ASH
Part 1
The purple gem clinked as he set it on the steel box, bolted to the concrete shelf. A touch of his magic triggered the spell embedded in the gemstone.
It glowed softly and Ash squinted to preserve his night vision. Light spread in snaking lines across the top of the box and down the reinforced sides, drawing unfamiliar patterns that shifted ceaselessly. The unrecognizable appearance of the spell didn’t concern him. He trusted Lyre’s weaving skills above anyone else’s, and with good reason.
He glanced over his shoulder, but he knew even without looking that he was alone in the vault. Not only would he sense anyone’s approach, just as he could sense the empty space behind him and the twenty feet of solid earth above his head, but the wards he’d cast across the entrance would stop any unexpected visitors. Unlike the wards he’d unraveled on his way in.
He focused on the box again, alone at the back of the concrete room. Lyre’s spell coiled across it, digging through the layers of magic rooted in the steel. Ash tamped down his impatience. Destroying the spells would have been far simpler, but he wasn’t here merely to steal the prize within. He had to steal it without anyone knowing.
Slipping a hand into his pocket and grasping the smooth stone waiting there, he rolled it between his finger and thumb, wondering if the real one would feel different. His decoy was convincing. It had better be, considering Samael had provided it.
As Lyre’s spell went still, the lines glowing but no longer in motion, Ash reached for the box. How easy it was to flip open the unresisting lid. Haemons overestimated the reliability of magic. Trusting a handful of wards to protect a treasure this valuable was the mistake of someone who didn’t understand that magic was only as good as its weaver—and there was almost always a better weaver.
Magic was never a fail-safe. Sharp steel, on the other hand, had yet to let him down.
He leaned over the box, curious despite himself. Nestled in a bed of black velvet, the teardrop stone the size of the end of his thumb glistened in the light of Lyre’s spell.
A prickle ran down his spine. No, it couldn’t be.
He snatched the stone from the box. It was light in his hand—too light—with the feel of plastic rather than stone. A faint thrill tingled across his skin, an attempt to make the stone seem enchanted, but he could sense the flavor of haemon magic.
His lips pulled back from his teeth. A fake. A fake Sahar Stone locked in the vault. Did that fool of a Head Consul know he was guarding a counterfeit stone, or had he swapped the real one for this cheap imitation?
Ash slammed the fake back into the box and snapped the lid shut. Adding another touch of magic to the gem, still affixed to the metal lid, he triggered the second phase of Lyre’s spell, and it resealed the box in its original protections. Jaw flexing, Ash again checked his pocket for his decoy.
If the Sahar wasn’t here, where the hell was it?
When Lyre’s spell went dark, he retrieved the depleted gem and inhaled slowly, calming himself. He began the slow process of picking his way back through the vault, erasing all signs of his trespass as he went. Most of the defensive spells he had been able to disarm—Lyre had taught him well—and in a few cases, he’d used his own magic to interrupt a ward without destroying it. It was simple enough to rearm the existing spells. No one would know he had been inside, though he wasn’t sure what the point of covering his tracks was anymore. He hadn’t successfully stolen anything. Had someone beaten him here?
Five minutes later, he slipped out of the toolshed that hid the entrance to the vault. A whisper of his power called the shadows to him and he slid through the night, a dark wraith invisible to human eyes—and most daemon eyes.
A familiar warmth touched his mind a moment before Zwi swept out of the shadows. She landed on his shoulder, chittering softly. Her chaotic thoughts bubbled through his head in a litany of complaints about how boring it had been to keep watch and how long she’d had to sit there waiting and how he should have been faster and why was he so angry?
He shook his head, allowing her to see what he’d discovered in the vault. Draconians and dragonets didn’t “speak” to each other as humans understood it. The bond was far deeper and more intimate than that. They needed only to wish to share a thought, a feeling, or a memory for the exchange to happen instantaneously.
Zwi grumbled, unimpressed with the haemon attempt at creating a fake stone. He silently agreed. It couldn’t pass for a lodestone, let alone the Sahar. It might be enough to fool a haemon, but any daemon would instantly see what it was. Did the Head Consul realize the deception would last only until a daemon delegate touched the fake?
With Zwi perched on his shoulder, Ash circled the Consulate and entered through the front door, no longer bothering with stealth. A dusky, dark-haired Consul was slumped at the reception desk, snoring quietly. The man didn’t even stir as Ash passed him and headed for the stairs. In the basement level, murmuring voices drifted from the large common room where a few nocturnal daemons lounged.
He opened the door to his room and stepped inside. A small light hovered in midair, casting a golden glow across the man sprawled on his bed. Lyre looked up from the book in his hands, amber eyes gleaming.
“What are you doing in here?” Ash growled as Zwi jumped onto his pillow and nuzzled Lyre’s pale hair in greeting.
The incubus grinned. “Most people don’t complain about having an incubus in their bed.”
“Do I look like ‘most people’ to you?”
Lyre smirked. Ash grabbed his ankles and dragged the incubus half off the mattress to make space to sit down. Lyre sat up and, crossing his legs, leaned back against the wall. Zwi cooed happily and curled up in his lap. Little traitor.
Thumping back against the wall beside Lyre, Ash dug his hand in his pocket and tossed the purple gemstone toward the incubus.
Lyre caught it neatly. “So, did it work?”
Ash shrugged.
Lyre pulled a tortured face. “Come on, man. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
Ash shrugged again just to annoy him.
“If you don’t tell me, I won’t help you next time,” Lyre threatened.
“Yes, you will. You can’t resist the challenge.”
Lyre combed his fingers through Zwi’s mane. “You’re an ass, do you know that?”
Ash smirked. “Yes, I know. The spell worked perfectly, as expected. All your weavings work perfectly.”
Lyre beamed and tossed the stone into the air. “Well, not always. Remember that one time when your hair caught on fire and—”
“Let’s not talk about that one.”
Sniggering, Lyre let his head fall back against the wall, his gaze flashing across Ash’s face. “Aside from my weaving, I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”
“No.”
“Fill me in. Maybe I can help.”
“No.” Ash said nothing more. His terse response was fueled not by anger but necessity. He wouldn’t tell Lyre what his assignment was. He never told Lyre any more than he absolutely needed to. It was enough that the incubus helped him so often. He wouldn’t drag his best friend any deeper into his messes—or back into the hell Lyre had barely escaped.
A hell Ash would never escape.
“I can’t imagine what could be so interesting in a Consulate vault,” Lyre prompted. “It can’t be that dangerous, can it?”
Ash grimaced. Lyre had no idea how dangerous the vault’s treasure—had it been there—actually was.
He closed his eyes. The Sahar wasn’t in the vault, and whether it was in the Consulate or not, his job had gotten exponentially more difficult.
--
Steel & Stone Companion Collection
The Steel & Stone Series / Book Six
Copyright © 2017 by Annette Marie
www.annettemarie.ca
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations for review purposes.
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