Fate of Flames

by Sarah Raughley

  London headquarters: as in the headquarters for the Sect’s European Division.

  “Why?”

  “Wouldn’t say.”

  Maybe John had a point about that whole transparency part of his rant.

  I squeezed the pillow against my chest. “Is it even safe?”

  “Don’t worry.” Chae Rin dug out a can of beer. “They probably froze him up in carbonite or something. They better have his ass on lock after all the crap we went through catching him.”

  As Chae Rin checked the beer brand, I cleared my throat. “Aren’t you . . . underage?”

  Chae Rin raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Seriously? After I nearly died in battle? Well, aren’t you a good girl.” She took a swig. “Wonder how long they’re gonna keep us here.”

  “I don’t know. They told me I couldn’t even contact my uncle.” Suddenly restless, I buried myself back into the world of my laptop.

  The Doll Soldiers forum was in utter chaos with threads being created and locked every other second. I’d steadily avoided all the ones about me, but there was one thread, freshly created, that I couldn’t ignore: Victoria Fail-yinka’s Mission Flop in Buenos Aires.

  My stomach sank. The thread had footage of Lake cowering in our van as we chased Saul through the streets of the city, courtesy of the helicopter that’d been chasing us.

  [+980, - 318] I cannot with this dumb bitch wtf why is she even an Effigy? SMH

  [+912, - 310] Flop singer, flop Effigy

  “What’s that?” Chae Rin leaned in. “Wow. Rough.”

  Yeah, especially since apparently nobody had gotten the footage of Lake running up a freaking building to save me from splatting all over the street. Thankfully, Lake’s Swans refused to stay silent.

  [+ 589, - 299] Sorry not everyone is a f*ing warrior princess but what the f does it even matter? She’s not even a fully trained Effigy but she still did her best STFU.

  [+ 598, - 256] Lol oh look it’s the armchair brigade gracing the internet with opinions no one asked for on shit they know NOTHING about. Have YOU ever been in a battle for your life against phantoms? No? THEN STFU

  [+ 501, - 273] Wtf is everyone’s deal? What is with this bare-bones, commercialized, overly simplistic faux-feminist perception of gurl power? Like a girl has to be able to murder giants without batting an eye before anyone can see her as strong?

  The thread was an utter war zone. But then, not too long ago, I would have been a part of it, ignorantly and arrogantly slinging mud with the rest of Lake’s attackers.

  “Ooh, someone linked a video!” Chae Rin clicked it before I could stop her. That grating assemblage of noises was the debut song of Girls by Day, a tween girl group formed in the bowels of British reality TV and cynically marketed to the Disney crowd. Lake was never the strongest vocally, but at the tender age of fourteen had already earned the title of the cutest. Unfortunately, her cuteness didn’t save her from her own nerves or the embarrassment of flubbing their first live performance as an official group.

  “What does this even have to do with anything?” I swallowed a spark of anger. “Ugh, why are people so—”

  “Terrible! God, she’s terrible,” laughed Chae Rin at the same time. Just as the door creaked open.

  Lake stood in the doorway carrying a box of donuts.

  “Oh.” Chae Rin promptly cleared her throat. A moment of silence passed before she shrugged. “Yes, we’re making fun of you, Sandy,” she said.

  “She is!” I clarified, pointing at Chae Rin. “Not me!” As if it made things better.

  “Oh, I remember that.” Lake giggled. “It was rubbish, wasn’t it? Watch me hit those high notes with all the subtlety of a drunken cat. Still, I looked good, yeah?”

  She set the donuts down on the table before jumping onto the bed next to us. “Anyway, don’t worry about all that,” she said as I centered myself atop the bouncing bed. “Online comments and that, I’m used to it. Even I could show you worse videos than this one.”

  I wondered if Lake had noticed the strain in her own laughter. A sudden, strange feeling started corroding my insides. I couldn’t put a name to it if I tried, but it wasn’t pleasant. And I couldn’t look Lake in the eye.

  A knock on the door and in came Belle, though not alone. I couldn’t believe my eyes when she stepped aside and a man and woman entered the room behind her. Though they were middle-aged, they shouldn’t have looked so old, so tired and worn; the kiss of youth must have left them the moment they’d heard their daughter committed suicide.

  The wife clung to her husband, her fair hair wrapped in a scarf brushing his thick beard as she buried her face in his neck. It was seeing me that started her waterworks. Tears fell from her clear blue eyes—Natalya’s eyes.

  Natalya’s father held his wife sturdily, his wrinkled hands gripping her around the waist. I turned to Belle wordlessly, because what could I say in the presence of Natalya’s parents?

  “Maria Filipova and Aleksei Filipov.” Belle gave her perfunctory introduction with the barest of emotion. “They came to see you, Maia.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Oh!” Natalya’s mother caught Belle by the sleeve. “Belle, please,” she said, her deep Russian accent fraught with desperation. “You too. Please, stay and talk with us. . . .”

  I never thought I’d see fear, so plain, in Belle’s eyes. It flickered for a moment, but left an unmistakable trace. Gently, she pulled her arm from the grieving mother’s grip and shut the door behind her.

  “That would be our cue too.” Chae Rin stood, pulling Lake with her.

  I wished she hadn’t. I focused on my pillow tight against my chest, flinching when the door shut softly, leaving me alone with Natalya’s parents.

  “We will not stay long,” Mrs. Filipova said. Natalya’s father only nodded. The collar of his lavender dress shirt lay perfectly over his vest, fully buttoned despite the hot weather. Even such a small detail reminded me of Natalya, who never let a strand of her hair out of place.

  “My husband, he struggles with English,” the woman said. “But we don’t have much to say.”

  Mrs. Filipova took in the sight of the girl whose picture she’d probably seen countless times since her worldwide media debut. I planted my feet on the ground, but I didn’t know whether to stand or to stay seated, to fold my arms or to keep them neat on my lap.

  “My daughter, she . . .” Mrs. Filipova’s breath hitched. The tears began budding again in her eyes, but she dotted them away. Her husband held her hand tight as if willing her to stay right by his side. “She believes—believed that every life is precious. She worked hard to fulfill her duty to protect. Noble and proud. That was the kind of woman she was.”

  And the kind of woman I had to live up to. “I’ll . . . try my best.” It was a promise devoid of courage.

  “I’m sure you will, but that is not why I am here.” Natalya’s mother began to shake. Her husband held her tighter. “Natalya told us once that even after death, she’ll remain in the next. Her memories . . . her feelings . . .”

  I knew what was coming next, and I wished to my bones that Natalya’s mother wouldn’t ask what she was clearly about to.

  “Natalya . . . They said she killed herself. But she would never . . .” Mrs. Filipova shook her head. “We hired lawyers, did our own investigations, but still everyone said it was suicide. I can’t—”

  “I don’t know.” My lips thinned into a trembling line. “I . . . haven’t seen Natalya’s memories,” I lied. “I don’t know how.”

  As Natalya’s mother began to cry, my world grew dim and pointless. I wanted to run away, as far from the grieving couple as I could, because I knew I couldn’t give them what they wanted. They’d lost someone they loved. All they wanted were answers. Turning to me was a desperate, last-ditch attempt. I could still vividly remember the pain of suffocation . . . but I just didn’t know if I could trust myself, trust the memory. Was Natalya really murdered? Or had she done it to herself? How accurate we
re memories, really?

  And if Natalya really was murdered, why would the Sect announce it as a suicide?

  At this point, until I was sure of anything, I knew it would just be plain irresponsible to tell Natalya’s parents about the memory. Especially now that they were so fragile. I had to make sure.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “No.” Natalya’s mother shook her head, untangling herself from her husband’s arms. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I had to try.” As she calmed herself with unsteady breaths, she reached into her beaten purse and pulled out a skeleton key attached to a thin string. “Please, take this.”

  I frowned. “What . . . what is it?” The stone key looked from another century. Though confused, I allowed Natalya’s mother to press it into my palm.

  “A week before she died, Natalya told me to give this to the next girl, should anything happen to her. I’m fulfilling that promise now.”

  I didn’t understand, but I thanked her anyway. With a sad bow of her head, Mrs. Filipova turned from me.

  “Sect.” Natalya’s father. A nasty sneer followed the word. “Don’t trust them.” He looked me square in the eyes as he said it.

  • • •

  After Natalya’s parents left, Sibyl summoned me to Belle’s suite. Everyone was waiting. Clad in yet another fabulous pantsuit, Sibyl had taken the sofa for herself. Cheryl stood behind her, her long ginger braid laid over her chest. Belle sat in one of the comfy chairs by the porcelain vase with Chae Rin and Lake on the opposite side of the table. And—

  “Rhys.” My heart calmed at the sight of him standing in front of the billowing curtains of the grand windows, his dark hair thick and tousled over his face. Under other circumstances, I might have made a snide comment about the geeky, thin suspenders holding up his jeans, but I couldn’t see past the bandages around his forehead: a souvenir from the battle, no doubt.

  It could have been worse.

  “How’s your head?” I hadn’t meant for it to come out so timidly.

  “Still attached to the rest of me.” His grin was infectious. I hated being gooey, but I couldn’t help but smile too, shuffling my feet awkwardly like an insecure kid as I brushed the thick curls from my face.

  “You two want to be alone when we’re done here?” Chae Rin slid her chair’s pillow out from under her. “Plenty of rooms.”

  “Maia.” Sibyl said my name loudly enough to signal an end to the conversation. “Sit. Please.”

  “Since you asked so nicely.” I took the chair next to Belle, whose disinterested gaze was fixed on a piece of art on the wall.

  “I’ve discussed it with the Council.” Sibyl crossed her legs.

  Congrats on a mission well-done, Maia! So grateful you nearly died several times so we could kidnap Saul! I knew better than to expect any of these things to pass from Sibyls lips, but it pissed me off nonetheless.

  “Maia,” Sibyl continued, “you’re to be taken to England. After your inaugural assessment with the Council, you’ll be taken to the London headquarters to begin your formal training—if you pass your assessment, that is.” Her frigid tone was like a gavel on wood.

  “Right,” I said lifelessly. Not like I hadn’t been expecting this.

  Chae Rin laughed. “Guess it’s your turn now, kid. But, ugh, that assessment thing is brutal. I seriously hate that Blackwell guy.”

  “You’ll be coming too, Chae Rin,” Sibyl clarified. “Each of you. You’ll be helping to train her.”

  “What?” Chae Rin’s back went straight as a board. “Why?”

  “It’s the Council’s decision.”

  “That’s informative,” I mumbled.

  “Um?” Lake raised a hand. “Doesn’t the Sect already have people that specifically train Effigies? Like, an instructor? Can’t you just get one for Maia?”

  Chae Rin nodded. “I remember my old instructor. Knocked her out by accident once.”

  Sibyl leaned back into her sofa. “I agree with their decision. You each have experience. Share it. Train her. And while you’re training her, you’ll be training yourselves, and maybe even one another.”

  Lake lurched, silent like the rest. Sibyl’s tone made it clear that this was not a debate.

  “You’re not telling us everything, are you?” Plucking a rose from the vase next to her, Belle considered it as she spoke. “The reason you want us together . . . you’re planning something.”

  “If this is a plan, then you’re one of the most important factors.” The shade from the wide brim of Sibyl’s hat cast shadows over her eyes. “You’ll be teaching Maia how to scry.”

  Belle bent the rose stem with her grip. And Rhys: Though he’d been listening calmly, at the sound of the word “scry,” he took a jerky step forward, forgetting himself.

  “Scry?” I asked.

  “You’ve been doing it already.” Cheryl spoke this time. “Seeing into the memories of the other Effigies. Like Natalya’s, I’m sure.”

  Rhys froze. “Natalya?” Slowly, he looked at me, his lips open in a part. “You’ve been . . . you’ve been seeing Natalya? Already?”

  “Just bits and pieces of her memories.” I turned away. “N-nothing . . . serious.”

  “If you’re trained you’ll be able to do it more consistently,” Cheryl said. “The memories will come more clearly and, what’s more, you’ll be able to control the process, perhaps even target specific Effigies in your line. I gather you’ll experience less pain, too.”

  Rhys’s face darkened. “Agent Langley,” he said quietly. “What are you planning?”

  Sibyl gestured toward Cheryl, who promptly produced from her bag the same inoculation pen I’d jammed into Saul’s neck.

  “Maia.” Sibyl regarded the device in her hands. “Do you know what fuels an Effigy’s power?”

  “Cylithium,” Lake answered before I could even wrap my mind around the question. “What?” she added, once again, when she found me and Chae Rin staring at her.

  “What sets an Effigy apart from the rest of us is the presence of a rare chemical element,” Cheryl explained. “The Sect first discovered its existence in the fifties during the Cambridge Experiments. It’s found in a chemical by-product formed in your pituitary.”

  I nodded as if I understood, but I doubted I was convincing anyone.

  “Back at the bookstore, you inoculated Saul with enzymes designed to disrupt the chemical’s formation. It worked. For a time, Saul couldn’t use his abilities.”

  “So what you’re saying”—my fingers fastened together in a vise grip—“is that Saul is an Effigy.”

  The room went quiet.

  “Possibly,” Sibyl answered. “Of course, cylithium is also an element commonly found in the remains of phantoms.”

  I gripped the armrests on either side of me. A fifth Effigy? A phantom? What the hell was he?

  “I know it’s confusing. That’s why we need you,” Sibyl said. “We know Saul’s connection to an undocumented Effigy named Marian. We know he visits the grave of a man who died in the nineteenth century.”

  “Decades.” I recalled Saul’s taunting. “Back in the bookstore, he said he’s had decades to read books. But the guy looks like a college undergrad.”

  “Vampire?” Chae Rin shrugged, skillfully avoiding Sibyl’s sharp glare.

  “That’s why, with Belle’s help, Maia, you’ll learn all you can about Marian. Peer into her memories. We might find Saul there. This is not a democratic decision,” she added the second Rhys opened his mouth to speak. I could see his hands tighten into fists.

  My hand found the skeleton key I’d hidden underneath my blouse. Learning how to scry meant I’d also have the opportunity to delve deeper into Natalya’s life.

  And, more important, her death.

  If Natalya really had been murdered, then who had killed her? And why? When I closed my eyes, I could still see Natalya’s hand reaching for the loafers of a man who had simply stood by and watched her die. Natalya’s parents so desperately wanted an
swers.

  So did I.

  Did the Sect have them?

  I watched Sibyl tap her perfectly manicured nails against her knee. Then the tapping stopped. “Is there something else, Maia?”

  I could just tell her. I’d told them about the other memories. But I couldn’t forget Mr. Filipov’s bitter face before telling me not to trust the Sect. I already tried denying it. It was easier to. But in my heart, I knew. In that excruciating, heartbreaking moment, Natalya hadn’t wanted to die. She hadn’t been expecting it, and she’d fought so hard against it.

  Just a few days ago, the Sect had confidently told the world about Natalya’s suicide. The Sect . . . How much did I really know about them?

  “Well?” Sibyl asked again.

  I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form. “No,” I said at last. I shrank back, taking my secrets with me. “Nothing.”

  I had time to figure things out. For now, I would do as I was told.

  Not like I had much of a choice.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m in.”

  It relieved me to see the other girls nodding as well, to have them with me as I took the elevator down to the lobby overcrowded with reporters.

  At the very least, I wouldn’t be alone. It was a comforting thought.

  Steeling myself for the mission to come, I drew in a breath and dove blindly into the dizzying, flashing lights.

  PART TWO

  There have always been dolls

  as long as there have been people.

  In the trash heaps and abandoned temples,

  the dolls pile up;

  the sea is filling with them.

  What causes them?

  Or are they gods, causeless,

  something to talk to

  when you have to talk,

  something to throw against the wall?

  A doll is a witness

  who cannot die,

  with a doll you are never alone.

  —Margaret Atwood, “Five Poems for Dolls”

  “HANG ON, NO ONE CALLED the press?” Sliding off her shades, Lake glanced around Heathrow Airport, utterly scandalized. “No free publicity? I’m still working on that record, you know.”