Dreadful Ashes Read online

  “So, you will not tell me what I want to know, but your lips loosen to warn a stranger?” The young man rose to his feet, his motions oddly stiff, yet precise. I concentrated, listening, but I couldn’t pin any of the room’s heartbeats on him, and his chest barely moved, drawing just enough breath to fuel his speech. “I can only respect that.” With a resigned hint of a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair: short and dark with no hint of luster. “My name is Binh Tuan Lan, and I apologize for what I am about to do. I will try to make this quick.” Beside me, Tamara tensed as Lan inclined his head toward the three of us respectfully—

  —and as his hand darted like lightning for the blade in Alvarez’s ribs.

  I burst from the shadows beside him in the same instant, my claws slapping his arm aside as they shredded his tailored sleeve to tatters. Astonishingly quick, Lan recovered immediately and stepped away, his ashen skin still completely intact, not even etched with traces of blood. Growling low in my throat, I lunged and swiped again, my blood-rusted claws darting viciously for those faded gray eyes.

  With a minimum of effort, Lan ducked, flowing fluidly out of the way, twisting like a dancer as he dropped low. Committed to my attack, I could only watch as his trailing leg whipped over and across, snapping into my throat like an uncoiling spring, knocking me off balance and sending me tumbling gracelessly to the floor.

  I crushed an undoubtedly expensive end table flat and laid there for an instant too long, watching as Lan simply reached for his sword once more like nothing was amiss.

  Tamara’s whip smashed his hand away with an air-splitting crack, wrapping tight around his wrist and not letting go. The Moroi grinned, set her feet, and gave him a playful wink, the metal-threaded whip taut and trembling.

  Without missing a beat, Lan braced himself in a broad, stable stance, stalemating Tamara’s attempts to yank him off balance, matching the Moroi strength for strength. Meanwhile, he bent lithely at the waist, the fingers of his other hand brushing the sword's handle.

  I rolled to my feet and smashed a heavy boot into his knee, kicking one leg completely out from under him, and was surprised to discover that the joint bent, but didn’t break. But with his balance gone, Tamara immediately jerked him away from Alvarez, to sprawl face-first on the bloodstained oriental rug.

  I grinned.

  “Kitty! Now!” I called out, digging my steel-toed boot into Lan’s ribs and sending him flying, still on the end of Tamara’s tether. The moment we bought her enough space, the fairy rushed forward, hovering over the dying man, and deftly checked his wounds.

  Meanwhile, Lan twisted in mid air, landing sideways on an ornamental support pillar, one suddenly clawed hand digging into the rich cherry-red wood. His other hand darted into his jacket, emerging again in a repeated flicker of flying metal, a shimmer of steel flashing toward Kitty’s face.

  I knocked the first throwing knife aside and caught the second on my forearm, but missed the third. Kitty only barely managed to duck it as Tamara yanked hard at her whip, pulling Lan’s aim slightly off at the last moment. In response, he flicked his wrist, matter-of-factly breaking the whip’s grasp.

  Tamara and I exchanged an incredulous look.

  Meanwhile, Lan remained anchored—sideways—to the pillar with his short, sharp, wickedly curved claws, studying us calmly with those near-dead eyes.

  “I think someone wants to do this the hard way,” I rasped.

  Tamara nodded, her breath already coming a bit quicker. “Looking forward to it.”

  Lan moved without warning, like a striking cobra, darting around us and lunging for Kitty and Alvarez, both sets of claws out and ready.

  But we were ready, too.

  “Stop.” Tamara’s voice knocked the slender man aside like a bludgeon, sending him staggering, slowing his steps.

  I shrugged off the lethargy her voice pushed through my veins and broke a lounge chair across his face.

  And while the quick little bastard was still clobbered, I sunk my claws into his chest.

  But they didn’t bite deep, and he didn’t cry out, or even wince.

  “Yield.” Tamara’s voice drained the swiftness from his steps as Lan tried to pull himself free and brush past me, and my keen, rusted claws caught in his fancy dress shirt and jacket.

  Shaking off my surprise at his resilience, I flung him across the room as hard as I could.

  This time, he smashed spine-first into a massive bookcase and fell limply to the floor, the impact shattering shelves and showering him in books.

  He didn’t get back up—but I didn’t trust it. I still hadn’t heard a cry of pain from the man, or even the sound of breaking bone. What was he, and why—

  “I can’t move him!” Kitty’s voice was intense, several conflicting emotions threaded together with panic and anger. “We need an ambulance, or he’s going to die. Soon.”

  She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know; I could feel the poor man’s life ebbing away right at my heels. I risked a glance behind me, watching Kitty hold his hand and pressing a rolled-up knot of shirt against his bleeding wound. The poor old gentleman was on borrowed time, and the loan was almost up. Lan’s sword was the only thing staunching the wound. If we removed it to bandage him, or moved him, it’d only be a matter of moments before—

  “Ashes!”

  Books went flying across the room as Lan burst into motion. I braced myself against his assault—

  —only to have the rug literally yanked out from under me instead.

  I tumbled, flipping over for the moment it took Lan to toss the heavy rug over me, leaving me momentarily blind. My vision tinted red as I heard a crash and Tamara’s cry of pain; after an instant’s fumbling, I simply ripped the rug in half and dragged myself free.

  Too late.

  Tamara was down, and Lan already stood over Kitty, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other with wickedly curved claws at her throat. A faint, apologetic expression flickered across his face…

  …And I lunged, grabbing his ankle and yanking it out from under him in desperation.

  Kitty cried out as claws cut into her face, ripping her scarf free as they dug in along the underside of her jaw—but missed the arteries in her throat. Still prone, I yanked Lan toward me and away from the others.

  This time, he brought his sword with him.

  I could hear Alvarez gasp in shock as the steel slid free, and then I had other things to worry about. Lan twisted in my grasp, whipping the heavy, curved blade across my face. Up close, it looked like a dao; while there was a good chance the edge couldn’t part Strigoi flesh, I really didn’t want that thing in my eye—I had enough permanent wounds as it was. I ducked my head and let it bounce off my scalp, hoping it couldn’t do more than give me a haircut.

  I felt the edge crease my dead flesh and stop; Lan responded by stomping down with his free boot, trying to drive the weapon through my iron-hard hide, and probably blunting his sword in the process. Whatever Lan was, he was strong, and three quick stomps yielded a thin trickle of dark blood that traced its sluggish way down into my eyebrow and along my nose.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kitty scramble away and flip open her smartphone, the garish claw wounds along the side of her face slowly sealing shut. I still didn’t see Tamara on her feet, and could only hope she was okay.

  Lan stomped down again, harder; undeterred, I tightened my grip and dragged him closer, sinking my claws into his suit and determinedly crawling on top of him.

  The asshole might be fast on his feet, but nobody wanted to be in a wrestling match with a Strigoi.

  Gripping his torso with my claws, I picked him up and slammed him back down against the floor, sending a creaking ripple of impact through the floorboards, then bore down on him, using my superior strength to keep him pinned while I bounced his head off the hardwood floor.

  He shrugged it off, staring up at me with those calm, cracked gray eyes.

  So I lined my claws up with his eyes instead.r />
  “Game’s up, whoever you are,” I rasped, my voice grating. “Time for some answers.”

  “You fight well, Strigoi,” Lan replied, eyeing the claws hovering an inch from his face. “But I cannot allow you to stand in the way of our revolution.”

  I tensed, trying to decide if I should just give him a double eyeful of rusty claws right then and there.

  He opened his mouth, giving me a healthy view of the two broad, short fangs in the place of his canines, and inhaled.

  Kitty cursed; the lights ebbed and went dim, almost dying out completely as Lan sucked in an impossibly deep breath. I felt a sudden rush as he drew in air, and more than air. Deep inside me, the small unwavering flame, that tiny spark of irrepressible life that had drawn me back from the dead…

  … flickered.

  An electric tingle raced along the surface of my skin as my extremities grew numb, almost as if I’d been dunked in water. I tried to press down with my claws, but my strength withered, my claws dissipating against my will as Lan’s mouth opened impossibly wide, drawing me in. Somehow, I ended up on my feet, staggering away from my attacker, but Lan simply followed me, dogging my every step with his gaping maw and unending inhalation. Peering through the murky veil of my fading, fuzzy vision, I saw his eyes burning incandescent with a volatile crimson light and trailing visible lines of smoke. I turned and tried to push him away, but the weaker I got, the stronger Lan became.

  My thoughts might have been foggy, but the answer was still as clear as day.

  Lan was somehow feeding on me.

  And I couldn’t stop him.

  Not physically, anyway.

  Distantly aware of my own grinding teeth, I dug in my metaphysical heels instead. Lan’s eyes burned like ruby beacons, and the black depths of his hunger pulled at my core, at me, at the raw vitality and magic that animated my undead body.

  But try as he might that stubborn spark of mine just wouldn’t come free.

  It hadn’t gone out for Death itself, and it wouldn’t for Binh Tuan Lan, either.

  Frustration fractured its way into Lan’s cracked, smoking red eyes, his endless breath faltering. With one implausibly strong hand, he grasped me by the throat and slammed me into…something, holding me there helpless and chopping brutally at my corpse with his heavy, curved dao.

  But my battered Strigoi body didn’t give in, either.

  As the rush of hungry void around me waned, Lan let go of me and raised his hand, another long throwing knife grasped tightly in his fist, poised over my heart like a makeshift stake.

  A heavy, metal-threaded whip wrapped around his throat from behind and snapped tight.

  With a rage-filled roar of her own, Tamara planted a platform heel deep in Lan’s spine, bending him sharply backward. Then, muscles straining, she rolled backward, heaving him over her head, throwing him a good dozen feet, face-first and upside-down, directly into the cracked pillar from earlier.

  And breaking it.

  As she rolled to her feet in a crouch, I got a clear view of her eyes: pure, molten sapphire, bright enough to send shifting shadows dancing about the room.

  Lan picked himself free of the cracked, splintered hardwood pillar, seeming dazed. But as Tamara darted toward him, inhumanly quick, his eyes blazed a seething carmine once more, and he slung his throwing knife at her, the weapon flashing through the air too fast for me to follow and sinking deep into her pale shoulder.

  Meanwhile, I clawed my way up a nearby bookcase and leaned against its shelves for support. Lan’s attack had left me weakened, though I could already feel my supernatural power flooding back. I shook my head, trying to clear the lingering cobwebs and go to Tamara’s aid.

  Not that she seemed to need it.

  Tamara brushed the knife from her flesh without slowing down, the wound sealing over as she snapped off a precision kick into Lan’s throat, catching him off guard. He stumbled, then flipped backward once to regain his balance and creating some distance between himself and the Moroi, only to have the end of Tamara’s whip crack thunderously, the tip snapping right between his eyes.

  Even half-blind, Lan lashed out with his sword, accurate to a fault, the edge homing in on Tamara’s soft, vulnerable throat.

  The Moroi flipped over the blade with an aerial cartwheel and kicked him in the face, slapping Lan to the floor like a ragdoll.

  Tamara was on him in an instant, growling, her small Moroi fangs bared as she stomped him into the floor repeatedly, then slammed her heel into the back of his neck, trying to break it. Lan managed to twist, catch her boot right in the face, then push her leg aside, rising stiffly to his feet.

  With a snarl, the Moroi princess grabbed him by his shoulders, and Lan responded in kind, the two of them wrestling as their eyes blazed: Tamara’s lambent and dripping, Lan’s crackling and smoking.

  “Just…DIE…already!” I watched the raw power of the Moroi’s command wash over Lan; the supernatural shuddered as a shadow passed through his eyes, darkening their burning light. Tamara strained, victorious, bearing down on him—

  —but it was her eyes that suddenly flickered and went out instead.

  With a gasp, the energy and emotion pouring from her cut off, like a river suddenly run dry. In an instant, Lan bent her painfully backward instead, and Tamara gasped again in shock. A beleaguered-looking Lan stepped in close, hooking her leg and dropping her to the floor as he retrieved his dao.

  I crashed into him like an out-of-control semi, burying him deep in a massive bookcase and the wall behind it, and left him there. “Are you okay?” Darting to Tamara’s side, I held out a hand, helping the unsteady Moroi to her feet, her large blue eyes now frighteningly flat and mundane.

  And when Lan pried himself free from the bookcase a moment later, I clobbered him with the bottom half of the wooden pillar.

  As Lan disappeared into a distant corner of the private library with a rolling, cascading crash of breaking furniture, Tamara pushed off of me, supporting herself with hands on thighs, barely upright, the only one out of all of us panting for breath. I stared at her, concerned, appreciative, and more than a little in awe.

  She offered me a crooked smile, blood dribbling freely from the corner of her mouth. “Just waiting on you, sexy.”

  I snorted.

  We cornered a battered Lan on the far side of the library, just as he dug himself free of accumulated debris. I stared him down, feeling familiar Strigoi rage rising once more, and was tempted to just hammer him into the floor like a bent nail. “Is the game up now?” I snapped, patting my heavy wooden pillar suggestively. “Maybe you should consider it.”

  Lan looked between us as if sizing us up once more—and shook his head. “I cannot. Not while I still live.”

  “Well—” I shrugged and swung, but before I could smush him, Lan twisted just out of the way and leapt high onto the wall, clinging there with his claws for a moment before leaping like a freak to the top of a tall bookcase and from there to the interior sill of a second-story window, his eyes leaving a trailing afterimage of quickly fading crimson.

  From his perch, Lan stared down at us, those eyes gleaming in the dark, and shook his head. “I cannot lose,” he stated quietly, factually, without a trace of hubris or ego. “My cause is just. I am a herald of a new age, a zeitgeist for what is to come.”

  “Seems to me we just kicked the new age’s ass,” I glared up at him, seriously considering throwing my pillar at his irritating face.

  Lan’s eyes glimmered as their light slowly subsided. He shook his head. “You are victorious now, but this is not yet over.” Was he looking down at us with…pity? “One final warning for the valiant: leave this city now. Tonight. Before it is too late.”

  I opened my mouth to say something sarcastic, but before I could form a coherent insult, he smoothly smashed the window and disappeared into the night.

  Tamara and I traded long, tired, confused looks. Somewhere deep in her eyes, I caught a glimmer of supernatural blue, barely there
but bravely stirring. I sighed with relief.

  Still breathing heavily, Tamara gave up and leaned on me, using my unmoving body for support. “Okay…who the hell was that asshole?”

  “Didn’t you hear?” I glanced down at her. “Binh Tuan Fucking Lan.”

  The Moroi made a disgusted face. “Well, screw him. Someone should tell him we don’t know when to quit, right, Ashes?” I started to nod, then went still as my ears caught the sound of approaching sirens—hopefully heralding a Kitty-summoned ambulance.

  Tamara’s roguish smirk soured at the sound, her eyes turning grim. “Come on.” She pushed off of me. “I doubt there’s anything we can do, but let’s go check on Kitty’s friend.”

  8

  Only what you bring with you

  We stayed with Kitty until Dr. Alvarez bled out under the hands of the EMTs.

  Despite not knowing the man personally, his death hit the young fairy particularly hard. She drove us home in silence, her icy blue eyes glittering with a mix of sorrow and vengeance.

  “I’ll call you over the next couple of days,” Kitty locked eyes with Tamara through the rolled-down window. “It’ll give me some time to dig into this and see what I can find.” I’d never heard her sound so determined.

  Tamara started to shake her head. “I don’t—”

  “It’s not a discussion.” Kitty’s tone held a note of apology, wedged into cracks in the ice. “I’m involved, Tam. I have to see this through now, in my own way. I have to.” Her hand traveled halfway to the scar on her throat before she dropped it back to the steering wheel.

  Out of options, Tamara and I both just nodded. “Soon, then.” The Moroi said quietly.

  Kitty nodded back and drove away.

  Tamara squeezed my hand for a moment before sighing. “And we didn’t even find Fright,” she complained.

  “No, we found another little guy stuffed with dynamite instead,” I grumbled. “Yay for that.”

  We went inside and got cleaned up, our thoughtful silence more or less lasting as long as the showers did.

  “So,” Tamara emerged from the wash, still slowly working on towel-drying her hair. “I have no clue what’s going on anymore.”