The Hour of Dust and Ashes (8 page)

“What do you mean by that?” Aaron asked in a steely tone.

A smug smile twitched at the corner of Bryn’s lip. I glanced up, shot her a scolding look, and elbowed her in the thigh, jumping in before she could make things worse and start the fight she obviously wanted. “Two
ash
victims jumped from the Healey Building last night. We don’t know why they did it. I’ll be doing the rounds after this, talking to family, checking their homes … See if they left anything behind, a note, a reason …”

Aaron placed his elbows on his knees, putting his hands together to make a teepee with his fingers and resting his chin on top. “Murder?” His head cocked, eyes glittering, the word slipping from his lips like a threat.

“Well, like I said. We won’t know until—”

“It is either murder,” he interrupted in a dangerous tone, “the cult having possessed those two people and then deciding to get rid of them. Or it is the effects of the drug, creating depression deep enough to make suicide an option.”

Obviously, he didn’t appreciate my attempt at downplaying the situation. He wanted to hear it like it was, and I couldn’t blame him; I was the same way. “All right,” I said. “Here’s what I don’t get. If they
were possessed, why would the spirits inside of them listen to that kind of order? I mean, without bodies and without being strong enough to take an un-addicted person, they’re releasing themselves to the afterlife, giving up a life, a body. So … why would the spirits allow that to happen?”

Aaron scratched his stubbly jaw. “Depends on how devout a cult member they were in life. You have to remember, they’ve been kept in those spirit jars perhaps for thousands of years. They likely chose to await a new life, to serve the cult in this way. This is a cult that has lasted over two thousand years, Charlie. Even in spirit form, those members would follow orders. True that maybe some wouldn’t, but these two obviously did.”

“I don’t know … It’s not like Tennin to throw away a mole, you know? It’s not his style.”

“Then perhaps it’s not him issuing this particular order.”

Aaron turned to Bryn, his expression analytical and cold and totally not the approach she needed right now. Removed. Unfeeling. “Have you been having suicidal thoughts? Bad dreams, visions? Are you more depressed than usual?”

An inward sigh went through me. If only he’d injected some feeling behind his hard eyes, a little concern into those questions …

I didn’t need to be in her line of sight to know her eyes were spitting copper fire. “Only when I’m around you.”

Ouch.

The tension came roaring back to life.

“Careful, Bryn,” Aaron responded with a hint of arrogance. “Your youth is showing.”

Oh shit. That was the one thing Bryn hated about her relationship with Aaron—the fact that she was twenty-seven and he was a couple hundred years old.

“And for all your years and supposed knowledge,” she said, standing, “you know very little about females.” Her back was rigid, shoulders back, chin up. But below this show of anger, there existed a wealth of hurt. “I’ll take this as my cue to leave. Wouldn’t want me listening in on whatever the oracle said. Might use it against somebody …”

I watched her go, hoping that Aaron would call her back, to show her he cared, but he remained silent until the door was closed. “I’ll double up her guards,” he said. “I want someone by her even while she sleeps, while she’s in the bathroom, while she’s working in the garden. Every moment of every day and night, she’ll be protected …”

Now why in the hell didn’t he say that when she was here?

“Did the oracle say anything else to help us?” he asked.

“She’s arranging an introduction with a creature she believes can see inside of a person and tell whether they’re possessed or not. Called it a sylph. You ever hear of it?”

Aaron blinked, his surprise slowly replaced by
scholarly interest. “A sylph. They are little more than legend, even to us.”

“Well, apparently it’s real, so says the all-knowing Sandra.”

“It’s not an
it,
Charlie. It’s a she. Sylphs are said to be female.”

“Oh. What else do you know about them?”

“I only know what the legends say.”

“And what do those say?”

“Some say that sylphs are a distant relation to the nymphs, that somewhere in our prehistory, they left Elysia for this world, first making their homes in the lakes, glens, mountains, and deep woods of what you now know as the British Isles. It’s said that during this time they evolved, diverged, and developed into shifters of the earth, of this world and its elements.

“Supposedly they eventually mated with male Picts and Celts of the area, sent the male children back to their fathers or killed them, and kept the females. It’s the females who have the ability to shift. Earth, air, fire, water. I’d guess they draw energy from their surroundings; develop a kind of symbiotic relationship with earth. I have long believed that this is where legends of your nature spirits come from. The Lady of the Lake, I assume you have heard of her?”

“The one from the King Arthur stories, sure.”

“Perhaps not fiction, perhaps a water sylph tied to a particular lake. Perhaps, even, still there today.”

“Any idea how they see inside?”

“None, I’m afraid. I wasn’t even aware this was a talent they possessed. I’ll research more. If I find anything, I’ll let you know. How’s your arm?” I followed his glance to my right arm. It was covered by my sleeve, but underneath, the scars from the battle atop Helios Tower remained. More precisely the scar or the imprint left from reaching inside of the agate sarcophagus and taking the divine sword from the grip of the First One lying inside, and using it to kill Llyran, the Adonai serial killer who’d been working with the Sons of Dawn for his own psychotic agenda.

That weapon was meant for a divine being to wield. It meant death to anyone who touched it. But because I had the genes of all three worlds coursing through my body—much like the First Ones—I had lived. And now I had what appeared to be some kind of ancient script/molecular-looking symbols running from my fingers to my shoulder.

“I’d very much like to copy the symbols, to study them. When you’re up for it, of course.”

Aaron felt strongly that the markings on my arm were from the language of the First Ones. Divine script. The first writings. The root language of the three worlds. And to him it was further evidence that I was morphing into—or evolving back into—a First One, a divine being, the first beings formed by the Creator and the genetic forefathers of the three noble races: humans, Charbydon nobles, and the Elysian Adonai.

“Maybe when
you’re
up to it,” I said, standing.

He actually smiled at that. Aaron was a long way from being healed and he knew it.

After I left the tiny hut in the woods, I took the meandering path that led to the school.

Bigger and grander than the Mordecai House, the League’s school, all done in gray stone and Gothic architecture, seemed like the perfect atmosphere to study the arcane. The grounds were beautiful and just as immaculate as the grounds of the Mordecai House.

I really didn’t think about what I did next, just let my feet carry me to the front of the main building and then followed the signs that pointed to the office, where I spoke with the administrative assistant. After looking over the scholarship application that Aaron had partially filled out, I signed my name to it, also signing the form giving permission to release my daughter’s academic records from Hope Ridge.

There. Done. I swallowed tightly, handed the pen back, and left.

It was just one small step, I told myself. Just to see if she’d even qualify. It didn’t mean I’d made a decision.

It was only a baby step.

I spent the rest of the day checking out the residences and workplaces of the suicide victims and talking to friends and family before heading into the office. There’d been no notes, no hints from family or friends that either
ash
addict had been contemplating suicide. Nothing to suggest they were about to take a leap from a twelfth-story window.

Walking across the back lot of Station One, a sense of defeat settled over me. I was tired. Anxious for a call from Alessandra. Worried about my sister and the other potential victims.

How did you fight something you couldn’t see or weren’t sure existed in the first place? How did you protect someone you love from an unknown like that? I shuffled up the steps and into the building, heading robotically toward the elevator that would take me to
the fifth floor—home to my tiny office set amid a sea of overflow office equipment.

Hank and I no longer worked for the Integration Task Force of Atlanta. I’d gone rogue to save my kid and Hank had joined me. I’d known at the time it would cost me my job and end up in jail time.

Ask me to do it again and I would in a heartbeat.

What else could I have done? Tell my kid I couldn’t break the law to save her life? That I just had to sit back and let her die? Please. I’d give my
life
for my kid. Saving her had been the
only
choice.

The decision had been a no-brainer, but it was that decision which gained us the attention of the covert bigwigs in Washington. It was either take the job or go to jail. We took the job.

There were teams like us in every major city. Anywhere there was a gateway into the other worlds, anywhere there was a large population of off-worlders you’d find two detectives like Hank and me willing to go above and beyond.

The elevator doors slid open with a whisper. My stomach growled as I walked down the hallway, reminding me that I never should’ve skipped lunch. I slid my key card into the lock and then made my way through the maze of discarded office equipment and furniture before coming to our nifty space in the back corner. With a heavy exhale, I dropped into my chair, laid my arms on the desk, and rested my forehead on my arms.

So tired—my stomach growled again—and hungry.

If only I could feel normal. Stop feeling so drugged out all the time and like I had to eat like a sumo wrestler, stop hearing random voices whenever I finally relaxed and stop seeing visions … My insides were being pulled in random directions all the time. I wanted to be normal again. Human again. At this point, I’d even settle for my evolution—as Aaron called it—coming to a close and leaving me in whatever state I ended up in.

The door to our office clicked open. I didn’t raise my head. The air of calmness trickling through the room and the scent of mint and lavender told me all I needed to know.

I didn’t know what it was about the jinn hybrid that brought about this sense of tranquility. When I first saw Sian in Grigori Tennin’s strip club, she’d had the same effect on me and everyone in the place. I wondered if all jinn hybrids possessed that ability or if it was just something unique to her.

“Oh, good, you’re back,” she said, entering our nook and bringing with her the scent of food. My stomach twisted. A stack of files dropped beside me. “Here’s everything on the
ash
support group, all the members, personal info, vital records, et cetera. Oh, and Hank called. He’ll be in the office later.”

I finally lifted my head and looked at her tall, cloaked form. “Hank called?”

“Uh-huh.”

I waited for more, some message for me, but she continued on, going to her desk by the window, dropping
her canvas bag and an armful of files before removing her cloak and draping it over the hook on the wall.

I grabbed my cell and checked it. No missed messages from my partner. What the hell was going on with him?

“You okay?” Sian straightened her black pencil skirt as she came back to my desk carrying a large brown bag.

The scent of dough, freshly baked and wonderful, wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Sian’s white eyebrow rose, and she lifted the bag. “I think I should get a raise for supporting your eating habits.”

Hunger pains radiated through my gut. I motioned with my fingers. “Hand it over.” My hand shook as I sat back and dove into the bag, pulling out an everything bagel. The first bite was pure, one hundred percent, Grade-A pleasure. “Bless you,” I muttered, cheeks full.

She parked her hip on the edge of Hank’s desk, which was pushed up against mine. She wore a thin cashmere turtleneck in dark gray, much darker than her light gray skin. Her snow-white hair was pulled back into a braided bun and her indigo and violet eyes held a note of apprehension.

Sian was gorgeous—high cheekbones, full lips, almond-shaped eyes … Yet she didn’t go outside of her home or the office without covering herself with her cloak.

Bias and racism was alive and well even in the off-world
community. And while the jinn prized the extremely rare product of jinn and human offspring, the rest of the Charbydons and Elysians did not, nor did some humans.

I wanted Sian to hold her head high, to ignore the criticism and step out into society as the beautiful, alluring, and harmless being that she was, but after a life spent growing up in the confines of the jinn underground, she had miles yet to go. There was one good thing about being forced Topside and taking this job—she was slowly gaining confidence.