Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Ash stumbled, a little unsettled after the silver-haired barbarian spun her back toward the village. Furious, she wheeled around only to find herself alone in the forest.
Mine?
What an arse.
She stomped to the edge of the forest and stopped short. The angry mob of dripping villagers milled about, glaring into the shadows where she hid as if she personally owed them a monsoon refund.
Wretched gits.
At least the rain had stopped.
But the rogue cloud detaching and drenching only them? That was her new normal now. An anomaly that had started a few months ago.
When her emotions spiraled out of control, it affected the weather. Quite fitting, really. With her background in Meteorology and Climate Science, maybe she should analyze herself.
Ugh. She shut off her self-deprecating thoughts, her gaze fixing on the drenched idiots in their mud-streaked clothes. Witch, really?
This awful place should be sanctified with tons of holy water, and those buffoons tied in a vat of the stuff for days!
It was supposed to be a straightforward trip—find the village of Narakhet and locate a woman named Janika, who hopefully could tell her more about her past. Instead, she’d been chased by a bunch of twats wielding clubs, drenched by her own out-of-control abilities, and manhandled by a feral, silver-haired Neanderthal who thought claiming her like property was perfectly normal.
Now she would have to sneak around like a darn thief, just to find out if Janika had returned to the village. Man, this trip truly sucked.
Ash exhaled a frustrated breath, slipped her chilled hands into her wet coat pockets, and kicked a twig out of her way. Damp mist curled around her, and she shivered as she hurried through the woods toward Khetra House.
A half-hour later, the tranquil boarding house came into view.
Nestled at the base of rugged cliffs and cedar-clad ridges, it served as a stopover for hikers and climbers.
Its mismatched extensions gave the timeworn place a disjointed look, but its thick stone walls kept out most of the bone-deep mountain cold.
Ash sprinted inside, into warmth. Damp clothes clung to her skin, the chill seeping into her bones, and she shivered. Somewhere in the building, prayer bells tinkled softly, and woodsmoke mingled with the savory spice of dinner, drenching the air.
A single bulb flickered in the hallway, revealing once-white walls now yellowed with age. She didn’t trust the power to last the night and hoped the wheezing generator would hold.
In her dimly lit room, she locked the door, hastily pulled off her sodden clothes, and tossed them aside. Teeth clattering, she fumbled on her warm, faded blue gown, switched on the small heater, and collapsed across her narrow bed with a weary sigh, dragging the faded quilt over her.
Then winced. The extra comforter under her did little to hide the lumpy mattress.
A soft rap on the door, and Ash stifled a groan.
Ash slipped off the bed, flexing her fingers, trying to ease the prickling sensations.
She opened the door and smiled at the tiny, bird-like woman with her gray hair pulled into a low bun.
Her bright woolen shawl in shades of autumn, draped over a white sari, slipped off one bony shoulder as she carefully balanced a tray in her wrinkled hands.
Next to her, Ash’s lean five-foot-eight frame felt awkwardly tall.
“Good evening, Ama Deni. You shouldn’t have, really.” She relieved her of the tray and carried it to the small wooden table by the window.
“I watch for you. I brought you dal bhat. Tasty.” The woman shuffled a step inside and stopped. Her faded brown eyes, much lighter than her weathered, parchment-thin skin, took in the dim room. Her brow creased. “You warm?”
“Yes, thank you.” Ash lifted the cloth from the tray, and the scents of lentil soup, spiced potato curry, steamed rice, tangy pickles, and crisp crackers rose in a warm, fragrant rush.
Food was the last thing on her mind, but now her mouth watered.
“You find woman?” Ama Deni asked.
“Not yet.” Ash didn’t want to scare her about her near-death by clubbing, so she evaded. “I got a little lost while enjoying my scenic walks.”
“If she’s healer, she won’t stay home. Always gone to help people. Maybe you find her tomorrow.”
Ash set the cloth aside and glanced back. “Yes, maybe.”
“Eat, beti.” She waved at the food. “Leave tray outside when you finish.” She left, closing the door behind her, and Ash locked it.
The old woman was a sweetheart. Most of the people here were—until the men thought you were a witch.
Sighing, she settled down to eat.
An hour later, after a hot shower in one of the two communal bathrooms, Ash hurriedly pulled on underwear, jeans, a long-sleeved thermal undershirt with a Henley over it, and finally her boots.
Her mobile beeped, and a smile started. Right on time, Mum.
She’d been texting nonstop since Ash arrived in the Himalayas over a week ago.
Darling, how did the search go? Did you find Janika? Do text when you have some time.
Love you.
Oh, and do be careful. Keep those powers locked. People can be a little superstitious in those small villages.
Ash snorted. A little?
They were locked in the darn Stone Age.
She flopped on the bed and thumbed a quick reply that she was fine but hadn’t found Janika yet.
Even if she did locate the woman, she wasn’t about to rush home. She needed time away from the sympathetic smiles and oh-so-gentle questions about her broken engagement. Ugh.
Thornbury. Bloody Thornbury. A postcard town tucked in Hertfordshire, where friendly meant everyone knew your darn business—a fact both suffocating and comforting all at once.
Her sudden abilities were the reason she was here in the first place. The night she ended things with Paul, pain and rage had welled in her chest—and her powers exploded.
Memories of that dreadful dinner flooded her…
“You cannot delay this, Paul,” Alice Ransome’s clipped voice carried as Ash returned from the bathroom. “Being a climatologist is well and good, but volunteering in that smelly shelter in her hometown, always in those dreadful clothes? That’s hardly a suitable look for the wife of a future MP.”
Ash froze.
“Mother, not now—”
“Yes, now,” Alice’s tone sharpened. “Her parents live in that obscure little Thornbury. Quite frankly, Paul, do you even know her real background? You don’t want any bloodline issue turning up in your future child, do you? Caroline is far more…proper.”
The words sliced Ash open as she listened.
Bad bloodline? Because she was adopted? Or because of her skin?
“Please, say something, Paul, anything,” she begged quietly.
His silence said it all.
Everything blurred afterward.
She’d left, he’d followed her. Trapped in her pain, she yelled, “I want someone who will always stand by me, regardless.”
She’d gone back to their flat in London, packed, left his ring behind, and moved in with a friend.
After their breakup, he’d hounded her at work—since she’d been part of his campaign for member of parliament, with climate change being his precious platform—so she quit her job and went home to her parents.
Then he’d blown up her phone with calls and texts. She ignored them and finally blocked him.
Ash rolled onto her back and draped an arm over her eyes, shutting out thoughts of her spineless ex, and waited for her would-be executioners to eat dinner, fall asleep, or whatever the bloody hell they did at night…
A creak echoed. Ash jerked awake, blinking away the haze of sleep.
Shit. She’d nodded off.
Still tangled in the covers, she groped for her mobile. The screen flared. 6:25 a.m. Brilliant. Now she would have to face that mad mob again.
A short while later, she tugged on her beanie, put on her parka, zipped it, and stepped out into the biting mountain air. The chill knifed through her clothes, carrying the sharp scent of cedar and the faint tang of woodsmoke from the morning fires.
Hands shoved in her pockets, she headed back into the village.
Narakhet transformed in the pre-dawn darkness. Stone cottages huddled along winding paths, faded prayer flags snapping in the bitter wind. Mist curled across the frozen ground while butter lamps flickered behind tiny windows like suspicious eyes watching from the dark.
Ash shook off the eerie feeling as she made her way along the gravelly path toward a cottage with a faded blue door at the very back of the hamlet.
She raised her hand to knock and hesitated, her breath fogging the cold air. From inside came the soft clink of metal dishes and the rich, buttery aroma of tea brewing. Oh, good, someone was up.
Ash rapped lightly on the warped wood and waited, listening for shuffling footsteps.
The panel creaked open. An old, stoop-shouldered woman peered out, clinging to the door handle. White hair hung in disarray around a thin, brown face mapped with wrinkles. Rheumy, dark eyes fixed on Ash, distrust sharp in their depths.
“Hullo, namaste.” Ash pressed her palms together in a quick prayer greeting. “Janika, is she back?”
The woman stared at her, scraggly eyebrows drawing together, her expression blank.
Oh, brilliant. With decades of foreign hikers coming through, she’d hoped someone might speak a little English. But apparently not. And of course, her mobile translator had gone wonky the moment she entered the valley. She should’ve brought a local along.
“Nearly twenty-seven years ago,” she began slowly, “a couple came here from England. They had a baby—”
“Nahin.” The woman shook her head.
“Look…” Ash fished out her mobile and pulled up a snapshot of her parents when they were younger, and of her, as a baby, in her mother’s arms. She turned the screen to the woman.
“My parents, Charles and Emily James. They stayed in the area and knew Janika. She helped them with their baby. Me.” She tapped her chest, then the picture.
“Jani, no come. Tomorrow.”
Janika still wasn’t back?
Ash let out a small, frustrated breath and forced a smile. “Thank you.”
A little disheartened, she made her way back to the boarding house—
“Daayan!”
The hatred in that single word made her blood run cold. Footsteps thundered behind her.
Oh, for hell’s sake!
Rough hands grabbed her arms. Ash twisted, power surging through her fingertips. Lightning crackled, striking a nearby shrub, bursting into flames. Their shouts grew frenzied. She drove her elbow back, hearing cartilage crunch, and rammed her knee into another’s groin.
Apparently, her rusty, high school self-defense skills still worked—
A fist connected with her temple. Ash cried out, pain exploding through her skull. The world tilted and swam. She stumbled.
A coarse sack was dragged over her head, plunging her into blind, gritty darkness. More hands seized her, binding her wrists tightly before they dragged her away.
“You fucking twats,” she snarled, her stomach heaving, her breath thick and bilious inside the sack. “When I’m free, I’ll make your pyre your own bloody grave!”