Heir of Ashes (The Roxanne Fosch Files #1)

Chapter 2

When I awoke, dawn was already approaching. I had the mother of all headaches, and my leg was on fire. The faint light seeping from the edges of the drapes burned my eyes like acid. The soft chirp of early birds pierced my skull like knives.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the memories of what had happened flooding in. I needed to get the hell out of there. I took a deep, aching breath and forced my eyes open again. When my vision cleared, the first thing I saw was the mummified figure beside me. The faint stench of rotting meat permeated the air, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. I got up slowly, mindful of my mangled leg, and supported myself with a hand on the dresser. The pain was unbelievable, and I swayed once when the room tilted, but a couple of deep breaths helped the world—and my nervous stomach—settle again.

My next step was clear: I packed all my belongings into my duffel bag and limped out of there. As I was locking the door, I remembered my rent. I still had the envelope with the week’s paycheck tucked inside my coat pocket. It would cover the rent, plus any trouble and cleaning expenses required to deal with the blood and mummified corpse. I pulled out the envelope and placed it on the dresser alongside the key. I quickly limped my way outside to the back of the building where I had parked Thunder, the ancient truck a guy had sold to me over a year ago.

I took the I-84 south, stopping for nothing, surviving on energy bars and gas station bathroom breaks. For two weeks, I caught no tails, no familiar SUVs, no recognizable faces, no uniforms lurking in the shadows.

The relentless rain had been my only companion, pouring in torrents and flooding towns along my route. I avoided bigger cities where PSS facilities were located, and that strategy seemed to have been working well for me. In the year and a half since I’d escaped, I’d been found only three times, the vampire incident two weeks ago being the third and most recent one.

Eventually, I spotted a narrow, waterlogged road with tire marks and tufts of weeds in the middle. I decided to follow it, knowing it would likely lead to a tiny, out-of-the-way small town where I could finally rest. I needed a real bed, a substantial meal … and a hot cup of coffee. My stomach growled like an engine, and I guzzled down the last warm soda, aware that I’d need a bathroom break soon. The sky was beginning to darken, even though sunset was still hours away.

It took me a while and a bit of backtracking, but I finally found the town’s B the metal sheets hadn’t come down. Yet. I had never been afraid of thunder, but this was different, filling my veins with icy dread.

Bad omen. I sipped my coffee, but the unease clung to me like a shadow. I shifted in my seat, wary of what fate had in store for me. Almost as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I shoved it away, afraid to tempt fate.

Fickle fate, always ready to throw me into an endless abyss. On the next thunderclap, I noticed the man approaching, his gaze locked on me. A chill ran down my spine, and my heart skipped a beat before I could think clearly. This was a public place; there was no cause for alarm. I was too stressed out. I took another sip of coffee, the caffeine soothing my nerves and fueling my irritation. Couldn’t I finish my breakfast in peace without attracting unwanted attention? I watched him close the distance, doing nothing to hide my annoyance, hoping he would take the hint. Yeah, right. I popped a French fry into my mouth, then took a bite of my turkey sandwich. When the guy was about fifteen feet away, his aura flickered into existence. The food in my mouth suddenly gained the taste and texture of cardboard, and I washed it down with a gulp of coffee. A nervous chill fluttered in my gut. Outwardly, I showed no signs of fear, but my heart pounded wildly, and blood roared in my ears.

Because, shit, the man approaching me was not an ordinary human. The tall man in the dark coat was a preternatural—a crossbreed between a born vampire and a werewolf.

According to Dr. Maxwell’s journal, a born vampire had a yellow aura, a thin line contouring around the body, while a were-animal had a dark green aura. The man approaching had a twisted double helix of green and yellow, like strands of DNA. Not long ago, I’d have mistaken him for something else, but I had learned to interpret people’s auras as a necessity for my survival.

It was funny how necessity sharpened instincts and revealed hidden skills. Since escaping the headquarters, preternaturals were the people I absolutely had to avoid. Most were mercenaries for hire, and the PSS had no qualms about hiring one or three to go after me. I couldn’t distinguish friend from foe, so I had cut myself off from the preternatural community and as a result, any helpful guidance, something I desperately needed.

I took another bite of my sandwich and washed it down with coffee. I tasted neither. My already uneasy stomach roiled, threatening to reject the few bites I had taken. I scanned my surroundings with a casual glance. Although the food court was almost empty, there were still people nearby, and it bothered me. Did he think that if he approached with witnesses present, I’d accompany him rather than make a scene?

Oh, but he was sorely mistaken. I couldn’t care less if the world discovered about us preternaturals. Yet I’d heard it was bad business for hired mercs to get caught performing anything abnormal in front of ordinary humans. Or was he considering using them as leverage to force my cooperation? I glanced around again, taking a sip of my coffee to cover the motion and took count. Four people. Two women chatting excitedly about someone’s wedding, and someone named Josh Jr. who was, apparently, a total douche canoe. Another girl, who looked young enough to be ditching school, texted furiously on her phone. The fourth was a middle-aged woman with a reproachful look aimed at the ditcher, seated beside a cart full of groceries. They were seated on the opposite side of the food court. It wasn’t far enough, but it had given me the illusion of solace when I’d arrived.

Four people. Not what one would expect with the storm in its full glory outside. In any other town, there would have been a couple dozen people waiting out the downpour. Four people. Not enough to really count … But they were four too many. Despite my uneasiness, I didn’t know if I’d risk my life, my freedom, for someone else’s. I wasn’t selfish, or at least I didn’t like to think I was. However, I’d seen too much suffering and pain to risk going back to the PSS over someone I’d never met. Besides, I harbored no fantasy of being a superwoman. I’d give up my abilities without hesitation to take back my life where I’d left it ten years ago.

All those rambling thoughts passed through my mind in the span of three steps. I took another bite of my sandwich, chewed a couple of times, and swallowed the lump, almost choking when it refused to go down. I immediately took a sip of coffee, the scalding liquid burning all the way down to my stomach. I barely noticed. My heart raced wildly—and if his vampire senses were trained enough, he’d hear its frantic thump-thump-thump the moment he reached me. At least, that’s what I assumed. I wasn’t a vampire, but I could hear other people’s heartbeats, provided I was close enough and focused. I forced myself to take deep, steadying breaths, willing my heart to slow to a normal pace.

When the man stood over me, I glanced at him as if his presence had just registered. He offered me a lopsided, dazzling smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. I smiled back, a polite, distant smile, and took a sip of the coffee, but I didn’t touch the sandwich or the fries.

“That’s a hell of a downpour,” he said, shaking his head and pulling the chair across from mine. “Mind if I sit here?”

“I don’t see why you should,” I murmured into my coffee.

My voice was low enough to be muffled by the sound of the pounding rain on the rafters, but I was sure he could hear me loud and clear. Which he ignored, as I expected he would. My mind whirled with possibilities of skedaddling out of there. Absently, I noticed small things. He had a cup like mine in his hand, which he placed on the table in front of him. Since Starbucks was slightly to my back and there was a tall beam that blocked my peripheral view of it, it explained why I hadn’t spotted the man at first. His hands were broad around the tall cup, his fingernails clean and clipped.

“Are you new in town? Haven’t seen you around before.” He took a sip from his cup, his eyes intent on mine.

That threw me off. Was he a local, passing time at the mall?

I shrugged. “Just meeting a friend. Guess the storm held him up.”

“Oh,” he said with interest, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Who?” He had dark, stormy gray eyes, his irises ringed in black.

“Josh Jr.,” I replied without thinking. Yeah, Josh Jr. the douche.

His lips pursed, and his eyebrows went up a fraction. Was that humor in his eyes? Of course, he could have overheard the conversation just as easily as I had.

“But where are my manners?” I asked in an abashed tone and extended my hand. Something flickered in his eyes, quickly masked.

I continued, “Name’s Eliza. Friends call me Liz.”

“Logan Graham,” he said, engulfing my hand in his large one, “and the lack of manners is totally mine.” He gave me a sheepish smile, my hand still in his. “Your beauty sort of distracted me.”

Well, I’d heard cheesier. Not so subtly, I tugged my hand free and “accidentally” bumped my cup of coffee with my elbow. It fell and spilled hot coffee all over my lap. Shit, but it was really hot. I stood, toppling over my chair with an unbelievably loud crash, gaining the attention of the other occupants of the food court. Surprised, Logan sprang up and, like magic, produced a wad of napkins. I accepted them, grimacing as I patted myself dry. All four women had stopped what they had been doing and were watching us avidly.

From under my lashes, I noticed Logan hesitate as he reached out with a napkin, then drop his hand again. Yeah, that’s right. You try that, and I’ll bite it off. I tossed the mess of crumpled, stained napkins onto the table and looked up at him with an apologetic, chagrined smile. “I am such a klutz.” I gestured down to my coffee-soaked black pants as if he hadn’t noticed them before. “Uh, guess I’ll go to the restroom, see what I can do about this.” Again, I motioned downward, noticing that Logan wasn’t saying anything. Had I overplayed this act? I cleared my throat, feeling a mortifying flush creeping up my neck. “Um, if—”

Was that exasperation or frustration I saw? I cleared my throat again, my flush deepening. “Ah, if Josh Jr. shows up, would you mind telling him I’d be right back?”

I hoped fate wasn’t so cruel as to send Josh the douche swaggering into the food court just then. Logan frowned and looked around, his gray eyes—wolf eyes—skimming the large space in a way that I could tell observed everything and missed nothing. They were trained eyes.

My heart skipped a beat, but I managed to keep calm. I picked up my purse, left my Prada jacket and half-eaten meal, and got going while the going was still good. I moved as fast as possible without giving the impression I was fleeing. There were eyes on me all the way to the restroom, and I knew more than Logan watched. Had I pulled a convincing act, or had I been too obvious? Vaguely, I wondered what kind of gossip would be told about the sudden appearance and mysterious disappearance of Josh’s “friend”. And what of my beloved baby-blue Prada jacket? I sniffed, opened the door to the restroom, and stepped inside.

The first thing I noticed was the lack of windows. “Figures,” I muttered. It had been too easy getting to the restroom without complications. Maybe Logan had already known there was no escape route from here. Or maybe the half- eaten meal and jacket I’d left behind had done the trick, and he was waiting for me to return. Or maybe he was just dense. I recalled the sharp look he had cast around the food court and shook my head. No, dense he was not. But maybe he hadn’t been hired by the Scientists, and his interest had been genuine. I sighed. I had always attracted unwanted attention. When I was younger, I’d considered it a blessing.

I searched the stalls for company and—as expected—I was alone. I cracked the restroom door open and peeked out. The man was still where I left him, mopping coffee with soggy napkins. He looked distracted, but he’d definitely see me if I left this way. His interest might have been genuine, and his apparent local status gave him credibility, but I wasn’t taking chances. What if the PSS found out I’d holed up there for the night, and it just happened Logan was conveniently close?

Hello, paranoia. Mmm. There was also the speech that the vampire, fire mage, and werewolf had given me before their attack, which had been odd, rehearsed, and totally something the PSS would insist upon. Something about a contract and ten-year documents, and if I didn’t obey, they’d be forced to hurt me and yada-yada-yada, or something to that extent. Either I hadn’t given Logan the opportunity to recite it, or he’d heard what happened to the previous hired mercs who’d tried shanghaiing me and had decided on a more deceitful approach.

Not that I had intended to kill any of his predecessors. My head still hurt from whatever that psychic thing I’d done against the vampire had been, and guilt and nausea walked hand-in-hand where the fire mage was concerned. The mage had found me the day after I’d escaped, in the parking lot of a diner where I had stopped for my first meal outside the PSS in nine years. He had threatened to burn me alive if I didn’t accompany him back. In hindsight, I could tell his threat and demonstrative white ball of fire had been nothing but a perfunctory warning, but back then I hadn’t known that. Back then, I hadn’t yet understood I was nothing but a paycheck for people like him. All I’d cared about was that I didn’t want to die so soon after escaping, even if I had sworn never to let the PSS capture me alive again.

So, I’d reached deep inside me, past the anger I feared, into the slumbering part that lived in the depth of my soul, and without giving myself a chance to think twice, yanked it out. I had no idea that the fire would hit that shield and bounce back and attack the mage, though it had crossed my mind the PSS had once tried coaxing this reaction before and failed. So there the mage was, lying dead by his own weapon, adding one more guilt to the pile of accumulating regret. I’d buried the body, not out of respect but out of fear that the PSS would realize what I’d done and send the next merc sooner. Though I remember seeing a figure on the other side of the diner’s glass door, no one had come out to inquire why I was digging a hole with my bare hands. No one had seen me; no one had heard the commotion. If they had, they’d been smart enough to stay away. Back then, I didn’t wonder why.

I paced the length of the bathroom, trying to figure out a way to get out without any need for confrontations. Werewolves were notoriously vicious fighters, and vampires were fast and strong—a deadly combination. If I had read his aura right. My gut clenched with anxiety at the possibility he was something else, something new.

It was only when I began gnawing my already short thumbnail that I spotted ventilation on top of one of the stalls. “Why not?” I murmured. It worked in the movies.

I locked the bathroom and advanced to the third stall where the ventilation window was positioned. Standing on top of the closed toilet, I peered inside. It would be a tight fit and the dust would stick all over my wet clothes, but desperate times and all that shit.

I reached for the shutter, jerking my hand as it transformed into talons, fur, and a pinkish padded palm/paw. I inserted my talons into the narrow slats and pried the cover off, sending screws flying across the bathroom, some clattering as far as the sinks. I was confident the racket would be muffled by the pounding rain. My deepest concern was that Logan would come knocking if I took too long.

I peered inside the airway, jerking my hand back to normal. The inside dead-ended about ten feet ahead and opened both to the right and left. I shoved my purse inside, a last thought going for the Prada jacket I’d gotten for a song and a whistle. Then I followed behind my monstrosity of a purse. I took the left and kept going, taking random turns, dust sticking to my wet pants. I finally found an exit through the ventilation panel in the changing room of a department store.

Outside, the storm raged on, and I was soaked to the bone in mere seconds. I cursed the foolhardy decision of leaving Thunder by the laundromat to give my legs some much-needed stretching. I sprinted all the way, teeth chattering. As I reached the laundromat, I was freezing cold and probably turning a light shade of blue. I stuffed my warm, dry clothes into my duffel, knowing they were going to wrinkle something fierce, and dashed to the truck. I tossed the duffel in the back and clambered inside. At least the rain had washed away the worst of the coffee and dust.

There was a flash of light, instantly followed by the clap of thunder. I looked around and … nothing. There was nothing. No cars, no people, nothing but thunder and rain. Rain and rain and more rain. A downpour like this one would eventually be discussed in history books. Followed by a religious title and the talk of doom.

Bad omen. I shivered and reached for the ignition key. Fortunately, the engine roared to life on the first try, and I slammed the gas pedal and sped away from that forgettable small town. Maybe it was time to give big cities a shot, seeing that the PSS was surely in on my small-town strategy.