Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(99)

My heart, the single thing in my body that could move, increased to a torrent as it thundered within me. Fear and pleasure mixed together in a weird blend of emotion as I watched Sain perform in the play before me, and for the first time, I understood what was going on.

“The girl…” Sain gasped, his voice shaking as he raised a finger toward Míra. The girl stepped back in shock as Sain looked at her, his eyes flashing black for no more than a moment before he looked back to Edmund, his body shaking so badly it looked to be convulsing. “I saw her…”

“You saw her do what?” Edmund asked, his voice mixed between a gentle nudge and a snap.

Sain twitched at the inflection, as if he was a wounded animal, the motions so similar to what I had watched him do for centuries while he was my father’s captive that I fell deeper in awe of him.

“I saw her … in Prague … I know how to get her into the cathedral.”

“Wonderful.”





“Wake up!” Her little voice was clear as she yelled in my ear like she had when she was alive, running into Thom’s and my bedroom and jumping on the bed in a mad attempt to rouse us. “Wake up!”

I could feel the bounce of the bed, the rhythmic motion moving over me like blankets being pulled down. I almost expected Thom’s arm to wind around me, pulling me into him and nuzzling my ear in an attempt to gross her out and scare her off.

“Wake up, Mommy! Hurry!” Her voice was more frantic now. She must be hungry. Maybe I could convince Thom to make her pancakes.

The bed kept jostling. There was only the rhythmic movement of the blankets being pulled over my shoulders, over my head, and then back again. I wanted to tell Rosy to stop pulling at them, but the words wouldn’t come. In and out, they moved, the blankets extraordinarily cold and wet, so much colder and wetter than I remembered.

“Wake up, Wyn!” This time, the voice wasn’t Rosy’s; it was Cail’s. The shout was loud and abrupt in my ear as it pulled me back to a red-tinted world. Eyes opening to wet cobbles, I saw the blood red water of the Vltava lapping over my body as the tide rose, inches away from sweeping me away.

I gave a little shout at the realization of where I was, my confusion rising as I moved in desperation to get away from the waters, away from the waves that were trying to drag me under.

Moving quickly, I placed my hands against the soaked cobbles, freezing in pain as a jagged shot moved up my arm from my left hand, from the bright red blade that had impaled my palm. One, blood-soaked point emerged on either side of the destroyed skin.

It was then that I screamed.

Loud and frightening, my pain echoed around the old buildings, off the cracked windows and the abandoned cars. It moved away from me in a wave that, with one hiss, one shriek from a hidden Vil?, I knew was a mistake.

My head turned toward the sound, my heart plunging in fear at what I was facing, at what I had done.

In a gasp of terror, I moved, everything aching as I attempted to pull myself to standing, my legs shaking, chest heaving as I fell over my own feet, scuttling over the wet road like an injured animal. I kept my hand cradled against my chest in a desperate effort to keep the pain at bay.

Everything spun as I propelled myself forward, one foot landing in front of the other in a desperate need to escape, not the fanged creature, but any others that would follow.

And they would.

Every move I made heaved through me in broken distortion, like the signal was blocked. My legs twitched as I tripped over them, the unbalanced steps sending me into walls and crashing against cars. The sound of each bang, each sob echoed through the street, creating the perfect path for the little beasts to find me.

It was something that was going to get me killed.

The snarls were moving closer. The gnashing teeth, the beating wings coming up behind me.

Swinging my uninjured hand behind me like a baton, I tried to bring my magic up, ready to drop the filthy thing out of the sky before any more came. Nothing happened. No flame, no spark of magic. I didn’t even feel it swell inside of me. It was no more than a low buzz under my skin, a gentle throbbing that felt like knives against my soul.

Dodging into an alley, my heart thundering in fear and confusion, I leaned against the wall as I listened, waiting for the thing to follow me, knowing it wasn’t far behind.

With a hiss and a snarl, the Vil? came around the corner of the alley. I reached for it, wrapping my fingers around its neck and slamming it into the wall I stood next to. My whole body shook as I held it there, staring into its dead eyes as it continually gnashed and fought me. Its little claws scraped against the hand that held it captive, but I didn’t so much as flinch. Those tiny pinpricks of pain were nothing compared to the agony shooting up my arm.

This, I could handle.

This, I was used to.

“I remember you things when you were annoying little peacemakers,” I spat, part of me wondering if he could even hear me. “We must love everyone. Do not judge based on what you see. The hippies would have loved you. You were almost as bad as the Drak.”

It continued to gnash and claw at me as it fought against my hold, the motion useless. Even in my weakened state, it had no hope.

With a roll of my eyes, I compressed my hand against its throat, its windpipe closing with a little bit of pressure.

Slowly, it stopped trying to fight me, the sharp point of its claws digging into me less and less.