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  Ashes of Onyx

  Seth Skorkowsky

  ASHES OF ONYX

  By

  Seth Skorkowsky

  Copyright © 2019 Seth Skorkowsky

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  Edited by Tee Tate.

  Cover Design by Mibl Art.

  All stock photos licensed appropriately.

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  Published in the United States by City Owl Press.

  www.cityowlpress.com

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  For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and permission of the publisher.

  Praise for the Works of Seth Skorkowsky

  “Skorkowsky channels heavy themes of guilt, grief, and addiction into a bloody quest for revenge in this explosive, world-spanning urban fantasy, ASHES OF ONYX. Gruesome fight scenes and wildly imaginative, richly described alternate worlds lend an epic feel to their adventure. Dark fantasy fans will relish this magical thrill ride.”

  - Publisher’s Weekly

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  “Dämoren caught me off guard with its lovingly-crafted deviation from all the standard things we have come to expect in the genre, reading like a big budget horror film at times instead of a typical Dresden clone. It's solid stuff, and well worth a read.”

  - J.R. Karlsson, FictionGarden.com

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  “A top-quality urban fantasy novel. If it’s not up there with the Dresden Files’ latter volumes then it’s certainly above the first couple of them.”

  - Grimdark Magazine

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  “Skorkowsky has a great talent for writing tales that feel so classic, containing everything a reader wants (even if they don't know it), and yet somehow are also always so entirely original.”

  - The Girl Who Reads Too Much

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  “Rest assured Dämoren will satisfy all your needs in the action and thrills department, but what I was most impressed with was the world building and unique body of lore Skorkowsky has created, which offered a fresh new take on the angel/demon mythos.”

  - The BiblioSanctum

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  “Well-paced, fully immersive and hard to put down. If you’re into darker urban fantasy or simply enjoy reading about demon hunters try Valducan series. It’s brilliant.”

  - Fantasy Book Critic

  For Jorge Soto, who not only encourages my weirdness, but enables it.

  Thanks, brother.

  Contents

  Want More City Owl Press Books?

  Keep Reading Urban Fantasy

  1. Pinhole In A Parade Float

  2. Collections

  3. Quid Pro Quo

  4. Cruising Speed

  5. Come Down

  6. Gabriel Hounds

  7. Angel Kiss

  8. Elemental In The Night

  9. When Diplomacy Fails

  10. Ironclad

  11. The Ten Gates

  12. Tattoos And Handcuffs

  13. Luminous Clockwork

  14. Change Of Plans

  15. Welcome To The Abyss

  16. Golden Beetle

  17. The Arin Market

  18. Bank Withdrawal

  19. The Train To Etop

  20. Disciples Of Yellow

  21. City Of Black Spires

  22. Entry Denied

  23. Blind Date

  24. Enemy Of My Enemy

  25. Curious Minds

  26. Obsidian And Ice

  27. Kamre

  28. Crescent Of Gold

  29. D-Squad

  30. Beneath Crimson Stars

  31. The Queen In Yellow

  32. Regroup

  33. One Hit After Another

  34. I Don’t Give A Damn…

  35. …About My Bad Reputation

  36. Unlikely Allies

  37. Circling Hounds

  38. Voice Lessons

  39. The Garden Of Gods

  40. Hastur’s Temple

  41. Relics Of The Dead

  42. Riding The Storm

  43. The Court Of The Dragon

  44. The Pallid Mask

  45. Crimson And Clover

  Sneak Peek of Frostbite

  Want More City Owl Press Books?

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  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Additional Titles

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  Read more amazing stories from Seth Skorkowsky at www.skorkowsky.com

  * * *

  And discover even more urban fantasy novels like City Owl Press’ FROSTBITE by Joshua Bader.

  Getting hired to be a personal wizard for a billionaire may just become a death sentence.

  Colin Fisher is a young man with a lot of problems on his plate: a dying father, a dead car doubling as a home, and a mysteriously disappeared fiancée. You’d think with a magical inclination he’d be able to turn it all around, but not so much.

  * * *

  Yet his bad luck appears to be on the way out when the CEO of a multinational corporation offers him a job. It’s a sweet gig as a personal wizard with a fat paycheck. It just has one catch. The paranoid CEO isn’t a mere hypochondriac, he’s been hexed with an authentic ancient curse.

  * * *

  Now Colin is the only thing standing between his new boss and a frozen bundle of fangs, claws, and rage. If he can’t stop the cannibal ice demon in time to save his new boss, it’ll be back to living out of his dead car. That is, if he even survives the battle.

  * * *

  BUY NOW!

  1

  Pinhole In A Parade Float

  Kate needed a fix. Three days since her last scrape of dust, and the withdrawals were creeping along the base of her skull like a hundred needle-legged fleas. Normally, she could endure it, but sitting and waiting only made the itching worse.

  Desperate for a distraction, she rose from the leather chair and approached a locked display against the office wall. A modest collection of Outer World artifacts proudly rested beneath museum-grade lighting. Careful not to let her breath fog the tempered glass, she leaned closer to inspect a Hollit globe, a jeweled orb not much larger than a softball. Etched bands of red and whitish metal wove between the multicolored stones along its surface.

  She’d seen a half-dozen such puzzle spheres before. Albeit smaller, Vegner’s was superb in its craftsmanship. It was definitely the crown jewel of this collection. She could get a few hundred bucks for it with a single phone call. More if she had a week to shop it around. But why sell it for cash when she could trade for dust? Two, maybe three ounces if she played it right. The other artifacts were quite banal—a Dhevin gallows mask, a slender ivory ladle cut from the horn of some strange animal, and a bronze ring bearing an angular coat of arms she didn’t recognize.

  None of them were magical that she could detect. But Vegner would be a fool to display magical artifacts ne
ar a tempting window, even here on the nineteenth floor of this Baltimore skyrise. No, Kate decided, these artifacts were here for her. That explained why he was late to this appointment, allowing her time to explore his office alone and see for herself that he truly was a collector. Kate didn’t care one way or the other—as long as the money was good.

  One of the two oaken doors opened, and Claudio Vegner stepped inside, a waft of expensive-smelling cologne swirling in his wake. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Rossdale.” He extended a hand, the manicured, square nails buffed to a high gloss.

  “No problem at all,” Kate said, delivering her lines in this needless play. She accepted the hand, hoping he didn’t notice how bad hers were sweating. “I was just admiring your collection.”

  He nodded his thanks. “Please sit.”

  Kate lowered herself back into one of the two chairs opposite Vegner’s desk, its inlaid surface preserved beneath a plate of beveled glass. She scratched the back of her neck, chasing away the imagined fleas.

  Vegner took his seat. His combed-back, blond hair gave an impression of speed, disrupted only by his prominently jutting ears. The strong jaw and deeply clefted chin were something movie stars would envy. His build was that of a former athlete, a softening that still told of the muscles beneath. “I trust you’re doing well.”

  “I am,” she lied.

  “Good.” He gave a hollow businessman’s smile, tight lipped and devoid of warmth. “I’ve had the opportunity to add to my collection a particular piece of some value. But before I complete the transaction, I want to be sure it’s authentic.”

  “Always pays to be sure.” Kate set her hands across her lap to calm their trembling. It had been two months since her last job. She needed money for a fix, and maybe food, worse than she ever had. Money hadn’t been an issue at first. She’d had plenty after Master Boyer’s death, but time and bad decisions had whittled that away. “You know my fee?”

  “Of course,” he said with a smile of very white teeth. Vegner withdrew a stack of crisp twenty-dollar bills from his drawer and set it on the desk. “Two thousand in advance. We can’t have a disappointing answer muddle our incentive to pay, can we?” He placed a small glass vial of red crystals, like crimson rice, atop the bills. “And this is a little gift. Consider it a tip.”

  Kate’s hands tightened, but she maintained her impassive smile. Fuck you. She’d hoped her…dalliance wasn’t widely known. Accepting it would make her the junkie they believed her to be. No. She’d leave it here and score some of her own the moment this meeting was over, but Vegner wouldn’t get the satisfaction of witnessing her need. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat, fighting the urge to stare at the vial. The itching grew sharper. “And the artifact?”

  Vegner was still smiling, the mean victory gleaming in his shit-brown eyes. He pressed a button on his desk phone. “You may send him in, Jodie.”

  The second oaken door into Vegner’s office opened. A gray-haired woman in a flowing blouse stepped inside, a bald man with wild eyebrows and a navy suit behind her.

  A loathsome dread settled in Kate’s stomach. Terrance Dalton. Jesus Christ.

  “Miss Rossdale,” Dalton said. “It has been a while.” His eyes flicked to the glass vial, and his lip curled. “Keeping yourself busy, I see. Claudio, why’s she here?”

  “I’ve hired Kate as my authenticator.”

  Dalton snorted. “Claudio, if you wish for authentication there are several impartial towers that I could recommend.”

  “No,” Vegner said. “Too many back deals and alliances between towers. Covens bring their own baggage. Muddy things up. Miss Rossdale has no such loyalties, and that is the reputation I’ve hired. But if you wish to soil her neutrality, please, keep talking.”

  Dalton swallowed and lowered himself into the seat beside Kate’s. “If this is your wish. I’ve no doubt she’ll verify what I’ve said.”

  Kate forced a courteous nod. Lack of loyalties also required she not rock the boat. The Amber Tower held a lot of influence, not just in Maryland, but the entire east coast. The subtle glyph on Dalton’s pinky ring showed that he’d achieved the rank of Magister Lex. Her equal now, though with a different focus. He could make life very difficult for her if she didn’t play nice.

  Dalton opened a briefcase and removed a flat, black-lacquered box. He slid an ornate bronze pin from the latch and held the box before her. Kate accepted it, surprised at its weight. Her face reflected in the shiny surface like a polished obsidian scrying mirror. Vegner watched her with passive intensity, his fingers laced before him as she set it onto the desk and carefully opened the lid.

  An elaborate medallion of greenish gold rested inside atop burgundy velvet. A pale blue gem, as large as a quarter, crowned its center, nested in weaving bands of metal. The ceiling fluorescents hadn’t even gleamed off its cut facets before Kate had determined there was no magic in it. But such news couldn’t be delivered right away. Simply declaring it roused questions of competence. She had to at least pretend it was difficult to spot.

  Gently, she lifted the amulet from its cushion, drawing the long chain from a hidden pocket. “Torban gold,” she mumbled as if to herself. The artifact was definitely not of this realm. She couldn’t identify the stone, but gemology had never been her forte. Most likely, it too came from Torba, but no different than any ordinary stone of its kind. Tiny glyphs ran the lengths of the golden ribbons, so small she could barely make them out. She opened her attaché and removed a folding loupe. Peering through the lens, she followed the intricate symbols around the gem, each one warping into full clarity under magnification before sliding away. The glyphs revealed this to be a ward, repelling elementals and lower hexes. The craftsmanship was superb, each tiny symbol crisp and precisely placed. Yet it didn’t work. There had to be a—There!

  Hidden beneath the stone, she spotted a single symbol like a curved V, but the glyph was inverted. That one error, a half-millimeter engraving, had made an imperfect seal, allowing the power to escape.

  “It’s authentic,” she said, closing the loupe, the trembling returning to her hands. “Torban, excellent quality, but…” She shook her head. “There’s no magic in it.”

  “What?” Dalton laughed.

  Vegner seemed unmoved.

  “Claudio, she’s mistaken.”

  “Are you mistaken, Miss Rossdale?” Vegner asked.

  “No,” Kate said.

  Dalton huffed, still looking at Vegner. “Magus Eli Gregor learned the spell from that very amulet. That would be impossible if it wasn’t enchanted.”

  Vegner opened his hand to Kate, asking for an explanation.

  “I’m sure he did,” she said. “It likely held the enchantment for years, but an imperfection in the spell’s binding allowed it to escape. Slowly, like a pinhole in a parade float. But it’s gone now.”

  The muscles in Dalton’s jaw rippled. “Claudio, I assure you that the amulet is the real thing. You can’t take this woman’s word for truth. Her own Master died from her incomp—”

  “Don’t you speak of him,” Kate growled, her face growing hot.

  “Or what? You have no tower, no magic. Everyone knows that the once great Kate Rossdale, Magister Arcanus, is nothing but a worthless blood duster.”

  Kate shot to her feet, fist clenched, and attaché falling to the floor.

  “That’s enough,” Vegner said, flicking his hand up. “Miss Rossdale, I’m satisfied with your findings. You’ve earned your fee. Thank you.” These last two words were delivered in the same tone another man might say fuck off.

  Kate opened her mouth, ready to tell Mr. Terrance Dalton exactly what he could do with his amulet, but stopped. Not worth it. She released a breath, rage cooling.

  Dalton was grinning at her, the corners of his ugly-ass eyebrows upturned, obviously anxious for whatever she planned to say.

  Forcing down her anger, she slid the spilled books back into her fallen attaché, scooped the vial and money off the desk, and
shoved them into her purse. She’d earned this dust. “Thank you, Mr. Vegner.”

  “Good day, Miss Rossdale.”

  Dalton was glaring at her, an expression that said, This isn’t over, but Kate was already moving toward the door.

  “So, Mr. Dalton,” Vegner was saying, “I’m no longer interested.”

  “Claudio, please.”

  “And it seems that you owe me two thousand dollars.”

  She shut the door behind her, missing whatever came next. The secretary, Jodie, looked up from her computer, a muted click closing what appeared to be a game screen. Heart still pounding, Kate gave her a perfunctory smile and made her way out of Vegner’s office suite.