Kelly Gay: The Hour of Dust and Ashes

My token consisted of a credit card swiped through a conveniently placed machine (aka the altar) by the steps. Tuni and the twelve other bodyguards lurking around the theater made sure everyone paid and everyone treated Alessandra with the utmost respect.

I glanced down at the receipt and cringed. Three hundred bucks. Great. I shoved my card back into my wallet and then made for the steps.

“Oh, and Charlie?” Alessandra called. I turned on the steps and waited to be wowed by her next vital and coherent piece of information. “Do me a favor and don’t summon your power tonight, ’kay?”

I paused on the steps.

“Number one hundred and twenty.” A booming voice called the next patron over the loudspeaker as I started back up the steps to ask her what the hell she meant.

Tuni blocked my path. “Move along.”

I leaned to the side. Alessandra wasn’t even looking my way anymore and I knew from past experience she wouldn’t elaborate once she was “done.” With a sigh, I left, making for the giant archway that led into the club.

The music grew louder as I approached. The blood vessels in my head pounded in time to the deep bass. Strobe lights flashed through the tunnel, making the smoky air light up in bursts that did nothing for my developing headache.

“Let me come with you. Don’t worry I’ll be good as gold,” Rex had said earlier.

Yeah. Good as gold, my ass.

As I approached the two guards at the archway, one reached for the snap to the velvet rope as the other one went to step in front of me. I swore if he asked for a cover charge after I’d just spent three hundred bucks, I was going to blow. He pulled out a stamp, pressed it to the back of my hand, and allowed me to pass. Smart man.

Inside the tunnel, the music was louder, the smoke suffocating, the strobes brighter. The faintest hint of nausea spread from my gut to my throat. With every step farther down the tunnel, my desire to kill Rex mounted. Now I just had to hurry up and find the—

A record scratched. The music stopped. And a voice rang out loud and clear.

“Come and get it, muthafuckahhhs!!!”

Rex.

Club patrons raced past me, down the corridor, and toward the temple. I eased back the side of my jacket. As soon as my fingers curled around the cool polymer grip of my 9mm sidearm, a sense of calm and familiarity came over me. I didn’t pull the gun from the holster, but I was ready if the need arose.

Rex stood at the end of the tunnel where it opened into the club, his back to me, wielding two legs of a metal chair; the rest of the mutilated chair lay nearby. He swung the legs around and around while exchanging insults with a group in front of him. And he as enjoying every minute of it.

Spread out over the recently vacated dance floor were eight black mages, otherwise known as Pig-Pens for the thin, dirty aura surrounding them. The aura was a result of an Elysian giving up their inborn power for the dark power of Charbydon, which lent itself better to black crafting. A lot of Elysians looked upon Pig-Pens as though they were abominations of nature. But I knew better than most the lure that black crafting held. Enough to destroy lives …

Pig-Pens could be any Elysian race, but the ones facing off with Rex were a collection of sirens and nymphs. Males and females. All dressed in dark clothing. All black-eyed, pale, and wearing grave expressions.

I’d never seen more than four together at one time, and even that number was noteworthy because Pig-Pens usually worked in pairs.

“Mind explaining this?” I said to Rex, stopping at the head of the archway, out of his swinging range.

“They were asking around, looking for you, about to head into the temple. Call it saving your ass. You can thank me later.”

“So, what, you decided to play Super Ninja all by yourself?”

Rex might have remembered his jinn past and his training as an elite warrior, but he was still in a human body, my ex-husband’s body to be exact. Rex would survive a mortal blow—his Revenant spirit would simply be set free. Will Garrity, on the other hand, would die. And I wasn’t about to let that happen.

One of the Pig-Pens stepped closer, his dark eyes zeroing in on me. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” I asked innocently, even though I knew exactly what he referred to.

“The sarcophagus. Where is it?”

“We destroyed it,” I answered.

“You lie!”

“Why would I? Do you really think we’d risk keeping it? Gee, let’s see … destroying an object for the greater good of mankind or keeping it around. I don’t know … seems like a no-brainer to me.” The lie flowed easily from my lips, but my heart raced. Destroying the sarcophagus hadn’t been an option, so we hid it the best we could. The fact that these guys were here now meant that Tennin and his crazy-ass cult hadn’t bought into the rumor of its destruction. “What did he promise you? Money? Power?” I asked, knowing these guys were just hired hands; they had no clue what was inside of the sarcophagus.

Footsteps shuffled to my right. Alessandra’s jinn bodyguard Tuni appeared next to me as another one of her enforcers took up position on the other side of Rex.

“Madigan,” Tuni’s deep voice echoed in the lofty space. “Should’ve known.”

I leaned toward him. “For the record, I did not start it. If they back off, I’ll walk out of here without another word in their direction.”

“Enough of this talk! Where is it?” the Pig-Pen shouted at me. The others behind him shifted, eager to pounce. Their energy intensified, building, getting ready …

Three sidhé fae appeared behind them. Straight out of thin air and practically glowing in their silvery chain mail tunics and pearly skin. Each one had a crisscross of sword hilts peeking from behind his shoulders. Two blades that I knew were curved, thin, and razor sharp. What I didn’t know was what the hell they were doing here. And where they’d come from, because these guys looked old-school; I’d only ever seen armor like that in books.

The tallest one in the middle took a step forward, assessing the situation with a quick, perceptive eye. The guy was at least six and a half feet, long, lean, and agile-looking. He had a noble face, ruthless and hard as granite. Light hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, accentuating his widow’s peak and giving him a sharp visage. He wore black leather pants and boots and a leather belt over the silver chain mail, arm guards, and thigh guards.

The familiar, light pink irises typical of the sidhé fae fixed on me. “You are the one they call Charlie Madigan, aye?”

Half of the Pig-Pens turned in surprise at his voice. The air went thick with hostility and an underlying confusion. This new development threw everyone off balance, including me.

I glanced around, wishing there was another Charlie Madigan in the club, and wondering what the hell I’d done this time. I returned my attention to the sidhé. “That depends on why you’re asking, and if you’re here for the same reasons as these guys.” I gestured to the Pig-Pens.

A haughty eyebrow lifted as if to say breathing the same air as them was appalling.

“Stay out of this,” one of the Pig-Pens growled at the fae. “She’s ours.”

As they exchanged heated words, I glanced over at Tuni even as goose bumps spread over my arms. “I’m apologizing in advance. Make sure you tell Alessandra I was only defending myself.” He crossed his thick arms over his chest and grunted. “So … you just gonna watch or help me clear the dance floor?”

The jinn were a warrior culture. I wasn’t surprised to see the corner of Tuni’s mouth twitch into a grin. His big fists clenched, his rings flashing in the light. He nodded. “Just this once. Since they are disturbing the peace.”