by Scott Eder
A horrid stench wafted from the orb.
“What is that smell?” Dev covered his nose with both hands, but it didn’t keep out the foul reek. At least he wasn’t raging anymore.
“Man, I hate that taste.” Magnus stuck out his tongue.
Cyndralla pursed her lips as she studied the two of them. “Interesting. I triggered a latent shadow element that clung to one of the shards.”
“Bleh. Warn a guy next time, will ya?” Magnus swallowed hard.
“So, Develor, you smelled the shadow magic?” Cyndralla asked.
“Are you sure that wasn’t Magnus?”
Magnus backhanded him across the shoulder.
“And you, Magnus, tasted it.” She tapped her chin with a slender fingertip.
“Yeah. It’s happened a few times now, at the hospital and in Cassidy’s neighborhood.”
“And this all means…what?” Dev asked.
“It means that the same shadow magic that Magnus felt at the club site was the cause of all the deaths at St. Matthew’s.”
“Can you counter it?”
She sighed and tossed her tongs on the back table.
“No. I need more to go on. I need a whole one.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Magnus said.
Cyndralla waved her hand over the shards and both the intense spotlight and the magical field winked out.
“They are safe now.” She paced across the lavender floor. “This is new magic, boys, and nasty. I have never felt anything like it before. I wish I could do more, but I am stuck without the source.”
“We’ll just have to find you one,” Dev said.
“What’s this ‘we’ stuff, buddy? You’re grounded,” Magnus teased.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t remind me.”
“Oh, and Cassidy is sleeping down the hall,” Magnus threw over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “I set her up in the spare quarters next to our illustrious mage here. Come on. I’ll fill you in on what’s been going down in groove town.”
“Groove town, really?” Dev asked.
Magnus shrugged. “I’m in a mood.”
“You’re always in a mood.” Dev followed the big man out. “So, the hospital?”
* * *
Dev listened intently to every word out of Magnus’s mouth and had a hard time not exploding on the spot. The rage burned inside him at the thought of Gray attacking people, his friends, and especially Cassidy. After the Earth Knight finished explaining about how she almost died, flames crackled from Dev’s hands, but he fought the spread to the rest of his body.
After a quick check on Cassidy, he slapped Magnus on the back and charged down the hallway to Stillman’s office.
He has to listen. I need to be out there.
Dev burst through the doorway and snapped to attention. “Sir, this cannot stand.”
Stillman, bent over a parchment unrolled across his desk, held up one finger for silence. Dev steamed, little white wisps escaped from his nostrils and rose to the ceiling. His blood boiled. Wavy lines of heat shimmered off his bare arms. If Stillman didn’t acknowledge him soon, he would immolate that desk and all the books in the room.
“Yes, Knight of,” Stillman looked up and frowned, “Flame.”
“You need to rescind your decision. Reinstate me.”
“No.”
The pressure in Dev’s chest soared.
“We almost lost her today.”
“Lost who?”
Are you kidding me? “Lost Cassidy. Sir. I—We can’t afford to lose her.”
Stillman crossed his arms, face locked in stern annoyance. “We did not lose her and now she is here. Safe. Allowing you free access would accomplish nothing.”
Dev shook under the strain of keeping his element at bay. How can he be so blind? I need to be in this fight.
“With all due respect, Sir,” Dev’s voice trembled. The fire inched up his arms. “We need to hit Gray now, before he kills again.”
“How do you propose we do that, champion?” Dronor’s odd inflection and macho arrogance fueled Dev’s flame. He hadn’t heard the wet knight enter the room and didn’t know how much Dronor had overheard.
The Knight of Water passed close enough to brush against Dev’s arm on his way to Stillman’s desk. They sizzled.
“Look at you,” Dronor sneered from Stillman’s side, “You are out of control, a disgrace to the Order.”
“Sir,” Dev ignored Dronor, focused on Stillman. “I can control it.”
“Is this the control you speak of?” The Knight of Water barked out a laugh.
Dev growled, took half a step toward Dronor.
“That’s it, Knight of Flame, give in to the fire,” Dronor said.
“Enough,” Stillman slapped the desk, “Both of you. Quinteele, you are dangerous. The decision stands. Dronor, Cyndralla needs an intact shadow orb. She can’t negate the magic without it. Find one. Search the waters of Tampa Bay and the surrounding areas. If you don’t find it in the water, search the land.”
“But, sir, I—”
“See Cyndralla for details on what to look for. Dismissed.”
Dronor clicked his heels together and strode from the room, glaring at Dev the whole way.
“You, Develor Quinteele, need to find balance.” Stillman stood and walked over to stand before his Knight. “There are more emotions inside there,” he poked Dev’s chest, “than anger or rage. Find them. Use them. You are strong, but you can be so much stronger.”
“This waiting for some miraculous epiphany is killing me. I need to do something. What can I do from here to help?” His anger burned, but the rage subsided along with his flames.
Stillman stared into Dev’s eyes for a long time. “Look within yourself. Find that balance. For I fear that, if you do not, we are all lost.”
Beaten again, Dev walked from the room. By the time he reached his quarters, the anger that normally bolstered his soul was replaced by a cold sense of dread. He sat on the stool in front of his anvil.
His forge had been cool for too long. Wielding an acetylene torch at work gave him enough of a daily fix that he didn’t miss it, at least, not until he stood before it. Then, the absence gnawed at him like an abscessed tooth, reminding him how much he missed the act of creation. Patching up old hulls with a slab of mystery metal was okay, got him by, but didn’t come close to the elation of forging a new sword or axe or spearhead from a cold lump of metal.
Speaking of metal…. At least a dozen ore samples—gold, iron, copper, silver—lay atop the anvil—gifts from his neglected friend.
Where is the little guy anyway?
“Jester? Come on out, bud.” He searched the floor for the telltale bubble, but it remained flat and firm. “Jester?” Nothing.
Odd. Dust billowed and filled the air as he brushed a hand over his ore cabinet. I guess it has been a while. Piece by piece, he put the samples away in their appropriate drawers. I hope the little guy is okay. He grabbed a block of Quinsteele. He’s a tough nut. He’ll turn up.
Dev stepped up to the trough beside his anvil and looked down the center opening to the burnt orange glow near the bottom. The long shaft tunneled deep into the planet and tapped into the magma near the Earth’s core.
Find the balance, Stillman says. Look inside. What does that mean?
With a thought, Dev sent his need down that hole in the trough, into the bowels of the primal fire, and waited. The response came quickly. A hot breeze sighed from the opening, suffusing the room with moist heat. The immediate rise in temperature took his breath away.
It has been too long.
The normally faint orange glow intensified until it bathed the entire forge with its festive color and lava spilled over to fill the trough. Eyes never leaving the swirling mass of quasi-liquid fire, Dev backed to the doorway and pushed the button Magnus had installed. A stone door ground into place and sealed him into his crucible. Working this forge, born of the elements and shaped by the power of the Knights, w
as like stepping into the heart of fire itself. Only he had the power to withstand the extreme temperatures his work generated.
Find the balance. Stillman’s words banged around his skull. What will balance my rage? He knew the answer.
Love. Love conquers all, right? Bullshit. Virgil was an ass, and love is for dreamers. He tossed the Quinsteele into the lava. Quinsteele. Geez, I was hungry back then, curious. It took me years to figure out the perfect combination of metals and heat. But it was worth it.
Dev grabbed the four-pound hammer and medium length tongs and placed them on the face of the anvil. Bare-handed, he extracted the softened metal from the lava. The super-heated Quinsteele mass glowed.
Pinching the sides of the malleable blob, he struck the first blow. The ring of hammer on hyper-diamond anvil sang out, bouncing off the stone walls of the small room. Centuries of swinging a hammer had deeply ingrained the proper speed and angle into his muscles so that he quickly worked into a rhythm, alternately striking the metal and anvil with precise, measured strokes.
“What will you be?” Dev whispered to the flattening mass in front of him. After a few minutes of hard pounding, he threw the chunk back into the lava to reheat. Cooled, Quinsteele proved impossible to work with.
While he waited, he gazed at his vast collection of smithing tools, some of which he made himself. Next to the diamond-edged chisel he made for the fine work on that Prince’s dagger in Austria, stood a swath of fabric locked behind a glass frame. Lace. Lavender. Véronique.
Long auburn hair. Soft, tan skin. Eyes a vibrant blue-green—the essence of the Mediterranean Sea.
The old ache stirred in his chest—guilt, anger, regret, fear.
He tried to bury the memories and the pain beneath a thick layer of anger; but, once open, the insidious thoughts clung to his psyche like a tick whose head was rooted deep in his soul. Fire kills ticks. Everyone knows that. But what if this tick was born of fire? How do I kill it then? He scooped the glowing metal from the lava, splashing a few smoking droplets over the side, and slammed it on the anvil.
“Balance.”
He swung the hammer hard and fast.
“What does a demon need with balance?”
Reckless, he caught the near-molten lump on the edge. It flipped off the anvil and splashed into the cooling vat with a violent hiss. Ruined. The hammer went next, whipped against the wall only to bounce off in a flurry of stone chips and land in the bubbling lava.
“Shit.” Dev rescued the tool from a fiery demise and tossed it back on the bench.
Balance. Yeah, that’ll happen.
Chapter 31
CASSIDY WOKE WITH A START. THIS isn’t my room.
The light hit the wall in the wrong place. The obnoxious green numbers of her alarm clock didn’t flash at her from the nightstand. Without moving her head to show that she was awake, she took in as much of the room as she could. There wasn’t much to see in the dim light. Wall. Desk. White cloak draped over the back of a chair.
Cloak. Knights. It wasn’t a dream after all. Magnus brought me here, to a room near Cyndralla.
She kicked off the soft blanket, got up and peeled the still damp t-shirt away from her skin. Maybe Cyndralla could scrounge up something else for her to wear. She fastened the cloak around her neck, padded out into the hall, and looked around for someone.
They don’t expect me to just stay here, do they? She didn’t want to intrude or put anyone out, but she really wanted out of these damp clothes.
Wet panties suck. The idea of taking them off and going without crossed her mind, but it felt disrespectful to go commando in someone else’s house. And if the pig, Dronor, should come along, she wanted as much fabric between her and him as possible.
If she remembered correctly, Cyndralla’s room was right next door. The Knight of Air was a little taller and markedly slimmer, but she probably had something that would get her by until she could get home and…oh, right.
“Hello? Cyndralla?” She poked her head into the Knight’s room, but it was too dark to see anything.
“May I be of assistance?” Cyndralla appeared from around the closest intersection.
“Oh, um, hi,” Cassidy said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I was looking for you.”
“And I found you.” Cyndralla walked past Cassidy and, with a casual wave of her hand, lit the room with soft white light.
Holy lavender, Batman. Somebody likes purple. Cassidy checked for a closet or armoire or dresser or even a cardboard box that might hold clothes, but found only books and scrolls and some wild, satiny nest thing in the back by the tapestry.
Maybe I can get something from Wren. I’ll probably have to stitch a couple of things together, though. That chick is tiny.
“Tea?” Cyndralla waved her hand and produced a steaming hot decanter and two beautiful teacups, white porcelain with a riot of little purple flowers. “Sit. Relax. You have been through a great deal.”
Cyndralla poured, her movements fluid and graceful. She turned the commonplace act into a work of art. With equal poise, she swirled her white dress and sat in a cushioned purple chair that hadn’t been in the room until a second ago, crossed her legs at the ankle and tucked her feet under her chair.
Cassidy plopped into a chair that definitely was not there when she came in, but felt like a moose in comparison to the Knight, all fat ass and elbows.
“What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping to trade your cloak for something more substantial, maybe a dress, or, pants and a shirt.” Cassidy sipped her tea. The nectar caressed her taste buds with the flavors of chocolate, peanut butter and vanilla wafers ground together with a dash of cinnamon. Heaven.
Her grandmother had served a version of tea at Christmas, but it tasted like she’d poured hot water over her scruffy, old dog. Her mother made her choke it down anyway.
Cyndralla’s liquid perfection went down smooth, warming Cassidy from the inside out. She cradled the cup in both hands and savored the rich aroma.
“You like?” The Knight of Water studied Cassidy’s reaction. “I do not take the time to entertain.”
“What about the other Knights? Don’t you guys get together?”
“Guys?” Cyndralla’s eyebrows drew down. “Cassidy, I am female. I thought my gender obvious, and why you came to me.”
“Wha-? Oh, no, I mean, yes. Of course you are. I meant guys as in, you know, one of the guys.” Yeah, that explained it. “Sorry. Let’s start this over. Do you and the other Knights get together?”
“On occasion, but not for tea.”
The image of Magnus and Dev sitting down and sipping tea from dainty cups with their pinkies out made her giggle.
“So, you would like something else to wear.”
“Um, yes, please. If you have something you think will work.”
“Stand up. Let me see you.”
“What?” Cassidy tilted her head.
“Stand up and take off your clothes. How can I find you something to wear if I cannot see your figure?”
Yep. That’s what she said. Well, didn’t this just get awkward?
“Um, look, Cyndralla, I don’t…”
“Oh.” Cyndralla’s face brightened in recognition. “Shy, is it? Here, I will close the door so no one else can see.” She murmured something under her breath. “We are alone.”
Cassidy spun. All signs of the doorway had vanished. The wall was smooth, as if there had never been an opening there at all.
Oh boy. She bit her lip as the butterflies swarmed in her belly.
Cyndralla strolled around to her side of the table and reached to unfasten the clasp at Cassidy’s neck, but Cassidy stepped back and raised her hands in front of her.
“I’m sorry, Cyndralla, but I don’t work that way.”
“You do not get undressed?”
“No.” She’s going to make me say it. “I don’t like girls…in that way.”
“Ms. Sinclair.” There was an edge to her voice. “In orde
r to get the proper fit, I need to know your measurements.” She barked a command and Cassidy’s clothes, what little there were, vanished.
“Wah.” Cool air tickled Cassidy’s skin. “Hey.” Hands rocketed to the appropriate places.
From her toes to the tip of her head, Cyndralla gauged every inch of her body. The inspection lasted no more than a minute, but under that kind of scrutiny it seemed like forever. Partway through Cassidy relaxed and took it for the clinical exam that it was.
The Knight of Air finished, closed her eyes and murmured.
“You will find what you need over there.” She pointed to a table in the far corner. “And for the record, I do not recognize members of your kind as acceptable mates.”
Good one, Sinclair. Way to piss off your new friends.
“I will leave you to get dressed in peace. Please do not touch anything in here other than the clothes.” Cyndralla walked toward the wall. By the time she reached it, the door had reappeared and she left.
My kind? What does that mean?
The clothes the Knight of Air conjured—silk bra and panties, sleeveless silk dress, silk hose, silk slippers, all a beautiful shade of lavender—whispered against Cassidy’s skin as she slid into the luxurious outfit.
Dressed in such finery, she felt ready for a ball, not traipsing around dusty old tunnels and caves. But, if she wanted to check on Dev, that’s exactly what she had to do. She hung a right out of Cyndralla’s room and walked for ten minutes. The stone hallways looked the same—open doors leading into room after room after room.
One of these damn rooms must be Dev’s.
The beautiful sheath dress swished around her knees with each step. Magnus said to make the second left then walk until I start to sweat. Doesn’t he know that women don’t sweat? They glisten.
Finally, the second left came up. She followed another hall filled with more freaking doorways. The change in temperature told her she was on the right track, rising from pleasant to uncomfortably warm within twenty feet.
I hope I don’t glisten all over this dress. She wiped the moisture from under her eyes and across her forehead. Condensation beaded and ran down the walls into growing puddles on the floor. Evidently it had been hot in here for a while.