Page 4

ASH

Every time I fell in love, they died. I mean, I wasn’t cruel in my intent; I died too.

But their deaths were accidental. Mine, on the other hand…

I knew what was coming, even if my poor lovers didn’t.

An occupational hazard of falling for a creature who burst into flame uncontrollably every time my emotions roused.

Hormonal imbalance didn't come close to covering it.

I curled in the top end of the shallow crypt where it stood on its stilts, the city’s protection against flooding many years before, and pretended that if I ignored the man waiting outside my locked door, he would go away.

Spoilers: he didn't.

Hour after hour he waited, he and his friend.

The pale, dark haired man paced. He grumbled, then lit a cigarette.

I hated the smell of those, either lit or unlit.

He strode around, made some drama and finally, after an argument that I couldn’t tell if it was staged or not, he left, leaving me with the man who leaned against the crypt opposite mine in New Orlean’s largest cemetery, standing right where he had been the whole time since he had arrived.

This man was different from his friend. Tall, and strange skinned, like a hue of unpolished wood or stone covered in lichen and left in the sun afterward too long.

He had taken a tour of the graveyard walk alone, pacing every path, his fingers trailing every headstone.

Then he studied the crypts, one at a time.

I followed his path through the myriad of cracks in my walls, the crumbling holes in my walls offering the perfect view of his odd activities.

His friend groaned in the moonlight then, too, like an incessant toddler begging to go home.

“Then go home,” I murmured, watching my odd man.

His heavy set shadow remained a swatch of darkness as he wove his way along the walk that led to my crypt. One more step, then another, he drew closer and closer. And when he finally arrived?—

He didn't touch the door. Only stepped a pace away and leaned his back against the obelisk opposite my crypt while I shuffled around inside my small space.

And then he waited.

I curled into the top corner and did the same, peering through the cracks in the marble as the night faded and the new dawn brought color back to the world.

And it occurred to me why his friend had been so vocal about their task, and why he needed to leave so abruptly.

Then I did the stupidest thing a hidden creature like me could do. Even though we both knew that I hid right in front of him, where he stood as still as stone, like he refused to move until I emerged.

Just like he had when he’d seen me in the bar. He waited.

Then, I ran.

Now, I laughed.

My hand clamped over my mouth, but it was too late—the sound tore from me in that horrible sort of high pitch that carried across the small graveyard path toward my little stalker. Because that’s when I knew I’d made the worst mistake of my life.

Unlike his friend he didn’t run away. He didn’t even come closer.

He just closed his eyes, the faintest smile playing across his enigmatic face.

And then he turned to stone.

Suddenly I was staring at a statue of the man who appeared threatening as the sun rose over my crypt and I was left alone.

Only I wasn’t.

Because even though he was no longer the threatening presence I expected, there was something strangely comforting about the man who just came to lean against the wall opposite my hiding spot, the smile that lingered on his stone face like he had been carved that way.

Every detail of his yellowish, albeit granite looking stone facade was highlighted, I suspected, by the golden hues of the rising sun that flashed over his face.

I followed its path across his strange skin until it rose above the plinth behind his bald head, leaving sharp definition around his heavy set body.

Even dressed in modern clothing, it was clear from his cross legged, tall pose, the way his chin tilted slightly as though he had seen so much of this world that he looked down upon everything in it that, like me, he originated from a different time.

That he had weathered the trials of this world as I had.

I wondered if he bore the same sorts of scars on his other skin in the same way as I did.

The dichotomy of my strange stalker drew me out of my hide.

The daylight hours that I’d traditionally avoided for so long didn’t seem quite as terrifying while he stood guard outside my tomb.

Not that New Orleans was busy in the early morning.

Like the rest of the city, I was most active in the evenings.

It had become easiest to hide in crowds and so I slept through the days and stirred in the late afternoon to find my place amongst the people of the current city in the night. Even so, I still didn’t quite fit here, as I hadn't fit anywhere for so long.

But I’d still prefer to be an eternal stranger in a wandering crowd than alone forever, shunned and known, avoided for who I was but could never control. And because of my selfish nature, I threatened everyone in the vicinity.

Perhaps my new stone stalker friend should be scared more of me than I currently was of him rather than the other way around.

Checking the aisle in both directions like a child, I slipped into the shadow on my side of the cleared pathway, leaning my back against the cool, white stone of the crypt.

The cemetery was empty just after sunrise, though on occasion an early riser would walk the paths for the same reason I chose to hide here.

Peace.

I’d encountered enough hate recently to choose my company.

Even when said company took the form of a stone man stalking me.

Though the silent sentinel across the path from me didn’t look like the hideous gargoyles I’d often encountered in Europe during the darker years of those thriving lands.

Back then, fairytales and nightmares roamed the streets during daylight hours that might as well have been dusk for all the meager sunlight that filtered through the dirty clouds that hung over those nations.

I’d seen countries change their names and flags enough times that I’d forgotten what most of them were called in this era. I would bet my last treasures that the man across from me did, too.

Standing this close, his pose looked less…forced. As though he chose to remain stone and could walk away from the wall in his current form at any moment. Checking the pathway again for newcomers and finding the aisle empty, I crept closer.

Last night I ran from him in the bar. Today, I used the sun rising at my back, hiding in its warmth and blazing fury as I studied the creature who followed me and invaded my space right back.

Of all the people who had sought me out over the years, very few found me for any pleasurable purpose.

Usually, they wanted to cage or display my talents.

Neither of those turned out so well for either of us.

Claustrophobia was a weakness of mine. Laughable for a woman who chose to spend her days in a close space, but then, that was the operable word wasn’t it?

Choice. I chose to be in the crypt, not locked away.

This close to my stone man, warmth reflected back at me, but it wasn’t from his own energy, rather that of the sunlight that I soaked up.

He stood tall, a far more imposing figure in his loose pants that muscular thighs filed out and the casual shirt he’d worn last night.

The rolled sleeves suited him, patterns that weren’t quite tattoos but looked instead of whorls carved into his very skin.

I grazed my hands over the space between us, not yet daring to touch him, working my way up to that breach in his privacy.

He was asleep, after all, and that felt like some breach in trust between us.

But the closer I leaned into him, rising on my toes as high as I could reach to breathe across his chest, straining to reach his face, I knew the temptation would be too great.

I am too starved for human connection. Contact.

I could keep lying to myself as much as I wanted but this strange stone man who stood nearly double my own size and height, seems both powerful and strong.

Strong enough to manage my deadly touch, perhaps?

Or would he wither and die and ash like the rest?

Not that it would matter. I’d be gone before he woke.

But surely one small touch wouldn’t hurt.

Just one.

“Who do you choose to be?” I whispered, reaching up to trace my fingertips across the generous lips that seemed to soften beneath my fingertips. “What’s your name, stone man?”

Golden eyes flared to life as my stone man stared down at me. “I chose to live,” he murmured back.

Breath halted in my throat, the hitched inhale suppressing a scream I couldn’t have kept in if I tried and so I supposed I was grateful for the horrific choking sound I made in lieu of a high pitched wail in his face at close quarters.

But the hands that manacled my wrists, large enough to engulf my forearms, were warm, despite the unyielding stone surface that didn’t give against my flesh.

That I couldn't pull away from. Not that I didn't give it my best try.

“Let me go.” I twisted my hands in his grip, trying not to flail and panic, but not far off it, either.

My stone man watched my struggle politely. “No.”

I blinked, and stopped. “What do you mean, no ?” I gave a half-hearted tug knowing he wouldn’t let me go anyway, and stopped.

Thunk. Thunk.

Thunk. Thunk.

I leaned a little closer, angling my head.

Thunk.

“My heart works just fine after a moment to let the blood flow again,” my stone-stalker said softly.

Not an ounce of aggression flowed from him, despite the fact he held me prisoner. But he didn’t move, and neither did I.

“It didn’t make that sound a moment ago,” I blurted, refocusing on his face, where his skin changed to a bronzed glow where the yellowish stone color dropped away. “Before, you were…”