The Hour of Dust and Ashes (9 page)

After I’d wolfed down the first bagel, I went in for another. “Thank you,” I told her. “So you gonna keep staring at me or tell me what’s on your mind?”

Sian’s father had used a blood debt against me to secure his daughter a job within the ITF so she could feed him information. He gained a lot of useless fluff instead. Sian didn’t have the cunning chops of dear old dad. He knew this, refused to accept it, and had placed her here anyway. Grigori Tennin used everyone and everything, even his own daughter.

“I have no loyalty to my father now. And I don’t want Daya’s death to be for nothing. I want the Sons of Dawn stopped. I don’t want war. For anyone. She’d want me to do this.”

“Do what exactly?”

Sian was still mourning the death of Daya Machanna. And Tennin had no idea his involvement with the Sons of Dawn and Llyran had resulted in the death of someone Sian had loved. Their relationship
had been a secret: totally forbidden, since Sian was a jinn and Daya was an Elysian whose life force had been sucked dry and stored in Solomon’s Ring along with Aaron’s and those of the others Llyran had murdered. All to raise the Star, the First One …

“I’m in the perfect position to keep an eye on my father.”

I stopped chewing and considered her words.

In the end, I didn’t think it was my place to deny her the opportunity to get some closure for Daya’s death, and if this was how she wanted to do it … “I wouldn’t want you to play spy. No riffling through his things or anything. But if you want to take a mental note of who comes and goes, keep your ears open, learn his routines … I think that would be okay. You’ll have to clear it with the chief.”

“I’ll talk to him as soon as he comes in. I can tell you already that he’s the one who hired the Pig-Pens to go after you at the club last night. One came early this morning to report to him, and she mentioned the sidhé fae you asked me to research, but neither she nor my father seemed to know why they were in the club. They think the fae are also after the sarcophagus.

“My father doesn’t believe it was destroyed. He’s convinced you know where it is. Is he right, Charlie? Was it destroyed? Did you see inside?”

“Yes.” Because of the absolute necessity, this particular lie was easy to tell and I was exceptionally convincing. “There was a sword and a bunch
of bones. But I didn’t destroy them. I’m not strong enough to do something like that. The Druid King is, and he did. It’s done. Your father needs to accept it and move on.”

“He’ll never do that. He asks me to find out, to listen to what you say, to follow you sometimes. He is angry over the loss.”

Again, not surprising. But I doubted even Tennin himself knew exactly what rested inside. It had taken Llyran calling down the darkness and uttering the language of the First Ones to open the sarcophagus lid, and Tennin had never made it across the rooftop during the battle to see inside before Pendaran went dragon on his ass and took him down. Literally. Six feet into the pavement below.

Only Pen, Hank, and I knew what really rested within the thick agate. No bones. No remains. But a perfect, black-winged being at rest, in some kind of eternal stasis, but able to plead, to somehow fill my head with her sorrow and make me feel a connection with her. We couldn’t destroy her. So we hid her at the bottom of Clara Meer Lake under the protection of the Druid King.

“Charlie.”

I jerked. “Huh?”

“I said he is thinking, always thinking of ways to find out, to make you tell him.”

I resumed chewing my bite of bagel. “What ways? Has he said?”

“Not anything that makes sense. It’s mostly grumblings,
bits and pieces of his thoughts. My father is very careful, he will think of every angle, every outcome, every way his actions might affect him and his goals. He is only rash when there is no time to be anything else.” The corners of her lips turned down. “He is more of a beast to live with than usual. Maybe we can give him some kind of proof that the tomb was destroyed. Maybe that would put an end to his obsession.”

I mulled the idea over. “Maybe,” I said quietly, dragging another bagel out of the bag. “What’s the latest on the
ash
victims?”

“All the bodyguards reported in at noon. So far everyone is accounted for and safe.”

“Good. Any luck on the exorcists?”

“None. No one will come after the warning went out from the union.”

I polished off the third bagel and pushed away from the desk, heading to the small corner kitchen for a bottled water. After a long drink, I leaned against the small countertop. “What about the sidhé and that creature? Did you find out anything based on my description and that name, Sachâth?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I tried every variation and spelling of the word. I’ll keep trying, though. As for the fae, I found a few warrior sects that might match. I’m going to work on getting that together for you now,” she said, sliding off the desk and making for her own.

“You want a bagel?”

She gave a careless wave, her back to me. “Nope. They’re all yours.”

Smiling, I returned to my chair, stuck a fourth bagel in my mouth, and grabbed a sheet of paper to write the chief a Request for Salary Increase for our researcher/secretary/spy/bagel-bringing angel.

The boost did me good for the next hour as I worked on transferring my notes from earlier into my computer and then compiling my report on the suicides, which would then be encrypted via our new protocol, sent to the chief, and then passed on to Washington.

My cell rang, making me jump. Alessandra’s number flashed on my caller ID. “Madigan,” I said.

“You should try those Starbucks energy drinks or a SoBe Adrenaline Rush with an Aeva bun and that should kick your ass into high gear.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “You get the intro?”

“I did. Your first meeting will take place now at the covered bridge in Stone Mountain.”

“Wait, what do you mean, first meeting?”

“You’ll meet four sylphs. Ryssa, Nivian, Melki, and Emain. Each element is needed to see inside. That’s how it works. Have fun. Oh, and don’t bother holding your breath.”

She hung up, but still I said, “Ha, ha,” into the speaker.

I used the restroom, washed my hands and face, tucked my hair behind each ear, and then went back into the office, where I rechecked all three of my firearms.
My 9mm firearm, my Hefty, and my Nitro-gun. Since sylphs were originally from Elysia, I was hoping the Hefty would perform as it should and the high frequency sound wave tag would do to them what it did to most Elysian races: drop them like a stone.

Not that I was going to battle. I was going to ask a big favor, to beg for help if necessary. If I succeeded, we could know in a few hours if Bryn was in the clear. That thought gave me all the energy I needed.

Stone Mountain was less than twenty miles from the city. Unfortunately, it fell within the forty-mile-wide mass of Charbydon darkness roiling overhead. But despite the drop in tourism, Stone Mountain wasn’t the ghost town you’d think it’d be. Fireworks were planned for New Year’s Eve. The granite rock would be lit up like always, and a concert on the lawn would go on as scheduled.

As I drove through the main gate and down Jefferson, lights blinked through the trees and across the water. Still some die-hard campers around and a ton of employees to maintain all of the features in the park—the animals, the country club, the marina, all the stores, inns, and attractions …

I navigated around Robert E. Lee Boulevard, passing one car before turning onto the road that would
lead me to the covered bridge and across the water to Indian Island.

The headlights illuminated the long structure as I slowed my Tahoe to a crawl. There was no one waiting on this side of the bridge, so I drove inside. The lights from the vehicle beamed off the lattice sides, creating odd shadows as I went. The effect only heightened the apprehension already pricking my skin.

After parking, I took a moment to steady myself, turned off the engine, and got out. A mild breeze rustled the leaves and branches. My boots crunched the gravel. Spooky bridge, wooded island, darkness overhead … Christ. It felt like I’d just stepped into a damn horror film.

Ripples in the water caught my attention. I found the source standing at the edge of the lake near the embankment only a couple yards from the bridge.

Sylph at eleven o’clock.

She looked human, so that was promising. But I didn’t see the other three.

Okay. Here we go.

Carefully, I made my way down to the grassy edge, where I had to completely readjust my initial thought on the sylph: human-looking, yes, but in a highly disturbing, heart-pounding way.

The sylph stood at arm’s length from me, her feet in the water. She was reed-thin and willowy like the fae, but a tiny thing in stature, no bigger than my eleven-year-old. Her skin was the color of moonstone and oyster. Tiny blue spider veins threaded through
portions of her neck, cheeks, and arms. Her face was technically pretty, petite nose, small mouth, but it was difficult to see beyond the fact that she looked like a drowning victim come back to life.

A slash of shimmering blue-gray cloth covered her small breasts and wrapped around her hips. Her dark hair fell in long, tangled strands, trapping bits of mud, sand, and what looked like algae.

Her eyes, though …

Unease curled up my spine. Her irises were a rich blue ringed in white, and a clear wash of water passed over them in a continuous stream, going from one corner to the other.

I glanced around, swallowing. “I thought there were four of you.”

The creature looked in my direction with an un-focused stare. Water bled like tears from her eyes, running down her cheeks, and taking gravity-defying paths to her mouth, ears, and nostrils.

Her lips parted. A high voice came out, ringing in an unearthly tone and thick with a distinctive Irish-like lilt. “You’ll meet each of us in turn,” she said very slowly, as though talking was a rare occurrence for her. “I am Nivian. This is my water.”

And territorial, I added to the list of strange attributes.

What didn’t make sense, though, was the fact that these elusive beings had been in hiding for thousands of years, keeping themselves from the eyes of the world so well that they remained a question of uncertainty.
And they chose
now
to reveal themselves, and to me? “So you’re here in Atlanta because …?”

A sniff and a few droplets of water trickled out of her delicate nose. Her pointed chin rose a fraction. “The portend. The darkness”—she lifted her hand to the sky and I noticed rivulets of water running down her arm; the water at her feet was trailing up, encircling her like vines, moving in thin streams around her limbs—“is a prophecy of the
Ceallachan
. Our wise ones. You will be granted our aid, Charlie Madigan. You must accept each gift we give.”

My muscles had gone so tight, they ached. My heart pounded hard. Gifts. No problem. Who didn’t like gifts, right? “Uh, thank you,” I said, unsure of what to do next.

“You may remove your clothing if you wish.”

I did a mental double take, floundering for a second. I might be about to get anointed and wet somehow, but I’d do it with my clothes on, thank you very much.

I removed my jacket, weapons, and cell phone, setting them in a pile on an even spot of ground away from the water’s edge. Boots came off, then socks, before I walked back over the cool grass toward the sylph.

I rubbed my hands down my arms and drew in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

“Accept the gift,” she told me in earnest. “You must accept it.”

“Right. Accept the gift. Got it. Now what?”

The water around Nivian’s ankles rose. Her pale arms lifted straight out. Her head tipped back slightly
and a very small smile turned up one corner of her bluish lips. Higher the water rose, yet it didn’t spill onto the embankment as it should’ve done. The way she commanded it, it was like she was a tiny, creepy version of Moses parting the Red Sea.

And then she stared straight at me with those watery eyes. “Accept the gift.”

I had time to gasp once as she swirled, completely dissolving into water as it reared up and engulfed me. A great wave grabbed me off the ground and pulled me far out into the lake.

There was no time to prepare, no time to catch another breath. No time for anything as I was dragged under by the ankles.

Panic, stark and black, filled me. Water shot up my nose. My hands went to my face, but it was too late. Water slid down my throat. The urge to cough, to gasp for breath, burned a straining, searing path to my lungs.

A raw scream exploded in my head and I flailed for the surface somewhere high above me, struggling for air. For life.

Dear God!

Pressure built in my chest, my throat, my face.
Can’t … hold it … in.

“Breathe, Charlie Madigan, breathe,” Nivian’s strange voice came from all directions.

I can’t!
I screamed in my mind.

“Accept the gift.”

I held on until it felt as though my face would explode from the pressure, my eyes squeezed tightly
together in an effort to keep out the water. White dots appeared behind my eyelids. My fingernails finally punctured the rough skin of my palms.