Ash & Flame: Season One (24 page)

“Glad you could make it,” Sam said as she knelt next to him. She thumped him across his shoulder with a playful swipe, but she couldn’t quite hide the slight tremble of her lips.

“It’s okay, Sam. I’m alright,” Kevin said. He set a hand on his chest, willing his heart to stop racing, and quickly changed the subject. “Everyone make it okay? Any trouble?”

“Depends on what you mean by okay,” Sam said. “We lost a few, said they’d had enough, and took off on their own. Anderson tried to talk ‘em out of it, but they went their own way. Rest are in rough shape.

Tired, sore, and some are asking questions. Wondering where we go, what we’re supposed to do now.

Now that…”

She paused, glancing down at the ground. “Haven?”

“Dome’s gone,” Kevin said, shaking his head. It wasn’t all he was in danger of losing. “No idea what else, but Abaddon’s moniker is pretty damned appropriate.”

“When can we go back?”

Of course
, Kevin thought. The others were buried back in Haven. Jackson.

“We’ll worry about that later, Sam.” Kevin placed a hand on her shoulder. “A half hour, and your shift’s over, got it?”

Sam opened her mouth, a frown on her face, and Kevin squeezed, cutting off her rebuttal.

“No arguing, kid.” Kevin let go and started to head up the incline towards the main castle. He looked over his shoulder. “You’re getting some sleep tonight, and that’s an order.”

Sam slowly nodded. “Roger that.”

Kevin turned back towards the hill that led to the main castle grounds. He followed along a narrow, overgrown trail, his calves burning.

Sleep, he thought. He wondered if he would get any tonight.

Best not to seek an answer to that.

Kevin stopped as he cleared a copse of stunted trees, and the castle stretched out before him.

Fashioned of pale stone brick, angled steps on each side of the front patio led to the front door, two large windows on either side. The castle itself was a two-story block of solid rock, three windows lining the top story. Off to the right, a square, squat tower stood, its own separate stairs reinforced with stone handholds. Beyond that, a taller tower peeked over the treetops, a parapet lining the roof.

A handful of survivors bundled their meager supplies through the front door, others watching the grounds, rifles or other weapons trained on the growing darkness beyond. Brightly lit lanterns had been fixed at each end of the castle proper and over the main entrance, hanging from brass rings that had been set into the masonry long ago.

Kevin stopped by one of the guards, a stocky, heavyset man holding an assault rifle. “Joe, where’s Anderson?”

Joe motioned out into the woods to the north of them. “He’s got the northern perimeter. Want me to call him in?”

Kevin shook his head. “Nope, don’t worry about it, I’ll check with him later. Perimeter all set?”

“Yep,” Joe said with a sharp nod. “Got placements set around the castle in 20-yard increments, everyone calls in every ten minutes. Blessed scout the perimeter, check in with the others. We’re good.”

“Good man.” That meant ten around the mansion, maybe twelve, plus Sam and Anderson. Kevin looked past Joe, towards the front patio. “The injured?”

“Got ‘em on the second floor, in the east wing,” Joe said. The man paused. “Look, brave thing you done back there. I saw the look on that angel’s face…”

“Thanks, Joe.” Kevin started for the patio, patting the man on the shoulder as he passed. “But whatever he was once, that thing is no angel.”

He wanted to check on everyone, make sure they were all okay, or at least as okay as they could be out here. And he would. But first things first.

Kevin grimaced at the pang of his aching back, and opened the creaking door. Two survivors huddled over a large fireplace set into the wall to his left, flames building over the thin logs stacked inside. An open doorway led to another room off to Kevin’s right, and he thought he heard muffled snores and heavy breathing coming from the other room. Just around the corner to his left, beyond the fireplace, another room opened up, a staircase running to the floors above.

He took the stairs up to the second floor, the stained wood creaking under his heavy, tired steps. A long, darkened hall ran east and west, with rooms attached at regular intervals. Another hall shot north from the stairwell, and the long hallway’s intersection, and a lantern had been lit hanging beside an open doorway.

He entered the dimly lit room, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the faint light. Two rows of beds had been set up along opposite walls, several occupied. Most of the wounded were sleeping, and Kevin was thankful for that. He was responsible for this. He hadn’t caused their injuries, but these were his people, and he didn’t know how much longer he could stand to see them in pain.

A medic shuffled past with a yawn, nodding at Kevin as he headed for one of the beds on the far side of the room. Kevin watched him go, and smiled as he found her.

Rachel was leaning back on one of the beds. She turned as Kevin walked up, and her hand waved at him, her eyelids heavy.

“Hey, Rach, how you feeling?” Kevin whispered. He sat at the foot of the bed, the urge to lay down almost overwhelmed him. He resisted the yawn as he stiffened his back.

He promised himself some rest. But not yet.

“Ever been nearly impaled by a Grigori?” Rachel flashed Kevin a faint smile.

“Nearly?”

Rachel stifled her laughter, and winced, her hand pressing against her side. She let out a low sigh.

“Yeah, well, it’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.”

“One for the ages.” Kevin patted her leg. “Get some sleep, soldier. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He started to get to his feet, but Rachel grabbed a hold of his wrist.

“Kevin…I’m…” She paused, and a tear traced a line down her cheek. “I’m sorry about Brad. Sorry about everything. It was—”

Kevin knelt down beside her bed, and squeezed her hand. “I don’t want to hear that shit? We’ve got enough to deal with. These people need you, Rachel. They need the woman who took on a Blessed and a damned Grigori by herself, and lived to tell about it.”

“But—”

“No,” Kevin said, cutting Rachel off. “This is about more than us. I’m tired of us dangling by a thread, you hear? Angels, Demons, Ashen, you know who’s left when they’re all gone? We are, because none of them could make us go away.”

Rachel glared at him and wiped her cheek, her jaw set.

Kevin nodded. “Good. See you in the morning.”

He turned and walked right out of the room. He paused only long enough to take a deep breath when he reached the patio before he took off again, aiming for the patrols that stood guard around the perimeter.

So much for sleep.

▪▪▪

Emma was glad when Dad finally stopped crying. She hadn’t seen him cry for years, and it made her feel awkward. Plus, his tears running over dried blood and a nice bruise that colored one of his cheeks was sort of gross.

“Dad, really, I’m fine,” she said, brushing his hand away. She felt a twinge of guilt as soon as she did it. A couple of minutes ago, she’d hugged him so tight that she nearly choked him, and already it felt like a year ago.

“Okay, Em.” Dad took a step back and paused before he asked the question. “I…I heard you in my head. How…what did you do?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It was weird, sorta like a dream.”

Emma wasn’t positive how she’d done it. She remembered coming to, and Brad on top of her dad, his hand around Dad’s throat. She didn’t know how she had felt the thread of his panicked thoughts.

She had latched onto that thread with her mind, clung to it, and she’d looked for one of the Words, something to help. Some of them, anyway, the easier ones.

“Okay, well, let’s get back,” Dad said. He glanced up at the late evening sky. “We can figure this out later, I don’t want to be out here when it gets dark.” He started walking back towards the woods.

Emma reached out and grabbed his hand. “We can’t.”

“Why not? We can’t stay out here. You know that.”

In the years they had been running and hiding, they had never stayed out after the sun fell, afraid of the things that liked the dark. All it took was one night, hearing the bloodcurdling screams, and the twisted laughter that echoed through the empty streets. It was one of her earliest lessons. Find a hidden spot, hunker down for the night, and sleep lightly.

But now she felt something different. There was a fear there, she couldn’t deny that, but there was something else, too, something stronger. An unexplainable urge, or a need. She knew where she had to go, even if she didn’t want to. And it meant being out here in the dark, and facing that fear.

“Something’s changed. We can’t go back. Not yet.”

Ren knelt on one knee and put a hand on her shoulder. He squeezed her hand. “Okay. I believe you.

Where are we going, then?”

He was different somehow, too, Emma realized. She couldn’t really explain it, but it made her glad.

“You know where we have to go: the Hellfont.”

Saying it out loud cemented the idea in her head. The
why
still bothered her, the burning hiss of voices spurring her ahead, raucous in their attempt to drown out everything else. She clamped down on them, her nostrils flaring briefly until she’d regained control.

Emma would go because now she had her own reasons.

Dad swallowed, and licked his lips. He glanced at the ground, a trickle of sweat running down his forehead. “You sure?”

They wouldn’t find their answers here, or by running away. It was a weird feeling, being so certain.

But they were finally doing something, rather than watching from the fringes, hoping they didn’t get noticed. It felt right to Emma, like a weight had been tossed off her shoulders.

She nodded, hoping Dad felt it, too. “Yep, positive.”

Dad looked up at her and smiled. He rose to his feet and turned back towards the quarry, glancing over his shoulder at Emma. “Okay, then. Let’s go.” He bent down to pick up Brad’s military knife, and thrust it under his belt, then reached back for Emma’s hand.

They skirted the quarry, taking a faded trail that led through a lightly wooded area. Dad led her past a stand of clumped trees, the sunlight giving way to dusk, faint stars blinking overhead. They crossed an old, dry streambed, and the inner quarry opened up in front of them on the other side of a wide, flattened dirt road.

She saw more pits, wide and shallow, intersected by roads made up of the same malachite. Channels had been dug out of the earth, white sand seemingly everywhere. In the middle of the quarry, a sole tower reached up into the sky, the upper part mangled and rusted.

Dad scanned the area, frowning as he heard the shout that echoed to their right. He started to step out of the grass, and into the dusty road, but paused as another, deeper cry sounded. He crouched and glanced back at Emma.

“Wait.”

“What?” Emma was missing something.

“Ithuriel is out there,” Dad whispered.

Of course
.

Ren peered off to their right, pointing. “We can’t just leave him, Em, not after he helped me find you.”

Emma remembered then, vague, patchy bits coming back to her. After the voices hammered at her, and she got sick. After she saw the heaped, rotten bodies in that pit. There had been a hissed silence, the whispered word like an undercurrent.

Malakhi
.

“He’s an angel …”

“I know, but…” Dad paused, staring back at her. “Look, let’s just take a look and make sure he’s okay, alright?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to, but a part of her knew that her dad was right. The angel had tried to protect them, and even though her instincts screamed at her to go right now, she couldn’t. They couldn’t leave Ithuriel alone out here, not without knowing they had done what they could to help him. He deserved that much, didn’t he?

And Dad deserved the peace.

The voices began to murmur in her head, agitated and swirling. Of course, that made her decision easier. She bit her tongue, squeezing until the voices fell into a brooding, uneasy stillness.

“Emma?”

She blinked, then nodded towards her dad. “I’m ready if you are.”

▪▪▪

Ithuriel set his jaw and stepped towards the daemons.

They fanned out before him, thirteen visions from Hell, their razor-like teeth clicking. One of them snorted and dashed forward, menacing gaze settled on the Malakhi.

The beast was fast, the glistening muscles of its legs twitching as it thundered towards Ithuriel. The daemon leapt over the still body of Azazel, claws fully extended. Opening its maw wide, the daemon roared as it lowered its head, horns aimed squarely at Ithuriel’s chest.

The Malakhi shifted on his feet and lunged, the spear sliding in his grip as he thrust. The dazzling point struck the daemon in the shoulder, spinning it sideways. The creature crashed to the ground with a baying cry, and Ithuriel leaned forward, pinning it to the ground, the spearpoint stuck in its shoulder.