The Hour of Dust and Ashes

It hovered above me. A dark mass of terror. So close. So black and empty, yet something had to exist within. Preferably something with a heart.

It spoke again, sounding almost … curious.

I didn’t even have time to breathe before it flew at me and my vision bled to black.

I woke with a jerk, the shadow creature leaping into the forefront of my mind. But I was still in Bryn’s bed, head on her pillow. The thing had appeared, did its “in and out of body” trick, and then disappeared, leaving me knocked out for a little while but otherwise unhurt.

I relaxed back into the mattress as other elements in the room began to filter through my senses, namely the extraordinary warmth at my back. The air was filled with the smell of masculine skin and hints of cologne, soap, and dryer sheets.

Hank was back. And his scent wasn’t the only thing surrounding me; his arm was thrown over my hip and my back was tucked nicely against his front.

The creature’s visitation must’ve really done a number; I hadn’t heard the siren come in, hadn’t smelled the food that wafted in now from the kitchen, and definitely hadn’t noticed when he lay down on top of tovers behind me and pulled me close.

It was nice. Good. Right, even. And then another feeling struck me in a novel way. Protected. I felt protected. A disbelieving laugh bubbled in my throat as I lay there, a small smile parked on my face.

I was always the one out there protecting people. And after Will and I had split, I’d had no one to go to for comfort, to let all my guards down, to take a rest from being the caregiver, provider, guard, and detective. To let someone else be tough for a while.

Had to admit, I liked it. And I never thought in a gazillion years I’d find this feeling with an off-worlder. I liked Hank’s strength, his power, his quirky humor, even the badass attitude he caught sometimes.

I was in so much trouble.

My stomach growled loudly. Hank stirred, voice sleepy. “Was that the gargoyle?”

I turned onto my back, letting my head fall to the side, facing him. “Gizmo is at the League with Bryn. That was my stomach.”

Hank’s eyes opened and studied me for a long moment. “You look better.”

“So do you.”

Several seconds passed and it hit me that we were just lying there staring at each other. And even though I tried, I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.

“What did you bring?” I asked.

“Food, woman.”

He got up from the bed and swaggered into the kitchen, calling as he went, “I saved you, I healed you, I brought you food … I am a god.”

I threw the covers over my head and laughed—not giggled—letting the feeling wash through me, a rare moment of feminine happiness.

Then my stomach rumbled again.

Without delay, I scrambled from the bed, dressed quickly, and hurried into the kitchen, finger-combing my hair as I went.

Hank was pulling utensils from the drawer as I zeroed in on the two big takeout boxes on the table. One was filled with bow-tie pasta with chicken drenched with a thick, creamy pink sauce—my absolute favorite dish from Abracas. The other contained a large cheeseburger and steak fries. Hank sat down, handed me a fork, and then lifted the burger.

I stabbed the pasta, impressed that he’d remembered what I liked.

We ate for several minutes in a food-frenzied silence before he asked, “How was your nap?”

I speared a piece of chicken. Now that I had food in me and had gotten over Hank’s presence in the bed, my thoughts went back to the mysterious creature. “The nap was fine. The shadow thing that keeps showing up, not so much.” I stuck the food in my mouth.

An eyebrow lifted high and he regarded me for a long second. He grabbed a fry. “Why am I not surprised.” He shoved the fry in his mouth and made a rolling motion with his hand. “So what does it want?”

I told him everything, about the visions I’d been having, the altercation7;d had with the creature at the club and then here, earlier, in the bedroom.

Hank stated the obvious. “I think it’s safe to assume, based on what Sandra had to say and its appearances so far, using your power triggers its arrival.”

I nodded, stabbing a couple bow ties with the fork. “Yeah, but why? Alessandra said it was a destroyer, death, called it Sachâth. Ever heard of that?”

He shook his head. “No, but if that’s true, it makes it even more strange that it’s not attacking.”

“I know. At first I think it’s going to—that’s the feeling I get—and then it hesitates … I’m not even sure if that’s the right word. Sometimes it sounds confused or questioning. Frustrated, even. And then it just sweeps right through me, knocks me out cold, and vanishes.

“Well, we know how to keep it away from you.”

“Yeah, if I don’t screw up and use my power. That little bit in the shower was just healing …” And the creature was sensitive enough for that tiny slip to trigger its arrival.

Hank chewed another bite of his burger. “I think we should pay a visit to the Grove.”

“You think Pendaran will know what this thing is?”

“If anyone does, it’ll be him. He’s been around for a while. Couldn’t hurt to ask. Besides, we should check on the progress he’s made with the Old Lore.”

I nodded. The Old Lore, a collection of Elysian pre-history tales and accounts, resided with the Druid King. Llyran had stolen it from Elysia and brought it to Earth. In it was the only known record of the First Ones.

The Lore had been another priceless item, spoils from our battle with the Sons of Dawn. And within those ancient pages might be a ritual to disperse the darkness over Atlanta. And because of that, we were keeping it here in the city. For now.

Bellies full, we cleaned up the best we could, put Bryn’s kitchen back to rights, and then left the apartment.

As we walked down Mercy Street, I checked my cell, listening to three messages. From Emma: she was home from the hospital, no change with Amanda. From the chief: all the ash victims were at the station and secure. And from Sian: Tennin had left the city to parts unknown, though she’d try to find out where.

I slipped my phone back on my hip. “Tennin’s gone.”

Hank let out a snort. “Probably hunting down the person who gave the suicide order.”

While I suspected as much, I gave a turn at devil’s advocate. I’d been wrong before. “We still don’t know why they jumped, if they were possessed at the time … This might have zero to do with Tennin and everything to do with the drug’s effects.”

“True, but our instincts are hardly ever wrong. And if they are”—he threw an arrogant glance at me, eyes twinkling—“it’s usually you, not me.”

“Ha ha.”

We emerged from Mercy Street, headed across the plaza, and up the steps to Topside.

Downtown Atlanta sparkled with a million multi-colored lights. Headlights, traffic lights, shops, and high- rises, all lit up beneath the ever-churning mass of gray hovering low in the sky above.

I rubbed the back of my neck, the hairs there standing to salute the dark power. I knew from experience what was in that mass—small particles of Charbydon energy, the stuff of magic, the raw material, the very thing that awakened the Char genes in my body and gave me this constant zing.

It was easier to handle when I was inside or down in Underground, but out here in the open it hit me hardest and made me jittery, energized; not altogether bad … just more … alive.

Hank paused on the sidewalk, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, and lifted his face to the darkness. Quiet, thoughtful.

“Still there,” I said.

Slowly, he withdrew his gaze and fixed me with a wry smile. I returned the look and led the way down the sidewalk to where I’d parked my Tahoe.