Page 26 of Ashen Souls

The stranger in the dark coat had wrenched me out of the dream right at the breaking point, and Daeren hadn't returned since. I spent every night waiting, desperate for the scent of ash, and waking up to nothing but stale air. I couldn't even hate the stranger for it. If he hadn't found me, I probably would have frozen to death in the muck while my mind was happily being ravaged in delirium.

“You scared us half to death, Aveline.” The lightheartedness dropped from Dad’s voice. “After Chloe called in tears because you’d been gone for three hours, your mother was ten minutes away from calling the police and organizing a search party.”

“That’s a slight overreaction to a three-hour walk.” I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Fine. I'm coming down. But tell Mom I'm not eating. I just want coffee.”

“Deal.”

Pushing the blankets back, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and reached across the nightstand with my left hand to grab my phone.

I glanced up. My father had stopped mid-turn. The easy, parental exasperation was wiped from his face. The color drained from his cheeks, leaving him a sallow gray. His eyes locked onto my extended left wrist with a rigid intensity.

“Dad?” I dropped my arm. “Are you okay?”

He didn't blink. He just kept staring.

I twisted my wrist, looking down at it. There was nothing there. Just pale skin and a small patch of redness where I had been absentmindedly scratching it earlier. It had been itching all morning.

“It's nothing.” I rubbed the spot with my thumb. “Just an allergy or something. It's itchy.”

He dragged his eyes away from my wrist, meeting my gaze.

“What about the dreams? Are you still having those vivid dreams?”

I hadn't mentioned the dreams since the hospital. And I certainly wasn't going to tell my father that my subconscious was currently failing to conjure up the ancient entity that promised to fuck me with his mouth.

“Not really.” I forced my expression to stay bored. “Guess my brain is finally healing.”

He studied me for a second. Then he gave a stiff, jerky nod.

“Right.”

He turned and walked out.

The scent of roasted coffee hit me before I reached the living room. I walked into the kitchen to find my mother pressing the power button on the espresso machine, her back to me.

“Aveline,” she called out over the mechanical whir. “Cappuccino, as usual?”

“Actually, I just want an Americano today.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a mild question in her eyes, but reached for a different mug.

“Where's Dad?” I asked, pulling out a stool at the island.

“He went to get you.”

“He did. We were supposed to come here together, but...” I traced the grain of the wood with my thumbnail. “I don't know. He acted weird and just walked off.”

Mom laughed, tapping the portafilter against the counter. “Oh, please. You know how he is. A thought crosses his mind about some restoration project, and he vanishes into his study like the rest of the world stopped spinning. He's probably in there now.”

I slid off the stool and headed for the basement stairs to his study. The door was cracked open. I didn't knock, pushing it quietly inward.

He didn't hear me.

My father was hunched over his oak desk, but he wasn't handling a fragile archival text with his usual care. He was frantically flipping through a thick black leather journal I had never seen before. His fingers moved with an erratic energy, his eyes scanning the yellowed pages like his life depended on whatever was written there.

“What is that?” I asked.

He flinched so hard his elbow knocked a stack of blank sheets to the floor.