Falling Light

by Thea Harrison

  As a consequence, the land was dry as a bone. A steady northeasterly breeze blew off the Lake and provided a perfect fan for the growing flames.

  What a prodigious bonfire he would have.

  He continued along the shore and called his creatures to come to the holocaust, until trees exploded from the brilliant heat of leaping red flames while black-winged shadows danced in the psychic realm.

  He had come to this earth to start a new life. They just had to come after him, didn’t they? Every time he tried to build something, create his own empire, reach for a new beginning, either she or one of her group was there to get in his way. He had never been able to escape her presence, not once in his excessively long life. He was always aware she lay in wait for him somewhere.

  She pushed him to reckless acts of destruction. She made him who he was.

  He was sick to death of this cat-and-mouse game. She had a talent for hiding. Very well then, he would smoke her out.

  Because people didn’t just vanish. Like all physical creatures they could be measured and weighed.

  She could be captured, imprisoned. She could be tortured, killed.

  He just had to find her. He had to be clever and take extreme care.

  He had another advantage over her. He had remained strong whereas she had grown weak. One good thing had come from chasing Mary and Michael up north. He had been forced to gather most of his servants together. The bitch was close—closer than she had been in a long, long time. She could be measured, dissected.

  Destroyed? Would he finally get to taste that elusive freedom?

  Oh, he had to be very clever.

  He had to push until her iron control cracked. He had cracked her before. He could do it again. He had to make her slip, drop her cloak. Then he would be able to sniff her out, along with the warrior and that elephant-loud clown.

  “Come on,” he whispered into the wind that grew ash-tainted and noxious with sparks. His people worked through the night to spread the blaze as fast and as far as they could. Humans and animals burned, and news services called it terrorism, and the green land turned first red, then black as it died.

  “Show me where you are,” he murmured as he searched the psychic realm. He arranged the positioning of various creatures and servants and drones, and they all poised ready for an attack.

  Just after noon it happened.

  She cracked. Grief welled on the air, as fine a flavor as any aged wine. For a marvelous, magical moment her cloak slipped. He couldn’t sense anything more from the bitch than that. But he sensed the warrior’s blade-sharp presence. Most especially he sensed the clown. He dove toward them and inhaled every clue he could with obsessive greed.

  The fire hadn’t smoked them out in a literal sense. They were safe, stationary and on an island.

  An island?

  Then Astra resumed control. Her cloak came back down, but by that time it didn’t matter. He hadn’t gathered much information, but it was enough to take to his army of experts for a consultation, and to study satellite pictures and maps. They searched every graphic representation of the area they could find.

  It took hours, but he finally noticed an anomaly between the human-created maps and the satellite pictures that his human servants showed him. He tried to point it out to his human servants. They had an annoying tendency to forget what they saw, no matter how many times he showed it to them.

  Victory sang in his stolen veins.

  He breathed, “Gotcha.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  MARY HUDDLED IN her overlarge, borrowed shirt and rubbed her face. The muscles around her eyes ached from the strain of staring so hard at the hellish black smoke that spread like spilled ink on the blue horizon.

  It looked like the earth itself had sustained some unimaginable injury and had cracked wide open. The smoke stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction. How large would the blaze have to be to make the entire northern skyline that dark?

  She wanted to shout at it. No, no, heal. But she could only heal the body, not the land. The horizon still darkened, and the land still burned.

  “I’m going to see what information I can gather.” Michael’s face had settled into grim lines. He strode inside.

  Astra stood in the middle of her vegetable garden, hugging herself as she stared north. Mary hovered beside her, until a bitterly sharp wind started to blow off the Lake. She jogged inside, dragged one of Michael’s sweaters over her head, grabbed Astra’s battered jean jacket and went back out.

  Astra stood as she had left her. Mary draped the jacket gently over those thin shoulders and held it in place until Astra moved to grasp the edges of the denim.

  Astra’s wrinkled face gleamed with damp streaks. There was nothing left of menace, no cheerful malice, no brusque kindness, no furious manipulator, nothing but an old woman bearing a weight of sadness that went so deep it could have broken apart the world.

  When Astra spoke, her voice was a thin, dry thread of sound. “He did it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The old woman nodded. “I’m sure. You would think that he would get tired too sometimes.”

  Mary put an arm around Astra’s shoulders and hugged her close. She whispered, “It’s so senseless.”

  “He’s certainly capable of that. Usually, though, there’s a motive if you bother to look hard enough for it.” Astra took the edge of her jacket sleeve and scrubbed at her cheeks. “Is it any wonder I would give anything to stop him?”

  “We’re going to stop him,” Mary said. She injected a flat certainty into her voice.

  A ghost of a laugh made Astra quiver against her side. “You’re good, kid. You should be onstage.”

  Mary hugged her again and looked up at the sky. She said, “You know, after this whole thing is over, my summer on the beach is going to be the best vacation anybody could have. There will be lobster salad and crab pâté, a discreet waitstaff and pristine white sand just outside the hotel room’s French doors. Michael is very enthusiastic about the red string bikini I’m going to buy.”

  She glanced sidelong at Astra. A corner of the old woman’s mouth lifted in a reluctant smile. “I’ll just bet he is.”

  Mary told her cheerfully, “We’ll get one for you too. Yours will be very chic. How about black?”

  Astra’s blackbird eyes cut over to her, and this time her smile turned real. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

  She grinned, glad that they were no longer arguing and that Astra showed signs of returning to life. “What’s wrong with that? I don’t see why not if you want to.”

  “It would guarantee all kinds of privacy,” Astra said wryly. “You wouldn’t have any waitstaff left, or any other customers either. They would run off screaming. These days my boobs dangle around my waist.” She sighed and rubbed her arms. “I’ve got chores, and it’s getting colder. I’ve got to feed the chickens and pen them in their coop. Then we’d best go inside until Michael can tell us what he’s learned.”

  Mary nodded. “He’ll be wearing his bad-news face.”

  “Bad-news face, huh?” Astra grunted. “Until you arrived, I didn’t know that he had any other kind of face.”

  She followed Astra to the pen, helped her to feed the chickens and shoo them into the coop. Afterward, they retraced a path back to the cabin. Astra went straight to the kitchen, washed her hands and started to pull out baking ingredients.

  Mary followed her. She picked up a light-colored package of quick-rise yeast. “What are you doing?”

  “You two ate all my sandwiches.” Astra gave her a grim smile. “And I used all my bread.”

  Mary left her to her baking. The locked metal door was wide open. She peeked inside. Metal, army-style lockers lined one wall. Michael sat at a desk in front of a computer. His fingers flew over the keyboard. She went back into the kitchen and washed their lu
nch dishes while Astra kneaded the bread dough.

  Astra had set the dough to rise, and she had just put away the last of the clean dishes when Michael joined them.

  Mary realized something as she watched him stride with tiger-like grace across the room. Every time he was mentally engaged with an opponent, he moved differently. There was something extra about him that came alive.

  “I’ll make more coffee.” Astra’s grim expression had never eased.

  Mary sat at the dining table, planted her elbows and covered her mouth with both hands. Michael joined her.

  “You already know it’s bad,” he said. “Apparently the fire started sometime last night, and it has already covered almost sixty miles along the southern coast of the U.P.”

  “Sixty miles,” Mary whispered. The pit of her stomach bottomed out. The size of such a blaze was inconceivable.

  Astra walked over to the table and sat down.

  Michael rubbed his face. “Firefighters are being flown in from across the nation, and towns and settlements are under a mandatory evacuation. Because of the fire pattern, arson experts have put out statements that it’s been artificially accelerated. A couple of news websites are claiming it’s a terrorist attack.”

  “They’re right,” said Astra quietly. “If not quite in the way they envision.”

  Mary listened until her mind, already stretched from dealing with the events of the last couple of days, couldn’t absorb anymore. Then she simply gave up, walked into the kitchen area and focused on pouring three cups of the freshly brewed coffee.

  “He could have located his base of operations as far north as Marquette,” Michael said. His eyes were sharp and his expression clear, even tranquil. “But I don’t think so. I think he’s operating from a mobile base stationed on the U.P., so that he can keep an eye on his handiwork.”

  Astra tapped gnarled fingers against her mouth. “I agree.”

  Mary put a cup in front of Astra and another in front of Michael. He captured her hand to squeeze her fingers in brief, silent thanks.

  “Several of the news reports claim that a couple of hikers saw lightning strike from a cloudless sky yesterday evening. So,” Michael continued, “we know it’s him. In order to avoid being evacuated, his base has to be disguised as official somehow—either the police, or the National Park Service, or maybe the National Guard. The President is expected to declare Michigan a state of emergency sometime by midnight, so his base may be disguised as a mobile army unit.”

  “Sounds logical.” Astra sipped coffee.

  “Let’s take the offensive.” Michael said it with the casual tone one might use to suggest taking a walk. “We’re together, and Mary and I have had a chance to rest and eat. Let’s do what we came here to do and go hunt him down.”

  Mary had grown used to a pulse of dread at regular intervals. This time, it was mingled with an anxious excitement. She gulped hot coffee and burned her tongue. She healed the small burn absentmindedly as she looked from Michael to Astra and back again.

  Astra’s blackbird eyes were narrowed in thought. She appeared to be studying the handwoven blanket adorning the opposite wall. “We’re not quite ready to move yet.”

  Michael lost his tranquility and leaned forward. “What do you mean, we’re not ready? You know he’s fanning that blaze to get a reaction out of us. If he doesn’t get one, he is going to set the whole damned peninsula on fire.”

  Astra nodded. “I know.”

  “So let’s give him a reaction. We haven’t been in this strong a position in over a thousand years.”

  “I didn’t say we should sit back and do nothing,” the old woman said. “You’re smart. I’m going to turn this back on you. Like you said, he’s fanning the blaze because he wants to get a reaction out of us. Means he’s waiting for it. Means he’ll have traps set up. Now maybe you’re bad and sneaky and strong enough to get through them. But maybe you’re not, because he’s bad and sneaky and strong too.”

  Michael looked at her from under lowered eyelids. “I could get through.”

  Astra rubbed her forehead. “Then there’s Mary and me to consider. We each have our own strengths, but she and I do not have your physical attributes or skill set. So the best thing to do is to think things through before we make a move. Gather as much information as we can. Let me see what I can find out.”

  “We can think and move at the same time,” he said. Mr. Enigmatic had gone expressionless.

  Astra nodded. “We could. But I can’t gather information, move and still cloak us nearly as well as I can while we’re here where the island is helping me.”

  “I don’t like it,” he said, almost to himself.

  Astra waved a gnarled hand. “Forget about the fire spreading. It’s already beyond our control. That’s for the humans to fight now. You’ve had your turn at gathering information. Now it’s my turn. Take the evening to refuel that fancy boat of yours and pack everything you want to take with you. I’m going to lie down, and while I do, I’ll see what I can find out.” Then Astra pointed a finger at Mary. “You.”

  Mary startled. She had settled so deep into the role of a spectator she was surprised to be included in the discussion. “What?”

  “Finish baking the bread, will you? In about an hour, the loaves need to go in the oven. Bake them at three hundred and fifty degrees for thirty minutes. We’re going to want more sandwiches. Whatever information I can get, I’ll have it by dawn. Then you two will be feisty enough to take it from there.”

  Michael stayed silent but the stubborn line of his jaw spoke volumes.

  Astra added in a sharp tone, “I didn’t get to be as old as I am by flying off the handle. We will make our move, but we must do so carefully. I would go to bed early, if I were you. Dawn is not that far away, and I’m going to wake you sooner if I get any solid information before then.”

  Michael’s moonstone gaze lifted to Mary’s. He raised his eyebrows. She realized he was silently asking for her opinion. She cleared her throat and said tentatively, “I’m a physician, not a tactician, but taking the time to prepare and gather all the information we can does sound sensible.”

  “All right.” It was clear by his short tone that he still wasn’t happy with the decision.

  Astra pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll see you later.”

  She disappeared into her room and shut the door with a decisive click.

  Michael stood as well. He bent to give Mary a swift, hard kiss. “I’m going to fuel the boat.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I guess I’m going to bake bread.”

  Michael left the cabin. Since she had a good forty-five minutes to wait while the bread dough finished rising, Mary went to the bathroom and relished brushing her teeth thoroughly. It was one of those small parts of life she could no longer take for granted.

  She grimaced at herself in the mirror. The sum total of her worldly possessions had narrowed down to a pair of shoes, a pair of socks, nylon panties and a toothbrush. Oh, and her jeans, which, while clean at the moment, were stained so badly that a thrift store would reject them.

  Making a mental catalogue of her current possessions made as much sense as trying to keep track of anything else in her life. The details of the week had begun to run together in a continuous, surrealistic stream of information.

  My teeth are clean. I have a pair of shoes. The Upper Peninsula is on fire. I have six bullet scars on my chest. I resurrected a man. I gave another man a heart attack.

  She supposed she sort of killed somebody. On purpose. It didn’t matter if Justin was already dead and the Deceiver survived. She had taken a healthy man’s heart and torn it to shreds.

  How was that any different than shooting a gun? It was worse, sneakier and in some ways, it was more powerful. As soon as her life was in danger, she had thrown her Hippocratic oath out the window. Twice. At least the gun w
as an honest weapon. She had used her healing skills to kill someone.

  Close to overload again, she turned on the shower, stripped and scrubbed herself under a hot spray of water. She shampooed her hair twice. It was another one of those small parts of life that she could no longer take for granted.

  When she was finished getting clean, it was time to put the bread in the oven. She brushed and braided her hair while the bread baked. When the bread was finished, she set four beautiful, golden brown loaves on the counter to cool. Whatever else she might say about Astra, the older woman was a hell of a good cook.

  After Michael refueled the boat, he stocked it with a variety of weapons, which was when Mary found out what was stored in all the army-style lockers in the office-like room. She helped him carry loads down the path. By then, the bread had cooled enough that she made sandwiches, wrapped them and stored them in the fridge, just as Astra had done earlier. While she did that, Michael showered and shaved.

  It was eight o’clock by the time they had finished. The sun had not yet set, and long evening shadows lay across the clearing.

  Michael said, “We should go to bed, just in case she does end up waking us at three in the morning.”

  She followed him into his room and sat on the edge of the bed.

  He sat beside her and took her hand. “What has caused that look on your face?”

  She didn’t try to dissemble. “I’m okay. I just have a lot of things to reconcile in my head. Things that have happened. Things that I’ve done. Things aren’t going to magically settle into place after a conversation or two. It’s going to take me some time. In the cosmic scheme of things, it’s not that big of a deal, and I don’t want to expend any energy on it right now.”

  “There’s nothing to reconcile,” he said. “You did whatever you did in order to survive. End of discussion.”

  “Easy for you to say.” One corner of her mouth lifted. She noticed he was still frowning. “What’s wrong with you?”