Page 16 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

And that was the problem.

One of the Black Cloaks inclined its head. “Sire… the Vanguard retaliated. They hunt us harder since losing one of their own.”

Katarra smiled thinly, turning the obsidian ring on his finger. “They always do. Something, if anything, is that they are predictable.”

He began walking, hands clasped behind his back. “But this is a new something-something.” And he wasn’t fond of those kinds of somethings. “When one of you falls, I know. One is everything. It is where all things begin. And, as the magician of one—the original alchemist and the only one of my kind worth knowing—I always know. Your pain feeds me and it strengthens me. Now that is something.” And what he felt was the extra magick bristling within his bones that he shared with the collective.

He turned slowly, eyes burning red beneath the hood. “Last night, I felt an absence, along with the return of power, and not the body. The something was missing.”

It unsettled him enough to fuel his curiosity. For some things were many things to pull, push, lift, turn, and reshape into something he could use. Something-somethings could become something remarkable indeed.

“Send one to search for answers at their last location,” Katarra turned the ring on his little finger as the numbers aligned in his mind. “Find what changed.”

One of the Black Cloaks disappeared to carry out his command that left Katarra to face the remaining eleven members of his collective. Eleven spoke of justice—when it was an injustice for independence, when he wanted the collective power of fifteen. His number, the occultist’s fifteen, and the Devil’s card in tarot. Now that was something indeed.

“If the Vanguard have found a way to kill you without returning your essence to me, well…” Then this was something he would not stand for. Not when he had a much bigger plan in motion.

“So tonight, you will feed heavily and replenish what we have lost. Just know that something interfered last night, so be wary in your hunt.” Katarra almost sounded like he cared for his collective that held no emotions.

But there were severed ends where three of his creations had been cut away by a something. And it had been a long time since he’d felt a loss or had a something-something interfere.

But it wasn’t done by the Vanguard’s blades. No, this was something else entirely, something that had unmade his work without feeding him in return. This something-something might become a problem.

For the first time in centuries, he felt the edge of something he couldn’t control. A variable he hadn’t accounted for. He liked to keep count, so this was a something-something worth knowing.

Katarra’s fingers curled into fists.

“Find whatever destroyed our three and bring me answers.”

SEVEN

The nightmare came again.

It always began the same way: the sense of being watched, followed by that sickening feeling of falling a great distance, making Angela wake with a scream trapped in her throat, her body rigid, with her breath tearing back into her lungs as she blinked at the ceiling from her sweat-soaked bed.

“I’m losing my mind,” Angela whispered, while clutching at her throat.

Four nights in a row she’d woken to the nightmare—ever since that night. The bruises were gone thanks to her mom’s herbal salve, which always worked wonders. Her always aunt said Angela was one of the lucky ones who healed quickly.

Pity the nightmare hadn’t disappeared.

She reached for the glass of water on her bedside table and tried to wash away the metallic taste of fear.

A new dreamcatcher’s woven web, decorated with feathers and beads, hung above the bed. Her aunt had insisted on giving it to her after the first nightmare.

Back then Angela had laughed it off. But not anymore.

The dreams never stayed whole. She always remembered the beginning only for the end to slide away from her like fog. Faces blurred. Details fractured. And the falling as if dropped from a great height, fed the thread of terror that remained.

Except for him.

Zarek.

His eyes, dark hair, and strong jawline. How his cheekbones created shade when he tilted his head a certain way, how he carried so much strength across his broad shoulders, and how he suited his scarred leather armor and shiny blades. She could remember every minute detail about Zarek, but the rest of the nightmare… Meh.

Of course, sleep abandoned her completely after that. So she shoved the covers aside and padded into the kitchen, her bare feet cold against the tiles. Maybe she’d go to work early and wear herself out. Then tonight she’d drown herself in chamomile and whatever other herbal concoction Aunt Claudine claimed it could cure her insomnia.

Angela filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and stared out the window as dawn crept into the yard.