Heir of Ashes (The Roxanne Fosch Files #1)

Chapter 10

I awoke in the middle of the night, teeth chattering as an icy chill gripped me. My eyes opened to find Logan asleep beside me. It was disturbing, sleeping beside a man I hardly knew, and I wondered if he meant for me to sleep on the floor and I was just too dim to realize it.

He was facing me, radiating a beckoning heat, and while I lay there shivering, I watched him breathe. His expression looked tough even asleep, but there was a boyish undertone, a relaxed quality to him while he slept that softened some of the hard edges. Dark stubble covered his cheeks, a shadow I could see even with the room cast into darkness, and I wondered if he had to shave every day to keep his face smooth. He breathed evenly, his lips closed, so he didn’t snore or drool. Had he watched me sleep?

Another shiver coursed through me, and I burrowed closer to his warmth, telling myself I’d pull back before he woke up. Movement outside the window caught my attention, and I glanced up. What I saw through the slightly parted blind slats caused the fine hairs on my body to stand at attention. The figure silhouetted by the moonlight was not the shadow of anything human. Alarms rang out in my head.

Even as I watched, and the unnerving comprehension I was facing something unnatural sunk in deep, it began to mist away. The air in the room cooled a couple of degrees more, and my breath formed tiny clouds in front of me. I reacted instinctively and just in time, too. I reached for Logan and rolled us out of bed as an eight-foot figure dressed in what looked like square patches of leather materialized by his side, right over his head. I caught sight of the figure’s skeletal hand as we rolled, punching down on the pillow—where Logan’s head had been a second ago—before we went tumbling to the floor.

I had enough time to process the soft, unnatural glow emanating from the skeletal fist before my breath was knocked out. Then things got worse. Even as I caught another movement from the second window, Logan was pushing to his feet, raising his gun to aim point-blank at my forehead. It didn’t escape me that he had slept with a gun on him, anticipating that I would double-cross him. But trust issues aside, there was another shape materializing behind him. Logan finally noticed the other figure standing with its skeletal hand embedded in his pillow. A low curse escaped his throat, along with an honest-to-God growl, before he shifted his aim and shot twice. The bullets went through, making two neat holes in the wall behind it. Hopefully, no one occupied the other room. Only seconds had passed since I had spotted the first figure outside.

The moment the figure finished materializing behind Logan, it went after him, its hand emitting that soft glow. From the way Logan’s attention didn’t waver to the threat behind him and the lack of congealing breath balloons, I figured Logan couldn’t sense their presence at the same level that I did. So, I wrestled Logan to the floor, the glowing skeletal hand glancing off my forearm. It was smooth, it was solid, and it was frigidly cold. What I’d thought were leather patches turned out to be thin, square plates interlocked all over the figure’s body, like the patchwork of a strange quilt. Nothing was left uncovered but its hands, feet, and face—the latter of which was partially obscured by the end of the plates covering the sides of the head.

Logan hit the edge of the wooden chest with a woof and a curse, and the flat screen jostled but didn’t fall on us.

My upper arm throbbed with a cold burning sensation, but besides registering the pain, I didn’t pause to examine the damage. I tried kicking the figure’s leg from under it, but like the bullets, my bare feet just went through.

The figure changed course and advanced on us, no faster than an ordinary human despite being something else. The other figure, after disentangling its hand from the pillow, started around the bed after us.

“What the hell is that?” I squeaked.

I dove to the left, Logan to the right. We both dodged the glowing hand inches before it reached us, though Logan had to dodge the other figure as it swiped at him.

“Watch out!” I shouted as a skeletal hand almost smashed into Logan’s skull. It was pure reflex since Logan was keeping both in his sight now.

The one closest to me adjusted course and reached for me. Logan fired again, and again the bullet went through. I used the only weapon I had. My fingers jerked, changing into the sharp, scalpel-like talons I had learned to use so well during my years as a captive. My talons, unlike those from certain animals, had a flexibility to them, and were the size and length of my fingers. As the glowing hand came down, I struck, but unlike Logan’s bullets, my talons connected. The figure howled in pain—or anger. I realized it was the first sound it had made since it had appeared. The howl died when the figure burst into a brilliant flash of light, and I had to blink the spots from my vision. By the time I could see clearly, the figure had dematerialized into mist, and even as I watched, it was forming again. The howl resumed as if it had never faltered—and it was a definite snarl of anger. All I had managed to do as it reformed was piss the thing off. My heart drummed with fear and adrenaline, making me short of breath.

“We have to get out of here!” Logan shouted, jumping onto the bed, grabbing the keys and laptop by the nightstand.

I narrowly avoided a blow to my head, diving for the bed and the journal under the pillow. Our advantage was that we were faster than them. My duffel bag was by the nightstand, my purse already inside. I picked it up and flung it behind my back. By ordinary standards, it was heavy, approximately fifty pounds, but I carried it like it weighed only five. Logan jumped to my side, and we both evaded the second figure, opened the door and ran barefoot to the Range Rover parked a few yards ahead.

“We’re lucky they’re slow!” The words had barely left my mouth when both figures materialized right in front of us.

Logan grabbed my arm to keep me from colliding with a glowing hand, but my other arm kept arcing forward, following momentum. I pulled it back just before it hit the figure and lowered my head, evading the hand that was trying to flatten it to the ground. Was it my imagination, or had it moved faster than before? There was total silence surrounding the figures, a vacuum of sound that kept me off balance.

One figure lunged at me, and I reacted without thinking, jerking my hand up and hitting the glowing hand, connecting right at the edge of the plates where the glowing ended and its wrist began. The impact sent a jolt of icy pain up my arm, numbing it to my shoulder. The glowing hand flew off and disintegrated into the air.

The figure let out a piercing shriek, bursting into blinding light before reforming, its eyes glowing demonic red. Its hand did not reform. But the other hand was still there, and its left foot was now glowing. It had definitely gained speed, confirming my previous suspicion.

I dropped the duffel and avoided the kick to my head, but I wasn’t fast enough, and it connected with my left shoulder. There was a sickening pop as I spun with the force and almost fell flat.

Beside me, Logan wasn’t faring any better. Dimly, I heard him shout something and hurry away, drawing one of the figures after him. I looked up in time to see the one-handed figure following … almost in a blur! No wonder I couldn’t dodge the foot in time.

By now, other people, guests in the motel, were coming out to see what the commotion was all about. A crash came from inside the motel room, followed by a shrill scream. Logan had hit it. Someone warned they had called the police, but I couldn’t see how the police would be of any help. God, there were children in the motel. There was another loud crash from the room seconds before Logan came running out. The skeletal hand of the figure in front of me glowed, reaching for me, and I kicked it, knowing that it would only make it faster and angrier. But my arm was still numb, my left shoulder hurt like hell, and the few seconds I’d get would be better than none at all.

Logan approached fast, as if the devil was behind him. Or maybe just its minion. Almost upon him was the one-handed figure. Its plates, which previously looked dull, now shone as if polished, making clinking noises as it moved. As they neared, I registered that Logan was clutching something in his fist. His eyes never wavered from the slower figure materializing beside me, as if he was oblivious to the threat at his back.

Everything after that was a blur. The figure behind Logan jumped to attack him, one hand outstretched in a forward claw, its figure, plates and all, emanating that soft glow. I opened my mouth to shout a warning, and time stopped as I tried to suck in enough air. The figure in front of me fully reformed, moving with renewed speed, zeroing in on Logan as the greater threat. It lunged for Logan, the other skeletal figure descending ever closer to his back.

Logan thrust his hand forward, and white powder sprayed all over the obscured face of the second figure, causing it to suddenly start glowing. Even the plates shone, making it seem like it had previously been just a washed-out version of itself. Then he shifted direction, tackling me back to the ground and rolling us away just as the two figures collided. There was that blinding flash of light, followed by an ear-piercing shriek. Pain seared through my shoulder, leaving me blind, deaf, and gasping in agony. Logan shielded me with his body from the worst of the explosive supernova, but all I could see was the endless white.

Then he took hold of my shoulders, his hand like hot iron on an open wound when it touched my left side. When he shook me, the world went bright yellow, then tunneled down to a pinprick. I hissed through clenched teeth, and he let go, noticing the unnatural angle of my shoulder. He said something, but I could hardly hear, much less read his blurry lips. He grabbed my forearm and shoulder and waited.

“What?” I managed to ask before he jerked my shoulder back into place.

***

Once Logan had fashioned a makeshift sling for my arm, we peeled away from the motel in a hurry. My vision was a bit hazy, and I was still partially deaf from the sensory explosion.

Logan was talking on his cellphone, looking in a much better functioning state than I was. Morning was starting to break and the sky had that beautiful orange and pink tinge mixed with a streak of gray and blue. Snatches of Logan’s conversation filtered through, but the pieces I grasped made little sense to me, except for the fact that he was talking about the attack.

“ … Two of them, no … I don’t know … to check and … Douglas … this kind of activity … focused on us both … Yeah.” He glanced at me, then said hurriedly, “See you later.” And hung up.

“Who was that?” I asked, struggling to pull on my boots. The worst of the numbness was gone from my right arm, and although pinpricks still stabbed at my fingertips, I no longer winced at the prickling pain. My voice still sounded tiny and distant to my ears.

“Someone who’ll make sure a damage-control team gets to the scene.”

“Huh? Did I hear that right? What are they going to tell all those people?”

Logan shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever it takes. I presume they’ll make some calls, get others to come, and make sure these people get a logical explanation.”

“What can they possibly tell them?” I wondered in astonishment.

“Whatever they see fit. That’s their job, and they have experience dealing with this kind of situation. Besides, even if someone doesn’t believe them and goes around blathering about it, few will listen.”

“So what? Someone will come and tell everyone they didn’t really see what they actually saw and expect everyone to believe them?” I was incredulous.

“Exactly.” He paused a moment before adding, “You know, it’s people who stick to what they saw that are actually the instigators of alien sightings, strange bursts of lights in the sky, and so on … not that they’re all false rumors anyway.” He glanced at me once. “It’s strange what a couple of words can do. Besides, people see whatever they want to see, believe whatever they want to believe. If you tell them they witnessed the set of a horror movie, they’ll believe it. It’s better—easier—than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“The truth,” he said simply, and Jack Nicholson came to mind. “Look, no ordinary humans want to believe there are stronger, more powerful beings than themselves out there.”

“What were they?”

Logan glanced at me again, this time a bit thoughtfully, then turned back to the road. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel before relaxing again. “Guardians.”

“Of what?”

“The Leeway. For the paths to the other worlds.”

I had read mention of the worlds in Dr. Maxwell’s journal—the summoning of other beings and the travels to them, but there hadn’t been anything about guardians anywhere.

“Have you ever given blood willingly?”

The question was so out of context that it took me a moment to process. I was about to say no when he added, “Think about it before you answer.”

I considered it, sifting through my memories. “The PSS took plenty over the years.”

Logan hesitated a moment. “Other than them?”

“No. But I’ve bled plenty around.” My brows furrowed at the stirring of a thought. “Why?”

“Anyone with a faint magic ability could summon guardians to attack a specific target if they’re gifted with blood samples to provide, let’s say, a beacon for the guardians to follow.”

I mulled over his words, not liking the conclusion I was drawing. “To be clear, you’re saying if I ever consent to someone taking a drop of my blood, they could use it to summon guardians of the other worlds to hunt me down?”

“Among other things.”

“The PSS—”

“Not them, no.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever willingly given anyone my blood.” I paused, then asked, “What does that leave us?”

Logan’s face was very grim when he announced, “Mr. Drammen.”

Remo Drammen, the most feared black sorcerer, the person I managed to escape from with a building full of his men. I could imagine him angry enough to do so. He probably considered my escape a personal insult to his power and authority.

My thoughts drifted to the guardians’ attack. At first, they had moved no faster than an ordinary human, gaining speed every time we landed a strike. When we’d managed to dodge and run, they’d just materialized in front of us, resuming their relentless attack. Efficient, strong, capable, hard to kill. Remo Drammen had been very angry to send two of those after me. I shuddered at the thought of what he’d do next.

“What was that you threw on the guardian?”

“Salt.”

“To bind it.” I nodded. I’d read that before in Dr. Maxwell’s journal.

“Yes. They weren’t physically there. They were only projecting the killing blow.”

“The glowing limb.” That’s why they’d looked dull and made no sound in the beginning, I thought.

“Exactly. Salt binds. I used it to bind them physically. Once they were bound, they were nothing but moving piles of bones.”

“So they killed each other when they connected,” I concluded.

“No. I don’t think they can die. Not in this world anyway. They were freed from the summoning and went back to guard whatever path they came from.”

“But if salt can bind them like that, wouldn’t that make them vulnerable? I mean, a pile of bones is very easy to disrupt …”

Logan was shaking his head even before I finished talking. “If one of us tried hitting them with anything that wasn’t forged in any of the other worlds, we’d have disrupted the salt binding and made them deadlier. Besides, I didn’t mean that literally. Didn’t you notice their armor?”

I had. “And if the guardians had a drop of my blood?” I asked quietly.

Logan’s lips tightened. “Mr. Drammen accomplished exactly what he had planned to accomplish, with or without the blood. He has a connection to the Leeway no one else has. He doesn’t need the blood sample to send anything after you. Apparently, he doesn’t want you dead.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “He already tried to kill me once, back in the motel. With the Bad Boy Team.”

“No. If he wanted you dead, he’d have summoned stronger guardians, ones that carry weapons like swords and axes, and they would have been physically present.”

His certainty gave me the impression that this wasn’t his first encounter with a guardian.

“You’ve fought them before,” I guessed.

“Sort of,” he said. There was an edge to his tone I couldn’t decipher. “I was present when two guardians—armed ones—attacked someone I knew.”

“You won?” I prompted.

“I survived. But they were never after me. They were focused only on their target. It was vicious and fast.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said, but the grief and guilt in his tone were unmistakable.

We lapsed into silence after that. I pulled a brown sweater that smelled freshly of soap from my duffel and slipped it over the oversized t-shirt. Although I looked silly in the brown sweater, pink flannel pants, and black boots, I was at least warm.

Not having much else to do, I marveled at how banged up I was. The bruise on my face was gone, but my back, from shoulder to tailbone, was a tapestry of black and blue, as I had discovered after my shower. If it weren’t for Remo’s ward and the hard slam against the glass bar, my ribs and back would have healed already.

In fact, my shoulder and the black burning bruise on my forearm—courtesy of the guardians—were what pained me the most. Even my previously charred hand wasn’t giving me any trouble, though it still looked hideously deformed.

All in all, I looked like I’d taken a turn with a mild tornado.

“I couldn’t find any matches with the descriptions you gave me last night,” Logan said, and there was that edge again. I angled myself to look at him, but I wasn’t sure if it was grief I heard or something else. “I called in some favors long overdue, and I got three names that weren’t listed: Elizabeth M. Deninsky, Elizabeth Whitmore Longlan, and Liz Beth Anthony Whitmore. Any ring a bell?”

“No.”

Logan’s lips thinned in annoyance, or maybe disappointment. “Unfortunately, my source couldn’t get any photos of these three, or personal information, except for their mailing addresses.” He shot me a quick glance and continued. “One lives in Hollywood Park, another in the Sierra Oak Vista, and the third in Midtown Sacramento. We’ll check them all as soon as we arrive.”

I nodded, but my throat had gone dry. I used to live in Hollywood Park. Could it be? Could she still live near our old house, in the same neighborhood—waiting—hoping for me to come back?

Hope, so long dead, flickered inside me, igniting back to life. I wanted to squelch it, afraid of a disappointing surprise, but excitement kept the spark alive, eager for a lead after ten years. The sooner we checked them, the faster I’d know.

Logan must have mistaken my silence for doubt because he added in a reassuring tone, “We’ll find her. I promise you, Roxanne. If she’s not any of those three, we’ll broaden the search for the entire state. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go even broader. We’ll keep searching until we find her, even if we have to scour the entire world.”

We drove a straight ten minutes before the silence was broken again. “You know, the Society is bound to be watching her. Even if she’s not any of the three, they’ll probably keep tabs on them for the simple fact that they bear similar names, in case you ever show up. They’ve probably watched the footage from Las Vegas too, and if they’re half as smart as they advertise, they’ll have figured you’re heading that way anyway.”

I nodded, ignoring the ball of fear that curled inside me. “Tell me something about my father.”

“He was a—son of a bitch.”

I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He cursed again, and when I followed his narrow gaze, I understood. An SUV was parked sideways up ahead, blocking the road. They had found us.

Logan slammed on the brakes hard and spun the steering wheel, executing a smooth one-eighty. The Range Rover squealed, barely losing any traction before he floored the gas pedal, sending us racing back the way we had come. I twisted in my seat to watch the SUV pursue us, but it remained where it was, blocking the street. Puzzled, I turned back in time to see a second SUV slide sideways on the road, cutting off our escape. I jolted with fear and braced my right hand on the dashboard.

Boxed. It was the only word playing inside my head. We were trapped. A sharp pop echoed through the air and the car lurched to the right, followed by a hissing noise. The long barrel of a gun protruded from the rear window of the SUV ahead, but what made my heart hammer was the emblem on its door—the PSS insignia. Another pop sounded, followed by more hissing.

“They’re shooting the tires!” Logan snarled, slamming the brakes, and bringing us to a stop. His eyes flicked between the two SUVs, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. They were far, but not far enough. No distance would ever be far enough.

Logan hesitated, obviously wrestling with an inner debate, then grunted when he reached a decision. He dug inside his pockets and then his lower back, came out with his gun and two clips, and placed them on his lap. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When he looked at me, goosebumps broke all over my body. Because his eyes … they were empty. There was no trace of humanity, no warmth. Just the cold, detached gaze of a killer. His composure was calm, but not relaxed. He was prepared to kill and not feel.

God, what was I doing here with someone like him?

“When I tell you,” he said with no inflection, “take control of the wheel. Keep going, no matter what happens. Can you do that?”

My lips moved, but no words came out. I swallowed, uncertain. His expression flickered, softening a bit.

“Can you do that?” he asked again.

I finally nodded and unhooked the sling from around my neck. Whatever his past, his profession, today, in this moment, he was here to help.

He lowered his window all the way, letting in the warm breath of the desert, inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, then made a U-turn, this time with some difficulty.

We picked up speed, but not fast enough with two of the tires already flat. The flopping of rubber on asphalt was loud as Logan struggled to keep us on course. We veered right off the road, about two hundred yards away from the first SUV. When the second SUV started to follow, Logan shouted for me to take the steering wheel while he twisted in his seat and took aim, propping the hand with the gun with his other before shooting a few times in quick succession.

The SUV stopped abruptly—the two front tires deflating with Logan’s bullets. Meanwhile, the side door of the first SUV ahead slid open. Two men climbed out, carrying long-barreled guns in their hands.

As the two men raised their rifles or shotguns—I really couldn’t tell the difference—Logan shouted, “Down! Keep your head down!” and took aim again.

I lowered my head as much as possible while still seeing ahead. I had the steering wheel gripped in both hands and struggled to keep it going.

Flop-flop-flop-flop. The tires grumbled loudly, mocking my efforts.

Logan’s foot still pressed the gas pedal flat on the floor. “Make a beeline and go back to the road as soon as we pass them!” Logan shouted.

I nodded. My throat was too dry to form any words. A monster I might be, with all these extraordinary abilities—super strength and speed—but at heart, I was just as ordinary as the next person.

Logan’s gun barked out a sharp bam-bam, but there was no return fire. Had he killed them? We were close enough that it would be hard to miss. Unable to help myself, I took a quick peek and saw they were still standing, apparently unharmed. Logan fired again, and the bullets froze mid-air and fell to the ground. That’s when I recognized one of the two men.

Kincaid. He was the PSS’s only preternatural full-time employee. He was also an air mage.

Shit.

Logan spat out a string of curses that would have made a gangster blush, followed by two more shots. No one shot at us, though their weapons were raised and at the ready. If Kincaid was shielding bullets from getting to them, then they couldn’t shoot us either. That wasn’t good. We passed by the SUV and … nothing.

That, on its own, should have warned me.

Above me, Logan changed the clip and resumed firing. We had hardly moved a few yards past the SUV when we hit something solid. There was a blinding flash of light, accompanied by the loud sound of metal bending and shattering glass.