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Once we’ve cleaned ourselves up as best we can, Ashen reaches behind me and pulls my sword from the back seat, laying a final, lingering kiss on my neck as he rests the katana across my lap and climbs into his seat. I look at the saya and think about the wars fought with this blade so long ago. I don't know if I was more reckless then, ru
"All right, vampire?" he asks after we get out of the car and stand by the hood, looking up toward the bar. The giant silver letters loom across the brick like trapped and angry spirits. The Maqlu, it says, molten black flames licking the letters. I clench my jaw and stare at the rendering of fire that burns the words above the door. "Vampire?"
I look at Ashen and feel the bright blaze of red light that consumes my pupils. I give a single nod and tighten my grip on the silk threads wrapped around the handle of the sword. Before I can convince myself to steal the car and drive away, I stalk across the street toward the club, Ashen meeting my strides as he keeps to my left shoulder.
"I heard many theories of who killed Bobby Sarno on the roof of his own club. An ancient clan of shapeshifting witches. A vengeful angel bent on sending a message to the covens. Reality, it seems, is even more surprising. Was it truly you?" Ashen asks as we keep to the right of the building, heading down a narrow alley toward the back entrance. I nod but I don't meet his eyes. "Why?"
"You already know why."
Ashen falls silent. He looks up at the building and I feel his body tense beside me. "The Maqlu," Ashen says, more to himself than to me as the translation of the words on the brick takes hold. "The Burning."
We stop at the corner of the club to listen, but there are no sounds, no voices. I smell tobacco and brandy, the scent of ink warmed by skin. Ashen grasps my wrist and I turn toward him as smoke envelops our legs and climbs past my waist. Flame coils within Ashen's eyes.
"He was the last one that was there. The last on my list," I say before he can ask a question I don't want to answer. "He got what he deserved."
Ashen keeps his fiery gaze on mine for a long moment before he gives a single nod. His hand stays wrapped across my skin. The smoke dissolves but the heat still burns in his eyes.
"Try not to kill any witches until we have answers," Ashen says, bending his head to keep his unwavering stare locked to mine. It burns an indelible mark right onto my soul. "Once we're done, take them all."
"Why? They weren't there."
"They knew Sarno, and that's close enough."
Hellfire erupts across the sword Ashen grasps in his free hand, and when he's ready he lets go of my wrist, his fingertips following my palm, down the lines of my fingers, down the pads of flesh at their tips. The heat of his touch leaves mine but his eyes linger for a moment longer. His rage stays locked behind within like a beast that roams behind bars, waiting for its chance to be released.
Ashen turns away and I follow him to the heavy iron door that faces an empty loading dock. He tries the handle, but no surprise, it's locked with more than just metal. There are spells at work here, I can feel the hum of their current in the air. The scent of star anise and rosemary and mica infuse the unsettled air.
"How did you get in the last time?" Ashen asks as he unscrews a tiny spring on the end of the handle of his sword.
"The front door," I say, giving a shrug as Ashen looks up with a questioning brow. "Ediye helped with a disguise. Besides, it's not like he was expecting me. He thought I'd been dead for three centuries."
Ashen gives a faint smile and focuses his attention on twisting an ampule free of its compartment in the handle of his sword. He opens it and I smell sulfur and ground bone. There's some other shit in there too that I don't want to think too much about. Hair steeped in the scent of milk. The skin of something long extinct, sweet like powdered sugar and burned in cedar.
Ashen pulls a metal stopper free of the ampule and taps some of the dust within across the door handle before returning the vial to the hidden compartment of his sword. Static crackles and light arcs across the metal. Froth bubbles and drips onto the asphalt below. When it subsides, Ashen gives a swift strike with his sword to sever the neck of the handle. The bulbous metal head rolls to our feet.
We step into the darkness of a narrow, windowless, utilitarian corridor lit by a single fluorescent bulb. There's a door on either side and one at the end. I hold my breath in the silence. I lay my hand to Ashen's chest and he does the same. I close my eyes and concentrate on the sounds I can hear. Two heartbeats. The ripple of sulfurous flame. There's nothing else close. I shake my head and we breathe again, walking to the end of the hall.
The door is unlocked. Ashen pushes it open just enough that I can listen. Again, I hear nothing. We drift into the corridor like a poisonous gas.
I know every hallway and room here. I memorized them with Ediye months before I ever walked inside. Ashen looks down at me and seems to know I wouldn't have left Bobby Sarno up to chance, and he'd be right about that. If I was going to wait three hundred years, I wasn't about to fuck it up with poor pla
I jerk my head to the left. The offices are in that direction.
We follow the corridor of black painted brick lined with signed posters of artists and bands that have played in The Maqlu over the last several years. Most of the messages start with 'Dear Bobby,' or even worse, 'To Mr Sarno,' and it if my stomach wasn't so fucking empty I'd want to vomit all over them. Fucking prick.
When we're about halfway down the hall I spot a framed photo of Bobby with his arm around Cardi B. She looks a little grossed out to be fair.
My fist snaps out like a viper and I smash the glass.
"What the fuck, Lu?" Ashen hisses as he watches me pull the photo down and tear Bobby's smug, bloated face away from Cardi's.
"My bad," I whisper, patting her image back into the frame and dropping the half with Bobby's face next to my boot. I hold onto Ashen's fierce glare as I twist Sarno's ugly head into the shards of glass. "Sorry... so terribly sorry."
Ashen rolls his eyes and turns away, leading us to a corner with a right turn. He leans forward and listens, then motions for me to follow. Doors line either side. At the end is a turn to the left that leads to the public-facing section of the club, which won't be open until dusk descends. We drift past the first set of doors. Ashen is nearly at the second when I reach out and grasp his hand. He lurches to a halt.
I point one finger in the air. I tap my palm to my chest in the rhythm of a heartbeat. I hook my thumb to the left. The flame surges across Ashen's blade.
Ashen grips the handle. It keeps silent beneath his slow and careful hand. He pushes the door open and we step inside the office.
A man sits slumped forward in a chair, his hands bound to its arms, his ankles to its legs. A gag stained with bloody saliva is tied through his mouth. His chest is heavy with sleep. Even with the cloth across his tongue I can smell dehydration on his breath.
Jessie Fucking Bates.
He startles awake as though I called his name. He looks at Ashen, then at me, then back again. I see hope and relief in his eyes. Ashen glances at me and his emotions are buried beneath deep sediment like a creature hiding under the sand, waiting to attack. He stalks toward Jessie and rips the gag free of his mouth.