Fate of Flames

by Sarah Raughley

  He broke the silence first. “So. A benefit, huh? You . . . do benefits a lot?” It came out more awkwardly than he’d probably wanted.

  I kept my arms wrapped around my chest. I wasn’t surprised he knew why I was at the hotel, but it was creepy nonetheless.

  “You, uh . . .” Rhys cleared his throat. “You look nice.”

  “Yeah, I like your getup too,” I said, still peering at him through the mirror. “It’s very Urkel chic. Not what I was expecting from a Sect agent.”

  “It was my day off.” He leaned back against the metal railing and shrugged. “Besides, I was told it made me look cute.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Eighteen? An eighteen-year-old Sect agent?”

  “What can I say?” Rhys smiled. “They got me young.”

  What annoyed me most was how harmless he looked. I stared at him for a moment, silently, before nodding. “I should have run.”

  “It’s been like three minutes. Having second thoughts already?”

  I could see my reflection shaking its head in the mirror behind him. “No, I mean it. You don’t know . . . I could have gotten away. I could have, I don’t know, hitched a ride to Queens and got a fake ID and then hopped on a plane to the Cayman Islands or somewhere. What would you have done then, huh? Seriously, I gave up way too easy.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

  I slumped back against the railing. “Yeah, I can’t tell either.”

  Rhys only stared at me, his head cocked, his lips on their way to an infuriating grin.

  I frowned. “What?”

  “It’s amazing, how different you guys all are.”

  “You ‘guys’?”

  Rhys closed his eyes. “You Effigies. One dies and then another one pops up like a superpowered whack-a-mole and you’re always so different from the last. You and Natalya are completely different.”

  He gazed at me—through me. It was a surgical gaze that made me feel as if a photograph of my insides were on a giant projector being studied by a roomful of medical students. I turned from him, holding myself more tightly than before.

  “She would have liked you,” he said.

  I couldn’t deny that I was curious. There I was in the same elevator as someone who’d actually known the legendary Matryoshka Princess. Maybe even fought alongside her. But he didn’t elaborate.

  Silence stretched between us.

  “I kind of want to go home,” I said.

  “Probably too late for that.”

  As if I didn’t already know. But at least when he added a soft “Sorry” afterward, he sounded sincere.

  The “24” finally lit up, and with a ping, the doors opened. Outside Room 2401 was a red-haired man in a black suit and shades. He nodded to Rhys once and stepped aside. Then, taking out his keycard, Rhys opened the door. I held my breath.

  It was a suite worthy of a hotel like La Charte, its opulence no doubt designed to ensnare the greedy elite by stirring their decadent tastes. Belle sat on an elegant chaise longue at the back of the room in a dress as bloodred as her lipstick. Stunning and intimidating. Another agent in a black suit stood beside her and, unlike Rhys, he was packing heat—his left hand rested on his gun holster, his right on a black metal case reaching up to his hips. Probably Sect equipment.

  The agent looked older than Rhys and was built like a rugby player. His blue eyes locked onto me the moment I walked in, but Belle never looked at me. She stayed silent, her wineglass dangling between her fingers, the luster of New York speckling the dimly lit room through the ivory curtains.

  “You’ll never guess who I bumped into.” Rhys slapped me rather painfully on the back as we approached them. “Didn’t even have to look that hard either.”

  “Maia Finley.” The agent knew my name. Once again, my lack of surprise made it no less creepy. He lifted his square, bald head as if to scrutinize me from a higher angle. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  I crumpled the hem of my dress in my palms, subtly rubbing off the sweat. “I guess . . . I guess I’m here because I’m—”

  “Natalya’s successor.”

  It was the first time Belle Rousseau ever spoke to me. It changed everything. For the first time, I was looking at my hero, and my hero was looking back.

  I could hear the thumping rhythm of my heart against my rib cage. It was finally happening. For days I’d wondered what would happen if this moment ever came: a handshake, a smile, a hearty Welcome to the team. But for too long, Belle had said nothing. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I could see that something very important was missing in her. I could tell from the emptiness of her faraway gaze.

  “Nice to meet you.” I smiled shyly. “Um.” I curled my toes as much as the space in my pumps would allow. “I-I’m a big fan—of you, I mean. Like, a really big fan.”

  Rein it in, Maia, I warned myself, but the dam had already broken. “I just think you’re so great. Really.” God, I was talking to Belle. Belle Rousseau. “Like completely amazing. Like how you save people and stuff?”

  “A fan?” Rhys chuckled under his breath. “This is too good.”

  “I’m a platinum member of your official online fan club. Oh god,” I added because I finally realized I should have stopped at Nice to meet you. “Do you want me to go away? I can go away. I’ll just go—” But Rhys pulled me back before I could get too far.

  “Fourteen,” Belle said.

  I gently tugged my arm out of Rhys’s grasp. “What?”

  “Natalya.” Belle crossed her legs. “That was her number.”

  Rhys lowered his head with a quiet sigh. “I’m not sure I understand,” I said.

  “Are you aware of the Seven-Year Rule?” Belle asked. “It’s a joke within the Sect. You see, an Effigy’s work is quite dangerous. As you can imagine, we tend not to last very long.”

  I locked my fingers together to keep them from shaking.

  “That’s why there’s the Seven-Year Rule. If you survive past seven years, you’re considered to be either one of two things: a god, or a cowardly waste of human skin whose long life can be attributed only to her pathetic desire to cling to her miserable existence.”

  “Oh.”

  Belle set her wineglass down. “Natalya became an Effigy at age eleven—much earlier than most. And she was twenty-five when she died. That’s fourteen: twice the number one needs to be considered a god. Fourteen years of fighting. So tell me, Maia.” She tilted her head, her French braid swishing behind her. “What will your number be?”

  “Belle, save the hazing, okay?” Rhys sat on the arm of one of the accent chairs near her. “You knew this was coming. Natalya’s gone.”

  Belle’s eyes shifted menacingly in his direction.

  “Maia, my name is Howard Day,” said the bald agent by Belle’s side. “What do you know about the Sect?”

  I knew what everyone else did. Effigies weren’t exactly free agents. They were under the control of an international, nongovernmental organization whose operatives helped fight phantoms around the globe. Through the Sect, Effigies were trained, controlled. Maybe watched.

  “I know you guys tracked me down, though I have no idea how.”

  “That’s right.” Howard was a little too calm about it.

  “And apparently you’re threatening global security by sneakily positioning yourselves as a neo-imperial superpower, or whatever that guy on Fox News said. You know, the guy with the crazy eyes who cries a lot.”

  “She jokes, too,” said Rhys, amused.

  “Apparently,” said Howard, less amused.

  “So now what?” I folded my arms. I certainly didn’t look any more threatening, but at least the façade of courage made me feel less like a runny-nosed child in a room filled with adults. “What happens next? Will you . . . ? Are you going to put me to work?”

  “How old are you?” asked Belle.

  I blinked, taken aback. “S-sixteen.”

  �
��Sixteen. Do you have any friends, Maia?”

  Friends. I lowered my head. “Y-yeah,” I lied, which was better than admitting that I’d managed to scare off the few I’d had during my year of self-isolation. “Of course.”

  “You don’t.” Belle’s bluntness made my insides squirm in embarrassment. “Good. It’ll be easier that way. And what about family?”

  I kept my eyes on the floor as I answered. “I live with my uncle.”

  “I see.” Belle sipped from her wineglass. “And what do you think of Natalya?”

  “N-Natalya?”

  “What do you think of her?”

  I couldn’t help but notice that Rhys wouldn’t look at me as I answered. “Well, I think what everyone else thinks. She was a legend.”

  “Actually, what everyone else thinks is that Natalya ended her own life.”

  “What?”

  “Or rather,” continued Belle, “it’s what they will think once the Sect releases this statement to the public.”

  I stared, dumbfounded.

  “Natalya’s parents didn’t believe it. They were so bereaved that they refused to release her body to the Sect because of it.”

  To do their own investigation? That would explain the funeral’s delay.

  “And what about you, Maia?” Belle’s quiet voice was so intense I almost took a step back. “Do you think Natalya killed herself?”

  “No.” I didn’t even hesitate. “Natalya would never do that. She just wouldn’t!”

  And then my mouth snapped shut. Natalya committing suicide was unthinkable to me, but couldn’t it still be possible? Who was I to declare that it wasn’t?

  “N-no.” I shook my head. “It’s not—it can’t be true.”

  Because if even Natalya could kill herself . . .

  My hands tightened into trembling fists. “No, I don’t believe it.”

  “I . . . didn’t either.” But Belle’s voice had none of her earlier confidence. “At least I . . .”

  Once again silence weighted the room.

  Belle cleared her throat. “And what about your abilities, Maia?”

  “Abilities?”

  “Natalya was the Ignis Ensis: the Sword of Fire. The Effigy who controlled flame.”

  I stayed deathly still.

  “So? Can you? Control flame?”

  No. I’d never even attempted it. I’d done everything I could to ignore my ability to make flames out of nothing like a girl-size novelty lighter. And for eleven days, I’d just held on to my sanity for dear life. How could I admit to Belle that Natalya’s successor could sooner find a cigarette on the moon than light one with her mind?

  Apparently I didn’t need to.

  “Ah,” said Belle. To my relief there wasn’t a stitch of judgment in her voice, but then, there wasn’t much of anything else, either. “You can’t make fire. Is it because your family died in one?”

  My arms fell limp at my sides.

  “Belle!” Both Howard and Rhys had yelled her name, but it was Rhys who looked furious. “That’s way past enough,” he warned. “What exactly is the point of this? You’ve already done your research. Why put her through this?”

  Belle moved her glass in gentle swirls. “Rhys, you seem oddly protective of a girl you’ve just met. Why is that?”

  Rhys frowned. “What are you implying?”

  “It’s okay, you guys. I get it.”

  All eyes were trained on me as I spoke.

  “Maia . . . ,” started Rhys.

  “No, I understand. It’s a test, right?” The tremor in my lips was obvious only once I pried them apart. “I’m the new girl. Of course you’ll grill me. I get it. Trial by . . .”

  Fire. I gripped my arms. It was the heat that made you stronger, right? Forging your metal and spitting it back out again formed and ready. But to me it was thick and unbearable. That’s what I remembered. The heat, the lick of flames crawling up my house as I watched from the other side of the street . . .

  Once again, my lips trembled open. “Belle, to be honest, I . . .”

  I remembered it too well. The fire, the sweat on my forehead, the sidewalk’s asphalt grazing my legs.

  And the pathetic, helpless tears of a coward.

  “I want to be like you.”

  Belle frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “I want to be like you.”

  “Oh?” Belle laughed, her disdain palpable.

  “It’s okay,” I said, more to myself because Belle’s expression made me feel like I was back in sixth grade, trying to hide my sweat stains in math class while the boys laughed at me. “I know I’m just some kid who might end up being one of those ‘cowardly wastes of human skin.’ Or dead.” I searched for the words, but June was all I could see in my mind’s eye. “But if you were to help me, the way Natalya helped you . . .”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I get it. You don’t think I’m worthy. But please . . .” With my heart in my throat, I stepped forward, arms outstretched. “Make me better! You could do it. You can do anything! You’re Belle Rousseau. You’re the Twelve-Kill Rookie, right?”

  I noticed Howard and Rhys freezing up at the sound of Belle’s old nickname. I also noticed the strange way the wineglass dipped in Belle’s grip, and the way her features had suddenly hardened like sand in a furnace. But I couldn’t stop. I needed to convince her.

  “Just make me better,” I pleaded. “You always said in your interviews that it was Natalya who made you better, right?”

  Without a word, Belle placed down her glass, stood, and walked over to the window. The Needle’s distant electric blue speckled her hair from behind the curtains. “What does the word ‘Effigy’ mean to you, Maia?”

  I opened and closed my mouth several times, but I couldn’t respond.

  “We’re also called the Four Swords. Probably because we’re weapons. But actually, we’re much more than that.” I could feel Belle watching me through the window glass. “Every new Effigy succeeds the last. Do you know what that means?”

  I was too afraid to even shake my head.

  “It means that once you become an Effigy, you carry the legacy of the previous girls in your line. Not just their abilities, but their regrets, their sorrows. Even their memories.” Belle tapped her head with a finger. “It’s all in there. All of it. I’m sure you haven’t heard them yet. Or maybe they just haven’t started talking to you. But once they do—that’s it. You won’t be allowed to be just yourself anymore.” Belle pressed a hand to the window, her fingers curling against the glass. “In the end, we’re all just sloppily crafted monuments to the ones who came before us. Effigies.”

  “But we’re still human. Aren’t we?” The panic in my voice surprised even me.

  Belle smiled. “Maybe. Natalya used to say it didn’t matter. We were what we were. Created to fight.”

  The air grew heavy. Gusts of cold wind cascaded out from Belle’s hand, chilling until I could see the flakes of snow drifting from her palm. As Belle turned, the snow gathered, stretching its long shape until a handle formed within her fingers and a sharp point peeked through the flurry.

  Once the snow dissipated, I could see it clearly: the long, thin sword clutched with pride in Belle’s hand.

  It was beautiful. Regal. I lost my breath as Belle raised her blade and pointed it at me alone. The glow of New York City’s lights danced along the edges.

  “This is proof that I’ve accepted what I am. A reward for committing myself to this life.”

  “I don’t understand.” I watched with barely a breath as Belle pulled the sword back, running her hand along the smooth surface.

  “It’s the sign of a developed Effigy. For Natalya, this was everything. The fight was everything. And just like you said, she taught me everything. But I’m not Natalya.”

  This time she stared at me with a glare as cold as the snow drifting past her face. “Train. Become better. Or don’t. Accept your fate, or
don’t. Fight, or don’t. To be honest, I couldn’t care less what you do.”

  I couldn’t feel anything but a dull pain in my chest.

  Rhys let out a long sigh. “Right. So I guess you just decided to skip the hellos and jumped right to the soul crushing.” He rubbed his temple, exasperated. “Just great.”

  There was a timid knock at the door, a bit jarring what with the deafening tension.

  “Is it Jeff?” Rhys asked as Howard passed, probably referring to the guard outside.

  “Excuse me,” came a muffled voice through the door. A guy’s . . . and familiar.

  Rhys blinked. “That’s not Jeff.”

  Apparently not. Howard stopped in his tracks.

  “Excuse me,” came the voice again. “Hello?”

  “Wait a second. I think I know that voice.” I combed through my memories. “Wait . . .” No way. “Saul?”

  Rhys leaned sideways. “Maia, you know this guy?”

  “I met him downstairs at the benefit . . . so yeah, I guess I kind of know him.”

  “The bigger problem,” said Howard in a low voice, “is that we don’t.” He glared at the door. “And Jeff wouldn’t abandon his post for anything. Not with the new Effigy in the room.”

  Silence.

  Rhys stood from his chair.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” On the other side of the door, Saul’s voice was too easy, too pleasant. “But I’d like to speak to the girl you have in there. We met earlier.”

  Everyone’s eyes locked on me.

  “This is a private meeting,” Howard answered him. He nodded to Belle, who gripped her sword more tightly than before.

  “Oh, I know, it’s just . . .” Saul paused. “She never told me her name.”

  “What is this?” Belle hissed. “Who—”

  At that moment, the dotted lights of New York’s Needle, for the second time, shut off.

  We stared at the distant tower, stunned into silence.

  It was impossible. It wasn’t real.

  It was one of those terrible moments when time slowed to a crawl. No one could speak a word.

  “My name is Saul.” With a sudden heave, the door burst open and Jeff’s corpse fell into the room. “And like I said, I’d like to speak to that girl over there.”