Fate of Flames

by Sarah Raughley

Sure enough, carnage was there waiting for me. The floor had been split in two, blood dripped off the remains of fallen columns and rubble filled up a crater where the fountain used to be. Bodies lay strewn about the floor, some still barely alive and quivering in the corners, while others were draped over what was left of the front desk.

  This is hell. I clutched my chest with a shaky hand. This is actually hell.

  Saul presided over it all, perched in the center of the vast lobby atop a serpent-like phantom that had to fold its massive body just to stay contained beneath the high ceiling.

  Time stopped as our eyes locked. He was smiling. The bastard had the audacity to smile at me while people lay dead on the floor. My blood curdled at the sight of the amusement carved into his face. Amusement, because I was still breathing. Or maybe because others weren’t.

  Hatred pulsed through me as I watched him hold out his hand. A dark mist filled his palm, crystallizing finally into a jagged black mask. I recognized the material.

  It was made from the bones of phantoms.

  The pictures. At this point I didn’t really need the confirmation. “It was you.”

  With a smile, Saul wordlessly slid the mask onto his face.

  Nick . . .

  I covered my ears, but the sound hadn’t come from anywhere else but within my own head. I’d heard the voice before . . . yes, only moments ago as Saul held me against the window. It had uttered the name with both fear and love, but did not speak again.

  I didn’t have time to figure it out. Saul and his phantom vanished in a storm of shadows, leaving death in their wake.

  “Help!”

  I heard the cry coming from the elevators. I ran toward the sound, careful not to step on bodies, careful not to look at bodies, as I maneuvered down the lobby. The moment I turned the corner, I jumped back. A woman crouched inside one of the elevators, her blond hair matted to her sweaty face, her broken glasses dangling askew from one ear. The cables whined as the elevator shuddered dangerously, but she was trapped—trapped behind the wall of fire that separated her from safety.

  I peered through the flames, deathly still.

  “Help me! Help me!” cried the woman, shrieking when the elevator shuddered.

  “I will.” I could barely even breathe the words. I stared at the flames and they stared back at me, mocking me, daring me to touch, to feel their heat and let it sear my skin. “This time, I will.”

  It was a promise to myself as I willed myself closer. But every time my muscles began to work, they’d shrink back again, keeping me locked into the same spot. Soon, I couldn’t see the elevator anymore, or the woman trapped inside, but my own house on fire and the charred brick hiding my family’s burning corpses from me.

  No, the elevator. The elevator!

  I lifted my hand. I was going to banish the flames. I was going to do it. I had to. I had to get rid of them! “I’m sorry,” I sobbed, breaking down. “I’m sorry!”

  “Please!” yelled the woman, but it was too late. The elevator finally gave out and tumbled down the shaft, taking the woman and her terror-filled screams with it.

  I was screaming too. Holding my head, I staggered back until I lost my footing and fell. Rolling onto my knees, I gripped my hair and tugged, but the pain wouldn’t give me the absolution I craved. If only I’d just die. I couldn’t think of anything else. Let a new girl take over. It wasn’t supposed to be me anyway!

  “Maia, what are you doing?”

  Rhys’s voice cut through the rattle thumping against my skull. Suddenly a rough hand was lifting me to my feet.

  “Maia, stop! Calm down!” He must have said it because by now I was completely incoherent, thrashing against him as he tried to hold me in place. “Calm down!”

  “I killed her! I killed her!” I was wailing, my body ready to crumble in his hands. “Just kill me!”

  With one swift movement, Rhys pulled me in, crushing me to his chest. The shock of it silenced my screams. I stared wide-eyed at the flames, my chest heaving against Rhys’s body.

  “Calm down. You have to calm down. It’s okay.”

  I didn’t believe him.

  “We have to go.” He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me off him. “Saul’s not done. He’s been spotted on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  I blinked, half-dazed. “What?” But I’d just seen him. . . . On foot, from here to the bridge was at least twenty minutes.

  “We need you. Come on!” Grabbing my hand, Rhys led me to the stairwell.

  • • •

  We were able to make our way up the seventeen flights of bloodstained stairs because the stairwell had been left mostly intact. It was only once we got to the eighteenth staircase, where Saul had attacked me, that we had to get creative.

  “I guess Belle came through here,” said Rhys. A ramp of ice now filled in for the part of the staircase that’d been destroyed. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  Once I did, he grabbed on to the railing and slowly inched up the icy path.

  I squeezed his neck and stared through the now-broken window, out of which Saul had thrown me. Screams and sirens, cars crashing, police shouting orders—the sounds of a besieged city seeped into the stairwell, suffocating me.

  “I can’t do this,” I whispered, my cheek pressed against his hair.

  “Everyone says that at first,” he whispered back.

  Soon, Rhys stepped onto solid floor and we continued up to the roof where Belle and Howard awaited us. Howard was far more damaged than Belle; his arm was a poorly bandaged bundle of red ribbons, and his left eye was swollen twice its regular size. And yet he was still standing, his body-size firearm still strapped stubbornly to his back. A black helicopter hovered overhead, its powerful gale rippling through our hair and clothes.

  “You’re coming with us,” said Belle over the din as the helicopter door opened and a woman in a Sect uniform threw out a rope ladder.

  I bit my lip but didn’t dare say a word in protest. Too terrified to remember I hated flying, I simply followed the rest of them up the ladder.

  “You need to tell us everything you know about that man,” said Belle as the helicopter took off, flying above the chaos toward the Brooklyn Bridge.

  “What?”

  “You knew his name.” Rhys sat beside me. “When he came in, you said his name.”

  “I met him at the benefit.” I thought of that handsome, well-dressed boy who’d shown me pictures of himself laying siege to various cities around the world with little more than a pleasant grin. I told them about it—about the pictures, about his obsession with Marian, whoever she was. As much as I could remember, I told them.

  “Marian . . .” Belle’s blond locks whipped across her face.

  Rhys looked up. “That name mean anything to you?”

  We all waited, hopeful, but Belle shook her head. “I . . . I’m not sure.”

  “Guys.” Clinging to a railing above him with his good hand, Howard gestured to the window.

  I stood as a fresh wave of terror ripped through me. Even from where we were I could hear the car horns shrieking into the night, see the people abandoning their vehicles altogether to slip through the stalled traffic and flee the Brooklyn Bridge on foot. A great serpent of smoke and flesh towered over them, caged by black bones already dripping in blood. Saul stood on its head with his hands in his pockets, his wicked beauty sheathed behind his dark mask.

  I shook my head. “This is too much.” My body teetered on the edge of passing out but never crossed that threshold into unconsciousness. It was almost cruel.

  “Howard,” said Rhys, “where are the reinforcements?”

  “Still about five minutes from the attack site.”

  “Damn it.” He pounded the wall with his fist.

  “What are you going to do, agent?” asked the helicopter’s pilot.

  “What the hell do you think I’m going to do? Do you see any of my damn equipment? You think I’m hiding it in my butt crack? I’ve got a bow tie on, for god�
�s sake!” He ripped it off. “Maia!”

  I jumped at the sound of my name. “What?”

  Rhys grabbed my shoulder harder than I’d have liked. “Are you sure that’s all you know about that guy? Saul? Isn’t there anything else? Anything we can use against him?”

  “I . . .” My mind went blank. “I don’t know.”

  My stomach clenched. Two cars dangled off the side of the bridge before finally plunging into the East River, taking too many people with them.

  Grabbing the railing above her, Belle stood, her gorgeous face vivid with fury. “This has gone on long enough.”

  At first I thought, terrified, that Belle’s anger was directed at me, but she aimed her steely glare instead at the bridge we were now hovering over. Once we’d gotten close enough, Belle turned to the pilot. “Open the door.”

  “What?” Rhys balked. “Are you insane?”

  “Do it! And, Rhys: Aim Howard’s gun at the mid-upper portion of the phantom’s torso. Don’t aim for his head. We don’t want to kill Saul. This is very important. At this point, the objective should be to bring him in for questioning.”

  “Understood,” said Howard without hesitation.

  “All right,” answered Rhys, far less enthusiastically.

  “I’ll make the opening.” Belle turned back to the door. “Don’t miss.”

  The door opened. I had to hold on to the railing to keep myself from being sucked out by the pressure. Belle stood at the threshold, one hand firm on the railing, hair whipping around her cold eyes as she watched Saul’s phantom press down its warpath below.

  “Belle.” My voice came out hollow, lips trembling from the syllable alone. “What are you going to do?”

  Belle answered by leaping out of the helicopter. I watched through the window as she flew down, her sword re-forming in her hands in a flurry of hail and snow just in time to swing at the phantom’s neck.

  “Watch out!” I screamed because the phantom had twisted its head just before the swing could hit. Its gaping mouth and jagged teeth awaited her, but Belle acted quickly. Before I could blink, there was a wall of ice wedged between its jaws.

  The moment Belle’s heels touched the surface, she skewered its face, its white, hollow eyes vivid with anger. Then, using her sword to launch herself up, she flipped over its head, landing in front of Saul. With one swift upstroke of her sword, she slashed his mask in half.

  I watched, awestruck, as the pieces fell, exposing his grinning face. I wanted so badly to see Belle slash it too, but she went for his chest instead.

  The sword sliced through air.

  Saul had already disappeared and reappeared at her side.

  “How the hell is he doing that?” Rhys took Howard’s gun out of its case and set it up on a tripod.

  For a split second, the two opponents just stared at each other, Saul meeting Belle’s murderous glare with that same acid grin I hated. Then the phantom’s massive body lurched. As if he knew what was coming next, Saul quickly grabbed one of the twisting, protruding bones sheathing the monster’s body and, before Belle could react, the phantom whipped around, throwing her off its head.

  “Belle!”

  But my yell drowned in the phantom’s deafening cry. Belle’s body rocketed through the air, but she managed to grab hold of the bridge’s cables, icing her hand to keep her fingers from slipping off. She was safe for now.

  “Rhys, hurry up!” barked Howard. Wincing, he grabbed his bandaged arm as Rhys locked the gun into the tripod and flicked a series of switches. The gun moaned, lights flashing red then blue then green as it charged. Rhys knelt, balancing part of the gun on his shoulder, closing one eye as he peered through the scope.

  At Saul’s urging, the phantom flung itself at the screaming masses below.

  “Rhys,” I shrieked, “do it!”

  Three swift clicks. Rhys aimed and fired, incinerating the top half of the phantom’s torso. He fired again, this time at its head as it tumbled down with Saul. The electrical stream vaporized the phantom’s skull before it could crash onto the bridge below, but Saul had vanished. He reappeared midair, slamming atop an abandoned truck. I was expecting a smoother getaway; the attack must have rattled him.

  “Good,” said Howard. “Now if we can just take him alive . . .”

  As Belle slid down the bridge’s cables, Saul struggled to his feet and raised his arms. A groundswell of black mist rose up from the river, toward the bridge and the already terrified mess of civilians struggling to hold on to what little life and sanity they had left. I covered my ears. This had to end. This had to end. I shut my eyes.

  More screams. I couldn’t take it. Grabbing the railing above me, I stood at the foot of the helicopter’s open door, my hair whipping around my face. “Nick!” I cried. “Stop!”

  What?

  But Saul stopped.

  My heart battered against my rib cage. Nick. Why “Nick”? Somehow, the name had been ready on my lips, slipping from them without hesitation as if I’d known it intimately.

  And then he was looking at me. Saul, his arms dangling at his sides, staring, just staring.

  “What just happened?” Rhys was looking at me too, as if expecting me to have some semblance of a clue. I didn’t. I didn’t know why Saul was gaping at me, suddenly lost, as if in that moment he’d changed into a different person. What mattered was that it was a distraction that gave Belle time.

  Without warning, Saul doubled over, grabbing his head just as Belle jumped from the roof of the van next to him. She readied herself for the takedown, but it was too late to catch him. Still clutching his head, Saul vanished, this time for good.

  RHYS CLICKED OFF HIS PHONE. “Maia, sorry, but we’ve got to go.”

  “Huh? Where?”

  He jogged up to the helicopter. It had been less than half an hour since we’d touched down in Brooklyn Bridge Park, staying out of the way while Howard got hauled off to the hospital and Belle helped with rescue operations on the bridge. For twenty minutes, I’d been waiting for something, anything to happen. As soon as Rhys spoke, I’d jumped to my feet, my eyes alert and my nerves shot to hell.

  “Are you taking me home?” I asked eagerly.

  Rhys hopped inside the helicopter, grabbing hold of the cabin railing to steady himself. “You’re still in school, right?”

  “What?”

  He lifted his phone. “One of my superiors just called: We’ve got to be at JFK Airport in ten minutes.”

  “What?” I shifted out of the way as he headed for the cockpit, but grabbed the back of his shirt before he could get too far. “Why? How come you’re not taking me home? For god’s sake, I don’t even have any damn shoes on!” Not even Effigy speed-healing could cure my feet at this point.

  Rhys’s eyes were sunken, his face sallow as he stared back at me. He looked as drained as I felt, but he managed a half smile anyway.

  “Looks like you just got your very first mission.” He patted my shoulder. “Better take your homework with you. And we’ll get you some shoes.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed his wrist this time, my feet cold against the metal floor. “My uncle. What about my uncle? He was at the benefit with me. . . .”

  Rhys hid his face, probably so I wouldn’t notice how grim his expression got. “Nathan Finley, right? Since he’s related to you, he’s in our database. Don’t worry, I’ll get some agents to confirm his whereabouts.”

  But I’m not making any promises. He’d all but said it. My hand loosened its grip and slipped back to my side.

  My lips pressed into a thin line. Since my cell phone was currently useless on top of my bedroom dresser, I couldn’t call to see if he was safe. But I’d left him in a car protected by electromagnetic armor. He was a smart guy; he’d stay inside. Or get behind the platoon of police officers with all the other rescued civilians. He had to be okay. I made myself believe it.

  We flew straight to the airport. I stepped barefoot onto the helipad at JFK in my battered peach dress, freezing, sore,
and barely cognizant of what was happening around me. For a hot second my eyes started rolling to the back of my head, my eyelids fluttering, and I could feel the warmth of my bedcovers snuggling me into sweet dreams.

  “Agent Rhys.”

  My eyes snapped open just as I started to sway on my feet. A young agent in black came up from behind us and handed Rhys a duffel bag. “Your go bag, sir.”

  “Ah, thanks, Phil.” He took it from him happily.

  That was when an agent approached me. “Ma’am,” he said, and shoved another duffel into my hands.

  I couldn’t believe what I found inside. “You were at my house. . . .”

  “I had them raid your closet.” Rhys flashed a wry smile as I rummaged through the clothes. “They got a few other things too, I think.”

  Sneakers! I put them on. My laptop. Not a scratch on it. And, thank god, my phone.

  “You were at my house.” I looked at the agent. “My uncle.”

  “What?”

  “My uncle! Was my uncle there? Is he okay? Did you find him?”

  “Nathan Finley? He’s okay,” answered Phil. Those two words made all the difference. My stomach flopped as if the gravity around me had suddenly changed. “He was outside the hotel with the other civilians, so it didn’t take us too long to confirm his safety.”

  Good, good. Sucking in a breath, I plucked my phone out of my bag, ready to dial.

  “Good, you’re all here.”

  Belle approached us from her own parked helicopter, her gorgeous dress veiled by a sleek black coat. Always fashionable even in the middle of a nightmare. Normally, I would have been gushing.

  “What’s going on?” I rounded on her instead. “Why did you guys bring me here? Why aren’t you taking me home?”

  Belle pulled down the silver scarf covering her lips. “While the city worked on getting the Needle back online, agents and police officers patrolled the boroughs.”

  “Was it—I mean, did everything go okay?” I instantly dreaded the answer.

  “Nobody else was hurt,” replied Belle. “There were no phantoms to hurt them. During the crisis, no other phantoms appeared. Anywhere in the city.”

  Belle wasn’t lying. The deadly serious look on her face ruled out the possibility. I clutched my bag tighter.