City of Burning Shadows (Apocrypha: The Dying World) (2 page)

Her eyes were on my neck, and I stuck a hand back there. My fingers came away spotted with blood. Leftover from my encounter with the lizards. “I’m fine. No problem.” I reached inside for a genuine smile. Iris could always tell the difference.
 

It wasn’t convincing enough. Iris followed me back to my office.

Okay, technically it had been a storage closet before they’d hired me. Amelia had cleared some space and they’d squeezed in a desk. They’d even painted my name across the frosted glass door. Joshua Drake, nothing more. No fancy job title for the secretary/transcriptionist/file clerk. Not many of us “retired” priests had much in the way of marketable skills. I was lucky to be here, lucky to be able to run water and pay my bills and have someplace to come in out of the rain. Not that it rained anymore in Miroc. Like so many other things, sustainable living in the desert had gone right out the window when the gods went away.

My little desk was wedged into the far corner, with an old computer and a single chair. The rest of the space was claimed by filing cabinets, shelves, and tilting stacks of boxes and folders. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine.

Iris leaned against the doorway, her soft brown skin darkening to a concerned black. “So what’s going on?”

I’d been picking fights, but Iris didn’t need to hear about that. She had harassments of her own to deal with. I’d walked away, so no reason to dwell, right?

And if I was being completely honest, my day had been rough even before I got on that train. “Another bad night,” I shrugged. “No big deal.”

“Again?” she asked. “Have you considered—”

“Yes,” I snapped. “Doctors, pills, therapy, séances—whatever you’re going to suggest, I’ve considered it. I’m fine, all right?”

The words came out harsh. Harsher than I’d meant. “I’m sorry, Iris, it’s just—”

“Whatever, Ash.” She stalked away.

I sighed. Iris was a friend, pretty much the only one I had these days. I’d have to apologize later. Once I wasn’t so on edge.

Amelia Price had given me the file room to manage, a harmless enough occupation. And more than enough work, as slammed as P&B was these days. Every flat surface was piled high with files from recent cases, and these were just the public files, the information P&B would release to the press or the government if an investigation required it. The secrets, the proprietary details, those were all stored on the systems that only Amelia Price or Jonathan Breckenridge had access to.
 

There shouldn’t have been anything back here to get me into trouble. Except that I’d been trained to find secrets other people wanted hidden. In my old life, before the Abandon, I’d been a research archivist for Kaifail’s temple. I’d been one of the best. It wasn’t a skill worth much now that society was falling apart, but it meant I was good at seeing the puzzle pieces hidden in otherwise innocuous documents, and I could read between the lines like a pro. I didn’t know details, couldn’t find much more than tantalizing hints, but I was absolutely certain Price & Breckenridge was involved in more than what they advertised on the door.
 

It was tempting, so tempting to reach for the tools my time as a priest had given me. To really focus, engage my mind, and most of all to touch once more the magic I was afraid I’d lost the knack for.

Except that I couldn’t afford to lose this job.
 

Getting myself killed provoking fights was one thing. Starving to death in the street was a whole other. Not that I’d probably live long enough to starve. I’d be another headline: former priest of Kaifail beaten to death, or burned alive, or strung up with his intestines hanging out for the crows. People in this city were nothing if not creative in their punishments for those of us they blamed for the state of things.

All this was still fresh in my mind when the intercom on my desk pinged. “Mr. Drake?” The security guard. “There’s a man down here asking for you.”

Was there any way this could be good? “Who is he? What does he want?”

“Says he needs to see you. Says you know each other.” The guard’s voice dropped, whispering into his microphone: “He says he was a priest.”

Just like that, I was back on my feet. “I’ll be right down.” Because I hadn’t learned my lesson yet about getting involved. Because I didn’t have enough to worry about these days. Most of all, because I thought it would be good to see a friend.

In other words, I hurried back downstairs because I was an idiot.

CHAPTER TWO

Bright and Dark

Thirteen gods, thirteen priesthoods, and not every one responded to the Abandon in the same way. Some withdrew into themselves, pulling away from the world until they were lost. Others fractured and imploded without the direct guidance of their deity to hold them together. One church—Jansyn’s, of course—actually tried to find an answer, an explanation for why the gods had suddenly disappeared. They might even have succeeded if their Favored Son hadn’t snapped one night and started…well, that’s a different story.

We who followed Kaifail pretty much went on with business as usual. Kaifail had never had a direct hand in our daily lives. He’d never shown any interest in church politics or practices. You could say Kaifail abandoned his children back before it was cool. The church was ours even more than it was his, and so it survived the Abandon and even grew in prominence as the rest of the world started to crumble.
 

Put another way, we priests stepped up to assume the responsibilities Kaifail had abdicated. In his name, we continued to minister, to teach, to counsel. We spoke out, because it was our way. We continued to tell our stories as the world descended into nightmare around us.

All that accomplished was to make us a target. We couldn’t stop the fear. We couldn’t stop the world from breaking. Mobs and violence, fires…even the temple burned at the end.
 

At least, that’s how it happened here in Miroc. I have no idea how Kaifail’s temples fared elsewhere in the world. All I know is, for all the scars I bear, I was one of the lucky ones. I had long since given up hope that anyone else had escaped.

Except there he stood at the security station. A face I knew well. “Micah?”
 

“Ash!”

I gripped his offered hand, a reflex, and squeezed it harder than was polite as a complicated storm of emotions ran through me. Relief that a friend—a fellow priest was still alive. And joy to see him. But deeper down, in that churning part of my soul that never seemed to quiet, I was pissed. “Where did you come from? Where have you been?”

Micah had obviously been through hard times. A jagged diagonal scar marred what had once been one of the handsomest faces in Miroc. It continued under his jaw, down his neck, all the way to the iridescent lines of his Bright God tattoo. His clothing, too, was new for him. He was dressed like me, in the light linen robes that were the best way to survive now that the true desert climate had enveloped the city. In those plain drapes of fabric, who would guess he’d once been the darling of Kaifail’s stage, the shining jewel of Bright Kaifail’s church?

He frowned, doubtless measuring me in the same way, taking in the new shape my nose had healed into and the scars that trailed rough dark lines across what had once been smooth brown skin. I’d accepted these changes as a small price to pay for the fact I could still draw breath. “It’s good to see you,” he said.
 

“I didn’t know anyone else made it out. I thought everyone was dead.”

“So did I. Until I saw your name in the directory.”
 

I yanked my hand back. “You’re here for Price & Breckenridge?” Add betrayal to the emotional soup in my head.
 

His smile faded. “I’m sorry. I can’t pretend I’m not. Believe me, I’m grateful to find you, too.”

“I’ve been here.” A sudden roughness in my throat made it hard to talk. “I’ve been here for months. Where have
you
been?”

We’d risen together through the priesthood, both gifted kids from families who couldn’t afford to pay for secular education. Micah’s face and talents had drawn the attention of the Bright Church’s scouts, while my own interests had pointed me towards the Dark Church’s studies, but we’d remained close over the years. Despite what outsiders might think, there has never been enmity between the two sides of Kaifail’s church. Competition, sure, and even a sibling-like rivalry, but we have always been one church, not two.

Which made it so much worse that it was Micah—that he’d only come here because he needed something.

Micah glanced at the security guard, who was watching our interchange with shameless interest. Micah twitched his chin to indicate we should step out of earshot and put a hand on my arm—a normal, friendly gesture that I jerked away from faster than I could think.
 

But when he walked a few steps away, I followed. “I’ve been in hiding,” he whispered. “With people…people trying to help. Trying to
do
something.”

It was hard not to read accusation into his words. “I’m done with crusades.” I had to clench my fist to stop myself from compulsively running fingers along the scars that traced my arms, hidden under the loose sleeves of my robe.
 

“I know.” Micah’s tone was placating. “I feel terrible asking you for anything. I do. But we need help. We need your employers’ help. I need you to—”

“No.” I turned away from him, strode to the elevator, and pushed the button. Whatever was going on, whatever trouble, whatever crisis, I wanted nothing to do with it.
 

The elevator arrived with a ding. The door slid open. But Micah hadn’t given up.
 

“Ash.” His voice was soft. “There’s no one else we can go to. And this is important. I can’t tell you how much. Please. I don’t know what else to do.”

I stood with my hand on the elevator door. A couple more steps and I could leave him behind. Walk away. Abandon him to whatever problems had driven him out of hiding. Driven him to me.

“What do you want from P&B?” I asked without turning around.

“Just a meeting at first. My friends want to see a representative from the firm. It’ll be worth Price’s time to talk to us. We have information she’s interested in. Information about the city council.”

Gods-dammit, I was going to do this. “I’ll talk to Amelia.” I stepped into the elevator. “No promises.”

The doors slid shut behind me, cutting off any response he might have made.

#

The door to Amelia’s corner office was open, and I could see Iris inside, sitting on Amelia’s desk, leaning in close to read what Amelia had up on her computer. On the touch-screen display that filled the wall to their right, a map of the city was displayed, marked with a number of circles and Xs. Whatever was going on had both of them frowning.
 

I lingered in the doorway, unsure if I should interrupt.

No question it was Amelia I needed to see. Jonathan Breckenridge was a brilliant attorney, and he had earned his name on the door a hundred times over, but P&B was Amelia’s firm. Everything funneled through her.

Amelia’s office wasn’t the cluttered mess of my workspace, but, like Miroc, it had seen better days. The fountain that had once trickled soothingly in the corner stood dry and the potted ferns that used to soften the light from the wide, ceiling-to-floor windows had been left to die as the price of water soared.
 

Miroc had been a green city. Sure, no one was ever going to call it pretty, but once upon a time, it had looked alive, not baked brown by the desert sun. Through the thirty-third-floor windows, I had a clear view of scorched parks, cracked roads, and crumbling high-rises. High in the sky, fluttering shadows under the afternoon sunlight—the bird priests wheeled in the air, praying to a goddess who no longer answered. Not since the Abandon had their aerial dances brought the rains that used to keep this city lush and beautiful. Despite that, they were the only remaining priesthood no one in the city dared attack on sight. Because we never entirely give up hope.

And at the city’s edge, untouched by the decay far below, the glittering glass dome of the Crescent stood serene and untouched. If we all dried up and blew away, would the Jansynians even notice?
 

“Are you here for the view, Ash, or is there something I can do for you?” Amelia’s question startled me back to the present. She and Iris were both staring at me.

Stronger men than I have been lobotomized by one of Amelia Price’s stares. “If you’re not too busy, can I talk to you about something?”

Iris slid off the desk. “Might as well. We’re nowhere with this.”

Amelia turned a tight, but affectionate smile at Iris, then swiped her hand across the wall, sending it dark. “What is it you need?” she asked me.

Brevity was my ally. “A friend came to see me this morning. He wants to hire Price & Breckenridge.”

“I’m sorry.” Amelia’s dismissal was quick and painless. “We don’t have the resources to take on new clients right now.”

And that was that. Easy and over. Until Iris got involved. “What friend?”

I tried to think if Iris had ever met Micah. She and I had crossed paths a few times before Iris had met Amelia and settled into the person she was now. Back then, Iris had spent a lot of her time working freelance for the university, tracking down random and obscure bits of information for the senior students. And on occasion for priests of Kaifail.
 

“Micah Talmadge. He was—”

“An actor, wasn’t he?” Amelia asked. “I saw him in
Songs like the Ocean
. And that play about the Twins. He was really quite something.” She paused, thoughtful. “What was it he wanted?”

“A meeting. He didn’t say what about.” I could have left it there. But no amount of petulance justified not giving Amelia the full story. “He said his employers knew something about the city council? Something you would want to know?”

Iris’s head jerked up, like she’d been stabbed. Amelia’s only response was to narrow her eyes. If I hadn’t been looking straight at her, I would have missed it.