I walked the streets alone, passing sirens and other visitors. Lanterns and open fires burned, lighting the streets and the market, which had yet to close down. Waves crashed against the rocks and lapped gently into the shallow curves of beaches. But nowhere did I feel the warmth of my mark.
Sounds were all around me, but distant. Inside I felt silent and dark and alone, so still that every step I took, every breath I made sounded like thunder to my ears.
I followed the long curve of the inner wall, stopping at the base of each tower. I placed my hand on the warm, smooth stone, and felt nothing. At the end of the north tower, I could go no more unless I wanted to drop off the massive cliff into the sea below, so I went down the winding walking path that led to the shore.
For a long time I stood on the pebble beach, listening to the waves and feeling an absence of emotion, of hope. Voices in melody seemed to go in and out with the waves, sounding faintly hypnotic and encouraging—inviting me into the sea. But those were most likely from the people on the docks and in the market.
Finally, I moved away from the water and continued my search.
In the center of the city was a massive square with an impressive fountain and a statue of a mermaid sunbathing on a rock. Stone dolphins surrounded her like sentinels, water pouring from their open mouths.
I went slowly, past every building, every temple. The city hall. The treasury—and still nothing. My mark did not react.
I had no idea where prisoners were kept—if there was even such a building. And it seemed with every step, my hopes grew fainter.
I headed up a winding street toward the palace and then swung a left to where colossal houses were tucked against a sloping curve in the land that led back toward the sea. It was a dark area of the city. Old. Private. Wealthy. Commanding high vistas over the water.
The breeze turned cooler. I walked beneath a tree with gnarled limbs reaching over the street. A gate’s rusty hinges whined in the silence. Unlike most of the low walls that defined the property of the wealthy homes I’d passed, the wall I came to next was overgrown and crumbling. The gate was open. And down the drive, I could see the dark shape of a sprawling ruin.
It was a lot like the palace, only smaller. Columns were faded and broken. Weeds and vines grew unchecked. The courtyard was cracked and strewn with dead leaves. The doors were open, so I had to go inside. It was more than the usual curiosity, I thought as I went. Something inside of me related to the house, the desolation, the sadness.
Inside, it was hollow and gutted, except for a few broken bits of pottery. Scenes painted onto the walls were faded or chipped away. It was easy to imagine a family living there, the place filled with voices, the running feet of children, of gatherings. A home this large should be filled with family.
But now it was empty, the shutters on the windows gone or hanging askew, left open to the elements, the wind and leaves, the insects and birds . . .
The clip of boots sounded on the stones behind me and then stopped.
I stilled, a zing of alarm sliding up my spine.
Several seconds passed. I didn’t move. The visitor didn’t move.
Then, slowly I turned to see a man leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, regarding me with an even but curious expression. Could’ve been a siren or an Adonai. He certainly had the looks—tall, golden brown hair, muscular build—but I wouldn’t be able to tell for sure until he spoke.
One thing, however, I could tell. He was one powerful sonofabitch.
“When visitors come to Fiallan,” he said in a deep baritone, “this usually isn’t on the sightseeing list.”
I didn’t feel threatened . . . just wary and on guard. He, on the other hand, projected a calm indifference, and his aura was astounding—a rainbow of colors snapping like an energy field around him. Hadn’t seen that before.
“It wasn’t locked,” I responded.
He didn’t move, didn’t answer, just kept staring at me with one corner of his mouth turned up in a faintly mocking smile.
“What is this place?” I asked, trying to get a better feel for him. “Seems a shame to leave it abandoned. The view is incredible.” I glanced at the wide terrace. Columns framed out either side. It was completely open, no doors, no curtains . . . but it was similar to the room Pelos had given us in the palace. I could hear the sea from where I stood. It was easy to imagine it as it might have been, framing the view like a massive picture window, maybe soft sheer curtains blowing in a breeze, a fire burning in the basins beyond each corner of the pool, now dried up and crusted with algae.
The stranger pushed off the wall and strode to the opposite side of the opening where he stared out at the sea, giving me a better view of him. Nice profile. Straight nose, stubborn chin, hair that had a bit of wave to it, the length brushing the collar of the thin leather jacket he wore over a white dress shirt. The shirt was open at the neck and he wore faded jeans.
Well, one thing was sure; he’d been around humans for a while.
He drew back the sides of his jacket and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “This was the house of Elekti-Kairos. A place of grave dishonor. Of horrors better left in the shadows.” He turned to look at me, his eyes a startling golden brown. “Left like this as a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
“What brings you here, to this place in particular?”
I had no good answer for that. “Curiosity, I guess. You?”
His lips curved up again into that same mocking smile. “Following you.”
Inside my senses were screaming red alert! but at the same time, I knew there was no imminent danger, no menace or malice coming from him.
“Confusing, isn’t it?” His grin grew wider. “On a primal level, your body is telling you I’m a threat. I’m predator, you’re prey. Yet, your signals are crossing.” He shrugged in a casual yet arrogant manner. “Confuses the enemy. Lets me strike at will. Useful, no?”
Point taken, I wanted to say, but instead moved on. “So what happened to the people who lived here?” I stepped off the main floor to the terrace stones and then sat down, angling myself to see the stranger as he stood at the far column. I wanted the chance to get a deeper read on him, to figure out if he was friend or foe, and show him that I wasn’t interested in a battle of wills or powers.
“Bad things. Very bad things.” He leaned against the column behind him, hands still shoved in his pockets. Very relaxed, it appeared. “Tell me, Charlie Madigan, if you find Niérian is dead, will you leave or stay to right the wrong that was done here, in his home?”
His words were like a stun gun to my brain. Thank God I was sitting down because I might have fallen. My mind scrambled to get past the shock and process what he’d said.
Oh God. I was in Hank’s home. He had changed his name when he came to our world, to start fresh, make a new life for himself . . . Christ. I was in his fucking house. The house of Elekti-Kairos. A place of dishonor.
This guy knew my name and why I was here, which meant I couldn’t let him leave. Guess I was getting that fight I was itching for, after all. I stood slowly, shaking on the inside but calm on the outside. My hand moved back the cloak and rested on the grip of the Hefty. “Who are you?”
He eyed me for a long, calculating moment. “You’re definitely making a name for yourself in . . . certain circles.”
“What else is new?” I said dryly. “You have about three seconds to answer my question before being in a world of hurt.”
A light of humor appeared in his eyes, making the gold seem brighter, as though it was lit from within. “Threats already?” He pushed off the column, removing his hands from his pockets, and moved toward me with an easy, deadly stride. In an instant, his expression went from humorous to predatory. “I can be friend or foe.” The smooth warning gave me chills. “The choice is yours.”
“Not interested in either, thanks.”
“Oh come, now. You’re too involved now not to choose sides. And if you don’t . . . well, wild cards always get hunted and killed.”
Now I was getting mad. I moved toward him, not stopping until we met in the middle of the room. “Are you threatening me?”
“Seems fair.”
I pulled my Hefty and aimed it at his heart. “I’m going to ask you one more time, who are you, and how do you know about me?”
He regarded my weapon as though I was pointing a pencil at him, and sighed as if in pain, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “My name is Leander. I err on the side of good. Usually. As long as I get to kill things. I’m here to”—he glanced down the length of my body and up again, his eyes meeting mine with an arrogant light—“feel you out and see if you’re worthy of my offer. And I must say, I prefer your natural hair color better. You had a beautiful shade, like polished mahogany.”
“How do you know Hank?”
“First I must complete your interview.”
“Well, let me help you speed things up.”
I pulled the trigger, done with whatever weird-ass game he was playing. The tag would stun him for only a moment, but it’d be long enough for me to subdue him—hopefully.
The tag embedded in his chest, shuddering through him. His eyes fluttered closed and his arms spread wide as though he liked what the sound wave did to him. Psycho. His arms went down, his eyes opened, and he grinned. “They said you were a hothead. My favorite kind.”
I didn’t ask who “they” were, nor did I want to know his “favorite kind” of what.
He snapped his fingers. A sheer dome surrounded us, its edges sparking until it was completely enclosed, and then shimmered like thin glass with millions of tiny air bubbles. I could see through it, but was pretty sure I couldn’t go through it.
Cool air hit my skin, followed by warmth. Odd. I glanced down and saw that my cloak and weapons were missing.
Okay, now I was pissed.
The fucker did not just put me in a black leather bodysuit. Except, he did. And the fact that he was standing there grinning like a damned fool was more than I could take. “You are so going down.”
“Be glad I didn’t opt for more skin.”
I shook my head, thoroughly disgusted and feeling the hot sweep of power tingle through my veins. We began circling each other. “So what, you like getting your ass kicked by chicks in leather, is that it?”
He laughed. “Depends on the chick. You know, I wasn’t happy about coming here, but now . . . I’m going to enjoy seeing what you’re made of. What all the fuss is about.”
“Which won’t ever happen if you don’t stop yapping,” I pointed out. “You gonna talk or fight?”
“I do love you humans and your penchant for trash talking. No one does it better.”
He cracked his knuckles. A maniacal gleam entered his eyes. He made a motion so quickly I couldn’t follow it and then a bolt of blue energy shot from his hands and hit me square in the chest. I slammed into the sphere. All the breath went out of my lungs and a sizzling vibe radiated through me, lighting every nerve with pain.
Shit, that hurt. I slid down to my feet, knees bending until my hands hit the floor. Head down, one steadying breath, and then I glanced up.
How the hell did I fight him with no weapons of my own, unable to use my powers, and only reliant on my physical abilities?
I rose slowly and then charged him. Another bolt shot from his hand as I used my momentum to slide like a runner hitting home plate. The bolt slid an inch over my head. I slammed into him, taking him out. He fell forward over me. I rolled, popped to my feet, and roundhouse kicked him in the jaw as he tried to rise. He flipped to his side, rolled, and got to his feet. His hand went to the corner of his mouth and pulled away blood.
“You can’t take me in a physical fight,” I taunted him. Probably wasn’t the case, but if I could get him to physically engage, get my hands on him without him using his power . . .
“You have no idea how much I’m holding back already.”
I laughed. “Anyone who has to point that out tends to think they’re stronger than they really are.”
He came at me. God, he was fast. Every punch I blocked knocked me back several feet. And it was true; he was holding back. Way back. As long as I made him bleed, I didn’t care. I’d learned a thing or two in my training on the job. I’d been fighting off-worlders for years, criminals who didn’t fight fair and ITF trainers who did.
A punch to my side left me gasping for air and backpedaling. He pressed relentlessly. I went to grab his shoulder, but he grabbed both of my wrists as I knew he would, leaving the rest of his torso unprotected. I brought my knee up and slammed it into his groin, then spun out of his hold and slugged him as hard as I could in the jaw with both fists locked together. Before he could react, I grabbed his shoulders, dropped all my weight backward, and pulled him down. With my boots in his gut, I launched him over me.
He slammed upside down into the sphere, catching himself from landing on his head and flipping to his feet, but satisfactorily bent over due to the pain in his groin.
I could barely breathe, but I got to my feet, staying crouched over, holding my side, pretty sure one of my ribs was cracked. “Hope you weren’t planning on having babies anytime soon.”
“My ability to do that is just fine,” he ground out. “It’d better be.”
“You know, you didn’t need this dome. I don’t run from a fight.”
He smirked. “It’s not to keep you from running. It’s so you can use your power without Death coming for you.”
My jaw dropped. One, because he knew about Sachâth. And two, because all this time, I could’ve been using my power, power that I’d had pent up for what felt like years. The idea of being able to release it almost made me weep. I forgot about the pain and stood. “Don’t fight fair, do you?”
“People who do are stupid and don’t live very long.”
“Did I mention you’re an ass?”
“Did you? When a woman speaks, it just goes in one ear and out the other, especially when they’re dressed in leather.”
I made a face at him. I was going to love putting the hurt on this guy. Everything came flooding to the forefront; all the caged energy leapt and built, eager to find release. It burned hot and cold, fighting, wanting out. There was no way I could control it, not this time. This time I didn’t have to.
Leander was about to taste a little divine retribution.
My arms and limbs tingled all the way to my toes, fingertips, and my scalp. I clapped my hands together and threw out both arms. Bolts of blue and red shot out as Leander’s own power leapt forward to collide with mine.
It ate his up, wrapped around it, scurried down its length, and absorbed it all while speeding its way toward him and finally slamming into him.
He flew back into the dome as my power exploded, radiating around the perimeter and then shattering the dome in a shower of sparks and a boom so loud it shook the house. I fell to my knees.
Leander landed on his feet in a crouch. Now he looked serious. Now he looked deadly. Shit. I straightened.
The breeze once again blew in from the sea and we stood there staring at each other.
Leander’s scowl was dark and menacing. He spoke in a tongue I had never heard before at the same time moving his arms and hands in a graceful set of gestures, as though pulling some invisible force to him. The air warbled as he spoke. Even with the spell Lightwater had given me, I couldn’t understand the words. They were deep and so powerful it felt like all the air had left the house. He made a swirling motion with his arms and spun. Light shot out in all directions, and then came back in again, bringing with it sparks and colors, all condensing down to where we stood. Leander released another word and the dome went back up and my power blew through me as it erupted inside of the sphere and then dissipated.
I ended up on my ass, breathing heavily, eyes wide with shock.
Leander knelt in the center of the circle, one forearm draped over his bent knee and his head hanging low.
My brain scrambled to make sense of what had happened. I’d never seen anything like that before. Never even heard of anything like that before. “What the hell are you?”
His head lifted. His eyes glowed and then slowly faded.
He stood, brushed off his jacket, and then regarded me with a curt expression. “And that concludes this portion of the interview.”
I rolled my eyes and got up. Leander wasn’t too bad at trash talk and sarcasm, either. “Can I have my clothes and weapons back now?”
He snapped his fingers and everything was back where it had been.
“So what exactly was the light show about?” I had an idea but I wanted to hear it from him, mainly because it seemed so impossible.
“I have business to discuss with you. Your power escaped the confinement circle. Sachâth coming here would’ve delayed proceedings. I hate delays. You should make a note of that.”
“So you brought it back. My power. You pulled it back and manifested the circle to contain it. Are you a siren?” I’d seen beings manipulate powers that weren’t their own, but this . . . this was commanding my energy with voice and word. And if Leander could do that, then he could’ve kicked my ass anytime he chose. I was lucky to be breathing.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Done yet?”
“No, not yet.” I was too intrigued to stop now, and if the guy had wanted me dead, he’d have done it by now. “How do you even know about Sachâth? And how do you know about me? And Hank? Is he alive?”
“I know many things, Charlie Madigan. How I know them is not important. I will tell you this . . . your partner lives.” My knees went weak. “And dies.”
I blinked. “What?”
Leander walked closer to the column to stare out at the dark blue sky. Only a few slashes of muted orange remained. “Putting it mildly, the Circe can be . . . cruel.” He smiled ruefully, his voice dropping low. He turned to me and there was a brief look of empathy in his eyes. “Death might be the most merciful option for Niérian now.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry and my heart pounding. Before I knew it, I was next to Leander, grabbing his arm and jerking him around to face me. “Where is he?” My voice broke.
Leander said nothing. His hand covered my own and instead of removing the death grip my finger had on his bicep, he closed his hands over mine. “Surviving the NecroNaMoria is . . . rare. I’m sorry.”
I flung his hand away and released him, stepping back. “Then you don’t know Hank. If I can get to him in time, he’ll heal from this . . . Necro thing. He’ll sleep for a long time and then he’ll be fine, he’ll . . .” Leander’s eyes turned sad, resigned, as though Hank was already gone, and it pissed me off, this sympathy. “Fuck you. I’m not giving up. That might be how you do things, but not me. And not Hank.” A tear slipped from my eye and I wiped it away angrily. “You’re going to tell me where he is or I swear to God I will unleash everything I have until nothing remains of this house or you.”
His look said yeah, right. “I don’t know where your partner is being held, but I know he is here and I know of the NecroNaMoria because that kind of crafting defiles a place, corrupts the energy of this world like a slow disease. No matter how hard they try to hide it . . . Once you’ve tasted soul crafting, you never forget the stench it leaves behind.”
“And the NecroNaMoria, what’s it do?”
“It’s a spell that tethers a soul to a body that has died. It forces the soul back from the very edges of paradise and into a world of pain. If the body is in a condition to heal and resurrect, it does. Then, the torture can start all over again.”
And that’s what Hank was going through. Right now. All this time. God.
Numbly, I walked to the step between the main floor and the terrace and sat down. For a long moment, I stared at nothing, feeling like I burned from the inside out. Burned because I was here and he was there, and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it. I wanted to scream.
“Since you seem to be familiar with this kind of crafting, you can help him,” I said at length, glancing over at Leander. “Whatever business you think you have with me, whatever it is you want from me, won’t happen unless you help me.”
“That I cannot do. Once the NecroNaMoria is begun, there is little one can do to stop it.”
“Then I guess we’re done here.” I got up to leave.
“I need you to retrieve an object from the Circe.”
I kept walking.
“Retrieve it and I give you something in return.”
I turned around at the front door, pissed that I was crying, angry that he couldn’t help me after everything he’d put me through, angry that I was standing there in Hank’s home not getting anywhere. “Don’t you get it? There is nothing else you could offer.”
“There is, Charlie. Otherwise I would not be here.” He paused as if best deciding how to proceed and then it seemed he decided for bluntness. “I have the antidote to ash.”
Time screeched to a sudden stop. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, staring at him, my mind trying to catalog his words in the midst of my grief.
“Whether or not you can save your partner”—he shrugged—“I don’t know. But I do know you can save your sister and the others in your city. Does this not interest you?”
My mouth worked and I finally found my voice. “You have the antidote to ash.”
“I have something you need. The Circe have something I need. You plan to gain access to their domain to save Niérian. A little detour to retrieve the tablet and your sister’s drug problem is solved. This is what they call a win-win.”
And you’re what I call a smart-ass.
I wiped the wetness from my face with my arm and regarded him for a long moment. My thoughts cleared. “What’s the object?”
“It’s a rectangular stone tablet.” He held out his hand and cupped it slightly. “The size of a small book. Rounded corners. The front and back are also rounded like dough that has just started to rise. On the tablet are hundreds of small symbols pressed into both sides. It is the color of dried mud and looks worthless to the untrained eye.”
“But the symbols are not,” I surmised.
“No, they are not. They were priceless enough to start a war.”
“And what do you plan to do with the tablet?” Visions of Llyran and Grigori Tennin flashed before my eyes. “Because I can tell you, I’m up to here with psychos out to rule the world via ancient relics and weapons.”
Leander’s lips curled into a genuine smile, which turned into a laugh. It was a rich sound, warm and deep. He opened his hands in a sign of innocence, though his expression was cocky and anything but.
“The tablet holds information about the First Ones and their Disciples.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I let out a loud sigh. Why did it always come back to them? “First Ones I know, but Disciples . . . never heard of them.”
“They are beings imbued with the power to serve and protect their lord, a First One, as myths call them—we call them Archons. When the Archons slept, the Disciples stood guard until one day they, too, slept.”
“And the tablet is necessary because?”
His look became impatient. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because stacking the odds in our favor would be a good fucking idea. Because if we don’t and the Circe figure out what they’ve got, then we’re all going to the Afterlife. Is that reason enough for you, Madigan?”
I rubbed a hand down my face. Leander grabbed my arm. Power radiated from him. His fingers dug hard into my muscle. “We need that tablet or we’re fucked, and it’s only a matter of time until the shit storm arrives.”
I winced and tried to pull away but he held me firmly. “How do you know about me? About Sachâth?”
“I know all about Ahkneri and her sword. You think those anonymous politicians in Washington don’t answer to someone higher? You think your new job and everyone else like you are there for the hell of it? Think Tennin and the Sons of Dawn are bad? You ain’t seen the shit I deal with on a daily basis. You’re living in a bubble, Madigan. Think on that.”
“Who are you?”
“One who knows what’s coming. Do we have a deal or not?”
“We’ll exchange in Atlanta. My terms. If the antidote works, you get your rock.”
“I’ll wait in the city. Contact me when you’re ready.” He shoved a business card into my hand, released my arm, and stepped around me, bumping my shoulder.
Jerk.
After he left, I glanced down. No name on the card, just an address and a number. The address I committed to memory, not that it was difficult; I’d been there numerous times.
Helios Tower.