Page 37 of Wolf of Ashes
I don’t doubt his sincerity, but I’m struggling to understand how it could be so. “How the fuck can you not remember him?”
The keeper casts a sharp glance my way as if he’s about to rebuke me—I expect him to—but his expression quickly softens as his gaze flows across my face from my compressed lips to my desperate eyes.
“There are two explanations why I might not have tethered his magic,” he says, “but I doubt either will be welcome news.”
I lean back a little. “I can handle it.”
“One is that he was killed for his power and whoever killed him siphoned all of his power as he died, leaving nothing for me to collect.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, fighting a shiver of apprehension. “That’s very possible. Mom said my uncle—my father’s brother—was born with only a fraction of his power. That happens with the second-born. He was envious of my father’s strength. He, or any of the other men close to my father, would have coveted his power. And they would need that level of authority to hold on to the empire.”
The keeper exhales heavily. “It will make your opponent even more dangerous.”
“True,” I whisper. The keeper said there were two possible explanations and now I ask, “What’s the other reason?”
“The other is that the keeper of light magic may have tethered your father’s magic.”
I’m glad I wasn’t trying to eat as he spoke because I would have choked on my food. “How the fuck could that happen?”
The keeper gives me a glance, full of deep pity. “You’re aware of the four magics?”
“Of course,” I say, not liking the hint of compassion he’s aiming at me. “Dark magic, light magic, elemental magic, and the rarest: old magic.”
“Then I’m sure you’re fully aware that angels are creatures of light magic. Even an angel born into darkness will carry a spark of light somewhere within them.” The keeper gives me a hard stare. “It’s almost impossible to completely snuff out light magic.” His nose wrinkles. “It keeps popping up. If your father committed a noble act before he died, an act of redemption, then his magic could have reverted to light magic at the end.”
My eyes widen at this awful possibility. “Which means his magic wouldn’t have come to you.”
The keeper arches an eyebrow at me and my shoulders sink further.
“I guess that’s possible.” I sigh. “Mom said he died in front of her. She always choked up when she tried to speak about his final moments. If he gave his life for her… and for me… he may have redeemed his soul.”
At the keeper’s nod, my hope of gaining knowledge about my father’s final moments fades.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “Then I’m back to square one.” I cast the keeper a pained glance. “Remind me never to commit an act of mercy or compassion. There’s no fucking way I want my magic to be collected by the keeper of light magic when I die.”
The keeper purses his lips, his piercing gaze now dissecting me. “But you are not a dark angel,” he muses, his gaze running from my face to my toes, a long, slow look that feels like he’s pulling me apart piece by piece.
He leans forward, his voice low. “If your father was a dark angel, how do you have claws?” Just like the Serene Commander back at the Cathedral, he asks, “What are you?”
Except that the way he speaks indicates he’s intrigued, unafraid, as if he’s anticipating the answer with great relish.
I grin at him, a smile that implies I know the answer, even though I don’t.
Before I can reply, movement in the distance catches my eye. Another commotion from within the shop.
I arch an eyebrow, grateful for the interruption when the same human male as before bursts through the shop’s front door and rushes toward us.
His scruffy hair flies around his face as he storms across the pavement. “Hey, get the fuck off my ute!”
The keeper rolls his eyes before flicking his fingers at the man. “Not your ute.”
Dark light whacks the man’s chest and splashes up across his face, bringing him to an immediate halt.
He blinks at us for a moment before he scratches his head. “It isn’t?” He takes another look at the vehicle, peering at it and then us for a long, confused moment before he turns back to the shop. “I don’t know why I came out here.”
“Go back to your food,” the keeper says, his eyes glittering. “Unless you’d like to stay and eat with us?”
The man blinks at the keeper, who returns the stranger’s look with a gleaming smile so full of malice that it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Nobody in their right mind would accept his offer of hospitality.
