Knight of Flame

by Scott Eder

  “I’ll just be a minute.” Dev paused with his hand on the door. “So, no, on the taco?”

  “No, thank you.”

  When Dev disappeared inside, Cassidy scanned the road for the cops, expecting to hear sirens closing in on them. She tapped her foot, shifted her weight and glanced back to the restaurant door.

  “Come on. Come on.”

  Still no sign of pursuit, but her heart continued racing as she watched the road.

  Is this what everyday life with Dev and the Knights is like? Living in fear, constant danger, always on the run? I don’t know if I can take this.

  She jumped at the slurp behind her, but it was only Dev. He held out his drink.

  “Soda?”

  She shook her head, short rapid movements that mirrored her frayed nerves. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t in a hurry.

  Dev leaned against the bike, crossed his legs at the ankle and took a long pull on his straw. “So, where we headin’?”

  She wanted to scream, then throttle him. No, throttle him first and then scream.

  “This is dangerous. We should be across town by now, shouldn’t we?” She spoke through clenched teeth. His nonchalance stomped on every nerve in her already tense body.

  “No, why?”

  “Why?” Her question exploded from her incredulous face. A couple looked in her direction so she lowered her voice. “Does it mean anything to you that we might get caught?”

  “We won’t get caught. We’re the good guys. The good guys always get away with this kind of stuff.”

  Does he think this is some kind of movie?

  “So what do you think of the bike?” Dev asked.

  “Huh? Oh. I like it—wish I had tried it years ago.” I bet it wouldn’t have been the same without him.

  “What’s your favorite type of food?” Dev smiled. “Mine is American. Give me a steak and potatoes or a hamburger any day. I don’t go for that gourmet, fancy stuff. Keep it simple.”

  “I guess mine is Italian, love pasta.”

  “Pasta’s good, but makes me sleepy,” Dev said.

  “Me too,” Cassidy said.

  “How do you feel now?”

  “What?” Cassidy shook her head at the abrupt change in topic.

  “You were going a bit schizo there. Better now?”

  As conversations go, this one topped her chart as one of the strangest. But she had to admit, she did feel better. The panic was gone and her heart no longer tried to beat through her chest.

  “Pretty slick.” She nodded in appreciation.

  “Stillman taught me that trick a long time ago, not long after we first met. He said I kept blabbering on about being some kind of monster, but I don’t remember any of it. He told me he used it to calm me down so I could eat, drink and stay alive. You good now?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” Oh my god, I really am. “Can we stop at the paper for a minute? I need to check in. My editor probably thinks I’m dead.”

  “Sure. Point me in the right direction.”

  A local branch of her bank next to the restaurant reminded her that she didn’t have any money and her father always told her to have something secreted away just in case. He was right. That twenty she used to carry in her shoe had saved her ass on more than one occasion.

  “Hey, before we go, let me pop into the bank.”

  “You don’t need money. Stanley Rock has access to many accounts.”

  “Thanks, Stan, but I’d feel better with something in my pocket.”

  Dev waved her on, leaned back and sucked down his soda.

  What I wouldn’t give to be half that confident.

  As soon as Cassidy walked into the bank, the lone teller behind the counter jumped to assist her. After five minutes of not being able to track down Cassidy’s accounts or any record that Cassidy Sinclair ever banked with them, the stymied teller called the manager over. He went through the same routine, even offered to call her home branch to check for a signature card.

  Frustrated, Cassidy waved him off and left empty handed.

  How does something like this happen? My family has held accounts here for my whole life. They can’t just disappear.

  “Is something wrong?” Dev asked as Cassidy made her way back to the bike.

  “My accounts don’t exist.” Cassidy climbed up behind Dev. “They didn’t even have my name on record. Why do you think that is?”

  Dev had no idea and kicked the motorized beast to life. The trip across town didn’t compare to her first ride, with her mind all knotted up over the lost accounts, and before she knew it, Dev turned into the lot.

  The Tampa Weekly office was located on the outskirts of the city in a former cigar factory. The paper’s owner wanted to be close to the action without having to pay downtown rent. At three in the afternoon, there wasn’t a parking spot to be had, so Dev made his own on the sidewalk near the front door.

  “Wait for me. I’ll be out in a minute,” Cassidy said.

  “Again?” Dev protested, but Cassidy stalled him with a hand on his arm. From the contact, she felt his concern and something else.

  What? Affection, maybe?

  “I’ll be back.” She smiled and filed away her secret knowledge.

  As the door swung inward, Cassidy expected chirpy Rose to greet her like she did every morning with a bright, “Heya, Cassidy.” But there was no Rose. The lobby was empty. An unstaffed reception area was a cardinal sin in her business. People came and went all the time. Their editor’s policy was always to have a smiling face up front.

  The receptionist also acted as the front line of defense and held her finger on the buzzer that allowed visitors through the security door. With no one up front, no one could get back.

  I’m sure Rose’ll be back in a minute.

  The minute came and went. With a last glance out to Dev, she found the button under the desk and buzzed herself back.

  The newsroom was always crazy in the afternoon. People screamed across the cube walls, conducted phone interviews, and checked last minute facts at the top of their lungs. Today, all was silent. Rows of people-less cubes clustered in orderly quad formations. The place should be humming, a giant beehive of activity focused on delivering for the King, Eric Rancor, Editor-in-Chief.

  “Hello? Jim? Nancy?” There should be over a hundred people.

  Cassidy had never been in the facility alone before. Even on the major holidays, someone always worked on the next big story. This eerie emptiness unsettled her.

  I’m sure there’s a reason. Maybe there’s a big staff meeting or it’s someone’s birthday.

  The editor had called all-employee meetings before, pulled everyone away from their pressing assignments to talk about the status of the paper. They’d cluster around the tables, munch on cake, and wonder if he would notice if they slipped out early.

  Her steps faltered. Yeah. I’m sure it’s something like that. But her gut told her different. Her gut said something was very wrong. Her gut told her to run.

  The door to the editor’s office looked to be shut up tight. Her cube sat right outside his door. She’d get her few personal items—pictures of Amy and the Montblanc pen she’d bought herself when she got the job at the paper—and get the hell out. It all felt too freaky. She’d call Eric from a pay phone down the street.

  Palms sweaty, she slinked down the row to her cube. Only, it wasn’t her cube any longer. Sally Crosstock’s nameplate had been velcroed to the fabric wall.

  Who the hell is Sally Crosstock? And where is all my stuff?

  The cube she’d lived in was gone, replaced by the accumulated crap of this Sally person. And it didn’t look like this woman had just moved in, but had been settled there for a while. It had that lived-in feel, like a worn, comfy shoe, only fit for someone else’s foot.

  Cassidy prairie-dogged to verify her bearings. Yep. This is my cube.

  A low moan escaped from Eric’s office. Her creep factor jumped up a few notches. It wasn’t a sexy kind of moa
n. She’d walked in on Ed and Violet in the copy room a couple of months ago. Now that had been some sexy moaning. But this…this was anguish.

  She tried to open the door, but after only six inches hit an obstruction on the other side. Though not wide enough to enter through, she could stick her head in and take a peek.

  Am I really going to do this?

  With the door partially open, the moaning sounded louder. Definitely someone in pain. And what is that odd smell? Warning bells gonged in her head like at a Greek wedding, but she couldn’t ignore the person inside.

  Cassidy pressed her forehead to the frosted window of her Editor’s door, gathering her strength, but the cool glass did little to soothe the fear-induced pounding. Right. Let’s do this. Holding her breath, she slid her head through the opening, pushing harder when her ears stopped her progress.

  Oh my god. Cassidy yanked her head out, tearing skin off her ears, staggered back and puked all over Sally Crosstock’s chair.

  “Dev.” Her voice lacked strength so she mustered her wind and threw it into her next shout, “Dev!” He’s outside. There’s no way he can hear me.

  A loud crunch echoed through the room followed by Dev’s strong voice.

  “Caz?” he yelled.

  “Back here.”

  Fast, heavy footfalls echoed through the cube labyrinth. Dev passed her aisle once, then doubled back and jogged to her, Cinder held tight in his murderous grip. He crouched by her side, concern obvious in the tight lines of his face and his pinched eyes.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No. No. I’m fine.” Cassidy looked back at the office door. “They’re all dead. In there. I heard moaning, looked inside.”

  Dev helped her to her feet and pushed on the door. It didn’t give the first time, but he put more muscle into it and forced it open. Gray-skinned corpses had been piled in the office. From the number of bodies, most of the staff had been killed. Atop the heap Eric Rancor presided in the chair he used to call his throne.

  Eyelids pinned open, streaks of blood wept from his red, raw sockets into which black orbs had been inserted. Something blinked across their glossy surface. He moaned again.

  “He’s still alive.” Cassidy covered her mouth with her hands.

  Dev nodded. “Wait. What is that blinking?” Dev picked his way among Cassidy’s dead co-workers. Her stomach heaved as he started to climb.

  Scanning gray faces locked in horror and surprise, she found her friends—Rita, Carl, Jasmine, Hecter, and little Bob over there under sleazy Ron, all gone.

  Dev called down from the top of the heap. “Flashing numbers. Seven. Six. Five.” He bounded down the pile, threw her over his shoulder and bolted through the doorway. Halfway down the aisle, he shifted her position, crushed her face against his chest and dropped to his knees. His body shielded her as a blinding white flash slammed her eyes closed and an ear-drum bursting concussion blew out the windows, leaving her deaf and dazed.

  Dev rocked, holding her tight, while the explosion raped the office space. A wave of searing heat flashed around her before disappearing in a whoosh. Cassidy opened her eyes. Flames whipped around them, incinerating everything in their path. When Dev lifted his face and opened his eyes, the flames caressed his bald head and licked his shoulders before flowing into his body.

  Cassidy gasped at the beauty and raw power behind those crimson streaked orbs of the Knight of Flame. He looked like a god of fire in the center of a maelstrom. Her gift painted his emotional landscape as calm with an overpowering need to keep her safe. Again, she sensed a hint of something more, stronger than the last time.

  The blast ended in seconds, redecorating the office in post-apocalyptic warzone. Dust, debris, and gray-skinned body parts lay everywhere. The cube walls had either been blown out the window or disintegrated on the spot. The entire outer wall was gone, exposing jagged hunks of cement and rusted rebar. Ragged ends of live electrical wires cavorted in their sudden freedom. Ominous creeks sounded from the ceiling.

  “We need to get out of here,” Dev said.

  The sirens bayed in the distance like a pack of wolves. With the cube farm gone, it was a straight walk to the door. Dev shielded Cassidy from the worst of the carnage, but he couldn’t block it all. A large number of blackened skulls, some intact, others cracked or missing large sections of bone, massed before the dented outer wall. The explosion had torn through the softer tissue of all those bodies, but turned the heads into projectiles.

  Cassidy should have been horrified, but the absurdity of the situation made her feel like she toured a set from one of those cheesy slasher flicks. The lobby remained relatively untouched except for a few heads that made it through the door Dev kicked down earlier. She recognized the hank of red hair on the skull in the corner. The irony unleashed what the terror and disgust could not. Fat round tears rolled down her cheeks. She bid farewell to Rose as Dev led her out the door, onto the bike, and away from the approaching authorities.

  I really need a swim.

  Chapter 45

  MOST DAYS, A NICE RIDE ON the Harley cleared his head, allowed his mind to breathe, but the explosion at Cassidy’s paper put a crimp in that plan. Still, something useful came of the trip. Dev mulled over the shipping information and potential ramifications on his way to report in.

  Cassidy wanted to come along, but the bleak look in her eyes spoke volumes. So, when he offered to take care of the debrief with Stillman, she didn’t put up much of a fuss. With a tired wave, she moseyed off in the direction of Dronor’s old room and, he suspected, the pool.

  Voices drifted out of Stillman’s office. Out of respect, Dev waited in the hall. The Precept’s voice was obvious, but he’d never heard the second one. Male. Older. Worn out. A lot like Stillman’s. Curiosity overrode his sense of decorum and he strained to make out the words.

  “I lost another one, Brother.”

  Stillman. His words spoken in pain, but from grief or a sense of failure, Dev didn’t know. “I did not see this coming.”

  Brother?

  “You cannot be expected to see everything, Cernusen. No man has that power, not even one of us.” The other voice was eerily similar to Stillman’s.

  Stillman brushed off the other’s comment. “I know, but I’m blind to their games. Shadow has been a step ahead the entire time.”

  “Perhaps living underground and out of touch with the modern world has hurt you, Cernusen. At least you saw enough to put a Knight on the ground where Shadow would surface.”

  “There is that.”

  A light exhale tickled Dev’s ear, as if someone at his side whispered an intimate secret, accompanied by the aroma of a coal-fueled fire and roasting almonds. The feather-light touch sent a chill across his shoulders and his skin prickled, but a quick scan of the hall showed no one about.

  “Ears in the hall, my brother. Farewell.”

  Dev took that as his cue and strode in like he’d just pounded down the hall and snapped to attention. Stillman was alone.

  “Sir.”

  “How much did you hear, Knight of Flame?”

  “Sir? I came to report on Cassidy and my findings this afternoon.”

  Dev bore Stillman’s suspicion stoically. His mind was a tempest of unanswered question, but he held his tongue until given leave to speak.

  Stillman settled back. “What did you find?”

  “At least a hundred shipments were scheduled from the Port yesterday containing a large quantity of insulation.”

  Fingers steepled, Stillman tapped his chin as he absorbed the data.

  “No direct reference to perlite or the orbs,” Dev finished his thought.

  “I highly doubt Gray would list the orbs on his shipping manifests.” Stillman stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked to the other side of the desk. “Where were the shipments bound?”

  “From what we can tell, Sir, all over the country.”

  “That could mean millions will die.”

  “Unless we stop hi
m,” Dev said.

  “Unless we…of course, of course, unless we stop him.” Stillman echoed Dev’s thought. With an abrupt turn, he changed topic. “We have unfinished business, do we not?”

  “Sir?”

  “Drop the pretense, Knight of Flame.” The old man faced Dev. “You have questions about my daughter’s death. I saw it when you came back with her in your arms.”

  Unprepared for this topic, Dev paused to gather his thoughts. Yes, he did have questions, but the rage that first accompanied them had diminished upon seeing Stillman’s devastation.

  “My power is both gift and curse.” Stillman filled the silence. “The visions I see tell of a possible future, not an absolute. From each one I separate the grains of import from the chaff of the improbable to formulate our strategies. Not everything is known to me. In fact, very little is made clear.”

  Old news, old man.

  Remembering the recognition and acceptance on Stillman’s face when he walked through the gateway with Wren’s body in his arms rekindled Dev’s anger. Not in the mood for a long philosophical discussion, Dev jumped to the point.

  “Did you know Wren would die on that mission?”

  Stillman sighed. “Yes and no. I saw the possibility of her death. I also saw the possibility of Cyndralla’s and Magnus’s deaths as well. Nothing is ever certain. Events twist in the wake of a decision made.”

  “But you could have stopped her, could have kept her here and safe.” Dev sensed the truth in Stillman’s explanation, but he didn’t want to let him off the hook.

  Stillman laughed, a rich sound tinged with equal parts amusement and sadness. “Come now, Develor Quinteele. She was one of us, accepted the risks as we all do. My forcing her to stay would have destroyed her spirit as effectively as that creature of Shadow.”

  “Heh. I guess you’re right.” Dev tried to picture Stillman giving Wren that order and couldn’t keep a small, sad smile from crossing his face. “She wouldn’t have taken it well.”

  “That’s putting it mildly, my boy. She was always a willful child. I will miss her terribly.” The old man turned away, but not before Dev saw the tears form in his tired eyes.