The Hour of Dust and Ashes (16 page)

Apparently, only a few moments had passed, yet it felt like I’d been gone for a lifetime. It was exactly the same as before, but this time I couldn’t call it a dream. It was much more than that.

A tingle of fear crept over my wet skin as I turned the water off, stepped out of the tub, and grabbed a towel.

As my body morphed into something more than human, I had experienced some odd things. Seeing through and inside solid objects, hearing voices … All things I hoped would go away once my body decided on what it wanted to be. The vision could be just another one of those things.

But still it was hard to shake the ominous feeling that came along with it.

I went to my assigned drawer—Bryn had gotten so tired of me coming by and borrowing her clothes if mine were ripped, bloodied, or soiled that she gave me my own space for my things. I pulled on a pair of underwear and a tank, and then crawled under the covers, curling onto my side.

It was dim in the room, the blinds drawn, the light off, and I was so spent that even just a few minutes of sleep would do me a world of good.

I heard the voice before I saw it. Deep. Ancient. Powerful. Familiar. Vibrating with a natural echo, the language containing hints of Elysian, Charbydon, Aramaic …

I turned onto my back. My eyes widened. The shadowy creature was back.

It hovered above me. A dark mass of terror. So close. So black and empty, yet something had to exist within. Preferably something with a heart.

It spoke again, sounding almost …
curious
.

I didn’t even have time to breathe before it flew at me and my vision bled to black.

I woke with a jerk, the shadow creature leaping into the forefront of my mind. But I was still in Bryn’s bed, head on her pillow. The thing had appeared, did its “in and out of body” trick, and then disappeared, leaving me knocked out for a little while but otherwise unhurt.

I relaxed back into the mattress as other elements in the room began to filter through my senses, namely the extraordinary warmth at my back. The air was filled with the smell of masculine skin and hints of cologne, soap, and dryer sheets.

Hank was back. And his scent wasn’t the only thing surrounding me; his arm was thrown over my hip and my back was tucked nicely against his front.

The creature’s visitation must’ve really done a number; I hadn’t heard the siren come in, hadn’t smelled the food that wafted in now from the kitchen, and definitely hadn’t noticed when he lay down on top of the covers behind me and pulled me close.

It was nice. Good. Right, even. And then another
feeling struck me in a novel way. Protected. I felt protected. A disbelieving laugh bubbled in my throat as I lay there, a small smile parked on my face.

I was always the one out there protecting people. And after Will and I had split, I’d had no one to go to for comfort, to let
all
my guards down, to take a rest from being the caregiver, provider, guard, and detective. To let someone else be tough for a while.

Had to admit, I liked it. And I never thought in a gazillion years I’d find this feeling with an off-worlder. I liked Hank’s strength, his power, his quirky humor, even the badass attitude he caught sometimes.

I was in so much trouble.

My stomach growled loudly. Hank stirred, voice sleepy. “Was that the gargoyle?”

I turned onto my back, letting my head fall to the side, facing him. “Gizmo is at the League with Bryn. That was my stomach.”

Hank’s eyes opened and studied me for a long moment. “You look better.”

“So do you.”

Several seconds passed and it hit me that we were just lying there staring at each other. And even though I tried, I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.

“What did you bring?” I asked.

“Food, woman.”

He got up from the bed and swaggered into the kitchen, calling as he went, “I saved you, I healed you, I brought you food … I am a god.”

I threw the covers over my head and laughed—not
giggled—letting the feeling wash through me, a rare moment of feminine happiness.

Then my stomach rumbled again.

Without delay, I scrambled from the bed, dressed quickly, and hurried into the kitchen, finger-combing my hair as I went.

Hank was pulling utensils from the drawer as I zeroed in on the two big takeout boxes on the table. One was filled with bow-tie pasta with chicken drenched with a thick, creamy pink sauce—my absolute favorite dish from Abracas. The other contained a large cheeseburger and steak fries. Hank sat down, handed me a fork, and then lifted the burger.

I stabbed the pasta, impressed that he’d remembered what I liked.

We ate for several minutes in a food-frenzied silence before he asked, “How was your nap?”

I speared a piece of chicken. Now that I had food in me and had gotten over Hank’s presence in the bed, my thoughts went back to the mysterious creature. “The nap was fine. The shadow thing that keeps showing up, not so much.” I stuck the food in my mouth.

An eyebrow lifted high and he regarded me for a long second. He grabbed a fry. “Why am I not surprised.” He shoved the fry in his mouth and made a rolling motion with his hand. “So what does it want?”

I told him everything, about the visions I’d been having, the altercations I’d had with the creature at the club and then here, earlier, in the bedroom.

Hank stated the obvious. “I think it’s safe to assume, based on what Sandra had to say and its appearances so far, using your power triggers its arrival.”

I nodded, stabbing a couple bow ties with the fork. “Yeah, but why? Alessandra said it was a destroyer, death, called it Sachâth. Ever heard of that?”

He shook his head. “No, but if that’s true, it makes it even more strange that it’s not attacking.”

“I know. At first I think it’s going to—that’s the feeling I get—and then it hesitates … I’m not even sure if that’s the right word. Sometimes it sounds confused or questioning. Frustrated, even. And then it just sweeps right through me, knocks me out cold, and vanishes.

“Well, we know how to keep it away from you.”

“Yeah, if I don’t screw up and use my power. That little bit in the shower was just healing …” And the creature was sensitive enough for that tiny slip to trigger its arrival.

Hank chewed another bite of his burger. “I think we should pay a visit to the Grove.”

“You think Pendaran will know what this thing is?”

“If anyone does, it’ll be him. He’s been around for a while. Couldn’t hurt to ask. Besides, we should check on the progress he’s made with the Old Lore.”

I nodded. The Old Lore, a collection of Elysian pre-history tales and accounts, resided with the Druid King. Llyran had stolen it from Elysia and brought it to Earth. In it was the only known record of the First Ones.

The Lore had been another priceless item, spoils from our battle with the Sons of Dawn. And within those ancient pages might be a ritual to disperse the darkness over Atlanta. And because of that, we were keeping it here in the city. For now.

Bellies full, we cleaned up the best we could, put Bryn’s kitchen back to rights, and then left the apartment.

As we walked down Mercy Street, I checked my cell, listening to three messages. From Emma: she was home from the hospital, no change with Amanda. From the chief: all the
ash
victims were at the station and secure. And from Sian: Tennin had left the city to parts unknown, though she’d try to find out where.

I slipped my phone back on my hip. “Tennin’s gone.”

Hank let out a snort. “Probably hunting down the person who gave the suicide order.”

While I suspected as much, I gave a turn at devil’s advocate. I’d been wrong before. “We still don’t know why they jumped, if they were possessed at the time … This might have zero to do with Tennin and everything to do with the drug’s effects.”

“True, but our instincts are hardly ever wrong. And if they are”—he threw an arrogant glance at me, eyes twinkling—“it’s usually you, not me.”

“Ha ha.”

We emerged from Mercy Street, headed across the plaza, and up the steps to Topside.

Downtown Atlanta sparkled with a million multi-colored lights. Headlights, traffic lights, shops, and high-rises, all lit up beneath the ever-churning mass of gray hovering low in the sky above.

I rubbed the back of my neck, the hairs there standing to salute the dark power. I knew from experience what was in that mass—small particles of Charbydon energy, the stuff of magic, the raw material, the very thing that awakened the Char genes in my body and gave me this constant zing.

It was easier to handle when I was inside or down in Underground, but out here in the open it hit me hardest and made me jittery, energized; not altogether bad … just more … alive.

Hank paused on the sidewalk, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, and lifted his face to the darkness. Quiet, thoughtful.

“Still there,” I said.

Slowly, he withdrew his gaze and fixed me with a wry smile. I returned the look and led the way down the sidewalk to where I’d parked my Tahoe.

“Smart-ass,” he muttered, falling in step beside me.

I took it as the compliment it was.

It was a short drive to the 10th Street entrance of the Grove, formerly known as Piedmont Park, where the
Kinfolk—the local nymph population—made their home. The nymphs had bought much of the park, put up a tall iron fence around their territory, and called it home. They’d built a Stonehenge on Oak Hill, and had somehow made the trees grow to incredible heights. Entering the Grove was like stepping back in time to the days when ancient forests blotted out the sun and tribes of Celtic gods and warriors ruled the land.

The iron fence loomed above us as we made our way to the massive gate. I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on me and kept looking over my shoulder and across the street to the buildings and cars and shadows. Nervous unease mixed with the energized tingle from the darkness above, fueling my tension and anxiety. I swallowed the manic feeling, trying to quell its rise and regulate my thoughts.

“Charlie,” Hank said. “Before we go in …” He paused at the gate, swiped a hand through his hair, and frowned, staring for a moment at the city skyline. “There’s something I want to tell you. About that name Llyran called me.
Malakim.
”

I blinked. Now? Now he was going to share, right before we went to see Pen, right when we were standing out in the open, being watched? Hank had insane timing, but at the same time, I really did want to know about him, his past, and the things he never talked about. Still … “Okay. You said it was a title, a form of greeting someone.”

“In a way … yes.”

A tingle of worry slipped down my spine as though he was about to drop a major bombshell that I couldn’t live with.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to know, didn’t want anything to mess with whatever was happening between us. “You want to go have coffee after this? Sit and talk?”

“No,” he began with a hint of frustration. “Look, it’s not exactly easy to get this out and tell you what I’ve—”

“You two going to stand out there forever?” came a voice through the gate.

The hinges whined. Killian stepped out in his usual dark clothing, taking one last drag on his cigarette before grinding it into the palm of his hand, and then flicking it into the trash can nearby.

Sadist.

He saw my thought and grinned.

Killian led us a few yards down the straight path toward the lake. With no light filtering from above, the thick woods on either side of us appeared impenetrable. Of course, it didn’t help that the nymphs’ motto to anyone visiting the Grove was
Stay on the path. Don’t stray from the path.
Could make anyone feel a bit anxious.

This time, however, our guide stepped off the stone path, between two burning torches, and led us into the dark woods. Our footsteps were muted by the soft ground. Sounds of the forest—rustling leaves, the snap of a twig, an owl call—were louder than I’d expected. Nymphs populated these woods, running free, letting their animal selves out to play, maybe even to hunt …

The land rose as we progressed and finally the trees
thinned to give way to Oak Hill, crowned by a ring of enormous stone monoliths at least eighteen feet high and capped with lintel stones. Inside of this massive ring were five trilithons arranged in a horseshoe pattern. The center trilithon was the highest stone in the ring, rising even above the height of the outer ring. From this, the next two on either side dropped in height, followed by the outer two, which dropped as well, but all were taller than the outer ring.

I’d only seen the site from the main path, but even from that distance, the power emitting from the stone ring had coursed through me like a pulsating subwoofer.

The closer we came to the top of the hill, the more the power intensified. The constant, deep
whoosh, whoosh, whoosh
had a slightly nauseating effect on me, and the drop in air pressure clouded my hearing.

Pendaran, the Druid King, stood in the center of the horseshoe, where a large gray stone slab rested on two fat stones. The altar stone. And even though the stone monoliths rose several feet above him, it didn’t do a damn thing to diminish his stature or his presence. In fact, he fit right in.