Kelly Gay - The Hour of Dust and Ashes

I studied the glasses she wore. The fifties-style secretary look she had going was cute on her small frame and Asian features. “I do. They’re very nice.”

“I know, right? So, two fatalities,” she said, switching gears. “Broke the window up there, twelfth story. Female landed on the Ford Fusion. The other on the sidewalk. Computer geek over there”—she indicated the guy I’d put on my radar earlier—“saw the glass fall and recorded it with his phone. Guys are up in the condo now, but so far no signs of a struggle, nothing to suggest this was anything but a suicide.”

“Who owned the condo?”

“The female. Lewis.” She scribbled on a piece of paper and then tore off the edge. “Here’s the male vic’s address. Heard Ashton talking about it. Said he was heading over to notify next of kin and see if the guy left any kind of warning. You know he won’t be too happy to see you.”

“Ashton’s never happy to see me. Didn’t you hear? I’m not only a Tri-racial Bitch, now he thinks I’m the Antichrist.”

Liz glanced up, her eyes narrowing. “Well, you can get scary.” I opened my mouth to argue that summation, but she cut me off. “But I find it cute, endearing, more like a rabid puppy than the Antichrist.” Her lips twitched.

“Ha ha.” I rolled my eyes.

“I would say one of these days Ashton will get over it, but I think we both know it’s a lost cause.”

Couldn’t argue with that one. Ashton Perry was one of ITF’s lead detectives. He’d never had a problem with me in all the years we worked together in the department, until I stopped being “one of them,” as he called it … until it was known that I had the genes of all three worlds in me, that I was the one who’d brought darkness to the city of Atlanta to save my kid from Mynogan, the now deceased Charbydon noble and Sons of Dawn cult member.

But more than anything else, Ashton hated that I’d taken a federal job, one where I didn’t answer to the department or the reigning chief. Ashton and everyone else in the ITF were on a need-to-know basis when it cae to my job. And Ashton hated that. He hated even more the fact that I now had the freedom to work on the really big cases, and that my new division had the power to take cases away from him, if necessary. Such was the power of Washington.

And Liz was right. He’d never let it go. He took every opportunity to insult me, call me out, push me to the edge, which usually involved insulting my daughter somehow. Asshole. “Well, he won’t see me at all,” I said. “I’d rather not deal with him making my life miserable. All he’ll know is that I was here nosing around.”

Liz chuckled. “You’ll be wanting autopsy details, yes?”

“As soon as you have them.”

“Will do. How’s Bryn holding up?”

Boy, that was a loaded question. “She’s been okay. Under watch at the League. But now …” I dragged my hand down my face, gazing up at the building. “We need to get every ash victim under lock and key. This can’t happen again. Not until we know more.”

“Hey!” Liz shouted suddenly. “Hands off my body!” She mumbled a quick good-bye and then marched over to the detective who’d been about to lift Casey Lewis’s hand from the hood of the car with the tip of a pen or pencil.

Damn, I’d meant to ask her if she’d heard of any new sidhé fae in the city.

I walked away from the scene, shoving my hands in my pockets. It could wait.

“What do you mean, Aaron moved out?” I leaned against a dresser in Bryn’s room at the Mordecai House—the League of Mages headquarters in Atlanta—cradling a venti Starbucks coffee like it was a lifeline. I’d had very little sleep last night and had gotten up early to check on Bryn.

Bryn stood near one of her upstairs bedroom windows, one shoulder against the wall, her arms wrapped around her middle as she stared out at some mysterious point beyond the glass. She was so quiet, so enigmatic, and with her blank aura, I couldn’t even begin to guess her mood.

“Why would he leave?” I went on. “The League is his home.”

My sister turned her head—the first time she’d visually acknowledged me since I’d arrived just moments ago. “He didn’t leave the property, Charlie. He’s staying in one of the guest houses on the grounds. Says he wants his solitude .” Her attention returned to the window.

I expected the pale skin, the somberness, the muted-out version of her former, vibrant self, but it was her eyes that thickened my throat and squeezed my chest. Round. Tired. Hollow.

“I think he just wanted to get away from me. I did”—she tossed an uncaring glance at the guard sitting quietly in the corner—“kill him, after all.”

I took a step toward her, denial and sadness filling me. But she was so distant. For the first time, I wasn’t sure my sister would welcome my emace. “You don’t know that,” I said instead. “Aaron knows whatever part you played, whatever happened that night, it wasn’t you in control. He knows you’d never do something like that willingly.”

“I’m sick of this room. I’m sick of being tired all the time.”

Her depression dominated the space, heavy and stifling, covering everything like a dreary, sepia-toned picture. It scared me to death. Two ash vics had just committed suicide. Could depression, intensified by ash, be the cause, and not murder?

I kept my voice neutral. “You want to get out of here? Take a walk. Go get some breakfast. We can raid the kitchen, make some nachos …”

A faint smile tugged on her full lips, but didn’t reach her eyes. “Haven’t had nachos for breakfast in a while … What did Alessandra have to say?”

Emma had stayed with Bryn last night so Rex and I could go to Underground and see the oracle. My visit wasn’t exactly a secret. And, though it was unspoken between us, we both knew I couldn’t share details with someone who might still be possessed. I hated that part … Hated to think there was something else inside of my little sister pulling the strings, wanting to know what Alessandra said, wanting to get to the hidden sarcophagus …

It was clear from Bryn’s look that she understood the direction of my thoughts. “Don’t worry about it.” She pushed away from the wall. “Come on, I’ll take you to see Aaron.”

Bryn turned to the guard. I’d tagged him the minute I walked into her temporary living space. Human. Midthirties. Typical mage aura—a wash of intelligent greens. Warlock tattoo—a black dragon swallowing its tail, and always placed around the right wrist. It all equated to a bodyguard more than capable for the job. “Charlie and I are going outside,” she told him in a robotic tone.

“She’ll be fine with me.” His dark eyes met mine. “Why don’t you go take a break? We’ll be back in a little while.”

He stood, clipping his phone on his hip. “I’ll follow behind.”

Ah. Yes. It would be just like Aaron to give the orders where Bryn was concerned. Orders that’d be followed to the letter. I nodded in reply.

No doubt, every single one of her guards was a warlock.

Since warlocks were the warrior sect of the mage class, Aaron’s decision made perfect sense. Not only were they skilled mages dedicated to study, craft, and knowledge, but they trained regularly in the art of warfare. And since Aaron was a warlock himself, it made even more sense. He’d trust them more than any other. Even if they knew Bryn had a hand in his death, they’d still put their lives on the line for her, because Aaron had asked them to. Simple as that. Warlocks were a very tight band of brothers.

Bryn took the lead, going down the wide second-floor hallway toward the service stairs at the back of the house, instead of the main, sweeping staircase that commanded the front. Her blue tri-colored skirt swished around her legs and her ankle bracelets tinkled like wind chimes in a slow breeze as we went; the sound so normal and comforting. So … Bryn-like that it gave me renewed hope.