by Caleb James
Even in the dim light, Charlie marveled at the color of his eyes—purple. Guy’s naked in an abandoned apartment, wearing colored contacts. Stop staring at him, Charlie. “Come on. Can you stand?” Is he totally naked? Shit! He averted his eyes. Don’t be a perv.
The blond shook his head and pressed back against the now burning-hot porcelain. Tears streamed down his face. “I’m going to die here.”
“The hell you are.” Charlie tore his gaze from the beautiful man to the task ahead. “Cover your face.” And using the ax, he smashed the remaining shards of the window. He raised a hand to guide the cherry picker from his station’s hook and ladder that was headed toward them.
“What’s your name?” he asked and looked down at the blond, who instead of hiding his face was staring at him. His voice caught and his throat tightened as he looked into violet eyes. Don’t stare at him, Charlie. Look away. It didn’t help that, even covered in soot and sawdust, He’s perfect. Like someone out of an underwear ad, only… no underwear. “I’m Charlie, Charlie Fitzgerald, and there’s a ladder coming. If you can’t stand, I can carry you.”
“I can try.”
Charlie reached a hand toward Naked Guy. He saw terror in those beautiful eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you. You got to believe that.”
Naked Guy nodded, but the fear remained. He edged back against the tub, in obvious pain from the heat. As his bare feet found purchase, he winced.
“It’s too hot,” Charlie said. “I got you.” Not waiting for a response, he lowered his shoulder, wrapped an arm around Naked Guy’s middle, and hoisted him over his back. “I got you. Just stay loose.” And like he’d do with kids and old folk and even the occasional full-grown man, he talked nonsense. “I’ve never dropped anyone. We’ve got a cherry picker coming for us. They’re kind of fun, like a carnival ride but safe. I’m not letting go. You know, you never told me your name.” He paused. Please tell me your name. There was silence. Please.
“Liam.”
“Okay, Liam.” Even his name is beautiful. He felt his arm tighten, but not too tight, around Liam’s naked body. His throat and mouth were dry, and not from the heat—at least, not from the heat of the fire. The cherry picker’s broad basket bumped against the building. Inside, Gerry Callahan tossed out window anchors attached to bright yellow webbing.
“Charlie boy, can you clear the frame?”
Charlie gauged the opening. He heard a crash floors below. It would take little more than a minute or two to rip the window frame from the building. He wasn’t going to risk it. He also calculated the other piece—that with ninety pounds of gear and a guy who looked a hair under six feet and weighed about 160, one tiny misstep and…. “We’re good.”
“How many you got?”
“Just one,” Charlie yelled back, and then to Liam, “Was anyone else in here with you?” He knew if there was, they were no longer among the living.
“No.” Liam’s voice trembled.
“Okay, then. We’re going out the window.”
“I can’t fly here.”
“Neither can I,” Charlie replied, wondering if Liam had made a joke, in which case it was the most deadpan one he’d ever heard. “It’s called a cherry picker.” And he turned enough so Liam could see the metal basket that could safely hold four. He felt Liam’s body tense. Which, considering they were about to step out of a sixth-floor window, wasn’t abnormal. “Liam, I do this all the time. All I need you to do is stay loose and hang on to me. Can you do that?”
“I can, Charlie Fitzgerald. Wait!”
“What?”
“Something’s in the door.”
Charlie turned and looked back into the burning apartment. At first he didn’t see it, and then a terrified little short-haired Chihuahua, its eyes wide, stared at them from the wrong side of the flaming hole.
“Wait!” Liam shouted from over Charlie’s back.
“Liam, you got to leave him,” Charlie said, wondering if this were the guy’s dog. But animals spooked, and no way was that little thing about to jump over a hole twice its size and run through a room on fire.
Liam squirmed on Charlie’s back.
“Guy…. Liam, you got to stay still. We got to get out of here now!” He tried to see what Liam was doing, but the helmet and thick protective collar of his turnout coat limited his range of motion. What he did see reflected in the helmet’s plastic visor…. What the hell? Liam was staring at the frightened dog, his purple eyes intent and focused. And then the Chihuahua did the unbelievable. It backed up and then shot straight ahead. Its tiny legs leaped over the fiery hole, darted across the burning floor, and scrambled to get up into the tub.
Liam squirmed lower down Charlie’s back as the firefighter did all he could to not lose hold of the sweat-slicked man and tried not to think about how hot—in the total perv way—the guy’s naked body felt in his gloved hands and against his well-padded back.
“This is crazy.”
“I got him,” Liam said. “I got him!”
What just happened? And without words Charlie repositioned Liam so his weight was balanced over his shoulder. “Are we ready now?” he asked, blown away by what he’d just seen.
“Yes, Charlie Fitzgerald.”
“Okay, then.” Charlie felt his chest tighten at the sound of his name out of Liam’s mouth. With his free hand, he gripped the edge of the window frame, then hoisted first one booted foot and then the other up onto the sill.
Callahan nodded from inside the basket. “We’re good on my side.”
“Hang tight, Liam.”
And feeling every inch of Liam’s naked body, plus a four-pound dog, against his, Charlie held tight and bridged the distance from a building on fire to safety.
Three
LIAM CLUTCHED the panting dog in the folds of the rough wool blanket he’d been given by the smiling woman seated before him. Dressed in her shiny red jacket with white crosses over her chest and on her back, she was filled with questions. Just like Charlie Fitzgerald, who’d left him with her and the others in red. Clearly they were a clan, but no obvious physical distinction defined them other than the red costumes, many of which included a matching cap. Possibly an army.
“What’s your name?” She smiled at him, her hand poised over a paper clipped to a board.
“Is this where you live?”
He and the dog shivered despite the thick, scratchy wool. These were tricks and traps. That’s what questions were. It was something every sentient fey child, regardless of species, was taught. The lesson was usually couched in the cautionary tale of the Questling, a creature purported to have once existed but was now extinct. Curiosity killed the Questling. All these questions, and I have more than a few of my own. But habit, fear, and the chaos of the building attacked by fairy fire made him hold his tongue.
“Do you have family… friends, you can stay with?”
Her smile stayed fixed, her expression expectant, as if he were fool enough to fall for her trap. But Charlie Fitzgerald asked me questions, and he saved me from death. He asked for nothing in return… and he left me. Liam shifted in the flimsy folding chair and looked across the street at the building, which no longer burned red but filled the street with dark smoke and the mouthwatering reek of fairy fire. The sirens had stopped, and behind bright orange plastic barriers, crowds flocked to gaze and drink in the smoke. Perhaps it’s like a bonfire to them. Would they break into song and dance? Was this a ritual? It’s one May would enjoy, burn a building, see who dies, and dance among the ashes… or worse. I know what comes after fairy fire…. Do they? The little dog peeked from the folds of the blanket and licked his chin. Its liquid round eyes fixed on his.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Red Jacket Lady said, “but can you hear me?”
Liam turned his back to her, not able to tell which one of the men in black with bright yellow bands on their boots, jackets, helmets, and gloves was Charlie Fitzgerald. His eyes welled. What kind of man goes into a burning building to s
ave a stranger? Please be safe, Charlie Fitzgerald. He looked back at Red Jacket Lady. Her face was pleasant and held no malice. There was a string around her neck that ended in a small plastic-covered rectangle with her picture on it… and words—Jenn Trainer.
“You are Jenn Trainer,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes.”
He felt the question about to leave her mouth and rushed in before she could speak. “I am Liam Summer. I have no family here.” Although where exactly here might be, he did not know. Bits reminded him of the Unsee. Clearly this was a great city, the streets not covered with meadow grass but hard and black. Buildings were far taller here. He tried to think of what to say, and unlike the Questling, which prattled itself into the jaws of death, he chose silence.
“So, Liam Summer, I’m assuming this was your home. And your dog, he’s cute. What’s his name?”
And you’d assume wrong. This is not my home. This is not my dog.
He did not correct her, as a woman in a tight gray skirt suit and perfectly applied makeup pointed a metal wand at him. “That one there. The guy with the dog,” she said to a man shouldering a large black metal box. At her command, he pointed the box’s glass eye at Liam. With the wand in front of her and the glass eye trained on Liam, they approached.
“You poor thing,” Makeup Lady said. “Was this your home? And what a cute dog.”
Liam shivered as the Chihuahua ducked back into the blanket. Its tiny heart beat fast against his chest. Unlike red-jacket Jenn, this one had no name tag, and her face was perfect, like a mask without pores and too-red lips, like May’s.
“What’s your name, darling?” Makeup Lady turned to Jenn. “Is he deaf?”
“You might want to find someone else,” Jenn said. “I think he’s in shock.”
Makeup Lady nodded and thrust her metal wand in front of Liam’s face. “Do you know how the fire started?”
Liam shook his head, but the question was a good one. He wondered at the coincidence of his travel from the Unsee to the See and how he landed in a building on fire. He tried to remember—the tunnel, the mist… coming through—like a sliver of his memory had been ripped out.
Makeup Lady turned to the guy with the glass-eyed box. “Get some close-ups on his face. A guy who looks like that doesn’t need to talk.” She chuckled. “Probably better that way.” She spoke to Jenn. “Did you at least get his name?”
Jenn looked at Liam.
“No,” he said. “Don’t give it to her.”
“Okay, then,” Makeup Lady said, displeased with the response. “Guess young, blond, and gorgeous wants to keep his mystery. Sal, did you get your shots?”
Liam realized that just as May constantly broadcast her image and her rapidly changing entertainment shows, the man with the box was recording this.
Makeup Lady asked red-jacket Jenn, “Do they know how many have been hurt? Any fatalities?”
Jenn shook her head. “No clue, but if you want to do us a favor”—she pulled a card from inside her jacket—“please post the information for donations. We’re looking at three dozen families we’re going to have to feed, clothe, and shelter.”
“Got it,” Makeup Lady said as she and her cameraman headed toward another woman in red, this one seated in front of a woman holding a baby, with a cat carrier at her feet. Beside her, an anxious dark-haired boy of four or five looked back at the fire, his face wet with tears.
“Sorry about that,” Jenn said. She looked at her clipboard and then back at Liam. “You really have no place to go, do you?”
Liam’s gaze caught on the little boy. He felt the dog against his chest, and he knew. “Wait a minute.” He stood. His feet were raw and blistered from the fire, but he knew. Not caring how the blanket exposed his nakedness, he walked to the little boy. The dog peeked out.
“Maxie!” the boy shrieked and broke free from his mother as the dog wiggled out of Liam’s arms and sprinted toward his family.
The woman with the baby and the cat carrier looked back as Makeup Lady with cameraman recorded it all.
Liam felt the loss of the little animal’s beating heart. He nodded and wrapped his blanket tight. He looked at the little boy, the dog lapping at his tears. So that’s one good thing, Liam Summer. If anyone anywhere keeps track, that’s one good thing.
He shook his head and turned. His thoughts felt thick, from the smoke or the chaos. He needed to remember things, important details. An explosion, a tunnel in the mist… a giant white lizard…. It looked at me. Something about it… its eyes, red, but blue for an instant… like hers, like May’s. Not possible but connected. And fairy fire. This is her doing.
A man and a woman in navy uniforms wheeled a stretcher toward him.
The man spoke. “We’re making it down to the walking wounded. How you doing, guy?”
Liam looked into the man’s kind face. His partner, clearly part of the same navy blue clan, had lustrous black hair. He wondered if she might be part pixie. Between them was a metal bed on wheels with a bright orange mattress and a shiny red metal box. Tucked beneath was a canister like the one Charlie had on his back. Only that one, which he’d clung to as Charlie carried him into the cherry picker, was gray and had the word SCOT. This one was small and green. The colors mean things. Jenn in red and white, these two in dark blue, Charlie and his band of bumblebee men with funny hats who save people from fire… from fairy fire.
“I think he’s in shock,” the woman said.
“How bad you hurt?” Navy Guy asked.
Liam felt the itch of the wool on his skin. Here and there, dried blood stuck the fabric to his back. He wiggled his toes… still five of them, and his fingers, also five on each hand. “Not bad,” he said, wondering who in this world kept track of so many questions.
“Still. Why don’t you have a seat up here.” Navy Guy wheeled the bed closer and lowered the red metal box to the ground.
His partner spread a sheet across the mattress and encouraged Liam to sit, which he did. She wrapped an inflatable cuff around his bicep. It beeped and squeezed. Alarmed, My arm! They’re trying to cut it off! With his free hand he tried to rip it off, when it hissed and deflated.
“It’s okay,” she said as she unfastened the arm balloon with a loud rip. “I’m going to give you some oxygen.” And she strapped a clear plastic mask over his face.
Cautiously he sipped in the air that hissed through the tubing. He expected a smell, but no, just cool, clean air.
They too started with the questions, but other than his name, he had no answers. “Liam Summer.”
“Where do you live, Liam? Where do you work? Do you have relatives you can stay with? What insurance do you have? Do you have any allergies? Are you on medication? Have you taken any drugs? Do you smoke cigarettes?”
The navy woman encouraged him to lie down. He winced from the pain but did as instructed.
“You’re going to be fine,” she said as she wrapped him, blanket and all, in the white sheet and strapped and buckled a webbed belt across his middle.
Swaddled in cloth, he panicked. “No. Please don’t.” This is a trap!
“Shh,” she tried to gentle him.
He bucked against the restraint. His fingers grabbed at the metal buckle. “Get it off! Please get it off!” He tore at the mask as Navy Guy helped his partner wrap Liam’s hands tighter into the swaddle formed by the blanket and sheet.
“Get the restraints,” she said.
“No!” He had to break free. “Let me go! Get off of me!” he screamed into the night, his cries barely registered over the sirens, the smoke, the crowds, and the flashing lights.
Undeterred by his frenzy, the two members of the navy clan wheeled him toward the gaping mouth of a giant metal beast.
Liam strained to see. Nothing made sense. I have to get away. They’re going to feed me to that. He sought for the magic that would take him away from this place, from these strangers wheeling him toward the belly of a beast. I am food. I have been baked, and now they�
��re going to feed me to that creature. Fly… fly. “Let me go!” he screamed with all he had.
He heard a man’s voice and the sound of heavy boots running from behind him. “Whoa!” A hand landed on Liam’s shoulder. “It’s okay. They’re not going to hurt you.”
Liam twisted in the sheet and restraints. For an instant he couldn’t recognize the tall man, but he knew those blue eyes, the dark hair matted to his scalp from the helmet Liam had originally taken to be an ogre’s head. “Charlie Fitzgerald, help me. Please.”
“You need to get checked out,” Charlie said, his hand on Liam’s shoulder.
“Don’t make me go with them. You can check me out.”
The medics paused. The woman asked, “You know this guy?”
“Just met him tonight. He was up there.” Charlie pointed to the smashed sixth-floor window.
“Don’t make me go,” Liam pleaded, even as he realized the white-and-red metal beast on wheels was not meant to kill but to transport. But why tie me down? He bucked against the belts across his middle, legs, and chest. He freed his hands and searched for a way to undo the strap.
The medic asked, “Is it because you don’t have your insurance cards? Is that it? Because if it’s about the money, emergency rooms are obliged to treat you by law.”
“No more questions!” Liam shrieked. “I don’t want to go! Please.” He stared at Charlie, the big man with kind deep blue eyes—not an ogre at all—who got him out of the burning building. You saved my life, Charlie Fitzgerald. “Don’t make me go.”
The medics looked to Charlie. “He doesn’t have to,” the woman said. “He seems pretty traumatized. Did he lose everything?”
Charlie met Liam’s gaze. The two men seemed frozen. “Yes.”
“Does he have any place else to go?”
Charlie felt the world shrink as he stared into Liam’s violet eyes. His chest tightened as he crouched beside him and whispered, “You should go with them, Liam. They just want to help.”
Liam shook his head. “Charlie, I don’t know this place. I have no power here and nowhere to go. Please don’t make me go with them. Please.”