The Hour of Dust and Ashes (22 page)

There were palaces, temples, and beautiful outdoor spaces all crammed onto the plateau. The size, scope, and grandeur caused a shiver to scatter down my spine. The insignificance it inspired was nothing short of severe.

I drew in a deep breath, focusing on my purpose rather than feeling like the fish out of water that I was.

“Wait here.”

I turned to see the noble once again close his eyes, open his palms, pull the light from the ground.

Then in a bright flash he was gone—no doubt back to the terminal—leaving us alone.

A few figures crossed the plaza and came and went from buildings.

“How long do we have to wait this time?” Rex said with a groan.

“Not long at all,” came a voice embedded in my memory.

A slight tingle crept down my spine.

She is one child … You can have others.

Oh yes, two months might have passed, but I remembered that voice well. The raven-haired noble who had lit a fire under my ass, made me angry enough with those words to fight back, one who had taken my kid to safety while I killed his political opponent and brought darkness to the city of Atlanta.

Charlie.

His voice breezed through my head, amused … intrigued. I turned, slamming a hard block over my mind and putting a smart look on my face. “Carreg.”

He leaned casually against the rock wall behind us, arms folded over his chest, in a crisp white shirt and loose black pants that pooled at his feet. Some sort of medallion hung from a chain around his neck, no doubt exclaiming his station as a royal and Lord Lieutenant of the House of Astarot. It looked official anyway.

His full lips curled with a hint of amusement, and his classic, angular features were wrapped in smooth
olive skin and a deceptively calm demeanor. A satin-black eyebrow lifted. I caught sight of those unique irises—midnight blue shot with silver flecks, like stars in an inky night sky.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit … Detective?” He pushed off the wall as his words slid through his lips like the purr of a predatory cat. The calm he exuded was not the easygoing, friendly type—it was of one who knows his power, his strength, the pull he has over others. One who knows his abilities are without question.

“We need to get inside, to see the Abaddon Father. Look, I know this is going to sound insane, but his life is in danger and my sister, Bryn …” Oh hell, the whole thing sounded crazy to me, so I could only imagine how this was going to sound to Carreg. But I drew in a deep breath and continued. “She’s being controlled by the spirit of a jinn hybrid who wants to assassinate the Abaddon Father. If we can get inside, into his room, we can stop her before she can.” I paused, surprised I could talk amid the hammering of my pulse. “Please, Carreg. I swear to you this is real.”

His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. If Carreg had political reason to wish the Father dead, then there was no way in hell he’d let us inside. He’d simply let things play out and refuse us. But if it worked in his favor, or if he thought it might in the future, then he’d help us.

Carreg took a step closer to me, gazing down at me with such intensity that I wanted to step back.
Subtle notes of sage and cedar wafted around me. I could feel a light push at my mind, but I kept him blocked. He smiled at that.

“You are changing,” he said quietly, as though we didn’t have an audience. “And the Abaddon curse for blood …”

I drew back. It wasn’t something I’d thought on for quite some time, certainly not now. But if this was what he wanted to know, I’d play. Anything to get inside and stop my sister. “If you’re asking me if I’ve been going around drinking blood … not happening and don’t have the urge to … Looks like that nasty trait didn’t pass to me. Anything else you want to know?”

Carreg had been curious before, when he found out that I’d been injected with not only the DNA of an Elysian Adonai but that of an Abaddon as well. The House of Abaddon was cursed with the need for blood to sustain them. Astarot, however, was cursed with a need for, as Carreg had put it:
Life. That spark inside every spirit, that light that makes a being want to live. A fulfilled spirit, an excited spirit, has enough life force in it to share with those of us unfortunate enough not to have any at all …

“Interesting indeed,” he remarked, stepping back as another noble approached, hands tucked behind his back, dressed in a flowing robe of black and gold.

“I see you have off-world visitors, my lord.”

“Hmm,” Carreg said by way of an answer. “They claim the Father is in danger, Matsul …”

Matsul blinked. Then he threw back his head and laughed. My hope dropped like a stone. Shit. They weren’t going to listen. Panic had me glancing around the plaza, wondering where the Father slept, wondering how to get to him on our own. I looked at those who passed by and wondered if Bryn was already here, or if she’d come barging through the gate at any second.

“You’re not seriously thinking …” Matsul said, drawing my attention back to him and Carreg.

Matsul scowled down his aquiline nose, looking from Carreg to us. “The Father has no enemies. He is too old and has remained in a state of sleep for centuries. His very existence is a miracle and I can assure you, there is no one who wishes him harm. He is loved by all.”

“You forget,” Rex spoke up. “He made enemies while he was alive. He killed hundreds of jinn, slaughtered those he thought might rebel against him. Without trial, without evidence …”

Matsul went to reply, but Carreg stopped him. “Perhaps there is merit in what they say. Come with me.”

Matsul gasped. “This is an Abaddon matter, not dependent on Astarot commands.”

A silky chuckle breezed through Carreg’s lips. “I believe the Father’s life is at risk. Houses do not matter in this. Now, you may accompany us, or you may stay here gaping.”

Red filtered through Matsul’s skin as Carreg strode
away. But the noble followed us across the plaza and toward the black marble temple in the distance.

Thank God we were finally moving.

Carreg led us up the wide ramp to the temple. The black marble pylons loomed above us, the marble so smooth and polished, it looked like glass. The rectangular opening that led inside, however, was flat and dark and intimidating as hell. Statues of winged creatures similar to griffins lined the ramp on each side and were carved from gray stone with flecks that reflected the violet glow in the high cavern ceiling above. I craned my neck up to see more soaring columns and balconies with sheer curtains waving gently.

The walls of the temple were so thick that we walked for several steps in total blackness before the space opened up into a large chamber lit with strange bluish fires in wall sconces. The floor was also made of black marble, flawless and polished to a mirror shine. The columns inside were painted in bold colors, scenes of battles, heroes, and animal-headed, winged gods.

Matsul caught up with Carreg as we slowed, and together they led us down a long corridor. It was a maze, the temple leading into courtyards and other buildings, down long, echoing halls, through chambers, past the curious stares of nobles and the stoic faces of guards.

It all passed by in a blur. Until finally we stopped in front of a wide door with two guards—nobles; not
the typical jinn bodyguards—on either side. Gone were the robes, and in their place was thin armor plating in polished black, swords at their belts, helmets, and a spear in one hand. I’d never seen nobles in war regalia before and the effect was nothing short of menacing, especially against a backdrop of black marble.

Apparently, the Abaddon Father was far too important for the usual form of protection. Though, after Matsul’s comments, I was pretty sure the guards were more for pomp and circumstance, and honoring the Father rather than actual protection.

We beat Bryn. All we had to do was get inside, protect the Father, and then apprehend my sister.

Carreg pushed the doors open. I hurried inside, scanning the main chamber quickly, eyes going over the wall reliefs of battles and warriors. Round columns rose up from the floor, making a gallery of stylized carved symbols, writing, and sculptures. There was furniture and lush fabrics in bold colors, weapons on display, a fountain. And … no Abaddon Father.

“Where?” I asked. “Where is he?”

Carreg led us through the main chamber and into a smaller one, though it was still large in comparison to anything I was used to. My eyes went immediately to the far wall, or the absence thereof. Not good. White, linen-like curtains moved in a gentle breeze around the columns that supported the roof and led the eye out onto a wide balcony. Lights twinkled in the distance
beyond, coming from other balconies, gardens, and palaces.

Dread gripped me tightly. I couldn’t breathe as I turned my head to look at the rest of the room.

To my left. The bed on a raised platform.

My heart dropped to my feet. Matsul gasped in horror. And Rex said simply, “Oh. Shit.”

On the bed, straddled over the resting form of the Abaddon Father, was my sister. Blood splayed across her white shirt, neck, and one side of her face. She sat up and turned her head in our direction. “The death of Malek Murr, my father, has been avenged. I am no longer for this world!”

She raised her bloody dagger. Christ. She was going to stab herself.

“NO!” Horror struck me with the speed of a locomotive.

I’d never make it to her before the dagger pierced her stomach, but I took off anyway.
Have to try. Have to stop—

I gasped as I was jerked back by the collar, held still by a vise-like hand that wrapped tightly around the back of my neck. As I whipped my gaze around, I saw Hank yank off his voice-mod with his free hand.

A short but undeniable command burst from Hank’s lips, laced with power and energy that made the hairs on my arms rise. It halted Bryn’s hand, the dagger tip only a hairsbreadth from her belly.

Her eyes went wide and unfocused. Her hand shook. She blinked. Fat tears slipped down her cheeks.

Oh God. She was in there. Aware. And she was fighting.

I ran to the bed, grabbed the dagger from her hand, and flung it across the room. “Bryn!” I went to pull her to me, to hug her, just going on instinct, but she leapt off the bed, tackling me to the marble floor, her bloody hands sliding around my neck and squeezing.

The shock of being attacked by my sister wore off
real
fast. It wasn’t difficult to break her hold, twist, and then flip on top of her back, pinning her facedown on the floor. I reached for the cold cell cuffs on my belt and slapped them onto her wrists. They worked great on most Charbydons, the cold subduing their power, but Solomon was only half jinn and a spirit at that. Probably wouldn’t restrain his power at all. But at least they’d keep her from any more suicide or murder attempts.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, one side of her mouth squished against the floor. “It’s over. Whether I go now or later. They will kill this body for what it has done and either way I am free. I have won.” She drew in a deep breath to scream, but I slapped my hand over her mouth. The last thing we needed was for the guards to appear.

“You know, Solomon, you’re really starting to piss me off. Rex, give me something to gag her with.”

Matsul inched closer to the Father as Carreg walked calmly over to the wall, bent down, picked up the bloody dagger, examined it, and then whispered. It disappeared.

A low keening began in Matsul’s throat and built in volume. Rex leapt over us, grabbed the official from behind, and covered his mouth to cut off the wail.

Matsul could’ve fought, could’ve easily overpowered Rex. He was a noble, the strongest of the Char-bydon off-worlders, but he was in shock. His eyes grew wider and wider.

Rex whipped his gaze to mine, his hand still firmly over Matsul’s mouth. “What the hell do we do now?”

“Is the Father really dead?” I asked, still on the ground with Bryn and unable to see for myself if Solomon had been successful.

Hank tore the thin curtain and handed me a strip. I gagged my sister as Carreg strode to the bed and gazed down at the Father’s frail body without a flicker of emotion on his dark face. “Quite dead,” he answered evenly.

I hauled Bryn to her feet and handed her over to Hank, then faced Matsul, heart pounding, adrenaline making my entire body shaky and numb. “You heard what she said. The thing inside of her … it’s not her. His father was Malek Murr. You do know who that was, right?”

Matsul nodded in acknowledgement.

“He was avenging his father’s death.
He
is Solomon. The son of Malek Murr. You understand? He’s taken over my sister.”

He nodded again, eyes still bugging out.

“This wasn’t her fault.” My throat thickened, making it hard to talk. “She wasn’t in control. That’s what you’re going to tell them.”

Rex slowly removed his hand. Matsul had gone a very odd shade of white. He glanced to Bryn and back to me. “She killed him, I saw her … The Father is dead …”

He darted from Rex’s hold, past me, and straight into Carreg’s immovable form.