Gathering Ashes Chapter 19

Ambrosia trudged through the field of white, snow clumping onto her fur. Snowflakes blurred the world around her. Her paws ached with cold. Her lungs burned with every breath, sucking in the icy air until it filled every inch of her body. Dizziness made her vision swim. Her chest was numb. Something in the back of her mind told her that these were signs of hypothermia. She trudged on.

The ground turned hard and smooth under her feet. She paused and lifted a foot. A smooth patch of ice glimmered beneath her. Her paws felt clumsy as she scratched away the snow until a sizable gap appeared, showing the ice. She stared down. Her own face reflected up at her—not the furry, black-nosed face she had come to expect, but a tanned human face with a slight smirk and a tuff of red hair falling into her eyes.

The image rippled, morphing into another face. This one was similar, but with a square jaw and rougher eyes—a face that Ambrosia knew better than her own.

“This again?” she said, turning away from her father’s image. “Can’t you get a bit more original?”

The snowstorm faded. As the last few flakes drifted down, Ambrosia looked around. She stood alone in a field of white. Unannounced, a shudder ran through her spine. She felt like the only thing in the world.

“Lonely, isn’t it?”

A black crow stood behind her, snow dusting his back. His eyes were an icy blue.

“I’ve never been lonely,” Ambrosia said truthfully.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. You have to care about people to yearn for their company.”

She blinked.

“You can’t miss something you never had,” he went on. “Did you even like your father? Not as a father, I mean. As a man. As a person.”

“He’s dead.” This seemed a reasonable answer, somehow.

“You need to have something in order to miss it. Under your father’s advice, you pushed away everyone else. But really, did you even have him?”

She ignored his philosophy. “You can stop pretending, you know. You smell nothing like that bird.”

The crow eyed her.

Ambrosia had little imagination. Consequentially, she grew up with few dreams and fewer nightmares. This was a blessing for someone whose day job had, from an early age, involved a myriad of horrible creatures and a decent amount of blood. This also meant that she wasn’t quite sure at what point she should realize that a dream is a dream.

She did know one thing: she had dreamed more in the past few weeks than she had in her entire life.

The bird took to the air, leaving unblemished snow. Its feathers turned from black to grey to pure white. Now a dove with a thick beak fluttered above her.

“Come,” it said. “I’m going to take you on a journey.”

It flew at her face. She flinched away, trying to twist around to snap at it with her teeth, but the snow lurched beneath her feet. She found herself tumbling through cold slush; it filled her lungs and froze her limbs as she thrashed. She sank deeper and deeper into the whiteness, though she wasn’t sure how she knew that she was sinking because it all looked the same. There was the distant scent of oil and—

She jerked awake, terror pounding in her ears.

Her blanket was twisted around her. She struggled free and flopped onto a couch pillow. Late morning sunlight streamed into the room. After a few heaving breaths she realized that the pounding came not from her ears, but the door. The knocking was gentle, but in her rattled form it sounded like cannon fire.

She staggered across the apartment, the sluggishness of sleep warring with adrenaline. Shaking herself, she stopped by the door to listen.

Only one person ever came to her apartment, so she shouldn’t have been surprised when Eva whispered, “Ambrosia?”

“Go away,” she growled. “I’m not in the mood.”

There was a beat of silence from the hallway. Ambrosia felt an unexpected stab of guilt. After the events of last night, she was actually quite relieved to hear from her timid apprentice. However, old habits and irritability won over uncharacteristic relief.

She had just opened her mouth to take back her banishment when Eva said quietly, “You know I can just pick the lock, right?”

Ambrosia suddenly remembered why she preferred to work alone.

“Buzz off.”

There was a sigh. “Look, Ambrosia, I didn’t come here to argue. I just want to give you back your stuff, okay? I, uh, kind of ran off with it.”

Her voice was hesitant and a bit too loud, as if she wasn’t confident about the words coming from her mouth. She hadn’t talked to Ambrosia like this for quite some time.

Mentally going through her options, Ambrosia relented and dragged a chair over to wrestle the door open. If she rejected Eva now, she might not get her stuff back.

Eva entered hesitantly. Her eyes flickered over the apartment, wringing the straps of her backpack. Ambrosia suddenly felt embarrassed of her living space. It had been almost a month since she lost her human body, and it showed: trash was scattered in corners, bowls hunched on the counter, food sat where she could grab it without prying open drawers above her head, and her desk was in horrible disarray. The girl has seen her messy apartment before, but her sudden hesitation brought its flaws into light. She acted like a stranger who had wandered in.

“I’m not going to bite you,” Ambrosia muttered.

Eva sat the backpack on the desk. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and turned to Ambrosia.

“I’m quitting,” she blurted out.

Ambrosia blinked.

The continued babbled on before Ambrosia could formulate a reply. “I’m sorry, but I—I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to kill anything. I just—I don’t—this isn’t the place for me. I’m not brave enough or smart enough and now I’m too scared to even look into the forest. I almost died because—because when I looked in the river all I could think of was cold and dark and those horrible blue eyes—“

She took a shuddering breath and swiped at her eyes.

Ambrosia stared at her, tongue dry. “You’ve been doing fine,” she said weakly.

Eva leaned against the desk, steadying herself. Her eyes bore into the floor as if looking at Ambrosia would unbalance her even more.

“I don’t know why this is coming up now,” Ambrosia said. Eva bit her lip.

“I’m scared,” she said at last.

“You’ve always been scared.”

“No, I mean that I’m scared of you,” she said quietly, her voice more sure. “And it’s not just because of the things you can do. I can talk to you easier than I can to most people, but how long will that last? How long until your insults stop being lip work and start being truth?” She swallowed nervously, eyes darting to the bounty hunter and away again. Despite her nerves, she spoke as if she had thought this out beforehand. “I know you’re not a bad person, Ambrosia, but you act like you are. I can hardly speak without you snapping at me. You act like I’m useless, even when I help you. And you never talk to me. Did you notice that? You’re fine when you’re ragging on me or talking about business, but as soon as I try to talk about you, or anything personal, you act like I’m trying to rip off your toenails. I just—I can’t do all this with someone who pushed me away. You act like things don’t bother you, like emotions don’t matter, but I can tell that you’re hurting. Can’t you talk to me? Have you been raised to think that the ability to feel is a weakness?”

Ambrosia stared, head buzzing. Eva’s fear did not bother her. She always believed that fear bred respect, and she was someone who should be feared. She had not, however, expected such an outburst of emotion. Her legs itched to escape, to find something that she could understand, but she could do nothing but stare at her apprentice in unease.

“Ambrosia?” Eva said, voice faintly hopeful. “Please say something.”

She opened her mouth to ask Eva not to leave, to ask her to start making sense, but her voice only said, “Did you practice that in the mirror?”

Eva squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, they shone with a resigned sadness.

“That’s what I thought you would say. I’m sorry that I got into your hair so much. Here.”

She dug into the pack and set the faintly glowing moonflower onto the desk. Despite the drama of the night before, it looked unmarred.

“To remember me by,” she said, “though I’m not sure if you want to. At least take it as a token of thanks. You’ve opened up a whole new world to me, and now I think I understand enough to navigate it on my own.”

She hesitantly crouched before Ambrosia, holding out a hand. After a moment of blank staring, Ambrosia held out her own paw. They shook. Ambrosia had the ridiculous urge to ask for a treat. With that done, Eva moved to the door.

‘Don’t go,’ Ambrosia wanted to say. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Eva hesitated for a moment, as if sensing Ambrosia’s thoughts, and then closed the door behind her. She did not look back.








“I’m going to tell you a story,” the dove said. He flew above Ambrosia as they made their way through the white field. Snow clumped at her legs and froze the pads of her paws. A silent storm ranged around them.

“What are you?” she called to the creature. It never crossed her mind to ask who he was—only what.

The dove ignored her. “There was once a great bounty hunter.”

In the flurry of snow, an image appeared: a red-haired man swinging an oversized crowbar at a mass of shadows. Red magic flickered over his skin. When he turned to grin at Ambrosia, she could smell the twinge of his aftershave.

“He had an apprentice who followed his every move.”

Another image, though now Ambrosia felt herself absorbed into the scene: the man ducked through an alleyway, his rough palm in hers. His eyes gleamed with dark humor as he pointed out their fleeing target.

“Nothing stood in their way. They were invincible, and they only needed each other.”

Heat ripping from her palms. Red light flickering on his fingers. Brownies and strawberry lemonade.

“And then he died.”

Blood dripping onto the warehouse floor.

“Stop,” she croaked, overwhelmed by the sickening copper scent.

And then the dove and the snow were gone.





Two days after Eva had left, a ringing interrupted Ambrosia’s restless sleep. She peeled herself from the floor, where she had been trying and failing to avoid sleep, and answered the phone with a snappy, “What?”

“Good morning to you, too,” answered Ralf.

“Aren’t vampires nocturnal? How can you be awake so early?”

“It’s almost noon.”

“Ralf, what do you want? Is this about those deer things?”

“Half of the bounty has been sent to your account. But no, that’s not the main reason for my call.”

The way he said it made her skin crawl. Ralf’s voice was always level and calm, as if he was quite unfamiliar with the concept of raising it, but today something dark and dreadful in his tone caused the fur along her back to rise.

“What is it?” she said slowly, irritation replaced with dread.

He paused. “I talked to the Council. They’re not too happy with your predicament—your dog form, I mean. I’m sorry, Ambrosia, but you’re off the job.”

“Which job?” She couldn’t remember accepting any that hadn’t been taken care of.

It took him a few more tries to explain that she was fired.

“You know that the Council doesn’t like liabilities,” Ralf said. His voice was strangely soft. “I’m not sure how they got all the details, but they’re afraid that you’re going to get yourself into trouble and bring it onto their heads. They probably wouldn’t have bothered if it hadn’t been for your problem in the last hunt, but I think that your uncontrolled burst snagged their attention.”

Ambrosia struggled to keep up with the conversation. “But they can’t do that. Ten years with hardly any trouble, and then suddenly they toss me onto the street? That’s not—”

She closed her mouth on the word ‘fair,’ refusing to let it out. Fair did not account in bounty hunting.

“They can’t fire me,” she told him.

“I’m sorry. I tried everything I could, but I can’t pull any more strings for you.”

“But I’ve always been a bounty hunter. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“I guess you’ll just have to be Ambrosia.”

That made anger roar through her ears.

“Don’t give me that,” she snarled. “Don’t try to be sentimental or—or whatever you’re doing. You can’t just take this away from me and then act like—like—”

“Ambrosia—”

“Shut up!”

He fell silent. The faint roar of cars drifted in to fill the quiet.

Ambrosia squeezed her eyes shut, feeling heavy. “Ralf, what am I supposed to do?”

“Get back to normal. Prove that you can handle yourself. Ambrosia?”

“What?” Her voice came out in a croak.

“I may not be your adviser anymore, but I still want to be your friend. You can talk to me if you want to. Okay?”

She hung up the phone.





Ambrosia shoved another box onto the motorcycle sidecar, adjusting the straps with confident fingers. The Texas heat beat down on her neck. Somewhere close by, a dove cooed. A Council agent paced behind her, lips pursed as she tugged at one of her braids.

“This isn’t fair,” the woman said.

Ambrosia ignored her.

“You can’t just run away!”

“Watch me.”

“Stop being a child, Amber. You have a job here.”

“There’s plenty of other bounty hunters in Texas.” She pulled a strap tight with a bit too much force.

“You were the best!”

“No, we were the best. Now there’s no ‘we.’ Only me.”

The woman grabbed Ambrosia’s shoulder, but the girl yanked out of her hold.

“Amber,” she snapped, “you can’t run away just because you don’t want to deal with things here. You have responsibilities! Think about your public image. What will people think if the apprentice and daughter of the greatest bounty hunter in the state—maybe the county—just disappears? You have a job! You have—”

Ambrosia swung onto the motorcycle and flicked the key. The machine rumbled beneath her touch.

“I,” she said, “don’t have to do anything.”

The woman put a hand on one of the handlebars, ignoring Ambrosia’s glare. “Is it the house? I know that you two lived there for five years, so it’s understandable that you wouldn’t want to stay there so soon after his death. We can move you—that’s no problem.”

No problem. Ambrosia gritted her teeth. She wanted to say that it wasn’t the house, or even the town. No matter where she went, she always saw him in the corner of her eye and smelled his aftershave mixing with the heat of the day.

She grabbed her helmet and paused. If she looked hard, she could see the smudges from her father’s hands as he ran his fingers over the thick black surface and nodded approvingly at its weight. She yanked it onto her head and revved the engine.

“Amber,” the woman began.

“I don’t even know your name.”

The woman stopped.

“Did you realize that? I’ve known you for three years, and I never bothered to remember your name. You’ve given us bounties, transferred money to our account, and acted as a proxy for the Council. But I don’t know your name.” She flipped up the kickstand and looked at the woman. “So tell me, woman with no name, why should I listen to a word you say?”

“Krista. My name is Krista.”

“Here’s the thing about names: they’re only important when you care. And that’s why you don’t get to call me ‘Amber’ now, because you don’t suddenly get to care. My father is the only one who called me that, and that’s why you can’t tell me anything that could make me stay. No one can.”

She turned onto the road with a squeal of tires, leaving behind the shouting woman. She had a map on her phone, her crowbar within reach, and the instinct of a cornered animal to flee.

She didn’t look back until she reached snow.

Ambrosia awoke with the faded roar of an engine in her ears.




Fearing the dreams, fearing the nightmares, Ambrosia ran away from sleep. She ran away from everything that bothered her. She occupied herself with nighttime skulks through shadowed streets, her paws rubbed raw by concrete. She fought the heavy pull of exhaustion with coffee and pure will. This time, however, Ambrosia found that she could not escape. Dreams chased her into the waking world, appearing in mirrors and the surface of windows. White feathers fluttered in the edge of her vision. The people were the worst. No matter where she looked, she saw blue eyes. Some burned with the blood wizard’s malice, but the worse were the soft blue that reminded her of her former apprentice. Eventually she fled to the isolation of her apartment.

She searched for spells that shielded her against dreams, hoping to chase away the haunting terrors, but she had spent her life learning about fighting magic. She didn’t understand the esoteric runes and complex configurations that the anti-dream spells demanded. The only one she could create just made the dreams more twisted and distorted. She stopped using it out when the dove turned her into a burning tree.

She sometimes wondered if anything had really happened, or if it had all been more dreams. Maybe Eva had never left. Maybe she still had her job, and Ralf was wondering where she was. Maybe she had never been turned into a useless dog.

Maybe she was still in Texas, and her father would walk in at any moment.

Looking down always forced away her delusions. It was hard to deny the fuzzy toes wiggling at the end of her paws.

Frustrated by the dreams stripping away what little chance of peace she had, Ambrosia scoured her apartment for a magic remedy. Ordinary spells had failed her, but perhaps she had some kind of anti-dream artifact buried among her other knickknacks. She had never had a reason for one, but people liked to give her small trinkets for ridding their basement of goblins or chasing nature spirits from their gardens. Wizards were hoarders by nature, and a simple spelled item made a good thanks.

Soon she found herself rummaging around in the box from beneath her bed. Even looking at it made her sick. This is where she had found the collar she wore now, which let her speak. Eva had been sitting on the couch when she found it. It was the first time they spoke. Chasing the thought away, she shoved her paw deeper into the box. Her toes touched something cold. She froze, but nothing happened. Cautiously she dragged the object from the box.

She stared at the oversized crowbar. Cherry red runes coated its surface like graffiti. Ambrosia recognized the unkempt lines of her father’s writing, always too messy and careless. His penmanship had always been appalling. Something made her lean down and breathe in deeply. His scent of aftershave and sweat enveloped her, soaked into the old weapon after years of use. It made her dizzy. She smelled something else, too, and at the last moment remembered that he had been using the crowbar on his last mission. It was too late to avoid the bitter scent of blood.

She made it to the bathroom just in time to hurl. Sickened by herself, she dunked her head under the facet. She wished that the rushing water would wash away her father’s scent. Dripping and woozy, she looked into the mirror.

“Pretty pathetic, huh?” she said to her reflection. “Dad would be pretty disappointed to see you now. Can’t even look at a weapon without falling apart.”

Unwilling to face that crowbar again, she retreated to the couch.






“Ha?”

The crow perched on her open window, looking down at her with its head cocked.

Ambrosia sighed. Another dream.

“What do you want this time?” she growled. Her head ached and her limbs felt heavy.

It hopped onto her desk. Papers slipped beneath its claws, startling it. When it fluttered back onto the windowsill, squawking with protest, its wings knocked papers to the floor.

“Hey! Watch it!” Ambrosia scrambled onto the desk. It took her a few tries.

“Ha?”

If Ambrosia didn’t know any better, she would have sworn that it sounded concerned.

“If you’re going to start tormenting me, do it already! Don’t go messing up my stuff!”

As she glared into the creature’s black eyes, comprehension slowly dawned. She blamed stress and a lack of sleep as the reason it had taken her so long to realize that the crow smelled familiar.

“I’m not dreaming,” she said slowly. “And you’re not that bird.”

The crow eyed her. Its black eyes twinkled with intelligence.

A bubble of laughter rose in Ambrosia’s chest. “Are you here to say goodbye too? Or are you here to take away my home, or my magic? What else do I have left for people to take?”

Before the crow could respond, she lunged. The bird leapt back with an eye-splitting shriek and wheeled away, flapping frantically to stay in the air until its wings gained purchase. It circled above her apartment for a few minutes before sailing away into the cloud-heavy sky.

Ambrosia pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the desk. It seemed to ripple beneath her. A fog had covered the entire world, numbing it until it didn’t seem to exist. Over a week had passed since she managed to get a decent rest, and her few bits of sleep had been plagued by dreams that made her feel more exhausted than ever. Sighing, she sluggishly crept to the edge of the desk and peered down. The crow had scattered spell sheets, bounty hunting notes, and a few papers Ambrosia had been using to teach Eva. She recognized the girl’s doodles on some of the pages. Amidst it all sat a single blank sheet of paper. Even after all this time, it smelled faintly of wolf.

Snarling, Ambrosia turned away. Across the desk sat the backpack Eva had brought back only a week and a half ago, though it felt like months. Ambrosia hadn’t bothered to unpack it. It smelled too much like Eva. Beside it sat the softly glowing moonflower.

A spike of range threw Ambrosia into action. Before she realized what she was doing, the moonflower went flying across the room. It bounced from the wall and tumbled to a stop onto the carpet. Her paw throbbed. Anger faded with each throb until she felt silly, standing on her own furniture with an aching hand and the contents of her desk cluttered on the floor.

She was too exhausted to bother getting down from the desk. Sighing, she lay down and stared at the gathering dusk. The world grew darker as the sun fled. It took Ambrosia a few tries, but she eventually whistled. Orange runes glimmered on her light switch as it flicked itself off. Her apartment, however, remained faintly lit. Frowning, she looked down.

The moonflower lit the room with a gentle silver glow. It illuminated every inch of the fallen blank sheet, from the crinkled edges to the faint black lines now running across its surface. Ambrosia fell from the desk and scrambled to the paper, fighting dizziness. She shoved it closer to the moonflower. The lines became stronger, like invisible ink under a black light. They showed a map. Ambrosia dimly became aware of a high-pitched whine in her ears as she stared at the scribbled lines. It took her ten minutes to decipher the map, but she eventually recognized a spot in the woods past the edge of town, not far from the lake. The map was centered on a tiny square at the end of a trail snaking through the trees.

A kind of primal rage took over her, ancient and cold like the anger of a predator. She snatched up the paper, feeling it smolder on her tongue, and rushed out into the night. Two words were scrawled at the bottom of the map: Come home.

The paper burned before she made it out of town, but that was fine. The image was seared into her mind.