by Frank Hurt
“Is someone out there?” Duncan’s alarmed voice called from the garage.
Her cover blown, the would-be ninja stepped into the blinding floodlights. Ember squinted at the man standing next to his Jeep. The driver’s side door was still open, its door-ajar chime repeating.
“Hello, Duncan. It’s Ember, from work.” She walked into the garage. And jutted a thumb over her shoulder. “And this is Rik.”
“Ember? What’re you doing here?” Duncan frowned as he silenced the chime by slamming the Jeep’s door shut. “What’s this all about? Who’re you pointing at?”
She looked over her shoulder, then turned around completely. Alarik was gone.
Duncan Heywood may have been functioning under the effects of a spell, but he was still a seasoned Investigator. He sensed mischief. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but that’s far enough. I’m going to call Embassy Security to come pick you up.” He plunged his hand into his pocket and produced a cell phone.
She was still the vehicle’s length away from the Senior Investigator—too far away to engage with the Deference Spell as Barnaby had taught her. Everything is falling apart. She needed to act, and quickly.
A blur moved to her right. A dog—no, a coyote—ran into the garage. It skittered along the right side of the parked vehicle, knocking over a silver trash can.
Duncan swiveled towards the noise. His phone slipped from his grip and clattered against the concrete floor.
Ember seized the distraction and ran toward the man, but he was too quick. She saw—almost in slow motion—mana charge from his core as a glow passed up through his shoulder, down his arm and to his balled fist, all within microseconds. As Duncan’s torso turned toward her, he brought his left fist up and pointed it in her direction. His fingers unfolded, and an orange charge shot out.
Though she targeted others with it before, Ember never had a containment net aimed at her. Thin tendrils of golden-orange light expanded brightly, just missing her as it passed overhead and slammed harmlessly into the rafters.
Duncan shrieked as his aim was deflected by a snarling coyote. He fell backward into a steel tool chest when the animal jumped at him. Alarik pinned the struggling Senior Investigator as wrenches jostled noisily within their sheet-metal drawers.
Ember punched the garage door button on the wall, and the mechanism complied. As the overhead door slid shut, Ember quickly initiated the movements Barnaby taught her.
She had been practicing the moves every morning and night until she was able to execute the entire series accurately within seconds. She timed her breathing perfectly, filling her lungs to hold in the air for the duration of the counter-spell. Ember lunged her right foot forward, landing on her heel with toes pointing slightly inward. She held her arms bent at the elbow at a right angle, her fingers pointed toward the ceiling. Shifting her weight forward, she used the ball of her left foot to pivot as her right foot flattened to the floor. Her fingers began to tingle as she drew attention from the shadow enveloping her target’s aura.
Duncan stopped struggling. His eyes were wide with awareness, even as his body froze.
What Alarik witnessed—then in the cemetery and now in the garage—did hold some vague resemblance to Tai Chi. He may have made the observation offhandedly, but the elaborate form looked simultaneously martial and Zen. The coyote cautiously withdrew behind Ember.
Ember lifted her left leg, bending at the knee to point her toes at the floor. Her elbows remained bent as she dropped her arms down. When her splayed fingers were pointed at Duncan, she pushed them forward at the same time as her left foot crossed over her right.
Though she was a yard away from her target, Ember felt her fingers sink into the shadow around Duncan. The Deference Spell felt like fishhooks made of ice, slicing into her flesh, embedding itself to the bone. She resisted the urge to withdraw, to scream. Barnaby had warned her, but nothing he said could have prepared her for the surge of pain.
The Grand Inquisitor’s gritty voice echoed in her memory. “There is a price to countering Dark Magic. It will terrify you. It will probably harm you. If you exhale, if you cry out, you will be lost. Breathe in the scent of a Deference Spell not meant for you, and it will surely be your last.”
She closed her eyes and visualized her fingers plunging deeper into the murky shroud. She saw a tent made of tar paper, heavy and uncooperative as it tried to collapse around her hands. Ember saw herself parting a flap within the inflexible material.
Within the sagging tent was Duncan Heywood, frightened and awestruck. “How did you—?”
“No time.” She uttered the syllables without breathing. She had only seconds to speak with Duncan before the Deference Spell collapsed, and she with it. She had been running the question of the conspiracy through her mind the entire evening, practicing what she would ask. Now that she was here, she could only think of the one question that mattered more.
“It was 2001. The Mandaree Incident. You debriefed Roy Turner. He told you about a man with a scar running out of the fog. What’s the man’s name?”
“Yes. I remember. There was two of them. I tracked them down and interrogated both. They knew about the fog. A lot about the—”
“Names.” Ember grimaced. Her lungs burned, begged her to exhale. The weight of the shadow-tent pressed down on her. “Their names.”
“Dominic Hershel and Katrina Berg. But they—”
Whatever else Duncan had to say, Ember would not hear it. The heavy weight of the dark spell closed in around her. She slid her hands back as quickly as she could, closing the imagined tent flap and blocking anything Duncan said. Reversing the earlier movements, Ember stepped backward, bringing her arms up toward the ceiling, repelling the Deference Spell from her fingertips. As she shifted her weight back, she opened her eyes and gasped.
Duncan’s eyelids dropped, and his body went limp against the tool chest.
Alarik had already shifted back to his human form. He caught the Senior Investigator as the man collapsed. “What happened? Why didn’t it work? Why didn’t you ask him any questions?”
She felt dizzy, light headed. Ember closed her eyes and staggered, catching herself on the Jeep’s door mirror. She managed to whisper, “I…did.”
Alarik’s jaw went slack when he looked at the Malvern woman. The pitch of his voice elevated in alarm. “Ember you…your nose. Your eyes. You’re bleeding!”
As if a marionette with severed strings, Ember’s knees gave out. She crumpled to the floor and her head fell forward to her chest. She tasted metallic saline when something dripped from her nose to her lips. She wanted to touch her face, to wipe away the fluid that tickled her skin, but her arms wouldn’t obey. Tears of blood trickled down her cheek as she lost consciousness.
27
She’s Tougher Than She Looks
“I think she’s getting better. At least the bleeding stopped.”
“I can’t believe it was coming out of her eyes. What does that mean, bleeding from the eyes? Head trauma?”
“Her nose, too, but I had that much cleaned up before you got here. She didn’t hit her head so—”
“And she’s been like this since talking to that Duncan guy? Passed out, I mean?”
“Yeah. But, there wasn’t much talking. Whatever she was trying to do, it didn’t work.”
A phone was ringing.
“Damn it, again. Can you turn that thing off or make it go silent, please? It’s going to disturb her.”
“I did turn it off. This is another one.”
“She’s got two cell phones?”
“Looks like. Think she’s a drug dealer on the side?”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it, you dork. Well, I’m awake now. You’d might as well try taking a nap. I can watch her until you wake up.”
“Don’t you have to work today?”
“I’ll get someone to cover for me. This is more important than babysitting drunks.”
“And here we go. It’s warm chicken bro
th. Here’s the spoon at your lips, Ember. Just open and swallow. Good, good. One more now.”
Someone sponged the sweat from her neck with a damp washcloth.
“She’s still burning up. Rik, we need to get her to a Healer.”
“You heard her talking in her sleep. Director Higginbotham is one of the bad guys. Who can we take her to? What if they try to hurt her?”
“Then we’ll kick their ass.” The woman sighed. “Okay, then to the E.R. Someone at Trinity can at least help with the fever.”
“We’ve given her Tylenol, but I don’t think what she’s fighting is something NonDruw doctors are equipped to handle.”
“It’s not something that a couple of Tylenol will touch, either. We have to at least try to find her family. To tell them. What if...what if she doesn’t—”
“Don’t even say that. She’s gonna pull through. She’s tougher than she looks.”
“She’s awake again, sis. I just heard her mutter something.”
“Her throat’s probably dry. Here, sit her up again and I’ll give her some of this.”
A cold, steel spoon touched Ember’s lips. She parted them and was rewarded with a teaspoon of strawberry gelatin.
A woman’s voice cooed. “Mmm, it’s good, right? Jell-O. Want another?”
Ember swallowed, nodded once.
“She’s not a baby, Anna. You can talk to her like an adult.”
Ember tried to open her eyes, to no avail. She swallowed another offering of gelatin and managed to hoarsely whisper, “Can’t…open eyes.”
“Oh, they must have dried shut again. I’ll get another washcloth, hang on. Keep her propped up, Rik.”
Water flowed from the faucet over the bathroom sink. Just as she faded out again, Ember heard Alarik saying something. Telling her something he said was important. She tried to focus on his voice, but she couldn’t understand what he said.
Her eyes hurt, but she managed to open her eyelids at least. Her vision was blurry as if there was smoke in the room. A figure shifted next to her bed.
“Ember? Can you hear me?” It was Alarik.
Her lips stuck together briefly, resisting as she opened her mouth. She touched her fingers to her throat and made a croaking sound.
“Here, here. Water.” Alarik propped Ember up and brought a cup to her lips. He tipped a splash of water into her mouth, most of which dribbled down her chin.
Ember dragged the back of her hand over her chin, then reached for the cup. It felt heavy in her grip, but she didn’t drop it. She didn’t recognize her own voice. It sounded damaged, worn out. “I feel…depleted.”
“Yeah, I don’t doubt it.” Alarik held the back of his hand against her forehead. “Your fever is breaking, at least. You had a rough day-and-a-half.”
She closed and opened her eyes, reassuring herself she was able to do at least that. “Day…and…half?”
“Mmhmm. The bleeding stopped by the time I got you back here. To your apartment.” Alarik took the cup of water and set it on the nightstand. He popped open a plastic cup of gelatin and placed it in her left hand. He gestured with the spoon before sliding it into her right hand. “You were burning up, bad fever. You’ve been a mess for 36 hours or so.”
She accepted the spoon and fed herself as the memories of her confrontation with Duncan percolated to her consciousness. “It’s Tuesday?”
“Yep. Tuesday afternoon. Anna has been helping, too. She’s home now, but she’ll be back tomorrow morning.” Alarik adjusted the pillows behind Ember’s back, helping her stay propped up. “She bought some groceries. You didn’t have anything but ramen noodles and crackers in your cupboards, and leftover take-out in the fridge. You eat like I did when I was in college, minus the cases of beer.”
“I feel like…like I’ve just been danced on by a herd of rhinos.”
“No offense, but you kind of look it, too. You’ll be wanting a shower when you’re able to get up, I’m sure.”
“That does sound brilliant.” Ember closed her eyes and imagined hot water flowing over her. “Could you bring me my mobile, please? I had better call sick to work before they send someone to check in on me.”
“Sure.” He left the room and came back with a device in each hand. “Which one? You’ve got two.”
Some part of her subconscious flashed an overheard conversation—or was it a fevered dream? Her memories were unfocused, blurred like her vision. She selected the embassy-provided cell phone and called the spa manager’s direct line.
“Hi Josette,” Ember croaked. “I’m so sorry, but I’m calling in sick.”
“Oh, girlfriend, you sound it! What happened?”
“Um…something I ate over the holiday, I think.”
“I’ve never had food poisoning before, but I’ve heard that for the first 24 hours you’ll feel like you’re dying. For the second 24 hours, you’ll wish you had.”
“That sounds…about right.” Ember swallowed.
“Well don’t worry about a thing. Heal up, take as long as you need.”
Ember thanked her, disconnected the call, and made a second call.
“Department of Investigation, front desk. How may I assist you?” The chipper voice answered.
“Joy, this is Ember. I’m calling in sick. I had food poisoning from Sunday.” The lie sounded even more convincing the second time.
“Oh no! Ember, it doesn’t even sound like you! Oh, my goodness, that’s just awful. I was wondering why you hadn’t come in. Yesterday was a holiday, on account the Embassy lets us have the Monday after Independence Day off, well if the Fourth of July falls on a Sunday. Which it did, this year. It doesn’t every year of course. It’s nice having a three-day weekend. Well, unless you have food poisoning, then—”
“Joy, I’m sorry,” Ember interrupted the chatterbox. “I think I’m about to throw up again.”
“Oh, gross! I mean, sorry. That’s terrible. I’ll mark you down as sick, it’s alright. Dennis is going to be so lonely, not having you to entertain him.” Joy snickered. “I kid, I kid.”
“Bye, Joy.”
Ember rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed.
“Want me to help you to the bathroom?” Alarik was standing in the doorway of her bedroom. “I’ll be right outside, so you can shout if you fall or need me for anything.”
She accepted his assistance. The hot shower was every bit as refreshing as she had imagined it to be. She had one towel wrapped around her and she was blotting her hair dry with another when Alarik called from the other side of the closed door.
“Are you hungry yet? I’ll make you something to eat.”
“I am, thank you. If you could heat up a Pot Noodle, that would be lovely.” Ember called out to the backside of the door. She was pleased that her voice was returning. “There are instructions on the package.”
Alarik chuckled. “You’re going to eat something other than ramen noodles. How about I make you some eggs and bacon? Anna bought some. Said you’d need something solid on your stomach when you rejoined the land of the living. Orange juice and apple juice, too, since we didn’t know what you would prefer.”
Ember smiled at her reflection in the fogged mirror. Her eyesight was returning, though not yet quite normal. Tendrils of damp, gold hair peered out from beneath the towel on her head. Her fire-blue eyes were puffy and looked as tired as she felt. The carved coyote face draped against her sternum, staring back at her from its place just above the valley between her breasts. “Thank you. Orange juice would be brilliant.”
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Poached, if you would?”
“Poached? Uh…how about…over easy or sunny-side up?”
Ember grinned at the mirror. “Over easy, in that case.”
“Coming right up.” His voice was cheerful. “Take your time in there.”
She still felt like roadkill, but now slightly fresher roadkill. Ember wore her robe and a towel wrapped around her wet head. She took one more look at her reflec
tion and marveled at the weary face staring back at her. It felt strange, letting Alarik see her in such a vulnerable state. Judging by how I feel, he and his sister saw me looking far worse.
When they were done eating, Ember excused herself to her bedroom and called Wallace on the burner phone. She updated him, told him about what she learned from Duncan.
“This is your idea of laying low, Ember?” Wallace was gruff. “This is an incredible risk you took.”
“I know.”
“You asked him about the Mandaree Incident, not the co-conspirators.” It wasn’t a question.
“I did. I know I should have pursued the bigger picture like you said.” Ember sat on the edge of her bed and stared out the window. “I’m sorry. I was just following my instincts.”
“You were listening to your heart, instead of your head.” Wallace grumbled into the phone. “You made a move without thinking it through, at great risk to yourself. To Duncan, too. When you’re able to, I want you to ask him about Higginbotham’s co-conspirators. Be delicate when you do. No brash moves here.”
Ember squeezed her eyes shut. “Wallace…I don’t think I can do that.”
“What? Why can’t you?”
“I…it wasn’t easy lifting the Deference Spell. I don’t think I can try it again. I…Wallace, it almost got me.”
Wallace hesitated, then spoke calmly. “Explain.”
She told him about the after-effects of the counter-spell, the recovery. The fact that Alarik and Anna had been nursing her back to health.
“Bloody hell, Ember.” Though he cursed, the anger in his voice was absent, substituted now with concern. “We can’t have you try that counter-spell again. It seems you barely survived this one.”
“You’ll hear no arguments from me on that.”
Wallace muttered to himself as he verbally recapped Ember’s findings. “There’s just one thing you left out. How did you lose your tail?”
“Hmm? My tail?”