Rain of Ash: Skydancer Book 1 (The Zyne Legacy) Read online

  There are witches among us. They are special, gifted human souls chosen by Fate to be reborn twelve times — once in each sign of the Zodiac, and one do-over. Through the force of their collected Karma, the Zyne hold the mortal plane in Cosmic balance. If their Karma is a force of light at the end of their turn on the Wheel of the Sky, their soul rejoins the heavens as a star. But not all souls choose the light. The mortal plane is rife with temptation, and powerful forces of darkness threaten to pull our world asunder. Soul-sucking fallen angels, half-demon shifters, elementals, and sorcerers of dark magic are just some of the immortal rivals the Zyne face.

  For centuries they have protected us, while vowing to keep their world hidden from mundane view. When they have failed at this cause, they’ve faced gruesome persecution. Yet their myths and lore, their tools and knowledge, and even some of their gifts, have bled into our mundane society. It could be the fireman running into a burning building, your vet, your mother’s next door neighbor with her crystals and tarot cards, or your local pub owner — there are witches among us. They have always been, and will always be. That is the Zyne Legacy.

  Skydancer Book 1

  An inherited secret.

  An ancient rival.

  A magical Legacy.

  Briana Spurrier turned her back on her heritage as a reincarnating witch to chase her dreams of being a concert pianist. On the eve of her greatest success, a tragic accident calls her back to her smalltown island roots, and a spell cast in her grandmother’s dying moments opens her to Oracle powers she’s spent her whole life trying to blot out. An enemy of old has surfaced, hungry for vengeance…and her soul. Unprepared and untrained, Bri must harness the magic buried deep within her before it drives her mad, or the demon of her past will hunt down everyone she holds dear.

  Which will break first…her heart or her mind?

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  Dedication & Gratitude

  To my mother and my mother’s mother

  for building a legacy of strong, magical women.

  THANK YOU to the many early readers who told me I had something good here: Evey, Sarah, Jen, and Mom. Thomma Lyn, I would never have finished the first draft without you, and am eternally grateful for your support and encouragement. To the Rumored Romantics (Lynnette, Roni, Dawn, and Suzanne) for helping me grow as a writer. To my RWA peeps (Anna, Christy, Danielle, and Rose) for never letting me give up on the dream and inspiring me with your success. And thanks to every contest judge, agent, and editor who gave feedback that led to the many rewrites and helped the story crystallize. I am a one-woman editing/formatting show, so any errors that remain are mine.

  “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls;

  The most massive characters are seared with scars.”

  —Kahlil Gibran

  Chapter One

  Toulouse, France

  1595

  Vivianne tipped her head back to welcome the rain. The sky’s gift revived her parched throat and washed away the days of caked blood and grime from her body, though it could not cleanse the stains from her soul. Water ran over her bruised shoulders and down her gouged arms, stinging where it met skin rubbed raw by rope bindings.

  Thunder roiled, inciting a murmur of anticipation from the jostling crowd. Fat droplets spattered the brick platform, stirring a haze that distorted their eager, hateful faces.

  She closed her eyes, longing for the peace that would soon come.

  “Brule la!” someone shouted. Burn her.

  Yes, she would burn. Fire was cleansing too. She had much to be cleansed of.

  “Madame Vivianne Regina Spurrier, Comtesse de la Feronique du Guard,” the herald began. The crowd hushed. The air thickened with a thirst for carnage and their fear of what she symbolized.

  Witchcraft.

  She had committed heinous, malicious acts against members of the French court, attempted to wile influential men to her bed for personal gain, bargained with the devil, and forsaken their Lord God. She’d been branded heretic and whore and a diseased piece of flesh to be cut from the arm of society. As the oration of her sins rang out, loathing seeped from the crowd into the rain-bloated sky and made her stomach churn like the clouds above.

  For certain, she was a witch, but she had done none of those things. Zyne were not supposed to get involved with mundane affairs. But when she’d foreseen the plague, she could not stand by and let hundreds, mayhap thousands, die needlessly. She’d used her powers to try and help them, yet they hated her. The Synod would not come to her aide. They were more concerned with her trespass against Zyne writ. She had thought they would intervene rather than let the rest of her coven suffer, but no. They would leave her to face the justice of her accusers. And she would carry the cost of all their lives into her next.

  The herald continued. For her crimes against God and the crown of France, to which she had given full, documented confession…

  She searched the dais for the man who had taken said confession. Father Dolores oversaw the proceedings with a look of cold detachment. Vivianne’s heart throbbed with fury as she stared into his eyes and glimpsed the shadow floating in their depths. She had tested her mettle against the darkness consuming him, while he had delighted in watching the breaking of her flesh and repeated violations of her body. Still, she had emerged the victor. Unclaimed. Unbroken. The strength of her bond to Lucas — the very thing that made her an outcast among her own people — had helped her to withstand the Dark One’s treachery and keep her family’s secret safe. She had broken many rules, but her vow to protect the Legacy still held fast.

  For that, she would burn.

  The executioner lumbered forward as the herald rolled his damp parchment and scurried away. Villagers she’d known half her life vied for position to cast stones and putrid fruit. She reached inside herself, searching for the strength to forgive them.

  They have only one turn on the Wheel.

  Their journey was harder — a single lifetime spent un-awakened to the filaments of energy underlying the mundane world. Her tie to the Conduit had unraveled at some point in the long dark of the past days, along with her will to keep fighting. Her magic had drained, as if her soul had already released its hold on this body. She was ready to let go.

  Her coven — all eight of them — dangled from the wall of the keep. Her daughter was safely out of reach of persecution, but her unborn child had been expelled from her womb by the abuses of her captors. Her lover…

  Tears sprang forth at the thought of Lucas. Would he find her again? Even for an immortal, eternity was a long time to promise. Because of their union, the Synod would hunt him. She knew he would grieve, and fight. But he was also free to live. To forget. Perhaps even to find another. Their magical bond would never end, but would his love endure lifetimes of searching…alone?

  The priest uttered the final prayer for Vivianne’s soul to be accepted into the Lord’s Kingdom. She let her head sink to her chest. Her soul would not be in the hands of their One True God for judgment or redemption. She had many lives yet to live. Endless lives.

  However many it takes to find my way back to you…

  The executioner tossed a bucket of tar at her feet.

  She bit her lip and focused inward, forcing her body to relax. Cries of “Sorcière!” and “Putain!” chorused off the high walls. Raindrops fell harder.

  “Brule la! Brule la!” the people chanted in senseless fury.

  Father Dolores smirked, the Dark One slithering over his face like the shadow of a passing cloud.

  You will pay.
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  His last words echoed in her heart. Yes, she would pay.

  Vivianne let out a slow, deep breath. The flames of the torch danced and sputtered as it neared. She gazed into them. This was the Fate she had chosen — the fire only a doorway. The pain would mark her passage into the next revolution of her journey.

  The torch lowered.

  A cloud of heavy black smoke choked the air from her lungs before she felt the heat. Flames licked her ankles, but she had no breath to cry out with. The scent of roasting flesh filled her nostrils. Searing pain surged through her veins. Her skin blistered. Her blood boiled.

  Let me pass.

  And then she felt nothing. She was ready. Another turn of the Wheel. Another chance to do things better. To pay the cost of the choices she had made in this life. She struggled against her bonds, but her flesh melted and fell away. Somewhere, there was a hoarse voice screaming.

  Her vision narrowed to a pinprick. The last cry to escape her charred lips was softer than a whispered prayer… Lucas.

  ***

  Sydney, Australia

  Present Day

  Briana shot awake and tossed off the covers. The sheets were drenched with sweat, and her nightgown clung to her skin, which had erupted in painful goose bumps. She ran her hands over her arms and legs, finding the skin smooth and unmarred. Her wrists tingled, but there were no marks on them.

  Just a dream. It’s not real.

  Her nightmares were usually just snapshots…blood, crying, pain. She hadn’t had a detailed one in years, and they were never so vivid. None of them had never clung so hard either, as if she’d brought a piece of it back to the waking world. She could still taste the smoke and singed flesh. Acid bathed her throat, and she stumbled to the bathroom. Not wanting to wake Eric, she closed the door before flicking on the light. Stars burst in her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt her way to the sink, trying to breathe past the burning itch in her chest. She half-expected to cough up a wad of tar as she gagged into the sink.

  She fumbled through her drawer looking for her anxiety meds. She hadn’t needed them in weeks. Doctor Stevens had even dialed back her dosages. Valium still got her to sleep most nights, but she was actually starting to believe her nightmares were going away.

  Her hands trembled as she tried to wrench the safety cap off the bottle. It popped open and exploded all over the counter. “Dammit!”

  What had set her off? The extra wine at dinner? Or maybe the argument they had before bed? She’d been doing better since returning from her recital tour. With a handful of pills down the hatch, she gulped a glass of water and splashed her cheeks. Her reflection was harrowed, a wispy ghost of herself, with a halo of wild auburn curls. Like always, the sight brought another ghost to fore: her mother’s face locked in a silent scream. Hair drifting softly in dark water.

  Briana shucked her nightgown and stepped into the shower. The sluice of hot needles grounded her in the present, but then it reminded her of the sensation of melting and peeling skin, so she turned it to full cold and tried to scrub the sting away.

  It was just a dream.

  She was in her apartment in Sydney. Eric was sleeping peacefully in the next room. Life was normal. They were leaving for New York in four days to sign on her album. Maybe that was it? She hated flying. Her to-do list was a mile long. Not to mention a pivotal moment in her career…and life. That had to be it. When she started to shiver, she stepped out and toweled off.

  Briana…

  She whipped around with a gasp. A faint outline filled the mirror beside her reflection, with curly hair gone silver. The soft brown eyes that used to be her safe harbor in any storm were staring right through her.

  Her heart plummeted to her feet.

  Briana, her grandmother’s voice was clear as a bell in her head. The floor tilted. She lurched, grabbing the vanity for balance.

  You have to see.

  “Oh, no.” Tears spilled from her eyes. “No. No. No.” This couldn’t be happening now. Not Ce-Ce. Not again. This was not supposed to happen. Never. Again. “Ce-Ce…no.”

  You have to see. Her grandmother’s face was so frightened and sad, pleading with her.

  Briana clutched the sides of her head, willing with all her might for the vision to stop. It felt as if reality was catapulting around her while she held still, huddled on the cold tile of her bathroom floor. The last time this had happened, she’d felt her lungs filling with icy water as her mother gulped her last breath. She’d woken the next morning to a world that was forever changed.

  Briana, daughter of my blood, you have to see, the voice tolled again, stronger.

  Somewhere in the distance, there was a loud pounding, a deeper voice yelling her name over and over. But the yelling blended into the crashing of waves. All she saw when she closed her eyes was a froth of white pouring over jagged rocks, spinning, spinning… Glass cracked against water, and the world imploded.

  See…

  “Ce-Ce! NO!” She screamed until she ran out of air, and blackness took her.

  When she woke, the bright Australian sun was beating against her eyelids, which felt paper thin. Eric was posted on the bed beside her, his normally serene face lined with worry. He held out a glass of cool water. Her throat was shredded. She took a long sip before collapsing back to the pillows.

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes to the steady throbbing in her temples. She couldn’t remember how many pills she’d taken in her panic last night. Enough to suffer a wicked hangover.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  She cracked an eye open at his accusatory tone. He meant well, but Eric would never understand. No mundane ever could. The best doctors and therapists and serenity retreats money could buy would never heal her. Not even her own people could help her beyond what had already been done. She had accepted years ago that she was too broken to be fixed. So, she had perfected the art of taking the beating and hiding the cracks. “It was only a nightmare. I thought I was fine.”

  “Well, you’re not fine. I’m going to cancel our trip. I called Doctor Stevens. He’s on his way.”

  She sat up at that. “Our trip? It’s my record deal. You know how important this is to me. I have to go.”

  “You’re in no state to travel. I just found you in hysterics and practically catatonic.” His hand, gentle, yet firm, pressed her back. He took a calming breath. “This is my fault. I’ve been too focused on work and not spending enough time with you. Forget New York for now. Let’s take a pleasure trip instead.” He stroked her hair, then her cheek. “Belize?”

  “Eric—” she started, bracing for another performance where she convinced him she was fine and life should go along as usual. Her phone buzzed on the bedside table, making the words catch in her throat. She let out an aggravated sigh and reached for it, but he snatched it up first.

  “Hello? Yes, this is her number.”

  Briana glared at him as she sat up. Then she noticed she was in a clean nightgown and tucked into fresh sheets. A tray of food sat at the foot of the bed. A vase of lilacs perched on the nightstand, permeating the room with their calming perfume. All of her frustration evaporated. He was only trying to take care of her. Maybe he also had a point. A week on the beach soaking up the sun and drinking mai-tais couldn’t hurt. Put everything on pause. Take a deep breath. Get her feet under her before embarking on this new path in her career.

  “Who is this?”

  She gave him a meek smile and held out her hand for the phone.

  Eric’s expression locked-down into that unreadable politico mask as he handed it over. “Astrid?”

  Her entire body went stiff, the smile withering. The fine hairs up her arms stood on end. Her hand felt leaden, moving in slow motion as she lifted the phone to her ear. Astrid was the best friend she’d ever had, but they only spoke a few times a year now, unless… Her lip trembled, but she steeled herself. “Hello?”

  “Bri.” Astrid�
��s voice was small. She sounded as if she’d been crying. “It’s Ce-Ce and Tara.”

  No…it wasn’t real! It couldn’t be. Not Tara too!

  “There was an accident.”

  Briana closed her eyes. That spinning feeling took hold again. She rubbed her breastbone as her body recalled the feeling of her insides being crushed with the pressure of tons of water. Ce-Ce’s words echoed in her bones. Her throat felt like it was full of gravel as she answered, “I’ll be on the next flight.”

  Chapter Two

  San Juan Islands, Washington

  Through eight human centuries and countless hosts he’d hunted the relic. With Cecelia dead and the line of Spurrier witches finally ground to dust, only one hurdle remained. The key to the vault had to be hidden somewhere in the old crone’s house. He began his search in the downstairs study.

  He’d thought the wily Oracle had foreseen his endgame and magically cached it away before he could reach her, but his tracking spell had pinpointed it to within a few hundred feet of where he was standing. She hadn’t had time to hide it.

  A thrill shook his muscles as he tore books from their shelves with a flick of his wrist.

  The study turned up nothing but useless Zyne trinkets.

  He climbed the stairs to the attic and tossed through every box, even checked for loose boards and secret nooks. On his way to Cecelia’s bedroom, he contemplated razing the whole thing to the ground and sifting through the ashes.

  As if in answer, the house’s blood wards flickered to life.

  Cold lightning stampeded up his spine. His guts curdled. He doubled over and faded to the porch. Raw power rose from the earth, singing his tongue as the wards strengthened to a steady hum, locking him out.