Flames of Hope

by Cassandra L Shaw

  “Their outside vid surveillance suggests as much.”

  Jasmine walked outside as if heading for their vehicle once more, tripped, dropped her handbag, her lip-stain tube rolling toward the neighbor’s door, and stopping a foot short. She hurried forward, accidently on purpose kicked the tube, sending it into the door with a soft thonk. Bending to pick it up, she shoved the head of the lizard under the door. Once she saw the lizard’s fine tail disappear, she collected her bag and headed for the car, quickly sliding forward and locking the driver’s seat that slid back for Xylvar’s chair before getting in and driving off. She drove to the local store and bought milk and a bag of fresh donuts, two burgers, and a large box of crispy onion rings before returning.

  “Excellent choice.” Xylvar grabbed a burger, bit into it and groaned. “Crap, this is excellent.”

  “Since I had to go out on a fake mission, I figured I might as well make the trip worthwhile.” Jasmine crunched an onion ring. “A total fat attack, but, yeah, excellent. What did you find?”

  He tapped a screen and played the view of a few blasters left on the kitchen table.

  With a scowl, she leaned closer to the screen. “Even from this view, that’s pretty fancy equipment.” She pointed to one they could see just enough of to make her scalp prickle. “That’s government issue. I’ve only seen two. One killed my last FBPI partner and…” She rubbed her shoulder, puckering her lips. “Blasted me.”

  Xylvar gave her shoulder a dark look, as if it could help getting blasted. “Never seen one before.”

  “They only became available four or five months ago.” She rolled her shoulder in memory of the pain of the blast hit.

  “Curiouser and curiouser.”

  She bit into her burger. “It is, but after we eat, it’s time to head off to church.”

  “Fun.”

  “Always lightens one’s mood when you hear the walking cadaver preaching purity.”

  “If he’s part of the Pure movement, Father Eustice Morgan won’t just look like a cadaver, he’ll be one.”

  #

  Xylvar parked the car a block away from the church, and let out a sigh. “Another never-ending sermon.”

  “Might save your soul,” Jaz sniggered. “Though Father Morgan’s form of Christianity is a little off center.”

  “So are several members of his congregation and volunteer team.”

  As they headed toward the open doors, they passed a small, dark blue vehicle. Jaz glanced inside and tensed, putting her hand on Xylvar’s shoulders and squeezing slightly. A signal they’d agreed on if something was amiss. He stopped and fussed, as if to find a more comfortable position in his chair.

  Jaz’s warm breath at his ear sent waves of pleasure down his neck and torso, stopping, as always, just above his waist. He closed his eyes, savoring her scent, the warmth even her prickly façade could not conceal.

  “The man in the car is our scarred delivery driver. This must be his personal car.”

  Excellent, but damn it, he didn’t have any trackers in his chair. “Go back to the car. In a bag taped under the passenger seat you’ll find several trackers. Come back with a few.”

  “Always prepared.”

  “You have no idea.”

  A minute later she returned, pressing one of the devices into Xylvar’s hand. He moved his chair back a few feet, as if to negotiate some rough pavement, then pushed the chair forward onto a lifted slab of concrete. His chair listed. With an upper body jerk, he threw his weight to the tipping side, and tumbled himself to the ground.

  “Shit, Xy…Todd. You okay?”

  “Great.” Smelling the brew of dust, old animal urine, and a long ago discarded piece of used gum, he threw out his left hand, slipping it under the wheel arch to attach the tiny device. Done, he looked up to see Jaz shaking her head.

  “Idiot.” Silver flamed under her contacts.

  “All good.”

  The man, the one Xylvar mentally called Scarface hurried out of the car and around to Xylvar and Jaz. “Stupid pavement. Needs fixing.” He grabbed the chair and helped Jaz right it and Xylvar. When Xylvar sat once more upright, and was busy dusting off his jerk of a suit, the man looked at Jaz, squinting at her.

  Xylvar moved his chair, distracting the man from staring at Jaz. They didn’t need him to recognize her as CeeCee. “I appreciate the help.”

  “No problem.” Scarface nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets, and headed toward the church. Jaz pretended to help Xylvar resettle in his chair. About a hundred feet away Scarface stopped, turned, and looked back. With a shake of his head he walked on.

  “Why do bad people do good deeds?”

  “Or good people do bad?”

  “Yeah, maybe we’re all a bit of both. He thinks he recognizes me, but isn’t sure.”

  Her deadpan tone of voice didn’t match the way her pulse point at the base of her throat hammered. “I’ll check Scarface out in church. Get eye-to-eye and thank him. If we have to, we’ll take him out.”

  “Dead, he could cause more problems.”

  “Oh, we won’t kill him.” Xylvar stated darkly. “He’ll go to that Crea holding facility for a little friendly torture and tell.”

  “His disappearance won’t be any better.”

  “No, but we’ll get information. Dead men can’t talk.”

  Jaz nodded at the church. “Ready for some happy sermons about eternal Hell?’

  Xylvar pushed his chair forward. “Can’t wait.”

  Inside the church, several heads turned at Xylvar and Jaz’s entrance. Scarface stood near the couple who drove the pale blue car. Xylvar rolled toward him, pulling up close by. The couple with the blue car openly stared at Jaz.

  “Just want to thank you again for your help. I’m a bit heavy for my wife to pull me up easily.” Xylvar locked eyes with the man.

  “No problem. Must be hard sometimes.”

  Jaz put her hand on his shoulder. “We mostly manage. Todd’s usually pretty good at finding a way around the rougher bits of path.” She turned to the couple. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Storm Law, and this is my husband Todd.”

  The wife, obviously, the dominant spouse, lifted her head so she looked down her nose. “Lorna and Matthew Northcote.” After giving Jaz another considering look, Lorna turned toward a tall, strong-looking woman.

  The strong-looking woman wore a long-sleeved top on a day Xylvar considered very warm, and her right arm appeared thicker than her left, as if she wore something else under the sleeve, but only on that arm, like a bandage.

  Father Morgan walked down the aisle, so the small group dispersed and headed for their seats.

  Xylvar reached for the book of hymns, passing one to Jaz. “Scarface is safe. You remind him a girl he went to school with. The old bitch, Lorna, however, thinks you look a bit like the redhead at the meeting, but not enough to call you out. Yet—which is why she’s following us. Thinks she’s doing a top job at surveillance.”

  Jaz winked. “And she is.”

  During the service, Xylvar moved his chair, angling so he had a different view at differing times. An innocent movement of someone uncomfortable and seeking an easier position. The woman in the long-sleeved top sat without her husband. The couple were part of Father Morgan’s group of favorites. Xylvar had never noticed either one absent before.

  At the end of the service, a blessed twenty minutes shorter than the normal, Xylvar headed toward the center aisle, blocking the long-sleeve wearer from leaving or heading toward Father Morgan.

  Up closer, Xylvar quickly ran an assessment. Her right hand was slightly swollen, and several shades closer to blue than it should be. Under thick concealer and skin-colored face stain, her right cheek and jaw, both looking a fraction puffy, were probably bruised. Her right eye area, also thickly coated with concealer and stain, was also swollen.

  He thrust out his hand in his best Todd gesture. “Todd Law. I don’t think we’ve formally met.” He stared into her light haz
el eyes. She’d have been pretty in her youth, though her heavier bone structure meant that, in her middle years, she was now more handsome than pretty.

  “Oh, um, yes. Nice to meet you, Todd. I’m Fiona Allbright.” The woman had one of those slightly vague, apologetic ways of speaking. As if she wasn’t sure she should speak without permission.

  “Allbright, as in Allbright Ranch Limited?”

  A small, haunted smile twitched at her mouth. “Youngest granddaughter of Clementine and Douglas Allbright.”

  She said the name with pride, and Xylvar caught a flash of frustration. She held only a menial position within the organization, yet she’d been trained to run one of the ten ranches the family owned. But, being a woman in a family of predominantly males, she’d been pushed aside. She wanted to be acknowledged, but had little hope of it of it ever happening.

  “Your husband didn’t join you for today’s service.”

  Her eyes darted around the room. “He’s had an important business meeting today.” Xylvar kept his eyes locked with hers, catching a glimpse of a man with long, savage gashes up one arm. The professional clips used to bring the edges of the wound together before the medi-seal application, suggesting the gashes dug either to or close to the bone. He’d have nerve damage, and was probably lucky no major veins were severed.

  “Ah, yes, ranching doesn’t adhere to a five-day work week.”

  “Err, no. No, it doesn’t.” Fiona Allbright waved to someone behind Xylvar, so he made his goodbyes, joining his fake wife at the door.

  Father Morgan stood at the door, greeting his congregation briefly, one by one, as they left. He chatted about family, friends, politics, sports, and answered questions about today’s service. How anyone would listen to Morgan’s rhetoric and be able to ask questions about the Father’s rantings went beyond Xylvar’s understanding. His grandfather being Eli meant Xylvar had only attended funerals or the simple ceremonies of the Belief of Elan, the way the Crea and Eli worshipped whatever world they resided in and thanked it for its gifts. But surely Father Morgan’s sermons had to be the dullest and most convoluted?

  The subtext of the sermon today had shifted. It had been about living a life without shame, living your beliefs, even if they weren’t politically acceptable, and helping fund those beliefs. Easy to interpret a dozen ways. Xylvar wondered if such words could be construed as a suggestion to join a group such as the Pures and give them financial assistance.

  A subtle call for recruits.

  Xylvar and Jaz came to their turn to speak to Father Morgan.

  “Ah, my intrepid journalists. I read your article in the World and Beyond cybersheet. The one talking about the many break-and-enters around town.”

  “For such a small population, there have been an unusually large number of thefts where only medical equipment and accessories were targeted.” Xylvar tried to get a lock in on the father, but as usual those damn thick glasses totally threw him off. The thickness didn’t allow him to actually see into the Father’s pupils.

  “Sign of the times, I expect. It’s expensive to attend some of the medical clinics and the free ones, though excellent, and on the increase with the Worldwide laws about fair and equal medical care for all, are still short in numbers. So, I suppose sometimes it’s a matter of desperation, or needs must.”

  “One wonders how many of some items even very ill people need.”

  “We shall pray for them.”

  Xylvar kept his gaze locked with the Father’s, and knew he gazed into the depths of evil, but he just couldn’t get into the man’s head to know of which type.

  Unfortunately, knocking him over to break his glasses would look callous to the congregation. Frustrating.

  “I’m not sure if the thieves need the prayers, Father. I’d say the ones who need it are the people who need the equipment at the medical centers and no longer have it available. And then, of course, there are those who might have stolen the equipment for nefarious uses. The organizers of such a scheme.” He made sure the last was said in a way one could only take as an insult.

  They left soon after, heading for the car.

  Out in the car, Jasmine turned to him. “So.”

  “Fiona Allbright, the woman I stopped in the center aisle, is injured, as is her husband. He is too injured to attend today, yet she felt she had to drag herself to church and leave him to his own care.”

  Xylvar waved hello to a young couple who walked past their vehicle. Once they passed, he gestured toward Fiona talking to the couple with the blue car, their heads too close for casual conversation. Father Morgan joined the group. At his arrival, all their bodies tensed.

  “She’s afraid of Father Morgan, but feels she should stay loyal to him and his cause.”

  “What cause?”

  “That I couldn’t discover. But she regrets getting involved. I think she feels if she bows out now, she and her husband will be in grave danger.”

  “If we can get to her, she might turn.”

  “The cause could be anything and nothing to do with our missing Crea and Eli.”

  “There was one thing that might link them to our cause. The husband’s injuries which a Eli or Crea beast could well have caused, and I caught a quick flash of a gold ingot.”

  “Shit.”

  “No. Gold. But after today’s sermon, I bet our Father Morgan thinks he’s on a superior cause.”

  “Superior, as in pure human? Though there’s something off about him we haven’t found a link leading directly to him. Just because some of those at the church are corrupt, doesn’t mean he is.” Jaz logged into the link they used for tracking.

  “I have two new trackers here.” She looked at the screen then outside. “You put a tracker on Fiona Allbright?”

  “In her handbag. It’s tiny, one that will look like a very small tablet or breath mint.”

  “That’s only going to work if she uses that handbag and no others.”

  He scowled. “Why would she need more than one handbag?”

  Jaz gave him a sideways, stunned look. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. Why?”

  Jaz shook her head, hit a few buttons on the link Xylvar used for tracking. “I’ve coded Scarface’s private car as a dark green line, Allbright is pink.”

  “Sexist. Will be interesting to follow Scarface’s movements, both private and during working hours.”

  Jasmine put the link down. “Will we pass this info on to Kaid and the FBPI?”

  “No. Somewhere there’s a traitor in clan or the FBPI. Or both. This we follow up and keep to ourselves. Safer.” And since Lorna Northcote might be onto Jaz, Xylvar could keep an eye on Jaz personally.

  “For us and the kidnapped?”

  “That’s the hope.”

  27

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  That night, after tracking the delivery van driver in his own vehicle and Fiona Allbright’s handbag for hours, they watched the two of them start to converge. Though still a distance away, somehow Jaz and Xylvar were positive the two signals would meet.

  Xylvar tapped the screen in front of him. “They’re heading toward an older housing estate. Let’s go.”

  They hurried to their prepacked and prepared vehicle.

  Jasmine opened the van door, wished she didn’t enjoy working with this male so much. “Good luck it isn’t far from here.”

  Xylvar grunted and docked his chair into the main seat. As he drove, Jasmine set up the remote-controlled video fly they’d collected from Cherese, the female Crea who was a trusted part of the Zane’s Katoom Crea clan living in Bozeman.

  “Good thing Zane didn’t ask why we need this.” Jasmine said as she checked the fly’s charge.

  “Good thing they could afford to have one around.”

  “True.” Jasmine put the metallic fake fly on the dash. “Battery strength is on max, so it should last an hour if I don’t have to fly it too far before landing.”

  She popped in the earpiece. “Sound chec
k.” She jerked to the side. “Wow, that’s really loud, so it should pick up voices if they’re not too far away.”

  “Hope this isn’t just some prayer meeting. I’d rather burst my eardrums than listen to any more prayers.”

  The two lines stopped, and a minute later one moved sideways off a street. “Got them in the same spot.” Xylvar parked a block up the road and down a small lane from where the signals met.

  Jasmine put her window down, and, using the remote control, guided the fly out into the street. With careful movements, she flew it down the lane, turning it onto the street where the she saw several vehicles parked. She zoomed past several houses.

  “Too far, back one house.”

  She made the fly do a U-turn, hovering in front of a house. “This house?”

  “Well, Fiona’s about forty feet dead ahead. Guess so.”

  She eased the fly forward, bringing it to a window and hovering. Built before the Worldwide wars, the old clapboard house was ill-kept, the yard in dire need of a mow, yet, though unloved, it didn’t emit a totally abandoned vibe.

  She guided the fly to the cracked and peeling front door, but couldn’t make out any light from behind it. The windows were covered by blackout blinds, so she continued around the back of the house. Light glowed from a back room, so she directed the fly to that windowsill.

  A few careful movements of the fly let her count the people inside. “And score. There are eight people.”

  Father Morgan stood leaning against a wall, while several others either appeared to be uneasy or suppressing excitement. One man paced, another stood, arms crossed, a closed expression on his face.

  “They look tense.”

  Jasmine started to ease the fly along the windowsill, looking for a way into the room. Fiona Allbright stood and walked to a side door, letting in a man they hadn’t noticed before. Jasmine zoomed the fly over his head, skimming the ceiling of the room, landing on the frame of a faded picture of a moose. She flicked a button and static filled the van’s interior. “Shit, In case you couldn’t guess, audio is on.”

  Jasmine fiddled with the reception until the crackling eased. “Bit far away for a clear signal.”