It occurs to me that the light in the room is minimal, coming almost exclusively from the blazing altar in the centre.
Once, just once during our training, Eva placed her palm over mine and drew it away from me. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, as I was losing control and was trying to concentrate on not catching fire. But now… can I do the same thing?
Not pausing to overthink it, I roll into the centre and thrust my hands into the flames.
For a moment, nothing happens, and I’m just about to give up and go back before everyone sees what a prime target I am, until I realise that nothing is happening. I have placed my flesh inside of fire –not even fire I’ve created– and I am not burning. I feel hot, but also… like my body is burning with electricity.
Don’t think. Just do.
I stand up, drawing the fire with me. My arms are drenched with it, from the tips of my fingers to my shoulders. The flames drape from my flesh, almost… almost like wings.
“STOP!” I shout, and the flames burn upwards, brighter and higher than ever.
For a second, the fighting ceases.
And then the firing starts again, this time with me as its target.
I start to move. There’s a set of stairs behind the altar, boarded at the top but nothing a swift kick doesn’t fix. I emerge on the upper floor, but it’s currently kitted out as a store room. There’s crates and boxes of weapons and… explosives.
I turn off the flames.
A bullet narrowly shoots past my ear and lodges itself in the pillar behind me. I leap forward, catching one of the guards hissing to his comrade about not shooting off the explosives. Too far from the next staircase, I dart around a crate, waiting until they enter my line of site. Naturally, they split off as soon as they’re at the top, but I spring out of my spot, cutting the legs out from one of them and seizing his weapon, ramming it into the other's face as he hurtles towards me and then cracking it over the downed one’s nose. They’re still conscious, but only just. Others are following. I race for the stairs.
The next floor is empty. In hindsight, it might have been wiser to wait on the other floor and hope no one was dumb enough to shoot a gun. At least here, however, I can utilise my fire. I arm myself with fistfuls of flame when the next assailants rise to my level.
Three more guards, accompanied by one of the red-robed men. His mask is slightly more ornate than the others; their leader?
The guards ready their weapons at the same time, but I charge at one so swiftly that the others don’t have time to fire. A punch to his middle sends him flying. My flames brighten, as if somehow I’ve swallowed the fire from earlier and can barely contain it. Bullets soar overhead, but the force of my heat seems to melt or misdirect them. They spin away or clatter around me.
I barely have to touch the remaining guards to down them.
Clapping permeates the air. A cold voice calls out.
“Well done, Firebird.”
For a horrible, whisper of a second, I think it’s the Director behind the mask. The voice has the same measured quality, a similar accent. But no, the Director would never call me “Firebird”.
The man stops clapping, and slides off the desk he’d been using as a seat to observe me during the skirmish. “You really are spectacular, aren’t you?”
I suddenly feel self-conscious of my flames, but I don’t want to lower them. They’re my armour.
Sirens blare in the background.
“Game’s up, old man,” I say instead. “I suggest surrender. It’s less messy.”
“Oh no, my dear,” he says, folding back his robe, “I don’t think I’ll be surrendering to anyone today. You, however…”
He pulls out a long whip, made of a strange, flexible steel and presses a button on the handle. The entire thing pulsates –no radiates– with electricity. I can feel it from here. When he cracks it in the air beside me, the whole room seems to shatter. I jerk involuntarily, my flames jumping like hairs on the back of your neck.
He takes a step forward, cracking it again. It catches my flames, cutting them away like paper. I duck out of the way, unsure of how to proceed. I have never faced a weapon like this before.
He raises it again. I make a break for the stairs, deciding flight is preferable to fight right now, but the whip cuts through the air and slices across my middle. Blinding, white-hot pain splits through me. I feel like every nerve is aflame. The concrete rushes up to meet me. My flames dribble away.
I am exposed, alone, vulnerable.
Almost worse is the feeling that this isn’t it, this isn’t the end, he’s not going to kill me. He’s got something else in store, something far worse than death.
No, no, no…
I turn to face him, creeping towards me with his weapon raised. His blue eyes blaze with electricity.
A dark shape rises behind him and he crumples at the middle. His weapon goes flying.
“Get up!”
It’s Nick, wielding the butt of a rifle, pulling me to my feet, roughly and hurriedly, but he’s still here. He still came.
Sirens blaze pervade the air. Flashing lights fill the room.
“Up,” Nick points.
I do not argue, do not stop to check our opponent, or even grab his weapon. We race to the roof. I cannot see our escape vans. A helicopter circles overhead, although it seems more interested in chasing down the escaped Chosen members than it does us.
Lights of a different kind flash from below. There’s a crowd of civilians gathering around the site, being held back by the police. I hover at the edge, just for a few seconds. It’s enough. One person points and suddenly all eyes are on me. The murmuring rises to clamouring.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s the Firebird!”
“Can’t be…”
I inhale deeply. It’s now or never.
I set my arms ablaze.
A shocked kind of cry escapes the crowd, somewhere between a gasp and a scream.
“Luca, I am happy to report that the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” I announce, desperately hoping this will work, and that I’m not making a terrible mistake. “I was taken from here, taken by the people that made me, that want to make me into their weapon again. But I will not be a weapon.” I don’t quite know what I want them to see me as. A shield? A beacon? What do I actually want to be? “I am here to protect my brethren, wherever, whoever they may be. Chimea, Lucan, slum-dweller... it doesn't matter. I am here to break people free.” I let my flames grow brighter. “Do not spread lies. Speak out. Don’t be afraid.”
I’m running out of time. I’m shocked we haven’t been discovered yet. “I need to see Delta-1,” I announce finally. “If you’re out there, please find me.”
I extinguish my flames and pull back to Nick.
“What was that about?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you later.” I hover over the edge on the darkest part of the building. “Can you jump that far?”
Nick doesn’t waste time replying. He leaps off the building, landing in a neat roll, and disappears into a darkened alley on the other side. A leap from this height could easily break the bones of a mere human. He could be seriously injured and not realise it.
I can’t check from up here. I jump off after him, feeling the impact crawl up my bones as I pelt into the alley and out of the other side. Police are everywhere, but they’re still focused on the building and the Chosen despite my stunt.
We stop for a second to catch our breath, and I pat him down frantically, searching for broken bones, serious bruising, bleeding–
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for broken bones. You just jumped forty feet–”
“Stop.”
“I just need to-”
“I'm fine.”
“You don't know that-”
“If I can walk, I'm fine.”
His expression is stony and glazed. There is nothing there. No fear, no pain, no... anything. My heart burns i
n my chest.
“Why did you come for me?”
Even if I wasn't falling for you, I could never have left you here, Nick told me once. I wait in vain for him to repeat the sentiment, to say something like “I’ll always come for you” or tell me that’s what we do for each other, that I would have done the same… but nothing comes.
“You’re an asset to the team. It wasn’t logical to allow for your capture.”
That old, raw pain resurfaces at his words, but before I can dwell on them, a police car cuts across our path. A light shines in our direction. I ready myself for a fight–
“Get in!”
It takes me a moment to recognise the voice, and even longer to peer through the torchlight and recognise his face. “Henson?”
“Hurry!” he hisses.
We don’t stop to ask questions. We race into the back of the car and slam the doors shut between us.
Henson grabs his radio. “This is Officer Nox, western quarter appears to be clean. Proceeding as instructed to the Gate.”
“Roger that, Officer Nox. Take care now.”
He turns the radio off and starts to drive. “That was a pretty triumphant return, Firebird. Glad I got to witness it. Like the fire-wings.”
“What can I say? I don’t do things by halves.”
We don’t say anything else. Henson drives us through the gate. There are half a dozen police vehicles being waved through. No one is even checking the backs. We crouch down when passing the checkpoint, but they don’t do anything more than scan his ID and speed him along.
“You guys better keep your heads down tonight,” he advises. “They’ll be raiding houses, looking for anyone, Chosen or Phoenix, it doesn’t matter.”
“Thanks for the head’s up.”
“You’re welcome. Pass it on to my brother, if you get the chance.”
We drive onwards into the night. “I’ll drop you off at the marketplace. Someone will notice if I pull over now. Too risky.”
“Near the marketplace is fine.”
The journey seems to take an age. Nick’s silence is voluminous, and my own seems to expand to fill the gap. I have never been this silent with him, not ever, not once since we met. I half expect Henson to comment. He must notice something is amiss.
Finally, the drive comes to an end. Henson pulls over into a darkened street, and bids us farewell. He follows the rest of the police cars. I can hear the officers in the distance, banging down doors. Henson will have to join them soon. He’ll have no choice. How can he be helping us one moment, and then serve them the next? He’s living in two worlds and not belonging in either.
I’m in no mood to go and face the music with Rudy, but I want to check everyone got back safely, and sometimes things are better being over and done with. I head towards the concealed entrance –it’s only a few buildings away– but Nick jerks me back.
“We can’t go that way. Not with the raids. We could lead them right to the base.”
I like to think my stealth skills are a lot better than that, but he’s right. It isn’t worth the risk.
“To the old road entrance, then?” It’s a long walk, one I don’t relish with my present company. Maybe I’ll face Rudy tomorrow instead.
Nick shakes his head. “There’s another entrance, mid-way. I’ve got the right clearance. Come on.”
I follow him through the darkened streets, away from the endless banging. I filter it out, focus on the owls in the distance, the scrunch of our feet on gravel.
“If you… if you don’t care anymore, why are we going this way?”
“There’s instinct, still,” he admits, with barely a moment’s pause. “I still have no desire to see harm come to those who care for me.”
“Because you don’t feel desire for anything.”
He shrugs. “You weren’t supposed to be on the mission tonight, were you?”
“You knew?”
“I suspected. You weren’t at any of the briefings.”
“Why didn’t you alert Harris?”
“It made sense to bring you.”
“Rudy didn’t think so.”
“He’ll be angry.”
“Yes.”
We walk on a few more minutes, until we reach another abandoned section of the town. An old train station, overgrown, tangled, most of the tracks rusted away or removed long ago for parts. Nick locates a door down to a basement. There’s a trap door there that leads into the tunnels. We’ve still got a while left.
“How did Rudy lose his arm?” It’s as good a question as any to pass the time. Nick used to be a little more guarded with his comrades’ secrets, only telling me when I’d half-figured it out already, but something tells me he has no such regards for privacy now.
“He lost it in a bombing in Luca, some twenty years ago.”
I’d always imagined him losing it in battle, maybe doing something reckless or brave or self-sacrificing. But a bombing… and twenty years ago? I don’t think he’s any older than thirty-five. “He was a kid?”
“Thirteen. Blast killed his mother.”
“His father?”
“Survived unscathed. Wealthy politician, probably the target. He abandoned Rudy.”
“He abandoned a bereaved, maimed child to the streets of this place? How cruel can you be?”
Nick doesn’t have an answer to this. “He fell in with a rough crowd, according to Harris. Did what he had to to survive. Would probably have died if he hadn’t met Harris and Diana.”
Diana was Harris’ mother. I didn’t know much about her, other than she refused to leave her son and had loved Nick like a surrogate child.
“Diana was an engineer. Built Harris his first chair. Taught him everything she knew until he was old enough to teach himself. Harris met Rudy, took one look at him, and said he was going to build him a new arm.”
I can almost picture a young Harris, beaming at the chance to create something spectacular. I wonder how many prosthetics he got through before creating the current piece of weaponry welded to Rudy’s shoulder?
“They started Phoenix together, then?”
Nick nods. “Many years later, yes.” We reach the end of the tunnel. “Ready to face the music?”
Chapter 41
Chuck did not make it out of the city. He was killed in the crossfire. Several others were injured, one badly. Julia is still working on her. The rest escaped unscathed. Scarlet rushes up to us the second we appear, throwing her arms around Nick and breathing something in his ear. He does not return her embrace, and she has no energy left after that to do anything but nod at me. She mouths a “thank you,” not knowing that he was the one who came for me, rather than the other way around.
Abi appears by my side and hugs me. It’s all we manage before Rudy locks sights on us and stomps through the crowd. Rhinos have moved more softly.
Rudy is livid. I have seen him angry before, but this is a new kind of anger, dark and cold and as unfathomable as the sea. “You,” he seethes. “What were you thinking?”
“This did not go badly because of me. The intel was poor. No one knew there would be so many civilians–”
“The mission objective was achieved,” Harris adds helpfully. “Several members of the group were captured by the police, a huge cache of weapons was confiscated–”
“You think any of that matters?”
It does, of course it does. But it is hard to see that when grief clouds around you. I should not have come tonight. I should have given him time to calm down, to process–
“You jeopardised the mission–” Rudy continues.
Scarlet interjects. “Ashe saved us!”
“You think she went there for that? She went there for some… some ridiculous PR stunt! She’s placed us all in danger–”
“No, I haven’t. Myself, sure. But no one else.”
“I told you not to reveal yourself!”
“You don’t get to decide what I–”
“Yes, I do! You think I don’t know
what you’re planning? You want to go back to the Institute again–”
“Of course I do!”
“Well, you can forget it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not going. You’re grounded. Banned from all active missions.”
I laugh hollowly. I’d expected repercussions, but the fact he thinks he can order me to stay put is ludicrous. “You know I’ll go anyway. You can’t stop me.”
“It’s a long walk.”
“Well, I did it once already.”
“You’re a fool.”
“So are you if you can’t see that you need me. I saved people tonight. The press would be telling a very different story with a lot more bodies if I wasn’t there. I don’t expect you to be grateful, but I do expect you to be honest.”
Rudy glares at me, his dark eyes burning. He exhales deeply. “Go home, Ashe. We’re done here.”
“Am I… still training the chimeras?”
“Someone has to. But that’s it.”
I don’t want to push anything, not tonight. I want to go home and sleep. It’s still a long walk back.
“Fine,” I hiss. “Abs?”
◆◆◆
Mi is still up when we return. “How did it–”
“Chuck is dead,” I snap. I don’t know if he knew him well, but he pales at the news. “A few other injuries. One serious. Scarlet’s fine.”
Relief pours out of him, and he slides down on the sofa. “I should have been there.”
“Believe me, you couldn’t have helped. It was nearly a bloodbath. There were civilians. Loads of them.”
“But the mission was accomplished?”
“For the most part. I don’t think they’ll be bombing anyone and blaming it on us for a while.”
He relaxes. “Good. Good.”
“Also, Luca knows I’m back now. Abi, fill him in. I’m going to bed.”
I check on Ben before I do, pulling back the curtain that surrounds his little bed. He’s the only one of us that has ever managed to sleep soundly. Nothing could rouse him right now. I kiss his head.
There’s a murmuring down the corridor, coming from Mi’s room.
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