Chapter 5

FIVE

Asha

Like a rope tied around my waist, the awareness of the dark magic pulls me along, leading me through town. We cut away from the main drag, down an alley, the scent urging me on. I feel like a bloodhound, compelled by its sense of smell to chase down the mystery. It won’t release its grip on me until I’ve found its origin.

Dread steals over me, but it does nothing to assuage my feverish instinct. A voice blares in my thoughts, Find it, find it, Asha, FIND IT! And I’m desperate to, if only to make it shut up.

The use of dark magic means danger. And usually death. So far, my brother has only ever left behind a trail of violence. I just hope that this time I’m not too late to stop it.

My mind comes up with a thousand different scenarios where I might still be able to save this small town from the heartbreak of my brother’s cruelty, but each scenario feels like a lie, even to my mind. If my brother is already gone, the damage is already done.

Don’t think that way. Try to remember what it felt like to have hope. To have things end well.

I come to the backdoor of an apartment complex. The voice is telling me to go through it, even though my heart is begging me not to, whispering that I only just started to put together the tattered remains of my heart and mind. I’m not ready for this.

Except, I have no choice.

I wrap my fist around the knob and give a tug, but as I probably should have predicted, it’s locked. Probably deadbolted. The door is metal, heavy-duty, meant to keep would-be robbers outside.

“Is it behind that door?” asks Max.

I nod without hesitation. “I think so.”

He directs me to the side of the door, and I smell his wolf raring forth. He doesn’t shift, but summons the beast’s power to drive his boot against the rear entry. The boot meets the metal with a resounding clang that echoes down the alley. The door swings inward, its deadbolt torn away and tossed onto the carpeted floor.

I step inside and am met with a wall of must. The place is old and not kept up very well. But I can still scent the dark magic loud above the background noise of mold and mildew.

He was definitely here. Maybe just to rest? Fuck, I hope just to rest.

I follow my nose through a dimly lit corridor, Max close behind. He’s mindful of every door we pass, which is good, because now the calling is so all-consuming my periphery falls away, leaving only the tunnel of my focus. This way, Asha , the voice taunts.

Hell, an enemy could be standing right beside me, and I wouldn’t even notice. There’s nothing but the scent, and the fear of what the scent will mean.

I come to a stairwell and pause. After a quick survey of the nearby rooms, Max stands beside me and asks, “Up?”

My eyes follow the steps to the second-floor landing. Under the spell of my magic sensitivity, it takes on a doomy cast.

“Yes.”

Even though I don’t want to go. Even though we’re just getting closer to whatever waits for us in the shadows of this building.

Footfalls echo from above. The hackles raise on my wolf’s neck. Max’s eyes stare intently into the stairwell. We both await the arrival of whoever descends. Could it be Simon? Could he have masked himself until this moment?

My breath hitches when a figure turns the corner and pauses. An old woman with a hunchback and a shock of gray hair stairs down at us. “Are you here about the noise?” she asks, voice quavering with age.

Noise? It could be tied to Simon, or it could be something else. But I’m not betting that it’s a coincidence.

Max and I exchange looks. “Yes,” he replies, quick to keep our cover.

The old woman holds out her arms. “Be a dear, would you?” she asks, looking down at the set of stairs she still needs to make her way down.

I watch Max inhale slowly, breathing in the woman, catching her scent. It only takes him a moment before I see him relax ever-so-slightly. He’s got the same instinct I do: the woman’s not a threat. Just a human who has no idea about the dangers surrounding her.

Max hustles to her side, then offers the crook of his elbow so she can hook her arm through it. Cautiously, they reach the first floor hallway, and she pats Max on the cheek. “Handsome boy,” she says, shooting a not-so-furtive wink at me. As she recedes down the corridor towards the rear entry, she says, “Awful racket, whatever it was.” The metal door creaks open and she pauses to review its damage. Then, with a soft tut, she shakes her head and exits into the alley.

Max and I move back into the stairwell on high alert. The dark magic is so potent here that I can feel it beckoning my own magic forth. We are not the same . I remind myself of yesterday’s revelation, that I have control over myself. That my support system has allowed me to reject the seduction of dark magic.

At least, I hope so. I hope I’m right about how to handle my magic. Or even that it can be handled.

A deep breath helps stabilize me, as does Max’s hand on my shoulder. I look back at him and he nods confidently. You can do this . I see the encouragement in his gaze. You can do this echoes in my head as I proceed up the stairwell, advancing on the source of the dark magic.

It grows more intense with every passing floor until we reach the very top. A door stands between me and the rooftop and it vibrates in my vision. It’s like I’m on psychedelics, the handle and the faded paint rippling like water. Dive in .

I grip the handle and give it a shove. This one isn’t locked. It swings back and slams against the wall, a sound that sprawls out into the otherwise quiet night. The Milky Way dusts the sky with a million pinpricks of white light and here, away from major cities, darkness offers the perfect stage for its majesty.

But its silvery glimmer goes unappreciated by the audience gathered on the roof. Though their eyes peer into the heavens, there is no soul behind them to marvel at the stars. A half dozen dead bodies lay in a circle, mangled feet to unwashed hair. Homeless, I surmise, judging by their threadbare attire. Hard living have worn deep furrows into their skin, lines that age them beyond their years. Tough lives now ended by cruel malice.

They’ve been staged as a frame around a message scrawled inside their circle. Words written in the blood of these victims reads, “My power is growing, is yours? This isn’t The End.”

The smell of stale blood catches up to me and I feel sick. I rush to the other end of the roof and lean over, prepared to rain dinner upon the alley through which we entered. Fuck .

Warm hands settle on my back and I turn my focus to Max’s touch instead of the queasy feeling in my stomach. I place myself in his arms and fight against the breakdown I feel worming its way in. “It’s alright,” he says. “We’ll make this right.”

How can we? Each of these lives was someone . A person who was loved. A person who said their first word, who went through school, who laughed on a playground, and who was shaped by the good and the bad of their lives. They deserved better than this!

Tears gather in the corners of my eyes. Why am I not strong enough to stop all this death? Why don’t I have the power in me to make this world a better place, and chase away the evil that should have no place here?

“We’ll find him. Together. We’ll stop this,” he whispers into my hair.

“How?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Just trust me. I’ve seen a lot as an Enforcer, and I know… eventually, the good guys win, as long as they don’t give up.”

I take a breath and let it out in a rush, calming, if only by a little. Max takes this as a sign I’ve collected myself and steps away to make a call. But I’m still in pieces that I’m failing to hold together.

I’m vaguely aware of the conversation happening feet away from me. Max is letting his brother know our location and to come with Orson to meet us here on this rooftop. But I don’t want to see Braxton. Because when I do, I know the full weight of his warning will crash down upon me.

It was his condemnation after I let Simon escape during our last run-in. “Every person your brother kills from now on will be on you, I hope you realize that. And it’s not an easy weight to bear.” No, no it’s certainly not , I think, staring over at the bodies. They’d be alive if I hadn’t let Simon slip through my fingers. I had him, right in front of me, with the ability to put his violence to an end.

The Simon I knew was already gone at that point, and yet I still couldn’t bring myself to kill him. In that moment, I still thought there was a chance to save him. All I saw was my brother, locked in a prison of hate.

Could my Simon have done this ? taunts a voice within. Blood spatters the cement, ghostly pale faces gaze lifeless into space. It’s a heinous crime, which only a truly wicked person could perform.

Simon didn’t have a wicked bone in his body. But there’s no denying the sight before me. What I could touch with my own hands, the cold flesh, the dried blood. This is real. A tremor starts in my fingertips and gradually slithers into my arms. I clench my hands into white-knuckled fists, but it’s too late. I feel the breakdown circling me like a vulture. This is all my fault .