The Hour of Dust and Ashes

and help with last-minute stuff. We can go the day of and just change there for the party.”

“Yeah, Bryn told me. I told her it was fine with me.”

“Have you gotten your dress yet?” Emma asked, knowing I hadn’t.

“I will. Don’t worry …”

“Mom. The party is in two days.”

Rex pushed away from the table, grabbing Em’s yogurt and tossing it into the trash.

“Hey!”

“Bah on the good-for-you crap. Let’s go get milk shakes.”

And this would be just one of the many reasons why Emma loved Rex.

After eating my soup, I drove us to Blue Barry’s Ice Cream Shop.

I was just walking back to the truck with our order when my cell rang from inside the vehicle. I saw Rex through the windshield pick it up and answer. By the time I got to the window, he was staring at me, his face pale.

I set the milk shakes on the hood. “What? What happened?”

He handed me my cell. “That was Hank. Bryn’s gone.”

“What do you mean, Bryn’s gone?”

“Gone. Like escaped. Broke out. Got the hell out of—”

My hand flew up. “I understand what gone means, Rex.” I jumped in the car and sped out of the parking lot, the milk shakes flying off the roof and landing somewhere in the lot.

My hands trembled on the wheel. There was no doubt in my mind now. If Bryn had been in control, she would have stayed. My eyes stung, and I prayed all the way to the station.

I told Emma to wait in the car with Brim, and I raced inside and down to the holding cell area.

13

Rex followed me down to the cell block. Every single ash victim was where they were supposed to be except one. Bryn’s cell was empty, her door open. The guard stood by the door, another in her room searching through the bag of clothes and books Bryn had brought with her.

“What the hell happened?” I barked.

One of the guys shook his head as the other came out of the room. “Look, we were doing our job—”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit. If you’d been doing your job, she’d still be here!”

“Calm down, Madigan,” the chief ordered from behind me.

I spun on my heel. The chief and Hank marched down the hall. I wanted to hit something. Scream. Casey and Mike were dead. Amanda had tried to commit suicide, and Bryn was gone. Christ, she could on the roof right now, stepping off … Oh God.

My eyes caught Kyle’s as he sat on the cot, watching us. Silent wasn’t his style. I ran to his door. “How did she get out?”

Power stirred in my gut, so hot and angry that my limbs tingled.

He shrugged, not bothering to hide the smug light in his eyes. “Said sm' ords. Door popped open. You know how mages are.” He made a motion with his hands and said, smiling, “Poof. Gone.”

My blood pressure rose, and I had to force myself not to pound the plastic. “Did she say anything?”

A female voice piped up, two cells down. “Yeah. She said, see you in hell.” Her chuckle grated on my composure.

Kyle shot to his feet. “Shut up, Grace.”

“Fuck you, Kyle,” Grace responded. “I’m not one of her flunkies like you. I’m not going to leap off some building because she fucking tells me to.”

Fear-fueled adrenaline shot through my limbs. I walked closer on numb legs. “Wait a second. She told Mike and Casey to jump? Bryn? Bryn told them?”

Grace gave a nonchalant shrug. Her hands were flat against the plastic. She looked the same as every other time I’d seen her, always in and out of the station on drug and prostitution charges—thin, strung-out, and pale. But now her dull eyes burned. “We’ve got a second chance at life, and all he wants to do is kill us off and go have his revenge.”

“‘He’? Who are you talking about? Who is inside of my sister?”

“Let me out and I’ll tell you.”

Ah. So this was the game. Whoever was inside of Grace wanted freedom, wanted to take her body, steal her life, and live it for her. Fat chance.

I shook my head. “Can’t do that.”

“I’m not one of them,” came another voice opposite Grace’s cell. I spun around. A young woman stood at the plastic. I couldn’t place her. “I’ll tell you. I sit and I listen to them; they don’t think I can hear but I do.” A small part of me acknowledged how odd her calmness seemed, but in that moment all that mattered was finding my sister. I approached, my heart pounding hard, mouth dry in fear. I stood in front of her cell and waited.

“Your sister is going to Charbydon, to Telmath, to kill the Abaddon Father.”

The others shot to their feet and yelled at once, a cacophony of curses and threats erupting throughout the holding area, but they all sounded far away as I reached for the wall to steady myself, the hallway turning like a fun house ride.

My mark oozed warmth as Hank placed his hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly, “we can get to her, Charlie. We can stop her before she goes through the gate.”

“I’m calling the gate officials now,” the chief said from behind us.

Deep breath. Okay. Focus. “Who’s controlling her?” I asked the woman.

“I don’t know. They never use names other than the host body’s.”

“Why the Abaddon Father?”

“Revenge. Your sister said the Father would pay. Said the winter solstice plan was a failure, and the Sons of Dawn were finished, and this would be the final act. You know, like Plan B basically. Can’t strt a war, then go straight to revenge. She said she was going to kill the one who killed Malek Murr, her father. Or his. Who knows who’s inside of her …”

Malek Murr. My thoughts churned. Malek Murr. He’d been the jinn High Chief who’d come to our world during biblical times to escape the oppressive rule of the nobles. His tribe and a few others had left Charbydon to make a new home in our world. And while Malek had several sons, there was only one that mattered here.

The answer struck me like a thunderbolt, slammed into my chest, and stole my breath. I stepped back. Blood drained from my face as all the pieces slid neatly into place.

“Solomon.”

The others started screaming about revenge, about justice, but it all melted into the background. The biblical King Solomon. The Father of Crafting. The son of Malek Murr and the human woman Bath-sheba. A hybrid, like Sian. He had started the Sons of Dawn cult, had learned about the First Ones and that the nobles once ruled in Elysia. His cult had planned to gather the proof they needed to share with the nobles—and once the nobles found out where they truly belonged, they’d start a war with Elysia to take back what was once theirs, and leave Charbydon to the jinn.

And that’s all the jinn and Solomon ever wanted: to regain their world.

But Solomon’s father and the other jinn tribes had been called back to Charbydon, the nobles afraid that Malek Murr was planning to raise an army on Earth.

“Who was king?” I asked, looking around at the faces staring back at me. “Who was the Abaddon king when Malek Murr and the tribes were called back to Charbydon?”

No one answered. They didn’t have to. The Abaddon Father had to have been one of the kings back then. He’d given the order to bring back Malek Murr and have him executed. No wonder Solomon had created the spirit jars. No wonder he had devised a way to continue on after his death so that one day his cult could exact revenge and do what his father could not, free the jinn from noble rule—and, for Solomon personally, exact revenge for the man who had murdered his father.