A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

Madis crossed under a streetlamp, stopping as a dog barked nearby, and then he turned halfway, facing the other side of the street. His head cocked to the side. The dog had ceased barking, but it was like…he’d heard something else. I started to pull the dagger free.

What are you doing?

The voice that whispered in my thoughts was a mixture of mine and the silver-eyed god’s. I could strike Madis. I was sure of it. But then what? Surely, a mortal killing a god would not go unnoticed. The fury I felt at what he’d done to the child tipped me toward not caring about the then-what? part.

What drowns out that fear and pushes you to run so eagerly toward death?

The silver-eyed god’s words haunted me as I stood there, and it cost me. Madis had started walking toward the shadowy pathways between the homes, moving fast. I cursed under my breath and pushed away from the wall. The hilt of the dagger dug into my palm, and I followed him. I stopped once I reached the sidewalk, my gaze shooting in the direction he’d come from as I thought of the tingling warmth that had now faded.

I had a sinking suspicion the feeling was related to him.

“Fuck,” I muttered, glancing at the dark walkway and then back.

I started walking again, stopping near the end of the street. A faint bit of warmth returned as I turned to a building. No courtyard. The front door sat right off the sidewalk. Soft candlelight flickered behind the latticed windows along the side of the squat, stucco house. The white canopies on the roof were drawn, offering the pavilion a level of privacy.

A gas lamp sconce sat below the house number and a sign that read: Joanis Designs.

Icy air rushed down my spine. It couldn’t be the seamstress that had brought the frothy silk and pearl gown to my mother. That seemed too much of a coincidence—that I would be here for no reason, and that the god Madis would’ve harmed her.

I moved before I could stop myself and turned the handle of the front door. Unlocked. I resisted the urge to kick it open, even though that would make me feel better. Instead, I sedately inched it inside.

The smell of burnt flesh hit me as soon as I walked into the small foyer, the food I had eaten earlier souring in my stomach. I brushed past leafy potted plants in a den. Large spools of fabric and garment mannequins sat in the shadows. I held tight to the dagger and crept forward, entering a narrow, dark corridor where another door sat ajar. I knew the layout of these types of cottages. The chambers were stacked one after the other, with the kitchen typically at the back of the home, farthest from the living areas. The bedchambers would be in the middle, and the sitting rooms up front, where I’d seen the candlelight from the windows along the side of the home.

Quietly, I inched open the door that separated the den used for business from the rest of her home. My gaze skipped over the empty, light-colored chairs and settee and the lit gas lamp I hadn’t seen from the street that sat on a tea table. A glass had been toppled, spilling red liquid across the oak table and a half-closed book. On the floor, a slender pale foot peeked out from the front of the settee. I went farther in, inhaling sharply. There was another scent here. One that was fresher than the godsforsaken charred smell. It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it as I rounded the settee.

Dear gods.

Lying on her back was what remained of Miss Andreia Joanis. Her arms were placed over a bodice of pale lilac chiton as if someone had folded them. One leg was curled, the knee pressing into the leg of the tea table. Dark veins stained the skin of her arms, neck, and cheeks. Her mouth was open as if she were screaming, and the flesh—it was singed and charred. As was the area around her…

She had no eyes.

They had been burned out, the skin around them charred in a strange pattern, reminding me of…wings.

The soft stir of air behind me was the only warning I had. Instinct took over, screaming that if someone were still in this home and had moved upon me that quietly, it didn’t bode well. I turned, sweeping out with my arm—

A cool hand closed over my wrist as I twisted, thrusting up sharply with my right hand—my dagger. The blade met resistance, and the shadowstone, so sharp and deadly, pierced the skin, sank far—sank deep into his chest at the very same second the jolt of energy danced across my flesh, and I realized who had grabbed me.