Anthem of Ashes: Book 9 in the Spellsinger Series Read online

  A soft, tapping music filled the room right on cue; bless Kyanite's jeweled heart. Slate's eyes widened as I straddled him, magic rising eagerly inside me again. It had been awhile since I had used my spellsinging and now, I couldn't seem to stop. But this song was gentle; no explosions of power, lust, or violence. A shiver of magic fell luxuriantly from my lips and misted around us like a cocoon; transformative and protective. It was just Slate and me inside that warm solace; our hearts joined by the magic in my music and the love that had come so unexpectedly to us.

  “Heartbeat.” That was the name of the song I offered Slate. Julian Moon's lyrics were so perfect for this man and this moment. I sang of God and Angels and Heaven but in reference to Slate, not Lucifer. I stroked his face as the thumping beat—so like the strong thudding beneath my hand, that rhythm inside his chest—pulsed around us. I sang to Slate about how perfect he is; every inch of him. How beautiful his soul was. How loving him could bring me to my knees and raise me up again.

  I kept my palm on his chest as I let the music lift us and push away the shards of pain and stress that had been bashing the armor we had constructed around ourselves. The magic filled in the wounds and smoothed out the dents as it eased our fears. And yes; there was fear between us. Slate wasn't my husband or even my fiancé. His position was less secure than the other men in my life, and he wasn't the only one who felt the instability of that. I wanted to believe that he was mine; that he would never leave. But my life had taken bad turns before, and I knew that nothing was certain. Even my marriages could be broken. Slate had the weakest hold on me; he could simply walk away if he wanted to.

  And that scared us both.

  But there, in the shadows and in his arms, my magic reminded us of how much we had given and gone through to get there. Slate's heart strengthened and pounded into my palm then seeped through my body until it became my own. Our heartbeats aligned as we stared at each other with such profound love that all of our fears floated away. The music rose into a majestic crescendo and, as the last lines left my lips, tears poured down my face. Slate laid his hand on my wet cheek and used it to gently urge me down to him. His lips met mine like a vow; a promise sealed with magic and music. This is ours and no one will take it from us. We don't need rings or time to tell us that this is forever. It simply is.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I spent the night tangled in love and limbs, so damn blissful that it felt unreal. I half expected to wake up and discover that it was all a dream. But when I opened my eyes in the morning, Slate's amazing stare met mine, full of something soft enough to make me sigh.

  “That was a hell of a song you gave me last night, Spellsinger,” Slate murmured as he pulled me close. “I'm almost grateful to Lucifer for showing up.”

  “That was a hell of a night you gave me afterward, Zone Lord.” I smiled sensually at him. “If I'd known a love song would inspire you to such... passionate creativity, I would have sung one for you a long time ago.”

  “Sweetheart, you've sung me love songs before.” He rolled us so that he loomed above me. “But they've always had a purpose; to tease, or taunt, or make me forgive you. This one was different. It was pure. And your magic opened you to me; it allowed me to feel your emotions. Your truth. I've never experienced anything like it. Never been so aligned with someone.”

  “I felt your truth too,” I whispered. “And I feel stronger now. Stronger with you.”

  “I have to admit that it's felt like an uphill battle for me from day one.” Slate brushed his lips over mine to soften the blow. “First with you and then with your men. I haven't felt secure; not until last night.”

  “Neither have I,” I said soberly. “Commitment goes both ways. Losing you now would destroy me, Slate.”

  “I saw that,” he whispered. “I felt it. And I know what it means for you to give me that kind of power. You don't have to worry anymore, Elaria. You never did.”

  “I know.” I grinned at him. “I saw that and felt it too.”

  Slate chuckled. “Minx. I've got something for you to feel.”

  I laughed as Slate wrestled his way between my legs but just as we began to get deep into feeling, my contact charm chimed.

  “No,” Slate groaned. “Don't you dare answer that, Elaria.”

  “I have to,” I said apologetically as I reached for my necklace on the bedside table.

  Slate rumbled irritably as he rolled off me.

  “Yeah?” I answered after I'd settled the stone in my ear.

  “El? Where you at?”

  “Cerberus?” I sat up as Slate muttered something about dogs and fleas. “I'm with Slate in his zone. Why?”

  “Meet me in Kyanite.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “And bring your Cock Collective.”

  “Cer, stop calling them that.”

  “That hound had better not be calling us cocks again,” Slate snarled.

  Cerberus chuckled. “The Gargoyle is grumpy.”

  “Your timing could be better.”

  “Ah, gotcha.” Cer laughed more. “Well, I don't mind waiting a few minutes. Do what you gotta do to put a smile on his stony face. I'll catch you on the flip side.”

  I pulled the stone out of my ear and then moved between Slate's thighs. As I slid down, he started to smile again.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  After Slate and I finished what we'd started, I contacted my other men, and we met everyone in Kyanite. “Everyone” included Shava.

  “My guy got nothing,” Cerberus immediately reported.

  “You could have told me that over the charm, Cer,” I grumbled.

  “That's not why I wanted to see you,” Cer protested. “But first, I'll let Shava give you her news.”

  “I called you, but you didn't answer,” Shava started.

  “Sorry; I was in Slate's zone.” I nodded toward Slate. “Cellphone reception is bad.”

  “It's fine; I thought perhaps you were here so I journeyed to Kyanite and found Cerberus waiting.”

  “Good timing,” Torin noted.

  “Phoenixes are known for our impeccable timing. Some think it's a touch of premonition.” Shava spared a second to smile at Torin. “Anyway, the Council allowed me to speak with the assassin before they executed him. He swore that he was only contracted for one job.”

  “That means we have other sites to investigate,” Darc concluded.

  “I brought the list.” Shava held out a piece of paper to Darcraxis.

  “Can I see that?” I held my hand out to Darc, and he passed me the paper.

  A quick scan gave me a few familiar names. I didn't know for certain—it's not as if I paid a lot of attention to his schedule—but I was pretty sure that my father had mentioned Osamu visiting some of the areas listed.

  “What is it?” Slate asked as he watched my face.

  “I think we need to call Odin and read him this list,” I looked from Slate to Darc.

  “Osamu?” Darc asked.

  I nodded.

  “The Fire Leader?” Shavalina's perfect brow furrowed. “You think he's involved?”

  “He's currently visiting London,” I told her. “The same place we found the assassin. At this point, it's a coincidence, but I'd like Odin to look into Osamu's recent travels and see if any of his destinations correspond to these locations.”

  “Those locations may have no connection to Osamu, even if he is involved,” Gage reasoned. “He's in the same area as the assassin, not the murder.”

  “True, but if he were contracting the murders, that would make sense. He might want to keep an eye on the assassin,” I argued. “Let's just give Odin a heads up.”

  “I'll contact him,” Banning offered as he held a hand out for the list.

  I handed it over and Banning headed into the library to make the call.

  “Before we go looking at those sites, I think we need to speak to one of my contacts,” Cerberus said. “That's why I asked you to meet me. It would impress him if we all
showed up. You feel me?”

  “He needs to be intimidated into helping us?” I asked in surprise.

  “Not intimidated exactly. More; put in awe. He's a follower. If I show up alone, he'll be happy to give me something. But if I show up with Shining One kings, a spellsinger, a griffin, a gargoyle, a blooder, and—the piece de irresistance—a phoenix, he'll be begging to tell us all he knows.”

  “Irresistance is not a word,” Slate said dryly.

  “Yeah. I know. A piece of resistance doesn't make sense, though, does it?” Cer shot back. “I never got that saying. But then, it is in French, and the French have some weird adages.”

  Slate rolled his eyes and looked at me as if I might explain the enigma that is my best friend. I just shrugged. No one can explain Cerberus. Not even Cerberus.

  “Where do we find this contact?” Gage asked.

  “The Grand Bazaar.”

  “You still have your office there, right?” I asked him.

  Cer nodded. “Yeah; most of my contacts are in the area. It makes a good home base.”

  “I hate Beneather Bazaars,” Slate muttered. “They're chaos. Worse than the Wild West.”

  I chuckled. Of course a gargoyle—a zone lord, no less—would hate bazaars. Beneather Bazaars are markets hidden within human markets. I'm not talking about shopping malls. I mean; old world, gritty, peddler marketplaces where humans hawk their wares with aggression that borders on assault. Within these chaotic labyrinths lurked hidden entrances to places even more chaotic and far more dangerous; the Beneather Bazaars.

  Unlike Beneather Zones, the Bazaars have no police; no militia watching over the shoppers or sellers. No laws at all. Beneathers do not peacefully stride down the paths of the Bazaars; they cautiously prowl, no matter how powerful a beneather they are. I'm not saying that the streets run with blood or anything. Beneathers like being able to purchase things imported from their home planets or have a coffee with a visiting friend who just arrived through one of the public ports located in every Bazaar. They are the original hubs; the first places where the alien races came together with any sort of common goal in mind. Beneathers value these places and so, generally, they respect them.

  However, respect goes only so far. Although murder isn't a daily occurrence, fighting is, and no one wandered a bazaar without weapons at the ready. Between the syndicates and the racial rivalries, there were always beneathers at each other's throats. The wrong look could get you killed. And the merchants were as merciless as the thugs who roamed the narrow lanes, looking to brawl for fun or the money they could take off you while you laid on the ground groaning. Bazaar stalls and shops sell everything a beneather could want but if you bargained incorrectly or too disrespectfully, the sellers would bleed you dry; sometimes literally. And God help you if you took a turn down the wrong alley.

  I loved the Bazaars.

  Cerberus had opened his first shop in the Grand Bazaar, and he kept it there even after he spread out into the human world. Most of the work he sent my way had come to him through bazaar traffic, and I felt at home in its clogged arteries. Probably because most people know me there and don't mess with me. Spill a little blood with a few songs, and Beneathers remember you.

  “When do we leave?” I asked eagerly.

  Cerberus chuckled. “Right now, Ellie-Girl, right now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  There are Beneather Bazaars hidden in numerous marketplaces all over the world; Egypt, Thailand, China, Syria, even Seattle and England. But the biggest, baddest of them all was the one in Istanbul, Turkey. It was right there in the name; the Grand Bazaar.

  Our large party—in both size and bulk—strode down the tiled avenues of the human portion of the Bazaar, beneath vaulted ceilings emphasized by painted arches set into the curve every few feet. The scent of spices and coffee ran amok and modern electric signs garishly and unapologetically drew attention to stalls nestled within stone nooks thousands of years old; dating back to when the place had been called Constantinople. There wasn't a single boring inch to rest your bombarded eyes on, except perhaps the ground.

  Overstuffed shops oozed out into the aisles, stuffed full of vibrantly colored goods; pottery, shoes, handbags, spices, food, lanterns, even furniture. Within the stalls, every inch of wall had been conquered and put to work, and nearly every foot of floor space supported racks or bins. Over that visual tapestry, an auditory smorgasbord was laid out for consumption. With a foundation of melodic Turkish drifted notes of purring French, guttural Arabic, and slashing Russian. There was even a smattering of English seasoned by several accents as American tourists tried their hand at haggling. But here, English was in the minority.

  Within this carnival maze of sixty-one covered streets and over four thousand shops, another marketplace hid; twisting and turning in massive pockets of space between the old stone walls. The Beneather Bazaar had been built first and then the human one was added around it as a camouflage. An ingenious design, as was the case with most ancient architecture, most humans had no idea that another bazaar existed within theirs, even those who worked within those ponderous stone walls and considered themselves to be the sharpest of observers.

  Perhaps in the darker hours, when the Bazaar had closed its doors to shoppers, but shopkeepers still lingered over their accounts, a few sounds from the other bazaar might seep through the stone but the results were doubtless eerie, and the superstitious Turks would likely pull on their earlobe or knock twice on wood to protect themselves from wandering spirits. They'd never suspect that the haunting cries were supernatural beings going about their nightly business on the other side of the stone.

  Yes, the Beneather Bazaar is within ten feet of thousands of humans daily. But there are only a few entrances, and you have to know precisely where to go to find them. Or at least what to look for.

  I grinned at the tattered tapestry that drooped over the arched entrance of a shop selling rugs. It read; Beneath Your Feet. Most would think it a cute name for a rug shop, but it was also a signpost; a marker for Beneathers to follow. The Beneath is not literal except when it comes to Zones, the Beneather Bazaar does not lurk underneath the human one, but that one word told all supernaturals that an entrance to the real Bazaar was within.

  We maneuvered around solid wood tables groaning under the weight of rugs layered in careful tiers and went straight to the proprietor; a slim, dark-skinned man in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. He had a gold watch, a gold hoop in his nose, and a gold chain tangling in his chest hair. He also happened to be a jinn; no lamp jokes, please. Or flying carpet ones, for that matter. He's a pleasant sort until you poke fun at his culture, then no amount of wishing will save you. The Jinn grinned at Cerberus and me as he unfolded himself from his seat.

  “It's been awhile, Elaria,” he said in perfect English as he shook my hand. “Good to see you. You too, Cerberus.”

  “How you doing, Baris? Cer asked as he slapped the Jinn on the shoulder.

  “Excellent.” Baris nodded; quick flicks of his head. “You bringing friends in today, I see.”

  “This is Shava,” Cer introduced the Phoenix with a wave of his hand. “The rest of them belong to Elaria.”

  Baris lifted an eyebrow at me while my men glared at Cerberus. He didn't seem at all fazed by Shava, and I had a feeling it was a Jinn thing.

  “These are my husbands and consorts,” I explained. “Long story, Baris.”

  “Yeah; I heard it already,” he said grimly instead of with the smirking tone I usually received. “I was sorry to hear about your father's friend betraying your family. Nasty business, that.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “At least some good came of it. You look happy; no lines between your brows anymore.” He waved at my forehead. “They must be good for you. Makes sense, if you ask me. A harem of women is trouble, too much drama to deal with, but I imagine a harem of men can come in handy. Especially in battle. A personal army, eh? That's perfect for you, El, you're always ge
tting into trouble.”

  “This man seems to know you well,” Torin noted dryly.

  Baris chortled. “I only know the surface Elaria. That's where trouble lingers, yes?” Baris shot a grin over his shoulder as he led us into the back room. He flicked his fingers and a door appeared in the far wall. “Welcome to the real Grand Bazaar,” he intoned dramatically and bowed to Shava and my men.

  “The bizarre bazaar,” Cer added with a wink at Shava.

  “Thanks, Baris,” I called back as we headed in.

  You might be wondering why we didn't use our charms to travel directly into the Bazaar. There's a simple explanation; it's warded. The Beneather Bazaar is dangerous enough as it is without having supes poofing in willy-nilly. The only ways inside are through the physical entrances and the inter-realm portals, but the ports are usually congested with the arrivals of beneathers who don't have the ability to travel across the Veil on their own. Plus, I enjoyed the walk through the human bazaar.