Howard attacked with a swift strike of his fist, but Saul caught it and tossed him across the room with almost casual indifference. He landed near Belle. I was already screaming.
Belle pointed her sword at the intruder. “What do you want?”
Saul was too calm, almost angelic. His shining sea-blue eyes washed the ghostly paleness of his skin with color. When he saw Belle, those same eyes twinkled, bright as a child’s. “Oh, it’s you. Sorry, but you’re not the one I’m interested in.”
“I said what do you want?”
A muted explosion below us vibrated through my feet, up my bones. The floor shook, and dust from the ceiling fell over our heads. The vibrations had come from several floors down.
The ballroom.
Uncle Nathan.
“Right now, what I want,” Saul said, his gaze never leaving me, “is for this girl to tell me her name.”
HOWARD WAS STILL DAZED ON the floor, his body crumpled in a corner. Rhys dove for the gun still strapped at his side and aimed it at Saul, but by the time he shot, Saul had already lifted Jeff’s corpse to take the bullet. Black mist wafted up from the floor at his feet, slowly hardening into torn flesh.
Phantoms.
My fingers found my hair, locking around the curls as I stumbled back, falling onto the chaise longue. This wasn’t happening.
“Marian,” Saul whispered.
Right in front of me.
“What?” The gasp had torn out of me so violently it hurt my throat. How had he—from across the room . . . Was I imagining it? No. I could feel his foot against mine.
“There’s something I need to ask you, poupée.” He gripped my arm and forced me up, his wild eyes digging inside me, scraping the layers to find someone else locked deep within. “Stop wasting my time and wake up, okay?”
“Get down!” Belle yelled behind me.
With a grunt, I slammed my hands against Saul’s face, sending him stumbling back. As I fell to the floor, Belle waved her hands and a rush of water rose out of the heavy air, swallowing Saul and freezing him solid within it.
“W-watch out.” Howard’s words slurred as he struggled to pick himself back up.
I heard growling beside me. The phantoms, three of them. They were wolflike in shape, their bones clinging precariously to wisps of black fur. As I scrambled out of the way, Belle leapt over the chaise and slashed through them with her sword.
“Rhys.” Belle flipped her sword over. “Take Maia and get her out of here.”
“But . . .” My lips felt alien as I moved them. “My uncle’s downstairs!”
Screams from down below seeped through the windows. I ran there, peering down at the street. People were fleeing the building, but it was too far down to see if Uncle Nathan was among them.
He was probably looking for me right now.
I spun around. Saul’s frozen smile beamed dreamily back at me.
“I can’t leave! I have to find my uncle! I’m not going anywhere!” The words slipped out of my mouth, eager and foolish.
“Got that out of your system?” Rhys grabbed my arm. “Come on.”
One crack shivered up the ice. A second. A third.
“Come on!” Rhys pulled me, but it was too late. Belle jumped back as the ice shattered on its own. Saul raised his right arm to the heavens.
And brought hell with him.
“Damn it,” Rhys swore as more phantoms seeped in from the floor, twisting their necks and breaking their backs into place, ready to feast.
Howard unbuckled his black case and pulled out a giant firearm.
“You idiot,” cried Rhys. “Stop!”
But Howard fired a shot anyway. I’d heard of the Sect’s crazy technology, particularly the weapons they’d had to develop in order to vaporize phantoms. I’d never seen one, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t meant for indoor use.
The electrical current blasted apart two phantoms, but burst against the wall, nearly taking it down and shaking the entire room. The rest attacked.
Rhys shoved me behind him. “Once you find an opening, get the hell out of here,” he ordered, though his voice was drowned out by the sudden onslaught of the War Siren wailing for the second time this month. Howard tossed Rhys a short black baton he’d slipped out of his boot, and when Rhys flicked it, a long iron rod shot out of one end.
“Maia, go!” Rhys switched on an electrical charge.
But we were already surrounded.
One tore at my dress, and I kicked it off, feeling the sting of its claws in my skin. While Rhys swung his baton into the side of one beast, and then another, Howard reached inside the black case and drew out three small metal balls.
“Shield your eyes!” Rhys ordered.
Howard threw them, and white light flashed the moment they landed on the ground; I could see it through my eyelids. I opened them just in time to see the smoky black remains of phantoms dissipating into the air.
The path was clear. Belle was handling herself against her enemies—one of the phantoms was already skewered by spikes of ice shuddering through the king-size bed. And Saul—Saul was nowhere to be found. I didn’t question it. I ran.
People were already fleeing down the hallway half-naked with phantoms barreling after them. A set of bone fangs sank into one poor man’s leg, and the much younger woman beside him screamed in terror as blood spilled onto the carpet. I froze for a helpless second before setting my resolve and heading for the stairwell.
I had to find my uncle.
I darted down the first flight of stairs with some of the other hotel patrons. Some were clumsier than others. I had to grip the railing when someone behind me tripped and stumbled to avoid being taken down the steps with him.
The man groaned in pain on the landing. “Are you okay?” I asked, lifting him to his feet. “Come on, we gotta go!”
But we’d gotten only three steps down the next flight when the top half of the staircase exploded beneath us, launching me forward. I could just barely register the screams through the sharp ringing in my ears before I slammed into the far wall.
One side of me was numb. Shakily, I shifted onto my knees, shutting my right eye to keep out the blood dripping down my forehead.
“What . . . what’s happening?” I mumbled as I felt around for something to hold on to. Everything was dull and hazy, sounds, sights. My sweaty hands slipped across a windowpane, my fingers tracing the cracks from the explosion.
“Let me help you.”
Saul.
Grabbing my neck, he lifted me and shoved me against the full-length window. His other hand sealed off my screams. With wide eyes, I stared at the carnage behind him, at the people crying in the staircase as phantoms sawed through flesh. It was too much. I turned my head, my cheek pressed against the window’s stinging cold. But I could still hear them screaming.
“Tell me your name.”
So much screaming. I trembled in his grip, my whimpers muffled.
Saul sighed. “I thought you’d remember me on the balcony, but you’re still hiding, aren’t you, Marian?”
“P-please,” I said once he released his hand. “Please let me go—”
“Tell me your name.”
“Maia!” The word echoed in the hallway. “My name is Maia!”
He tilted his head as I dissolved into a crying mess. “You really are just going to keep hiding inside this girl, aren’t you, Marian? After all this time, you still don’t want to see me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice broke. Tears streamed down my cheeks. “You’ve got the wrong person.” Why wouldn’t he believe me?
“I think not. I can understand, Marian, why you wouldn’t want to speak to me. But what about him?” Carefully, Saul tapped his temple. “He’s in here as well. Screaming for you. You’re going to ignore him, too?”
“Let me go.” I struggled against his grip. “This is insane! Please, just let me go!”
Saul pressed my head against the window so hard I thoug
ht my skull would cave in. My blood thumped painfully against my brain, my head screaming in agony for relief. I just wanted it to stop.
“Yes . . . maybe he can jog your memory. All this time, all he’s ever wanted was to hear you whisper his name again.” Saul’s eyes twinkled with the malicious curiosity of a boy about to pull the wings off a fly. “And to kiss you again.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as he leaned in, but the moment he pressed his lips against mine, my eyes snapped back open.
The pain was gone. I couldn’t see Saul at all. Scenes flashed one after another, faces and figures streaming in and out of view, but I couldn’t hold on to one image. Was this what they meant by seeing your life flash before your eyes? Maybe he’d really killed me.
Then I saw the shallow stream.
Yes, a stream, white as pearl. Mist stretched out all around me as far as I could see, and through the mist, a few feet in front of me—a red door. There was a red door, a set of them blowing open with the rush of wind.
It wasn’t long before my head started burning. It was hot, too hot. Images, moments, and memories blazed past like breaths of fire. None of them mine.
And then suddenly I was in a drawing room. My head wasn’t burning anymore, so I could focus on everything around me—the quaintness and simplicity. I breathed in. The old curtains veiling the windows gave the air a musty smell. The floor was polished, but the dark ottomans near the eggshell sofas looked almost vintage. There was a sewing table tucked to the side, and a bust of a man’s head placed near the fireplace, but it was the wooden writing desk by the center window that drew my attention. At the desk, a girl rested her head atop a pile of books, her arms cushioning her face. Her Rapunzel-gold hair draped over her chair behind her, twisting in knots as it stretched toward the floor.
But there was something off about the room, about the girl. She wore a plain-cut white nightgown with long sleeves and cuffs. The lace frills of her high collar curled up her neck. An old-fashioned look for such a young woman. Old portraits hung on the walls, portraits of people in clothes nobody would have worn in at least a century. Off in the corner ticked a grandfather clock laden with white, embroidered draperies.
The girl raised her head and turned, her pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked . . . at me.
“Ah, Marian, you came.” Her lips twisted into a conspiratorial smile. “Good. I have something to show you.”
Alice, whispered a voice buried deep in my mind. The memory was drawing me in, away from my own body and into the room, into this other reality.
“No, stop!” Shutting her eyes, I shook myself free, sending my consciousness spiraling back down into the stairwell. When I pried my eyes open, I was back in Saul’s grip. “Get away from me,” I shrieked. “Stop it! Leave me alone!”
“Guess it’s no use.” Saul tsked. “Marian, poupée, this new body of yours . . . I hate her.” And then he leaned in, his breath hot against my lips. “Hurry up and find a new one.”
He punched the glass. The window shattered around me, glass cascading over my head, slicing skin. Before I could register his fingers leaving my neck, he pushed me out.
I WAS FALLING. FALLING THROUGH the dead of night. Falling twenty-three stories to certain death.
Wind whistled past my ears. My head throbbed from the pressure, limbs flailing uselessly above me. My shoe slipped off. Then the other. My mind was blank. All I could see was night and red bricks—red and black and stars and Saul’s smiling face disappearing into darkness.
I was going to die.
I stopped breathing. I was going to die. I was going to die. That sole thought thrashed against my chest, pulverizing me from the inside. I was going to die. Here and now.
Die . . .
Just like that, my mind went blank. A swell of power shattered through me from my core, through my insides to my fingertips. Flames swallowed me, but I could feel some of the flickers hardening and cooling, forging themselves in my hand. My fingers twitched from the sensation of smooth iron against my palm. I closed them and found a pole there, surging with a terrifying power. The fire dissipated, and I could see it clearly: the smooth pole of a scythe clutched tightly in my hand. The symbol of death. Its massive sickle caught the moon’s light.
The power of it pulled me apart from the inside. I could feel each little gasp of life slipping out of me. But there wasn’t enough time to think it through, to hesitate. I plunged the edge into the brick wall. The blade crashed through brick, sending debris exploding out from every direction as it slowed my fall.
It was insane. Everything was insane. But apparently I was still alive. I finally let myself inhale, sucking in a violent gasp as I dangled one story up, alone in the filthy alleyway.
Not alone.
I could hear someone yell something beneath me. A man. He was yelling, freaking out. Because of me? Because of what he’d just seen? Did he see me? I couldn’t tell. The air was heavy with terror. Once the ringing in my ears stopped, I could hear it all so clearly: the screaming, the War Siren, and the thundering explosions from inside the building.
Chaos.
“What the hell are you?” yelled the young man in the alleyway, but I couldn’t answer. I had nothing left. The power in me fizzled. My eyelids fluttered. My fingers slackened their grip. The scythe dissipated into the air, and I fell the rest of the way down.
• • •
“Maia? Maia?” It was fuzzy at first, but the voice grew stronger, breaking through the thick fog in my head.
“Uncle . . . Nathan?”
Thank god. Uncle Nathan was staring back at me, fear graying his face to a pallid color. I wanted to smile, but all I did was blink at him, dazed. I only just barely registered the pain stinging my scraped hands, my aching back, and the rubble clinging to my legs. It was a miracle I could still move.
“Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
I . . . I didn’t know. I could remember Saul pushing me and the street slamming into my bones. But everything in between was dark.
Why?
Even an Effigy couldn’t survive falling from that height. How had I? I pressed my hands against my forehead. I couldn’t remember.
“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” He dragged me to my feet. “We’ll get to a shelter. There should be one nearby.”
The drumbeat pounding against my skull worsened the more I tried to move my feet, but I kept going, out of the alleyway, into the street turned bedlam by terror.
“Uncle Nathan—”
“Get in!”
Before I could gather my wits, he’d already pulled me into an abandoned luxury car, its doors wide-open. Shutting them, I peered out the window. A smoky black swarm rushed toward us from down the street, swallowing up everything in its path.
“Just what the hell is going on around here?” Uncle Nathan scrambled to the front seat of the car. With deft fingers, he started typing into the interface just below the vents.
Electromagnetic armor. Thank god Uncle Nathan had found a rich-person car to hide in.
“Do you even know the code?”
“I can bypass the security system and input my own key.”
“Okay, just hurry!”
Uncle Nathan typed at lightning speed. Finally—
“EMA activated,” came a soothing female voice from the speakers.
“The windows!” I cried. There were two still open.
Swearing, Uncle Nathan rolled them up, the glass shutting against the metal ridge just as a black swarm of phantoms swallowed the car. I cowered in the passenger seat, watching the swarm as it flew by my window. Black wasps. I knew phantoms could take on the appearance of different beasts, but I’d never heard of this before. They shot past, some buzzing too close to the car before being incinerated by the electromagnetic field.
“What happened inside the hotel?” I had to scream over the whir of the EMA.
“Phantoms.” Uncle Nathan’s breaths came in choppy intervals. “Phantoms attacked.
But how? We just got the damn Needle running. How did it—how could it glitch again?”
His bloodshot eyes glazed as he tried to work it out in his brain.
Another swarm arrived. This time, the force of their collision with the magnetic field pushed the car back. The tires skidded against the street, crashing into the police car behind it, throwing me off the seat.
By the time I climbed back up, the black swarm had dissipated, the last wasps slipping down the street. People were screaming. People were dead. I could see the mangled bodies staining the pavement.
No. I couldn’t let this go on.
I opened the door.
“Don’t even think about it!”
“I have to do something!”
Because I couldn’t cut the image of their corpses out of my brain.
Because I was an Effigy.
“Do something? Are you insane? Don’t be stupid. The police are handling it!”
Just as he said, they surrounded the front steps of La Charte, taking cover behind the body-size shields they’d used to protect themselves against the swarm. More still were pouring out of the building, stepping over the debris, carrying the injured hotel patrons, who clutched at their SWAT vests.
But people were still inside. Belle was still inside. And Rhys. And Howard. With Saul. I couldn’t stay here.
“I can’t—I’m sorry.” I leapt out of the car.
“Maia?!”
“Stay here!”
I ran up the steps.
“Hey!” A SWAT officer tried to hold me back, but I slipped out of his grip.
Belle was wrong. Fight or don’t fight. Belle said it didn’t matter what I did, but I was like her now, like Rhys, like the police ushering people to safety. I could do something. I had to do something. I had to.
As I leapt up the steps, I tried to remember it: Saul pushing me out the window. Me landing in the alleyway. What was missing? My insides felt dry and twisted like a rotted plant, aching for something it’d lost. But I’d have to set it aside if I was going to have any chance of surviving inside the hotel.
Fate of Flames Page 6