"Here. Next to you."

I meet Ashen's eyes. I thought the way he retreated last night with barely a word meant he'd stay away, maybe even slip back out into the night. He looks at me as though there's something he wants to say. An apology perhaps. An explanation. Maybe something about calming whatever this is between us before it pulls us both out to sea. Anything about the way he feels. But he won't let himself say it.

"We should get going soon," Ashen says as he turns toward the nightstand and picks up my bloffee to hand it to me in exchange for the now empty Caesar glass. I sigh as that moment between us passes and I take a sip of the hot liquid. I feel marginally better with a little blood in my system, but I make no guarantees that I won't still barf in the shower.

Which is exactly what happens.

I feel a bit closer to normal afterward, aside from a raging headache. Brushing my teeth three times also helps. I pull on some jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt, toss my hair into a damp bun, and forgo any makeup because who has the energy for that. Definitely not me.

As soon as I'm ready to go, we head downstairs to the grand hall. There's no one else there. Our footsteps clatter up the walls and fly like bats among the stone pillars. The closer we get to the cauldrons, the slower I go, and when we're near enough I stop altogether. I want to ask Ashen about the fate of the crawlers from last night as he lights a torch, but I don’t. He throws the fire into a sleeping cauldron and the embers roar to life. When Ashen joins by my side my heart is already surging with the panic I can't seem to subdue. The hangover all but disappears, the room stops spinning. The only thing I see is flame.

"It will feel the same as last time," Ashen says. His voice is patient and calm. I see movement in my peripheral vision and look to my feet as smoke swirls up my body. It climbs across my arms and Ashen takes my hand. "No pain. No burning. No different from when you came here, Lu."

I nod and gather my fears, and then we walk forward, the smoke obscuring the cauldron as we draw near. I know it's irrational, but I'm still afraid. My breath still comes quicker than before. My ribs still quake. My hands vibrate and I feel the urge to run. The memories of villagers shouting their insults and incantations ring as bright as bells in my mind. I can still see Bobby Sarno, standing in the back of the crowd. He enjoyed every second of it too, his sweet retribution for my sisters sinking his merchant ship, taking him prisoner. Even though I was the one to set him free, he was happy to sell me out to the Reapers, and even happier to watch me burn. I still feel the malice of his smile as he watched me writhe and wither at the stake.

I step into the cauldron with Ashen, and this time I don't weep. But I do close my eyes. I cover my ears. Ashen's arms fold around me in an embrace. When the flame ripples around us and the pressure builds in my head, I feel his hand lay on the back of my neck where his skin can touch mine.

When the flame falls to our feet and the smoke clears away, I open my eyes. I sense the difference in the air here. It's a heavy heat. I smell Ashen, his scent of unsmoked tobacco, the ink that lives in his skin. But I smell other scents too. Limestone dust. Time and history. Cumin and cardamom cooking in the distance somewhere, drifting in on the night breeze.

I let my hands slide away from my ears as I recover my breath. I look over Ashen's shoulder. We're in a courtyard framed by palms and limestone walls. A blue mosaic fountain trickles nearby. Only the brightest stars glimmer above us, the rest washed away by the light of the city's heart in the distance.

"All right, vampire?" Ashen asks as he lets the strength of his embrace diminish.

I nod, realizing for the first time that it no longer bothers me when he calls me vampire. It feels like an endearment. The warmth of his arms around me pull my soul to the surface. I feel safe, and cared for. I don’t feel so lonely anymore.

Ashen draws away just enough so that we're not pressed together and lays a hand on the side of my face. His fingertips sweep across my cheekbone, checking for tears. "Better this time, right?"

I nod again and Ashen pulls away, meeting my eyes for a brief moment before his gaze darkens and he lets go. He looks to the floor and steps out of the cauldron, offering an arm only long enough for me to join by his side. His arm drops from beneath mine and he starts walking toward the house, leaving me behind. That bruise from last night blossoms to a deeper color in my heart.

I am a reckless, silly creature, thinking of embraces and endearments and emotions. I’ve been afraid of what I feel about him. Now I can’t seem to stop it, and I fear that too. And worse still, I’m even more afraid of what he doesn’t feel for me. It’s a fear that bends and knots around me, holding my feet to the floor.

Ashen looks back to where I stand and tilts his head, eyeing me with an assessing gaze. A crease appears between his brows. I sigh and then follow Ashen into a dark, palatial house. The lights within the foyer flare to life as we enter. The house is sparsely decorated with landscape paintings on the walls and simple furnishings. We don't stay to explore. We head down a corridor and out another door, into a garage. An older model Land Rover rests along the far wall. A row of motorcycles are lined before us, all covered with dusty canvas.

"Can you drive a motorcycle?"

I give Ashen a dead-eyed glare. This guy. Can I drive a fucking motorcycle. I put my hand out for my book and pen, and he rolls his eyes as he hands them over from the pocket of his jacket.

Of course I fucking can, you tit. Can you drive a tank? 

"Yes. Can you fly a helicopter?"

Yes. Can you drive an excavator? 

"Yes. Can you pilot a submarine?"

Fuck. No I cannot. Who would want to do that anyway? Submarine pilots I guess. I glare at Ashen and he smirks in reply.

"Now that we've established that you cannot pilot a submarine, follow me." He tosses me a key and pulls the canvas from a Triumph Scrambler. My headache spikes in anticipation of the sound of the engine roaring to life and I haven't even put the key in the ignition yet.

Ashen pulls the canvas from another Triumph and presses the button for the automatic garage door opener. The folding white panels rattle above us and the heavy night air floods the space with its weight. I shove my notebook and pen into the saddle bag of my bike and pull my helmet on.

"Wakalat al-Makwa," Ashen says, and he gives me a half smile as both of our bikes roar to life. That wound in my heart seems to bleed at the sight of that lopsided grin. "In case we get separated."

I give him a single nod. We straddle our machines and roll out of the garage. We wait beside one another and watch as the door closes behind us.

"Follow me," Ashen says again, and we turn out of the driveway and onto the quiet suburban street.

At the first turn, Ashen heads right, and I wait until his headlights are a few houses down before I speed away in the other direction. I fly around two corners. I take an unlit alley. I lose myself to the darkness until I find the light, until the cacophony of the city streets swallows me whole. I drive until I imagine that no one could find me. Not even him.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 21

Mr. Hassan and I are already on our second cup of mint tea when we hear footsteps pounding up the stairs by twos. Ashen bursts through the door, his eyes aflame, black smoke drifting around him. His silver sword glimmers with hellfire, clutched in his white-knuckled grip. I give Ashen my most innocent smile and he glares at me with fire and fury.