Page 28 of Ashen Wings

Point taken.

We cross over a bridge, watching the city proper unfold before us in square blocks and sharply angled roadways. The water below isn’t turbid as it should be over the riverbed, but like glass, just as the fountain was. Rocks glisten in the midday sunlight with an eerie sheen as if they’re encased in smooth crystal.

“Why does the water do that here?” I ask Isra, who’s taken the lead. He turns and watches the river, seemingly frozen, too, by whatever magic is affecting its rapids.

“There are things in the surrounding woods that’s magic is older than the earth itself. We don’t know why, but they eat time like it’s a physical thing, leaving some areas frozen in place,” he says, his hands white knuckled around the bridge railing.

“The lurkers, you mean?”

Roe eyes me with a glint of surprise as she joins us against the parapet. “How did you know that?”

“Tenebris spoke of them,” I reply, still fixating on the river. So they truly are frozen in time rather than a trick of the light.

“I’m surprised he told you that. We don’t mention them unless we have to.” Isra’s tone is serious and low, like he’s faced this evil before and barely lived to speak of it.

“Why not?” I breathe, my gaze no longer caught on the riverbed, but on Isra’s massive hands curled around the iron railing.

“Because they listen. These aren’t creatures of our world…they’re from the darkest voids of the cosmos. Not born or hatched but made. And eternal as well as we know,” he says.

“Eternal?” I ask. Timeless? Immortal? What the fuck are these things?

“They don’t die. We kill one, it comes back, and we don’t know how to stop them,” Roe interjects, her nostrils flaring with rage. “Enough with all the questions. We should keep moving.”

I nod and follow her lead, but Isra hesitates for a moment, watching the glittering river in solemn silence. The haunted blur in his eyes nips at my heart, even if the bastard tried to kill me.

Roe leads us through winding streets, all too silent, all too still, and we pass various markets and rows of townhomes. They’re simple structures—well maintained, but not overly lavish. As we continue through the city, something builds in my chest I can’t ignore. There’s no emotion or character here—only crisp paint lines and perfectly laid white brick.

“We’re almost there, remember—” Roe says, jabbing an index finger toward me.

“Head down. No talking,” I repeat.

She nods and turns into a dim alleyway. Even with the sun still apexed above us, the narrow backstreet is coated in shadow. My steps dance around puddles of stale rain until we reach a door embedded in stone. Unlike the manicured rows of city blocks we’ve passed, this arched entrance is rusted and chipped. The tarnished knocker creaks in protest as Isra raps on the brittle wood. I half expect the damn man to splinter the old thing, but a view window slides open at eye level and two void-less eyes appear.

“Business?” a voice, withered and dry, croaks from within.

“Abe just let us in, you know our business.” Roe scowls. I pull the cloak Jace gave me over my face, making sure to run every loose strand of silvery hair back out of sight.

“Only when you admit you love me.” The voice shifts to a normal male tone, maybe in his twenties with a slight tinge of Shadow’s factional dialect.

“I’d rather slice out my own vocal cords,” Roe snaps.

The voice chuckles and a lock slides out of place. “That’s my girl,” a slender man, with long black hair tied down his neck, says as the door opens.

Candlelight and smoke curl around the bouncer as he offers a hand to Isra, a grin spreading over his thin lips. There’s a scar wrapped down his left arm, disfiguring the inky designs etched in his skin.

“Isra, good to see you,” he says. Isra takes his hand and pulls the man into a bear hug. Old friends, I guess. His eyes linger on Roe for a second too long, and Roe’s cheeks flush. Definitely more than old friends.

“You’ve brought company?” he asks, raising a brow in my direction.

“Abe this is Nova, she’s…my cousin,” Isra says. My lips twitch. That’s the best he could come up with? “She’s helping us with a mission.”

“Abe Flamethrine,” he says, holding out a hand. I take it, but ensure my head is low, just as Roe directed. They may trust this guy, but I sure as shit don’t. My missions have taken me to enough back bars to know only snakes and spiders frequent places such as these.

“Talkative, I see,” he muses, tucking his hands into his wool pockets. “Come on in. I’ll get us a round.”

We file in through the narrow entrance and my eyes water immediately as I’m greeted by the haze of tobacco smoke and secrets. Various parties of patrons are scattered around the bar, talking in hushed voices and low whispers. It’s only noon and the tavern is packed, so much so, I bump a shoulder or two as we slither through the crowd.

The barkeep, a bulky man with rounded spectacles and a thick mustache, nods to Abe as we approach. Abe holds up a palm and he retrieves four glasses from the back shelf.