Firestorm

by William Stacey

  Her anger surged. Whatever that golden dick had done to this child, he hadn't finished, because she was dying. "But he never bonded her with a shade … a ghost. Do you know why not?"

  "He grew angry with me when I failed to capture you—very angry. We've prayed to his wooden likeness, but for weeks now, he's ignored our pleas."

  Weeks, she thought. How long was I in the Hollows? Sometimes time flowed differently around the Fey, sped up or slowed down. What had happened to Tec and the others in the time she was gone? Is he still alive?

  "My adopted mother, a Fey, told me some humans used magic and didn't die, but I never saw it. Every time I saw a human use mana without a shade, they became sick, just like your sister. Without the Fey to bond them with a shade, they all died."

  "Please, bond her with a ghost, a shade, as you said you could. Don't let her die for my failure."

  She bit her lip. We’ve got to get her to Ephix. Despite what Angie had told Sandman, no human could bond a shade with a mage. No, that's not true, she suddenly remembered. Nathan had; he’d bragged of it. He’d said the Tzitzime taught him.

  But she wasn't Nathan.

  Can Moonwing carry us both to Fresno? Can griffins even do that, carry riders?

  ANGELA. The Shade King’s voice was soft for a change, almost conversational. In all the excitement, she had forgotten about it. I CAN SHOW YOU HOW TO CALL ONE OF MY KIND. IF THE CHILD ACCEPTS THE BOND, SHE WILL NOT DIE.

  Really? How?

  WE MUST DRAW ONE OF MY KIND. THEN OFFER IT A PATH TO MAGIC THROUGH THE CHILD.

  But what if there are no shades close by?

  THERE ARE ALWAYS SHADES, ANGELA. WE EXIST FOREVER BUT ALWAYS IN CONSTANT HUNGER, NEVER ABLE TO TOUCH THE MAGIC WE LOST IN THE TRANSFORMATION, NOT WITHOUT A HOST. THE URGE TO ONCE MORE WIELD MAGIC DRIVES MY KIND TO BOND WITHOUT THE WILL OF THE MAGE, AS I DID WITH YOU.

  I know. That's how the legends of demonic possession started. She was aware the others were staring at her, waiting for her, but how could they know she was holding a conversation within her mind with an ancient entity?

  EXACTLY SO, BUT SOMETIMES A COMPROMISE IS REACHED, AS HAPPENED BETWEEN YOU AND I, AND BOTH SHADE AND MAGE SURVIVE SUCH A HARSH BONDING. BUT THIS CHILD IS TOO SICK FOR THAT. SHE MUST ACCEPT THE BOND FIRST. I CAN CALL FORTH ONE OF MY OWN, BUT YOU MUST REACH INTO HER MIND AND CONVINCE HER.

  That's it? That's all? She was trying to be sarcastic, but the distinction must have been lost on the Shade King.

  IS IT NOT ENOUGH? A MOUNTAIN IS ONLY A MOUNTAIN, AN OCEAN ONLY AN OCEAN, BUT TO AN ANT, EACH IS WITHOUT END.

  She didn't even try to work that out. Do it. Call a shade, and I'll try to help.

  The air over the sleeping girl shimmered, transforming into a sphere of energy the size of a fist. Sandman and Silver Katana gasped, drawing back.

  DONE, answered the Shade King. THERE ARE NEVER ENOUGH MAGES FOR US ALL. NOW YOU MUST CONVINCE HER TO ACCEPT THE BONDING.

  How?

  PLACE YOUR HANDS ON THE SIDES OF HER HEAD, CLOSE YOUR EYES, AND I WILL DO THE REST.

  Angie inhaled deeply, her pulse racing, and leaned forward, gently holding the girl's too-hot forehead. She closed her eyes—

  And found herself standing in bright daylight in a forest surrounded by pine trees. A stream gurgled nearby, the air crisp and cold. Behind her, Mount Laguna rose above the trees. Angie turned in place, seeing that now she wore furs and hide clothing, yet, bizarrely, over her shoulders she wore a shiny black satin cape with fringes.

  "Are you the heel?" a young girl asked from behind Angie. "Is this my blow-off?"

  Angie spun to see Miss Fortune, no longer pale, no longer sweating. She was pretty, with big hazel eyes. "What's a blow-off?" Angie asked, stalling for time.

  "You don't look like a heel. You look like a baby face, but I'm the baby face. I've always been the baby face."

  "I ... I don't understand."

  "It's not fair. I'm too young to die. I feel like a jobber."

  Angie took a step closer, but the girl drew back, assumed a fighting posture. "I won't throw it. I won't," the girl said, her voice breaking.

  Angie froze, held her hands open before her, and spoke softly, calmly. "I'm not here to fight you, Miss Fortune. Your brother asked me to help."

  The girl's eyes softened. "Sandman?" She shook her head. "He's fallen into disfavor with the Horned God because—" Her eyes widened. "You! You're his shy bride, the one he wants."

  Angie shook her head. "I'm not—"

  The girl launched herself forward into a somersault, pushing off the ground with her hands to strike Angie in the stomach with both feet. It should have been impossible, but she hit Angie with enough force to knock the air from her lungs and send her flying back to smash onto the ground. While Angie lay on her back, gasping for air, the girl threw herself through the air.

  Char's martial training had focused on Renaissance sword fighting, but that didn't mean that was all she had taught. There had been many hours of unarmed combat training as well. Angie raised her knee, catching the girl in the sternum as she landed atop her. Miss Fortune gasped in pain and fell to the side, rolling into a ball. Angie swung her legs and executed a kip-up, jumping back to her feet in a fighting stance, her weight evenly distributed.

  The girl, not that badly hurt, executed a backflip, landing on her feet, glaring at Angie. "You are the heel!" She bolted forward and caught Angie in the neck with her outstretched arm, knocking her down once more.

  Stars exploded in Angie's vision, and she was certain she heard a crowd roar in delight. Before she could react, the girl fell upon her, driving her small knee into Angie's gut with more force than should have been possible for someone of her build. Miss Fortune lay atop Angie, pinning her shoulders. Somehow, it felt like it was a man as large as Casey atop her, suffocating her with far too much weight.

  YOU'RE IN HER MIND, the Shade King urged. NOTHING IS REAL. IF YOU CAN IMAGINE IT, YOU CAN ACHIEVE IT.

  "One, two, three, four," the girl screamed.

  Angie bucked her hips, achieving nothing.

  "Five, six, seven, eight," the girl continued.

  IF YOU LOSE, SHE DIES.

  Desperation drove Angie as she gripped one of Miss Fortune's arms and shoved it against the girl's own neck, choking her with it. The girl's face turned red in surprise, but Angie punched her in the kidneys. As the girl tried to draw back, Angie struck her in the ear with her palm. Then, in the space she had just created, Angie snaked her elbow underneath the girl's hips and executed a step-over escape, using her left thigh to block the girl's right foot while using her right foot to lift the girl's knee.

  In one quick move, she threw the girl onto her back and mounted her, still holding the girl's own arm tight against her throat, choking her. Without oxygen, there was no strength—dream world or not. She pulled the girl against her, increasing the leverage on her throat. The girl's face turned bright crimson, and fear flashed through her eyes. Angie heard the crowd again, but this time, it was booing her.

  She held on for the girl's life, hooking her heels through the child's heels and pushing forward, pinning her tiny shoulders to the ground. Her heartbeat pounded in her skull, but she counted out loud as the girl had done. "One, two, three, four, five..."

  Miss Fortune became desperate and kept trying to buck Angie off. She was unbelievably strong but had no real ground training and no leverage with her heels trapped.

  "Six, seven, eight..." Angie gasped.

  Again, the girl bucked, and this time her hips shoved Angie a foot into the air, but Miss Fortune's shoulders remained locked in place against the ground.

  "Nine, ten," Angie finished.

  A bell rang, and the crowd went silent.

  Angie rolled away from the gasping girl, who now cried, her sobs heart-wrenching. "I don't want to die," Miss Fortune said.

  Angie knelt beside her, pulling the girl's face against her chest. "You're not going to die. I'm not the heel. I'm here to help you."

&n
bsp; "But ... but you're his bride. He's angry with us."

  "No, of course I'm not. I'm here to help you."

  The girl pulled away and wiped an arm over her face. Tears shone on her skin. "What?"

  Angie took the girl's hands and held them. They sat on the dirt facing one another. "Miss Fortune, my name is Angie. You've been sick, but I'm here to help you."

  "How?" The girl's eyes filled with anguish. She shook her head. "Can't. No one can. Only the Horned God—and he won’t!"

  "I can and will," Angie said, squeezing the girl's hands.

  A light the size of her fist glowed behind the girl's head, pulsed with energy.

  IT'S TIME.

  She ignored the light, stared into Miss Fortune's eyes. "I'm not the heel. You're not a jobber. I want you to trust me. Will you trust me?"

  Miss Fortune bit her lip but nodded once quickly.

  "You're going to bond with a shade now, Miss Fortune, what you call a ghost. It's going to help you. Will you let it help you?"

  "I ..." The girl's eyes widened with fear, but Angie squeezed her hands, maintaining eye contact. "Yes," she whispered.

  The glow flowed into the child, blinding Angie.

  IT IS DONE—

  Angie sat back within the teepee, gasping, every muscle tight. Atop the furs, the girl's pale skin glowed with life. Sandman and Silver Katana stared in wonder.

  Miss Fortune opened her eyes, and a smile transformed her face. "You," she said in a hoarse whisper. "You were the baby face after all."

  Although her physical form remained atop her temple, pretending to listen as one of the cultists droned on and on, Itzpapalotl's astral form winged north over a dark desert night.

  This wasn't true sleep—she’d never put herself at risk by sleeping around anyone, especially her servants—but neither was she fully awake. Dragons had long ago mastered the art of astral projection, a necessary skill when leaving one's lair was so dangerous. A dragon could live for thousands of years, sleeping away the centuries in hiding, but when they ventured outside the safety of their lairs, they put themselves at risk of attack by other dragons. All dragons used their astral forms to spy upon their enemies. And while there were no other dragons to threaten her now, in her astral form, she was still much more sensitive to the flows of magic.

  And she needed that sensitivity.

  Her dream of the dark underground lake with the strange golden glow had been a warning. She guessed the underground lake was the once-lair of the feathered coward Quetzalcoatl. The feathered serpent had been a powerful foe, using every bit of his formidable magic to mask his lair’s location. In more than a century, she had never found where he slept but had heard rumors of a vast underground lake—a Black Pool. It vexed her that even now, even after she had ripped his foul head from his serpentine body, he continued to haunt her. It would be just like the clever serpent to set a trap for her after his death.

  But she was also clever.

  She'd find his lair. Now that he was dead, he could no longer mask it with magic. She’d find it—and what lay beneath the water.

  Her astral projection, immaterial, soared through the sparse clouds, her gaze sweeping back and forth over the silver-painted desert. Hard desert, ceaseless scrublands, sparse pine forests, and rounded bare hills sped beneath her. The only clue her Tzitzime cultists had ever been able to find was that his lair was somewhere in the Peninsular Mountain range of Southern California, to the east of the ruins of San Diego. She soared over these mountains now, crisscrossing back and forth, noting and discarding the glowing life forms of animals and humans. Humans were of no real interest—and little more than animals anyway—but the winged coward might have hidden his lair close to one of their settlements—after all, he had loved the vermin so. There would be traces of magic yet, even after his death. She circled their settlements, watching the cluster of their lives glowing like fires. But none had even a hint of magic. She moved farther to the east, growing increasingly irritable.

  What if it had only been another dream, not a true seeing? She flew over the eastern Peninsular Mountains, growing ever more convinced she was wasting her time. Suspicion was so deeply ingrained in dragonkind that even now, when all the others were dead, she still couldn't bring herself to enjoy her triumph. She circled one of the highest peaks, determined now to end this pointless search. There was nothing for her—

  Magic flared below her, not the hidden lair she had been seeking but something she had never expected to see: a shade had just joined with a human life. But only Fey and her Tzitzime cultists knew how to call to the shades. The closest Fey settlement had been Coronado Island, now burning ash. Yet someone had just bonded a shade. She swept down, noting the human settlement, the cluster of tents, a grouping of hundreds of savages, those her servants called Ferals. They were good for nothing but sacrifice. Yet among those unworthies, in one of those tents, magic flared. Satisfaction coursed through her. She had found something after all, not what she sought but something just the same.

  Back atop the temple of Zolin, none of her Tzitzime servants even noticed the sharpening of her pupils that signified her consciousness was once more housed within her beautiful scaled body.

  Her long, forked tongue caressed her front teeth, and she sighed in satisfaction, a fire burning in her core. "Mother Smoke Heart," she hissed, cutting off the cultist who had been prattling on about logistics, "the demon—where is it?"

  Rayan Zar Davi stepped forward, her fingers stroking one of her long silk scarves. "We sent it to Sanwa City, Beautiful Mistress. One of our spies told us the Knight was going to attempt a mission against our forces. With luck, by now—"

  "Bring the demon back—immediately. I have a much greater need for the Death Bat."

  The woman's eyes narrowed for a moment, but she nodded quickly. "As you command, Beautiful Mistress."

  Chapter 35

  The stench of feces was as suffocating as the mountain atop him.

  Tec groaned in pain as someone pulled him from the rubble. A bright light flared before his eyes, and when he tried to cover his face, pain coursed through his body. It felt like a building had fallen atop him, and maybe one had.

  "Alive!" someone yelled. "One's alive."

  They carried him over boulders and rubble, jostling him painfully. Rocks and broken stones lay everywhere. The ground had fallen in, like in a sinkhole. Light from multiple lanterns flared all about, illuminating the rescuers as they combed the rubble. They tied him to a stretcher and then lifted him into the air, hauling him up the sides of a broken stone wall. He wriggled his fingers and toes, relieved to find they still worked. It was dark, and he saw snatches of people rushing about. A man on a horse—a Horse Cop, he remembered the city residents called them—used his mount to force back a growing crowd. Then Tec remembered the demon Sudden Bloodletter, and he tried to rise, knowing that he needed to fight.

  "Lie still," a woman ordered. "You've been in a cave-in."

  "Not a cave-in," he mumbled. The explosives they had brought to use on the dam must have detonated, bringing down the sewer, opening it up to the city's surface. "Others?" he asked weakly, not at all certain he had spoken loud enough for her to hear.

  "Just you," the woman answered. "So far," she added in a tone that sounded more like wishful thinking.

  He passed out.

  When he came to again, someone was repeating his name. He forced his eyes open, squinting at the light. He was in a hospital room, the light coming from a lantern. Wyn Renna sat beside him, repeating his name, her red-rimmed eyes filled with worry.

  "I'm ... I'm okay," he lied. Was he?

  She sighed in relief, looking exhausted. When was the last time she had slept? "You're in the hospital in Sanwa City. We found you half buried in the rubble after the explosion. Can you tell us what happened?"

  "Sudden Bloodletter happened. The demon was waiting for us."

  Just for a moment, he saw the fear flash in her eyes. "Well, it's gone now. Maybe it was kille
d in the explosion."

  "Doubt it," he mumbled. "Am I ... how am I?"

  "Shaken but alive. I don't know how. The explosion was strong enough to open a hole to the street above and bring down a building. The others are all..."

  "I was in my ... other form." Had he been human, he'd be as dead as his men and women. We didn't even get out of the city. He had failed, and they’d be out of water soon. He took Wyn Renna's hand. "Be careful. The demon can materialize wherever it wishes. Never be away from your guards." Would guards even slow it? Probably not, but what choice did they have?

  "Get some sleep," she said. "We'll need you in the fighting to come."

  She left, and he closed his eyes once more. We're hopelessly outclassed. We can't even fight the demon, let alone a dragon. Angie. Where are you?

  And where had the demon gone?

  Angie followed Sandman out of the tent. The crowd was still there, hundreds strong, watching, but keeping a safe distance from the griffin. Moonwing lay on his belly, his wings folded about him, his eagle head resting on his forearms. When the griffin saw Angie, his head rose, his intelligent eyes watching her.

  Sandman raised his arms to the crowd and proclaimed, "She has done it. The shy bride, the angel, has saved Miss Fortune!"

  The crowd cheered, but it was all too much for Angie. "Stop calling me that. I'm not his bride!" she yelled, doubting any of them could hear her—although technically, maybe she was Lodin’s bride. After all, even if she didn’t remember much of it, there had been a wedding ceremony, and she still wore the giant diamond on her ring finger. She pulled the ring free now and dropped it in the dirt. Bullshit! I’m no one’s bride.

  The only jewelry she wore now was her father’s old watch, and the leather band had been scorched by the flames just like her sword belt. She’d have to replace the band soon or risk losing the heirloom.

  Right now, she needed them all to shut the hell up.

  As if sensing her desire, Moonwing rose on his hind legs, towering above her, spread his wings, and shrieked. The cheering stopped.