  I wait a moment and then I hear him. “Downstairs! Can you hear me! I’m downstairs!” His voice is faint, which probably means he’s elbows deep in the storage room at the furthest back of the house. Which is where I store my journals and grandmother’s things now... including the creepiest book known to man. Made of skin. Bits of hair still embedded. All that jazz. Not the sort of thing you find at a local library. Everything’s hidden well now though. A few months ago, at Liam’s behest, I had a safe installed behind one of the old, awful paintings my grandmother used to have hanging in the funeral parlor. It’s madly macabre and disturbing. A graveyard scene with a woman knelt beside an angel-shaped stone. She’s crying. The moon is shining brightly down on her.

  And there are several ghosts floating in the air staring at the woman.

  Not exactly what I’d want to see whilst planning a loved-one’s farewell. Though, not nearly as bad as this one hotel I stayed in driving cross-country in my late teens. Every room had been decorated in a different array of clowns.

  Clown sheets. Clown lamps. Clown pictures.

  I still shudder thinking about my sleepless night in that place.

  I take the stairs down to the basement two at a time. He’s been hardcore cleaning already—the door to cold storage, as well as the embalming room, are wide open and everything smells like bleach.