Knight of Flame

by Scott Eder

  To continue down the hall was like walking into a furnace. Her normally loose, curly hair hung limp over her shoulders. Dark splotches marred the beautiful dress. Sweat beaded on her arms.

  Why am I doing this again?

  She had to check on her patient. As much as she wanted to believe she could remain distant, she cared and had to know how he was doing. The quick glimpse in the Portal room showed that the healing had progressed, but she’d feel better hearing him say it in person with no one else around.

  So close, but so damn hot. Each step seemed like too much work, even breathing became a major effort. Like a fragile lavender rose in the desert, she wilted.

  I can’t do this. I’ll catch him when it’s cooler. What’s up with this place? Light flickered out of the doorway up ahead, but she was well done and ready to go. She leaned against the wall before making the trek back to her room.

  Boots shuffled into the hall up ahead.

  “Véronique?” It was Dev’s voice, but in a tone she’d never expected to hear from him. Fear. “Véronique, attendez. Je vous dois une explication.”

  Was that French? Cassidy felt the Knight of Flame’s hot hand on her shoulder.

  Shirtless, chiseled pecs flexing with his agitation, he faced her, eyes thrown wide in shock.

  Damn, he looks good.

  Dev spouted another few sentences in a foreign language.

  What’s he saying? “Dev, it’s me, Cassidy.” She didn’t move and watched for the spark of recognition. “Who’s Véronique?” Whatever it was, her gift told her that he was terrified and terribly sorry. What set him off like this?

  “Oh, um, Cassidy, hi. Don’t mind me.” He scratched the stubble on his scalp. “Sometimes the forge messes with my head.” Dev smiled, awkward, uneasy, and tried to brush it off as nothing, but Cassidy knew there was far more to this story.

  “No worries. I wan—”

  He held her shoulders and shifted past, reversing their positions in the hall. “I’d love to catch up, but I need to take care of something. Can we hook up, I mean, get together later?”

  His confusion transferred through the hot touch of his fingers.

  “Sure, sure. Whatever,” Cassidy said.

  “Good. Great. See you later. Oh. Hey, I like your dress.” He hurried away, practically tripping over himself to get out of sight.

  “Well, that didn’t go as expected.” Hands on hips, she waited, hoped he was just embarrassed and would recover in time to come back to her.

  The hallway had returned to a normal temperature, but the dress was ruined. The doorway through which Dev had emerged seemed to call her name.

  Well, what do you know? An open door. I wonder what’s inside.

  She slipped into his room. It was still hot, but not so warm that she had to get away.

  Typical guy. Tools. Tools. Tools. They were everywhere. On the bench, hanging on the wall, scattered on the floor, everywhere she looked, tools. Dev lived in a small, functional room taken up mostly by the forge. A stone bench stood against one wall near the back next to a simple armoire and basin. Another table held a collection of bladed weapons—axes, swords, knives. Never a fan for weapons of any kind, she had to admit they were all stunning.

  One knife in particular, with a dull orange crystal embedded in the base of the faceted–that can’t be diamond—blade, hung in a chain harness from a peg on the wall.

  Power emanated from that knife. She traced the tapered hilt with a finger, marveling at its sleek lines. It was beautiful, sacred. She wanted to hold it, feel its weight, but to do so without Dev’s approval overstepped the bounds of her curiosity.

  “Cinder,” spoke a reverent voice from the doorway.

  Cassidy yelped and grabbed her chest as her heart threatened to explode. “Holy hell, you scared me.”

  Without a word, Dev took down the harness. His face seemed calm, but she couldn’t see his eyes.

  Is he angry that I’m snooping around? Cassidy waited for his lead and hoped he didn’t draw the knife.

  He drew the knife. In his touch, the crystal flared to life, pulsing with a sharp orange glow.

  “Look, Dev, I was just poking around.” She backed away and knocked over the stool, but caught herself before she fell on top of it. “I’m so—”

  “This is Cinder. She was created and presented to me upon my induction into the Order. Each one of us received an elemental focus. Magnus got that big axe, Cyndralla has her crown, and Dronor has that flimsy stick he thinks is a sword.” He twisted the diamond blade so that it amplified the dim crystal-light, reflecting bright pinpoints onto the wall, the floor and Cassidy. There was no hint of fear or nerves or anything but cool confidence in his voice and bearing

  “It’s amazing.” She reached out to touch the long curved blade, but he snatched it away.

  After a few seconds, and what looked to Cassidy to be an internal struggle, he reversed the blade and offered it to her.

  She reached for it, but hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “Go ahead.”

  As she took the blade, the crystal’s fire winked out. Across her palm, the handle felt warm and smooth. Feather-light, it seemed a natural extension of her arm. She looked to Dev, asking permission to swing it with a glance. He took a giant step back and nodded.

  This is crazy. Look at me with a big ol’ knife in my hand.

  She adopted her best hero pose—body turned, right leg forward in line with the blade, left arm back and bent up for balance, but before she could do anything else Dev stepped in behind her, his strong presence comforting despite her earlier scare.

  “That stance is good if you are fencing.” He squared her shoulders, put her back arm down and brought her feet almost even. “But will get you killed in a knife fight.”

  He picked up another knife from the rack on the wall and showed her the position he was looking for. She had it right the first time, except for the arms. He shifted them to chest level, elbows slightly bent.

  Dev’s uncomfortably hot hands glided over her skin.

  She endured the pain and bit her lip to hide her wince. When he backed off to demonstrate the proper pose, she sneaked a look at her forearms. No burns, but they were bright red and tender.

  “Balance on the balls of your feet, like this.” Dev crouched, weight forward, and rocked from side to side in perfect balance. Cassidy caught a glimpse of his strength and could imagine his ferocity. As he moved, the muscles across his entire body flexed and relaxed in beautiful, lethal harmony.

  Oh, yeah.

  Dev must have detected her switch in focus. He stood up, put the knife back, and held out his hand for Cinder. Their fingers met during the transfer and she caught a hint of resignation and…sadness?

  What’s that about?

  “I’ll see you later, okay? You can look around some more if you want.” Dev backed out of the room, smacking into the doorframe on the way. “Duh.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh, and spun out the door, leaving Cassidy open mouthed and wide-eyed.

  Chapter 32

  THROUGH THE SECURITY GATE AND PAST the Port Authority administrative offices, the driver followed the main road to the dock. Separated by his tinted window, Alexander watched the grungy dockworkers gawk at the passing limo and vowed that if their drool left spots on the limo’s immaculate black finish, he would feed them to his dragon.

  “Berth 257,” Alexander said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Anonymous behind the dark glass, Alexander marveled at the size of the moored vessels. Huge supertankers capable of transporting several hundred thousand tons of oil sat in line with cargo ships piled high with blue, red and white shipping containers. Further down, a cruise ship reached into the sky taller than his father’s black-walled fortress in Eastern Europe. Even the smallest of these maritime behemoths dwarfed the largest boats Alexander had sailed on through his many years.

  Overhead the ship-to-shore cranes loaded and unloaded massive crates and boxes as if they weighed no
more than a man, and set them down amidst the throngs of workers. A steady convoy of forklifts and loading vehicles ferried goods to and from enormous warehouses and dry goods silos hunched along the landward side of the dock.

  The steady stream of human traffic drizzled to a stop once the last of the big ships shrank in the distance behind them. Ahead, Alexander spied the rusted deck of the barge he’d purchased. Compared to the ships he’d just seen, his boat appeared small, insignificant, and perfectly suited to his needs. A few old crates and a cargo net littered the wide flat deck. Across the stern hunched a dilapidated steering cabin. The glass had been broken out of its windows.

  On land across from the barge leaned a rusted iron building. Surrounded by weeds, the small warehouse had disintegrated under the tortuous Florida sun. Glass-free windows gaped from partially collapsed walls and more than half the roof had fallen in.

  Neither the barge nor the shed looked to have been touched in months, if not years; and, judging by the neglect and general disrepair of the dock, the workers stayed well clear of this area.

  Excellent.

  They rolled up alongside the derelict, opposite the gangway. Not waiting for the driver to open his door, Alexander got out and tapped the roof for the driver to pull away.

  The less people who notice where I stop, the better. Although, in a few days, it will no longer matter.

  Much like the rest of the immediate area, the plank bridge over the gap between the dock and the ship had rotted. Boards were missing or falling apart, and as he watched it pitch and roll with the flat deck, a support beam broke off and splashed into the water below.

  Charming.

  After a last check for curious souls, he layered a cushion of shadow across the bridge to ensure a quick, dry passage. But the effort cost him. Calling and controlling shadow under the inferno people called a sun in this cursed state required far more power than he anticipated.

  Once across, he entered the ship’s small cabin and paused to soak up what small shadows he found. The stifling, thick air clogged his lungs. He was out of the broiling sunlight, but the reek of salt, rust and dead fish punched him in the nose. And, like the rest of the vessel, the pilot house appeared abandoned and useless.

  Anxious to be out of the stench, he strode the four steps to the far side, jabbed his finger into a rusted gap within a swiss cheese array of nearly identical holes, and triggered a mechanism. The thin façade of blank wall rose into the ceiling, behind which loomed a state-of-the-art bank vault door.

  Alexander shielded his eyes against the sunlight reflecting off the stainless steel surface as a digital keypad and biometric scanner unfolded from the burnished surface. Once he entered the code and rolled his thumb over the scanner, the door clicked multiple times and swung wide on silent hinges. Wasting no time, Alexander stepped into the cooler, pitch-black interior and closed the door.

  Much better.

  At home in dark places, he descended ten steps to the first landing and marveled at the vastness of his creation—a storage hold of magical construct beneath a shallow-hulled wreck. When Shadow moved to this remote location, he needed someplace secure to store the orbs.

  And what better place than one that did not yet exist.

  He purchased the vessel, summoned this great hole and tied it to the barge via the vault door.

  In the darkness below, deadly magic hummed—thousands of shadow orbs waited for deployment. He planned to ship most to choice targets across the US, but retain a small number for local use.

  “Agridda.” Alexander’s whisper echoed in the darkness.

  A pair of yellow eyes appeared in the air beside him. “Father.” The word filled the space around him with a palpable malevolence.

  “The orbs are to be shipped tomorrow. I will have a crew here later today to pick them up.”

  “My ssssister is gone.” Thin black slits bisected pale yellow orbs and regarded him with cool detachment.

  “You are aware?”

  “Yessss. Felt her death.”

  “She was killed by the Knight of Flame.”

  Agridda charged around him, bestial eyes swimming in jagged circles through the darkness.

  “The Knights know we are here and may try to stop us,” Alexander warned.

  “Let them come,” Agridda hissed.

  “If they do, hurt them. Kill one or two if you can, but not all. I want their annihilation to be at my hands.”

  “Yes, Father.” The yellow eyes vanished.

  Alexander sensed the latent power of the orbs and reveled in the might amassed beneath his feet. Never in the history of the Gray Lords had such a cache of raw shadow energy been harnessed in such a way.

  I will kill them all and take my rightful place at the head of my father’s organization.

  Alexander left the darkness, locked the vault door and dropped the fake wall. He called his driver to pick him up then placed another call.

  “Pick up the orbs at the dock. Send two hundred to Deep Services and the rest according to the shipping manifests of Seagren Chemical.”

  Tampa dies in forty eight hours.

  Chapter 33

  A WORKOUT HADN’T BEEN ON DEV’S AGENDA, hadn’t even crossed his mind until his steps brought him to the gym. Who was he to question his subconscious?

  I shouldn’t have gone back in the first place. Almost lost it. Oh man, and I called her Véronique.

  Not in the mood for the weights or cardio, he eyed the heavy bag—a couple rounds with the blue dummy should cure what ailed him. Donning the Quinsteele-lined gloves from his locker, he rolled his neck, shrugged and approached his dangling opponent.

  “I’m such a idiot.”

  The first few punches at half-strength warmed him up. He hadn’t seriously worked out since before the fight at the club, and he welcomed using his muscles for something other than recuperating. Left and right, slowly at first, he attacked.

  It felt good to hit something again, to feel the bag close around his fist as he drove the punch home. Pity the bag didn’t fight back. He thought of the fight with Dronor and how his leg gave out, costing him the match. He would have kicked that Spaniard’s ass if he’d been at full capacity.

  But then Dronor would never have challenged me at all.

  Dev pictured the bag as the Knight of Water and went at it full force. All thoughts of his latest embarrassment flew out the window as he pummeled his enemy. High, low combinations rocked the bag then he hammered the imagined Knight with a barrage of rib cracking upper cuts.

  Bastard. Mid-roundhouse, Dev called on his elemental reserves. Molten energy screamed through his system, fed him strength and speed. He redoubled his efforts. Pace and power increasing with each strike.

  Soon his fists weren’t enough, and he changed style. Boxing morphed into Krav Maga. Open handed strikes, chops, and powerful front kicks sent the bag jangling at the end of its steel chain.

  Lost in the moment, he forgot about the Knight of Water, forgot about the recent defeats, forgot about the restriction placed upon him by the Precept. All that existed, all that was real, in this place, at this moment, was the fight. No anger. No anxiety. No hesitation.

  Krav Maga flowed into kickboxing. Fists on guard, legs battered the canvas. Left, right, high, low, all delivered with perfect balance and timing.

  Dev roared and delivered a final straight kick that sent the bag flying back. It swung high and smashed into the ceiling.

  Breathing fast, arm and leg muscles humming, Dev straddled a bench. It felt great to move again, get his blood surging and heart racing. Body strong, fit, and fully healed, Dev longed for the next meeting with Gray and his minions.

  He’s mine.

  “Not bad, but your kicks are sloppy,” Magnus said.

  “Bite me.” Dev lay back, still trying to get his wind back, and rested his arms across his forehead. His hands and feet throbbed. “How long you been there?”

  “Long enough. What’s up with you?” Magnus stood over him. “I’v
e never seen you like this.”

  “Man, I’m losin’ it. One minute I’m raging and the next I’m fumbling over myself.” Dev sat up, elbows resting on his knees. “It’s crazy…I’m crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy. Psychotic, yes. But not crazy.” Magnus mounted the stationary bike next to Dev.

  “And then Cassidy came along,” Dev said. “I don’t know what to make of her. When I’m around her I feel awkward and foolish.” Dev searched the gym for any one lurking around. “Off the record?”

  “Yes, and bound by our friendship.”

  “On the bridge I was pretty messed up, at the end of my strength. I’d pulled all the fire I could hold and still got my ass kicked.” Dev inched forward on the bench. “I was in full-on rage mode, you know, like when we found the torture chambers along those tunnels in Afghanistan, remember?”

  Magnus snorted. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know if I can describe this.” Dev locked stares with the big Swede. “When I met her eyes for the first time, it all…vanished, like she snuffed me out. The rage, the fight, all of it, wiped clean. I felt at peace, whole, for the first time since…” Dev stopped abruptly and looked away.

  “So you like her,” Magnus said.

  “No, that’s ridiculous. I don’t like her.” I can’t like her.

  “If you’re going to waste my time, I’m going to go.”

  Dev knew he meant it, could tell from his tone that he wasn’t going to put up with half-truths. Not this time.

  Maybe it’s time.

  “I need you in this fight,” Magnus said. “I don’t believe we can win without you.”

  Dev drew a deep breath and thought back to his home by the sea. Here goes…”I’m a demon.”

  Magnus’s lips teased a smile. “A demon?”

  “I’m not joking around here. Straight up.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I hurt her, you see. I burned her, Magnus. Who but a demon would do something like that? It haunts me, replays in my dreams.” Dev shifted on the bench. “The bastards almost broke me in that prison. Almost, but I took the element, accepted the fire and burned my way out.” Dev watched Magnus’s face for a reaction, but found only concern.