Born of Ashes

“Do you know what this is called?” Caz smiled down at him, at the man who was called the little peach by the opposition because he had won awards for his peach orchards in Estrella Two.



Darian’s very arched left brow rose as he took the glass in hand. He held it carefully, his left hand supporting the bottom. He sniffed and closed his eyes. “Lovely. Do tell.”



“Peach blow. I would have made it just for the name alone.”



“Yes,” Darian said, “I suppose you would have. It works on so many levels.” He sipped. “Very nice. I had this once in Atlanta, I think, around 1900 or so.”



Caz, sated as he was, did not partake of the drink. He didn’t want to spoil his buzz. The goth’s blood, so full of disease and cocaine and some other mood elevator he couldn’t quite identify, did cartwheels in his head as he fought off the effects of the drugs and syphilis.



He moved to sit in a companion chair opposite Greaves. He didn’t hurry the interview; nor did he rush to deliver explanations, even though he had one. He smiled. Timing was everything.



Greaves licked his lips. “So, as you can imagine, I’ve been asking myself if the price I’m paying for your services has any value at all.”



Caz slipped lower in his chair. He spread his legs a little wider and smiled. He still said nothing.



Greaves tapped the fingers of his left hand over the curved wooden arm of his chair. “Are you flirting with me again?”



Caz shrugged. “Perhaps.”



Greaves sighed. “What happened at the chapel? I suppose it was my own fault for getting my hopes up that in one fell swoop you would destroy the last barrier to the fulfillment of my ambitions.”



Caz stretched his legs out and flexed his hips. He scooted even lower in the chair. He locked his hands behind his head. He knew he had a powerful body, broad muscled chest, heavy thighs, and other considerable assets. “How do you like the blow?”



Darian, to his credit, never let his gaze slip below Caz’s shoulders, even when he flexed his pecs and rolled his abdomen, trying to get Greaves to notice what he had to offer.



“Enough of your games,” Darian said. He split his resonance, which sent a shard of pain splitting Caz’s mind in two.



Exquisite, he sent. That felt wonderful. Aloud, he said, “Are you now trying to seduce me?”



At that, Darian laughed. He set the glass on the marble-topped table at his elbow. “I take it you have something to tell me about the morning’s failed battle.”



Caz could feel the smile tug at the outer reaches of his lips. Ah, yes, timing. “How do you feel about obsidian flame?”



Darian grew very still. Most people, upon hearing such a deadly pronouncement, would start or gasp. Darian merely turned to stone and stared at him with his large, round innocent-looking brown eyes.



“Which variety?” he asked after a long stellar moment. He visibly forced himself to sit back in his seat. He crossed his legs at the knee; such a gentleman.



Caz chuckled. “Gold, but only you would immediately dissect the situation, draw the correct conclusions, and go to the heart of the matter. The woman, Fiona, the one who has been hunting Rith since her escape from blood slavery, issued a warning. At first I thought she was merely hypersensitive to preternatural imprints. But afterward, when I did a careful review, a closer examination frame by frame of my memory revealed her aura. There can be no mistake. She bears the gold mark of obsidian flame. Given the shields I used in order to disguise the death vampire force, except for an obsidian level of power, she should never have been able to discover my plan.



“You know what this means of course. Tell me you comprehend the scope here.”



Greaves’s nostrils flared. “A triad.”



“Yes, a fucking triad.”



Darian shifted his gaze to the thick carpet at Caz’s feet. His jaw twitched. After a moment, he lifted his gaze once more. “Do you know who the other two are?”



Caz shook his head. “Only that while I levitated high in the air to watch the unfolding of my plan, I felt a very powerful feminine energy next to me. This energy was very different from the woman who alerted Warrior Thorne to our presence. I couldn’t get a fix on her, but I believe she may have a connection to our gold obsidian.



“I confess I didn’t make much of it at the time, which might be a flaw I should examine, since my dismissal of the woman’s energy reflected the fact that I don’t have a very high regard for women. Oh, there I’ve said it. Now you will think less of me.”



Darian smiled. “No, not at all. Women are necessary in so many ways. You and I would not be here otherwise. They are often very powerful, and have control over men in ways I daresay they truly do not understand, thank the Creator. But when all is said and done, only men know how to create the highest and finest achievements in life.”



“I believe that might be the longest speech you’ve ever made.”



Darian shrugged, then asked, “What do you intend to do?”



“The process will not be simple. I’ll need to test the woman first, try to understand the direction of her power. Killing her sooner rather than later would be the wisest course, but as you know I am not allowed to do the deed directly.” All Upper ascender exiles were monitored for killing behavior, and such behavior meant instant assassination. Another profound annoyance. “I think, though, that given her current obsession with finding our little friend Rith, as well as her intention to destroy as many of your blood slave facilities as she can, my plans will probably flow in the direction of something like a bait-and-switch. How does that sound?”



At that, Darian actually chuckled. “Like perfection.” He rose to his feet. “Just get her for me before the other two obsidians emerge and forge the triad.”



“You do understand the difficulty.”



Greaves nodded. “Her power will be unpredictable.”



“And deadly.”



“But in the early stages, as now, the power is emerging and at its weakest. If you can arrange it, kill her.”



“That’s the plan.” Caz slid his thumb into the waistband of his white pants and let his fingers rest low on what was now very firm. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you into my chambers for a minute or two. I’m very good, better than a peach blow any day.”



Only then did Darian slide his gaze lower and lower. “Almost, you tempt me. But not quite, my friend.” He lifted his arm and vanished.



O, Beloved,



Take me with your lips,



Take me a thousand times



And I will prepare you a feast.



O, Beloved,



Take me with your arms,



Take me a thousand times



And I will inhabit your bed.



O, Beloved,



Take me with your body,



Take me a thousand times,



And I will build you a house.



—Collected Poems, Beatrice of Fourth



Chapter 8



Fiona heard a buzzing sound at a great distance, very annoying. She burrowed her head deeper into the pillow and into the mountain of heat that radiated in front of her. She was toasty warm and something more, something that felt like peace.



She fell back into her dreams, of mounting her wings and flying over White Lake, the beautiful narrow man-made lake on the west side of the White Tanks. She flew behind Alison but with two women off to her right, also in flight, which meant that she formed the left flank of the trio.



However, she couldn’t see the other women clearly, as though they were blurred through the distance of what she could feel was simply the future.



Her heart swelled. As one, all four of them drew their wings into what was called parachute-mount, cupped at the top. In increments, she drew her wings in closer so that she eased downward through the air in the direction of the lake.



Her bare toes touched the cool water.



She looked up.



A rush of gold power flew through her up and up, joining with the women to her right. Euphoria flowed as well, such happiness, such fulfillment.



Her power joined the powers of the other women, and what had been three individual obsidian flames became one massive joining of gold, of red, and of cerulean blue, a twist of individual colors and power that blended just at the edges to forge a massive, rainbow-colored beam of light.



With her toes still grounded by the lake, and her wings supporting her, she looked up. There, in a beautiful swirl of blue, the color of Alison’s eyes, was what she knew to be the portal to Third Earth. A resounding yes flew through her mind. She was ready to help Alison open the gateway to the third dimension.



The dream vanished, like a giant whirlwind being dragged up into the sky higher and higher, growing smaller to the eye as each millisecond passed, then simply disappearing.



The mountain of heat beside her moved, pushing her and rolling her onto her back. The buzzing sound returned. So annoying. She felt groggy and couldn’t quite open her eyes. She didn’t know where she was.



All she could think about was White Lake, White Lake, White Lake, until the mountain spoke in a whisper next to her ear. “Fiona, your phone is buzzing.”



Something mumbled came out of her mouth.



She turned over on her other side and folded her hands prayer-like then placed them beneath her cheek.



A large warm hand found her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. “Fiona. It is grown late. Alison is probably trying to call you.”



Alison had been so beautiful in her dream. She didn’t wear a flight suit, but rather the most beautiful ethereal gown all in white and flowing around her as though made up of thousands of sheer long silk scarves, hanging several yards past her feet.



She looked almost angelic, a very strange state for a vampire woman.



The shaking recommenced. She opened her eyes this time and tried to focus. She had fallen asleep. When? Where?



Curved wooden shingles made up the wall opposite her. Why were there shingles in a bedroom?



The memory of being in Jean-Pierre’s wood shop, and lying on her back on his table, flowed through her like a wildfire on a dry grassy hillside.



Desire ignited. Her back arched.