Location: Biltmore Hotel, Los Angeles

In the other room Caine was sprawled out on the hotel bed watching some Saturday morning cartoon, the comical sounds bled through the paper thin walls. As Ash stood beneath the spray of the shower head he could hear those sounds and they made a bizarre soundtrack to the images racing through his head. The water was turned to a scalding heat, and that alone could wash away the layers of burned flesh that were healing every day. That mess could be washed away, but nothing could wash away the memories that were held inside his mind. Not even fire had been able to burn that away.

Distantly he heard the channels changing, voices from different settings coming through the wall. When the television landed on what sounded like a news station he expected it to quickly be changed. After all his gargoyle guardian wasn't much for keeping up with current affairs, unless they were the kind that took place in cheap motels. Yet after a moment he realized the channel wasn't changing. Ash held perfectly still and listened to the female anchors voice talking about the disaster in Hawaii, about the evacuation and the island that was now covered in the excrement of a volcano.
 

The Big Island was gone, and there were no survivors. That was the official story, though Ash knew better. A handful had escaped with their lives, but those without the power to escape, the poor humans who had taken their chances by staying behind, were now lost to this world. Listening a moment longer he flinched as the hot water ran over a red puckered scar that ran the length of his right thigh where the muscle had nearly been fileted. Then in an effort to block out the noise he ducked his head into the full spray of the water, letting the heat warm him and soothe the beast that rode on edge inside of him.

How do you stop remembering something that has been burned into you? How do you forget something that is not just a personal tragedy, but a tragedy for the whole world? Of all the dark memories that haunted his mind, all those macabre nightmares he carried with him that he would never try to erase, this was one out of all of those that he would gladly trade away. If only so he didn't have to hear the screams of the innocent, and smell the blood and burning flesh of those without the power to save themselves. The ones he couldn't save.

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"She seemed to think that it was possible. Then again, she would probably be just as happy if we all burned."

Ash held out the letter that Kalika had sent for him, holding it out to the two witches who were gathered around the fire. Blaise took it from him and the two women angled in to stand facing eachother as they spoke in hushed tones about the plans they were making for the coming battle. As they spoke he looked around the burned out interior of the Lava Lounge. This was where they had chosen to meet, this neutral place that was the location of one of Peles sacrifices. It was the one place he knew of where the spirit of her victim might still remain. Having taken Lyric into himself he felt oddly like she was there, inside him, and all around this place. The witches said that when a life was lost in sacrifice for someone else it could create a location of great power. He was hoping they were right.

The others who stood in the room were being oddly silent, the flames of the fire they had lit flickered and gave a hellish visage to all those gathered around. There were six of them who had stayed to fight this battle. Six souls for the flames. Caine was there, the mans connection to Ash apparently keeping him in place rather than following his sister. But for all the help he was providing Ash would have felt more protected by a trained monkey. The gargoyle reclined like a housecat his jewel bright eyes on the witches undressing them with his gaze and keeping the two women close to him at all times. Blaise and Wendy didn't seem to mind. In fact, Wendy seemed to know Caine from somewhere. Not that that was surprising. If there was a woman Caine hadn't slept with.....

Well, there was one. Shane. The Kadra straddled a chair oppsit Ash, a look of deadly intent glittering in her coal black eyes. Her presence had surprised him, but her reasoning didn't. Beneath the layers of psychotic intent she was at her heart a leader. A leader who felt it necessary to destroy any enemy that threatened her clan. So it was with Requiem, the cities Master who stood in the darkness watching them. He was a quiet man, introspective as he awaited their plan.

It was a strange band. Enemies, friends, strong, and weak. United for this moment in time alone against a common enemy. The witches stood on either side of their sacred fire, and he saw them throwing herbs and other items unknown to him into the flames. Those red flames licked at the offerings, seeming to eat the very air around them. When the incantation began he stood a bit straighter, a pale hand going instinctively to the gun in its holster. From his side he heard the scrape of Shanes chair legs against the ground as she moved to stand at his side. Ice, the snake queen felt like ice on his left, and when Requiem moved up to stand at his right it was like feeling the cold wind of a grave brush over him.

Caines eyes glittered in the dark, and like a cat uncoiling itself Ash watched the man rise up from his rested pose and move to the line of fire. They were ready. Each in place, and in that moment of readiness Ash felt things stir inside him that had lain dormant for a long time. The desire to fight, to feel blood flowing down his throat, to eat the flesh of his enemy, and then to search the land for another and another. His desire for vengeance knew no bounds. It could consume him like the ultimate addiction. Once he started down that dark road again it was difficult to come back. Difficult to stop, to find himself again beyond the grasp of the dark passenger.

The air went still, and he felt a strange sensation run through him, a connection. They were all connected somehow by destiny. This small group would stand. There was a heaviness on the air, and he held his breath before letting it out in a slow sigh. Then, with the subtle rawness of a burn scar, he felt her presence. Pele. Goddess of fire. She was coming, and soon the screaming would begin.

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Twisting the knob that would turn off the flow of that hot water he shook his head hard. Sleek black hair shook off water droplets like a dog and he heard the small sounds as they splattered against the wall. The tiled floor of the tub had an inch of water in it because he'd clogged up the drain with the sheaf thin layers of dead burned flesh that had been scraped off. One hand pressed against the tiled wall, holding him steady a moment as he reached up to touch the mark on his chest where Pele had touched him. The flesh there was a bright shiny red now, healing, but so painful it would make a mortal man pass out.

In the other room the television was still going, but now it sounded like Caine had found himself drawn in by an episode of The Three Stooges. Six of them in that room the night Pele had come. Six went in, and only three came out. Anger welled up inside him, anger that Pele was not dead. Not dead but merely back in a watery resting place. The satisfaction of her death ripped away from him by the very magic that had saved their lives.

Stepping out of the shower the room was filled with steam, and he quickly rubbed a white fluffy hotel towel against his hair to dry it out some before wrapping the towl around his waist. It clung low on his waist, showing the scars and tattoos that covered all that pale flesh from neck to groin. Now that muscled form bore the burns of the elemental who had destroyed the island, and it would no doubt be awhile before those marks were gone. The scars he could deal with, it was the visions that were driving him insane.

Opening the door to the bathroom he felt the cold thrill of fresh air as it swept into the steamy room, and he leaned against the doorframe to watch Caine where he was laying on the bed sipping scotch and eating candy from a desert cart brought by room service. The man was a debaucherous leach, but he had saved Ash's life. If not for his impenetrable stone skin, and the wings that had carried him out of the fire elementals grasp then Ash would be incinerated.

"Have you called your sister?"

They had only been in Los Angeles less than 24 hours, but the plan was to leave again soon and catch a flight to New York. From there they would fly to Spain and follow the route the pack had taken, traveling instead by train to Rome where they would meet up with his family once again. The danger behind them was eliminated, but he still wasn't ready to begin truly looking ahead at what they might be walking into. He trusted that Marcus and Aurora had kept Evie safe just as he trusted that Tino watched Silent, and Memphis was keeping care over the pack.. All he could do right then was trust.

Trust, or open the marks to check with the two vampires he was connected to. It could be done now that he was no longer in the midst of danger, but for some reason he didn't want to. He didn't want to feel those probing powers pushing at him so soon after having the fire demon breathing down his neck. Like a rape victim who shies away from touch he was reluctant to open himself up just yet. At Caines answer he nodded and turned back to the bathroom where the smoke had cleared, but a layer of steam still coated the mirror. He was going to wipe it off, going to clean the mirror, but then he saw something....unexpected.