Page 29 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

“How long does that take?” Because she could feel the depth of his pain, the way it burned and hollowed him from the inside. Again, how was that even possible?

“It depends on the wound. It should not be long.” He peered at her with questioning eyes. “Can you feel it? Me?”

“Yes. And as much as I’d love for you to explain all of this, save your energy for whatever it is you do and let’s get out of here.” She closed the door on him, then scooped up her athame and pouch from the alley floor. The flickering overhead lights revealed…

The murder scene.

Her stomach dropped so much she wanted to be ill.

But there was no evidence. No victim. Only intent and the weapon in her hand.

They wouldn’t care that the body had turned to ash. They’d just say she destroyed evidence while trying to clean up the crime scene. A murder—

“Angela.” Zarek’s voice carried out through the open driver’s door, cutting through her thoughts. “Take a deep breath. This was not murder.” He winced, pushing up from the back seat. “Not by any law you know, and certainly not by mine.”

She swallowed hard. “You don’t understand how this looks.” She didn’t understand any of this.

“I do. Look at me.” He dropped his head, his stunning eyes locked on hers as he gripped the driver’s seat to stay upright. “I am telling you that your laws do not matter here, as there is nothing here for them to see.”

His certainty wrapped around her like a hand that held her upright, even though her mind wanted to collapse. It was enough for her to take a shaky inhale of rain-filled air, roll her shoulders, and straighten her spine. “Right… Let’s do this.”

She rushed back to the car and tossed the remnants of her weapons onto the passenger seat. “I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

Zarek nodded at the oddities on the front seat. “You carry warding salt. And a consecrated blade.”

“Yeah, well, um…” She shrugged at the ridiculousness of it all. “It’s just kitchen salt. But ever since that first night.” She pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to pause. Hearing her say it sounded worse. “I used to carry pepper spray until I saw up close how useless it was against those things.”

“And the athame?”

“It sits in my junk drawer in my kitchen. I use it mostly for opening boxes and letters, and it’s good for getting to those small screws in certain appliances, like my kitchen scales. Don’t tell my aunt, huh.” The giggle escaped her.

And for the first time since she’d met him, Zarek laughed. But it was cut short as he winced in pain and collapsed back onto the seat.

“Hold tight, and no back-seat driving.” In a matter of moments, she reversed down the alley.

Under the glow of her headlights, she took one last look at the crime scene, then headed for home.

***

Before the car’s taillights disappeared down the street, the air in the alley shimmered as Martar materialized with blades in hand. A thin frost misted faintly along their edges as his boots hit wet pavement. He scanned the alley in a single, efficient sweep. “Zarek?”

No answer.

Rocharde appeared beside him without sound, his dark eyes narrowing at the scene as the streetlights caught on his blades and gold earring. “Where’s the Captain?”

“I know he was here.” Martar’s boots were heavy as he stalked to the end of the alley that faced the road. “Dammit, he’s dropped out again.” Zarek had been doing that too many times of late.

“Dropped out?” Rocharde sheathed his weapons, checking over the alley’s surface for signs.

“Going off on his own.” Which Zarek did not do in the mortal realm. As field commander, he would bark out to each new shift of the Vanguard: never go on your own in the mortal realm.

Rocharde crouched, brushing his fingers over the ground. “We’ve got signs of a skirmish here. There are three sets of footprints, a few drops of blood, fresh car tracks, and… salt?” He poked at the white crystals dissolving in the puddles. “And, hello…” He pointed to the gray ash coating the pavement. “Black Cloak ash.”

“What’d I miss?” Condorr appeared as solid as a dropped anvil. Tall and broad, with blond hair plastered to his skull from the rain. He peered around as if expecting Black Cloaks to come charging out of the shadows—which they’d been known to do.

“Zarek’s missing.” Rocharde nodded at the wall. “And look what got left behind.” He swore under his breath in his mother tongue.

As soon as Martar clocked eyes on the reason, it made him want to spit. “Don’t touch it.” Martar’s scowl deepened. “It’s the Poison Blade.” It lay on the wet cement with its black metal swallowing the light while blood streaked along its edge.