Born of Ashes

A knock on the door drew him back. Fiona had a blush on her cheek as she smiled up at him.

He didn’t turn toward the door as he called out, “Enter, please.”

He knew Fiona could guess his difficulty because her blush deepened. She took a step sideways as she said, “Hey, Bev. What have you got there?”

“Something for you.”

Jean-Pierre shifted slightly to glance at Bev. He scowled since she held a gold box in her hand, bearing a very pretty white bow. “What is this? Who is it from?”

Every sense was on alert. If a man had sent her this present, he had reason to be angry all over again. Did one of the Militia Warriors believe he had a chance with his Fiona? Did he need to address one of Seriffe’s men?

“This arrived at the landing area. We had security scan it. There isn’t a danger here.”

“Then it appeared anonymously?”

“Not exactly.” She stepped into the room and let the door close behind her. “There’s a card but we didn’t open it. We thought maybe Carolyn sent it to Fiona.”

Jean-Pierre looked down at Fiona. “Will you permit me in case there is some danger here that we cannot know? Cannot see?”

She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Jean-Pierre, calmer now, turned to Bev. She stood perhaps five-three and had to go a long distance to meet his gaze. In stature, however, she was very tall, a woman he trusted, that all the Militia Warriors trusted. She was a person of great kindness and restraint. She had wavy dark hair she wore to her shoulders and cornflower-blue eyes that sparkled with something close to mischief. She was perfect in her position among so many difficult men.

He crossed to her then took the package. He lifted the lid. Inside lay an envelope. Terrible things could be sent like this.

He looked at Bev. “Was this tested for pulmonary toxic inhalants?”

Bev nodded. “Everything. It’s clean.”

He blew air from his cheeks. He glanced at Fiona and gave his head a small jerk, beckoning her to join him. He held the box for her and she withdrew the envelope.

The same card as before came out first, with black raised lettering. She read it aloud, “A small peace offering. Casimir.”

She looked at Jean-Pierre. “What do you think?”

“I think I do not trust this vampire, especially since he tried to kill you.”

She looked inside the envelope and frowned. “Oh, my God. There are four tickets … to Dark Spectacle Phantasmagoria. This must have cost a fortune and how did he get them?” Then she read the front of the ticket, “The amazing Rimizac, one night only.” She looked up at Jean-Pierre and shook her head. “Rimizac.”

Jean-Pierre frowned then rolled his eyes. “Casimir.”

“So our Fourth ascender is the creator of Dark Spectacle. Somehow I’m not surprised.”

“He cannot mean any good by this.” He glanced at the back of the card. “There is more. Look.”

Fiona turned the card over then gasped. “Impossible.”

The hairs on the nape of Jean-Pierre’s neck stood up. “What?”

Fiona met his gaze, her silver-blue eyes suddenly full of concern, even fear. “Rith escaped from COPASS.” She glanced back at the card and read aloud, “Rith escaped. He is more powerful than even Greaves suspected. I wished to warn you.”

Jean-Pierre let out a very loud, “Fuck.” He turned in a circle and threw the box on the floor. “It was too good to be true.”

“Is all of this a trap?”

Jean-Pierre turned toward her. “Of course it is. It could be nothing more.”

She waved the envelope back and forth. “Do we attend?”

“Of course not.”

But she tilted her head at him. “Wouldn’t it be better to meet the enemy on the field than to wait for him to steal in through the window at night?”

In this moment, he hated that she was right. He hated it more than anything in the world because he knew what it would mean. His woman would insist on going.

But he had one last refuge, one last hope that this could turn out differently. “We must discuss this with Endelle. This must be her call.”

* * *

Endelle stared at the tickets, which she held in her hand, and which burned her ass.

An imbecile could smell a trap, but that wasn’t the discussion at hand. Everyone knew this was an invitation to battle the devil.

But what the fuck did it mean that Rith had escaped?

Her blood boiled. She thought of Braulio’s brief appearance, insisting she should negotiate with Stannett, and now the Superstition Fortress was locked down and Daniel Harding was playing hide-and-seek. She couldn’t reach him, COPASS refused to comment on the supposed rumor that Rith had escaped the well-guarded Prague jail, and now she had to decide what to do about Dark Spectacle.

Goddammit.

Should she send Jean-Pierre and Fiona into the lion’s den?

There were four tickets. Should she send two of her Warriors of the Blood to accompany them?

Fiona and Jean-Pierre stood near the fireplace and seemed to be arguing something in low tones, something about obsidian flame.

Thorne stood in the same place he had the last time they were all together, over by the east-facing window, staring off into the distance. He had his hands behind his back. He was half-blitzed, maybe three-quarters.

Shit, he was her best friend and he was hanging on by a thread, a very narrow thread, a thread with holes in it.

Goddam, this whole thing was coming down on her head. She could feel it.

Her gaze snapped back to Fiona. “All right, Goldie, get your ass over here.”

Fiona turned from scowling at Jean-Pierre to meet her gaze, her brows lifted.

“Yes … you. You know, gold variety of obsidian flame? We have some work to do. I want to check on Marguerite and you’re gonna help.”

From the corner of her vision, she saw Thorne turn from the window and head back in her direction. She shifted her gaze in his direction. He was just about out of his mind, his chin down, his fists clenched. Didn’t this beat the shit out of her?

But what she really wanted to know was how he could be so crazed about Marguerite, yet she wasn’t his breh.

Thorne drew up on Endelle’s left side. They formed a tight little square, with Jean-Pierre glaring at Thorne because of how close he stood to Fiona.

Eventually, Thorne got the message, because he took a step back.

Endelle rolled her eyes then focused on Fiona. She had tried voyeuring Marguerite herself, but she couldn’t get past Stannett’s shields. The man had power, way too much power. “All right, ascender. I want you to make contact and I want you to use my preternatural voyeurism so we can see what’s goin’ on. Got it?”

“Yes,” Fiona said.

Endelle smiled. She liked the woman, she really did. She had a confident air, something she hadn’t really expected from a former blood slave.

Fiona closed her eyes and the next moment Endelle felt the woman’s being right next to hers as though she stood shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip. A subtle vibration made a strong connection, even a powerful one. Very cool.

She felt a second vibration as Fiona’s mind extended in the direction of the Superstition Fortress.

Fiona sent, I’m next to Marguerite. Open your window.

Fiona was commanding her? She wasn’t just strong; the woman had balls.

Fine, Endelle sent. She opened her preternatural window and about two seconds later, she was looking at an abysmally bare cell of a room, very dim, worse than even the Creator’s Convent.

Fiona began a slow pan to the left and up. There was one of those long windows, maybe four inches tall. Sweet Jesus.

Fiona kept panning down to the left and there on a platform Marguerite lay curled up. She’d been sleeping but now lifted up on her elbow.

Fiona? Marguerite asked telepathically.

We’re here. Endelle and I. She has her voyeur’s window open so that we can see you, both of us, right, Endelle?

Endelle jumped in. Is this the shit-box Stannett moved you to? That lying sonofabitch. He said his facility was like a Mexican vacation.

Marguerite smiled then laughed. Mexican, all right, but more like one of their prisons. So when are you guys busting me out of this joint? Oh, and just so ya know, lover boy came in here yesterday expecting some nookie, but I got my hands around his left jewel. I didn’t so much polish his little diamond as grind him to a sparkling shine. He passed out.

Endelle approved so much she couldn’t speak for a moment. When she did, she expressed her surprise. I didn’t think he liked women. Or men. He’s kind of the opposite of bisexual.

Asexual. Yeah, I got that, too. But Stanny’s a man with a plan. He’s got himself a nursery in here. Did you know he’s into baby-making big time? He’s genetically engineering Seers.

Holy fuck. So that was his game. So that was why he kept the Fortress locked down. Well, well, well.

Suddenly Marguerite sat up and backed herself against the wall.

Fiona panned to the left. Stannett himself walked in, but there was nothing casual about this visit. He looked around. “What’s going on in here? I can feel that something’s not right. Tell me, Marguerite.”

“I’m a little bored so I’ve been practicing some of my powers.” In a quick move she flicked her wrist and sent a hand-blast firework up to the ceiling, a very pretty red color.

Clever girl.

Stannett looked around. He frowned. He walked in Endelle’s direction, as though he could sense her presence or Fiona’s or both.

Endelle tried to back her window out of there, but she wasn’t driving. Fiona, you’ve got the controls. Let’s give him some space.

Fiona moved backward until once more they glided through nether-space and Endelle stood staring at Fiona, back in her office.

She looked into silver-blue eyes but neither said a word.

Endelle turned the situation over and over in her mind.

“What the hell did you see?” Thorne asked, a frown heavy on his brow, as he looked from one to the other.