Page 13 of Heir of Ashes

Beyond the door, about twenty feet away, stood a bank of elevators. My freedom.

“Hello?” I called.

No one answered.

“Hello!”

Still no answer.

“Help me!”

I let go of the door, the faint buzzing lingering on my skin a bit longer. I inched my right hand closer to the threshold, again concentrating my attention on that buzzing static, ready to pull back if it hiccupped. I recalled all the spells and stuff the PSS had used that worked on every other preternatural but had no effect whatsoever on me, like the blocking bracelet. Could this ward be the same? I inched closer and reached the frame, the threshold, and the buzzing … stopped.

I froze, not breathing, not even blinking. But nothing happened. There were no infernal flames, no intense heat, no nothing to reduce me to cinders. Pride and triumph flared inside me. I was about to take a step out the door when the buzzing returned and a brilliant light pattern flashed once, twice. There was a phantom tug on my hand right before I was flung back forcefully. It was like being hit by a giant fist; so potent was theshove that I skidded a few inches off the floor. I hit the compact glass bar with a bone-jarring thud, teeth clacking, before I slid to the floor in a shower of glass, liquid, and noise. A lot of noise.

Stars danced in my vision, threatening to close in. Everything hurt. My back, my head, my legs, my ribs, my arms. But the worst was the searing heat on my right hand. When I managed to focus my watering eyes on it, my stomach contents curdled. Blisters covered the whole surface, and, oh God, some parts were charred black.

I was not a crier. The PSS taught me how futile the sentiment was, but on that horrible night in the penthouse of the MGM, I sobbed like a baby. But I didn’t let myself wallow in self-pity. Not for long anyway. After some deserved tears, I dried my face on the sleeve of my jacket and forced myself to examine the damage closely. The whole hand, palm and back, was either covered in blisters or charred. There wasn’t an inch of healthy skin. My wrist, however, was smooth and healthy.

My jacket was in perfect shape. No burn spots or smoke marred the cloth. My left hand, like my right wrist, looked smooth and blister-free. In fact, the only part of my body burning was the hand that had had physical contact with the threshold. Of course, my body was screaming from all the injustices it had been enduring lately. Injustices that I was beginning to suspect were all connected to Remo Drammen.

I had to get the hell out of there, or pain would be the least of my worries. First things first, my inner voice told me. Focus. There should be ice in the bar. I spotted what could be a freezer and braced to get up, cursing when a piece of broken glass cut the palm of my left hand.

“There goes smooth,” I murmured, watching the blood well up. With a calm I didn’t feel, I looked around at the mess and grabbed a vodka bottle that was still intact, and studied it for a moment, my blood staining the glass red. With a loud, ragingroar, I threw the bottle at the opposite wall. It exploded in a loud shower of glass, liquor, and the strong scent of alcohol. Some of the glass fell through the threshold to the other side. I sighed, filled with spite at the chaos that littered the once-pristine room.

Fifteen minutes later, I slammed the door shut with a bang. No one had bothered to investigate all the noise. The makeshift ice bandage around my burning hand leaked water all over the place. The mess I was making gave me some childish satisfaction, but it was of no help in the long run.

I moved to the window and watched as night turned into day. I couldn’t feel any of the buzzing energy at the window, but Remo Drammen had ensured I wouldn’t be going out that way simply by choosing the topmost floors. I realized there was nothing I could do but wait and see.

***

After I’d exerted enough of the restless energy coursing through me by pacing, I sat to think. I had combed through the entire penthouse—a state of art and luxury—and aside from cutting a pillowcase to ribbons and bandaging my hand, found nothing to use to my advantage. Shifting my hand to talons only caused excruciating pain. The blisters didn’t heal like the gash on the palm of my left hand did.

There wasn’t even a basic first-aid kit anywhere. In fact, the entire place felt unoccupied. There was one lonely suit—white—hanging in the closet, still carrying the designer tag. Nothing else. Nothing in the bathroom but complimentary toiletries. Nothing personal.

***

I jolted awake on the sofa, fully awake and alert at the sound of soft tapping on glass. How could I have fallen asleep?Stupid.

I searched for the source, but there was nothing. Outside, morning was in full swing. All three doors were open, and when the tapping came again, I followed the sound to the masterbedroom, where the tapping was coming from behind the thick drapes.

Tap, tap, tap.

I hesitated. Was Remo Drammen behind the curtain? A hellhound? Or maybe a demon, or something just as nasty?

Tap, tap, tap.

Ah, but wasn’t I the curious cat? I approached the window cautiously, grabbed the curtain, and yanked, belatedly realizing I should have grabbed something to use as a makeshift weapon. A gasp escaped my lips when I saw the figure plastered to the window.

“My God.” I hurried forward and fumbled with the latches on the window. How? Logan’s lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear him. He tapped on the glass with his fingernails again to get my attention and mouthed for me to move back. When I did, I saw the rope he was dangling from. I retreated until the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed.

Logan kicked the window with one sturdy boot, breaking the glass. Warm air rushed in, along with the sound of distant traffic. Then he kicked it again and again, widening the gap until no jagged edges remained and it was wide enough for him to get in. He dropped lightly to the floor, smashing glass under his boots, giving a cursory look around, sniffing and listening. Once he deemed the room safe enough, he focused his gray eyes on me. He took in my bloodstained, rumpled clothes before fixing his intense gaze on my bandaged hand.

“You alright?”

I nodded, and after one more look around, he beckoned me forward. “We have to go now. Before someone comes to check on you.”

“Why? Why are you helping me?”

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