Fate of Flames

by Sarah Raughley

  Chae Rin wheeled her suitcase with the energy of a sloth. “You sound chipper.”

  “Of course I am! I’m home!” Lifting her face, Lake breathed in the airport air. “Last time they locked me in some facility in Finland. It was awful! But this time I’m training right here in London! By the way, do you guys want to pop on over to my mum and dad’s for dinner tonight? We always have room for guests!”

  “Let’s get to the facility first before we start making dinner plans, okay?” Chae Rin rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “And what’s with you?”

  I felt Chae Rin’s sharp poke just as I finished listening to Uncle Nathan’s voice mail again. I answered her with an amicable enough smile, but the phone still trembled in my hands while I stuffed it back into my pocket. He was probably busy. I’d just have to try again later.

  The graying clouds threatened a sunless day. I was getting used to being picked up at airport terminals by Sect vans. I reached for the door handle.

  “Maia.” Belle stopped me. “You’ll be going with them.”

  Behind the van, agents waited by a small black car.

  “Hey, wait,” I said as they grabbed my go bag and threw it into the trunk. “Where exactly am I going?”

  “Cambridgeshire,” Belle replied, before shutting my door. The knowing faces of the other girls passed by my window as the driver took off down the crowded London streets.

  What the hell? Why did I have to spend an additional two hours cramped in a car while the other girls got to relax in the facility dorms? Sullen, I pressed my cheek up against the cold window, lazily watching Britain’s antiphantom nets threading through telephone poles along the inter-city highway.

  • • •

  The little town of Ely in Cambridgeshire hadn’t woken up yet. The agents drove me through the empty streets to a stunning cathedral rising from the flat land of the countryside, mired in the mist. It was a creepy kind of beautiful: Its stone towers and turrets seemed drawn out of a Gothic fairy tale, cold and forbidding beneath the dark gloom of the sky.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I stepped out of the car onto the cobbled road.

  “You’ll have to go inside on your own,” said the driver. “We’ll wait.”

  They probably wouldn’t make all this fuss about me being key to their investigations just to ambush and murder me later in some obscure British church. I’d just have to trust them.

  This wasn’t just some obscure church. The inside took my breath away. I walked the long stretch of its ghostly hall, each step reverberating off the stone and marble. I wasn’t particularly religious, so I couldn’t recognize the Christian references painted into the magnificent vaulted ceiling, but its beauty still wrung shivers from me. Ely Cathedral.

  I’d been too distracted by the interiors to notice that I wasn’t alone. This was a church, but there were only two worshippers beneath the octagonal stone lantern. One sat in the empty choir aisle, and the moment I saw his face clearly, my mouth dried.

  Vasily: the guy who’d left us to die in Quebec. The guy who’d taken a man’s finger with little more than a grin. It was him.

  That grin turned wicked the moment he saw me.

  Maybe this was an ambush.

  I stepped back. The other “worshipper” was a man I’d never seen before. Vasily’s partner? He sat in the presbytery in a chair at the high altar. Well, if he was about to spring an attack, he’d have to stand up, which worked in my favor because he looked way too comfortable sitting there with his long black hair curling in ringlets over his broad shoulders.

  His thick black brows arched in amusement as he peered at me through the flickering candle flame. “Maia Finley.” His voice was a booming, arrogant British baritone. “So you’ve finally come. Good.” He tilted his head. “Come closer.”

  “No, thanks.”

  I didn’t know what to make of him. He looked rich, what with the finely cut suit and the huge, fancy ring on his left middle finger. The ring’s silver engravings caught the light from the stained glass windows behind him, but maybe that was the point. He didn’t seem like the subtle type. As he sat there with his arms on the rests he looked almost like a riddling Sphinx, his wild mane of hair a headdress draped over his shoulders, his treacherous grin sharp as if cut into his face with a blade.

  Needless to say, I was ready to run in the other direction.

  With a soft chuckle, he closed his eyes. “Unfortunately, my dear girl, you have no choice.”

  A ghost breeze swept through the room, soft and cold against my bare skin.

  Reaching into his left sleeve, he pulled out a gold coin. “My name is Bartholomäus Blackwell,” he told me. “Representative of the seven houses that compose the Sect’s High Council. Consider this the beginning of your inaugural assessment.”

  Assessment. Sibyl had mentioned it in Argentina, but this wasn’t exactly what I’d been expecting.

  I kept still.

  “Do you know this cathedral, Maia?” He swept his hand over the presbytery. “In the late nineteenth century, when the Sect was formed, this was the original meeting place of the founders. They gather here still . . . that is, when it comes time to meet the new Effigies.”

  Perhaps ghosts really did live in the old walls; I could hear soft chattering in them.

  “I don’t like the look of her.”

  I spun around.

  “She hasn’t any confidence, really. Look at her. It’s troubling.”

  I checked the arches, the pillars, but I couldn’t find a source. Mumbling voices with different accents surrounded me—some older, some younger, some male, some female, all faceless.

  My blood ran cold in my veins, but I couldn’t take a single step to save my own life. My feet froze against the marble floor.

  “The file says she’s sixteen.”

  “Natalya was much younger when she was called to duty.”

  “The younger they’re called, the more potential they have—isn’t that the case?”

  The last voice, old and sniveling, let out a series of hacks that reverberated throughout the hall. The voices surrounded me. Taking another step back, I wrapped my arms around my chest.

  “Don’t be scared, love.” Blackwell pointed to the arches. “Cameras. They can see you.”

  But I couldn’t see them—the Council. How nice of them to hide, leaving me exposed in a den of strangers.

  “The members of the Council are secret, you see, for their own protection. That, of course, is why they need me to act as their representative. I am the face of the Sect.” Blackwell cheesily stroked his chin without a hint of shame. “But don’t worry. All Effigies must go through an assessment before the Council can sanction their official training. It’s tradition.” He flipped his coin, catching it between his fingers. “We’ll ask just a few questions. That’s all we’ll need to figure out what to do with you.”

  I eyed Vasily by the choir aisle. “What . . . to do with me?”

  Blackwell stretched out his hand and Vasily came to him. Gingerly, he placed a thin, black book in Blackwell’s hand. “It was 1957. Jasper, Texas: the little town that Mary Lou Russell called home.”

  My stomach lurched at the sound of her name.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of her. Quite an infamous Effigy, not in the least because of the blow she’d dealt to the image of the Sect. It didn’t start out that way, of course.” He didn’t have to explain but continued anyway. “Quite the opposite. She had the most beautiful blond hair. Magnificent blue eyes. The first ever Effigy born in America. You could say she was the first to bridge the gap between duty and celebrity. A very beautiful girl, right, Vasily?”

  Vasily answered Blackwell by leaning against the side of his extravagant chair.

  “Perhaps that was why nobody wanted to believe, at first, that she’d been using her talents to help her father and brother burn down churches and schools on the other side of town.”

  I bent over, my breaths weighted by the sudden realization that the
girl was inside me somewhere: Mary Lou Russell, the beautiful fifteen-year-old Effigy raised by white supremacists. She was in me. I couldn’t put words to the horror of it.

  “An embarrassment,” cried a voice, male, high and shrill. “The horrid child called the press and announced she wouldn’t stop killing until she’d cleansed her country.”

  “A very dark day for the Sect. It was exactly what detractors needed to bolster their narrative of the Sect as a neo-imperial threat.”

  “Utterly ridiculous.”

  I could imagine the Council nodding from the comfort of their shadowy offices while they watched me sweat and squirm from their monitors. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Blackwell gave me a sidelong look. “Each Effigy we indoctrinate is a potential liability. This isn’t a personal bias; it’s reality. With that in mind, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “To see if I’m a potential liability?”

  “The Council simply wishes to get to you know a little bit better, my dear.”

  “And if I check off all the wrong boxes?”

  Blackwell lifted the bound bookmark from between the pages of his book. “Well, of course, then we may have to cut our losses and start anew.”

  Funny, the stone walls hadn’t seemed this close when I’d walked in. A chill ran up my bare legs, wrenching a shiver from my core.

  “Maia Finley: age sixteen. Born in Buffalo, New York. But not alone.” I bit the inside of my cheek as he flipped a page. “Father from Buffalo and mother from Kingston—ah, my most beloved of island parishes.”

  “Does any of this really matter?”

  “No, love,” Blackwell answered. “What matters is that they all died in a house fire last year.”

  All my bones locked into place. Something painful and heavy slid down my throat, but my mind was too blank to figure out what it was.

  “David Finley, Samantha Finley, June Finley—your twin sister.” Blackwell’s voice tainted each name. “April of last year, faulty wiring started a fire in your home in Buffalo. . . .”

  No. I couldn’t feel my arms. “Please stop.”

  “—you had snuck out in the dead of night after fighting with your sister—”

  “Stop!” My desperate cry reverberated across the hollow ceiling. A thousand Maias screaming.

  Blackwell shut his book, placing it delicately atop his lap. “According to police reports.”

  “So what?” I concentrated so hard on the carvings on the floor, though I couldn’t really see them at all. “You gonna tell me my favorite color? Or the brand of my underwear?”

  “So disrespectful,” sniveled one of the voices.

  “Well, yes,” said another, “but Belle was much worse, wasn’t she?”

  “The Council is concerned,” said Blackwell, “that such a tragedy may eventually manifest itself in unsettling ways.”

  “You think I’m going to go crazy?” I felt sick. Enraged. My face burned in anger.

  “Being an Effigy is not some gift,” rasped an old woman from beyond the walls, as if I would ever see it that way. “We want to hear from your own lips, Maia Finley. Why should we trust you?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. It was the truth. But, as expected, it wasn’t good enough.

  “What of your skills?” The man sniffed so loudly I imagined his hairy nostrils vibrating from the inhale. “Terrae Ensis. Aquae Ensis. Ventus Ensis. You, my dear, are the Ignis Ensis: the Sword of Fire. However, according to the reports so far, you have yet to engage in any conscious form of elemental creation or manipulation.”

  “It’s also troubling to think you were able to unknowingly summon a weapon in a moment of turmoil,” said another faceless man. “Such instability could have easily turned deadly in other circumstances.”

  “Tell me, Maia, why should we trust you?”

  “Why should we allow you to be the focal point in such an important investigation when your psychological stability may be in doubt?”

  “After such a horrible tragedy.”

  “Why should mankind put their faith in you, as an Effigy—”

  “How the hell should I know?” I squeezed my hands so tightly I thought they may draw blood. “You assholes are acting like I asked for any of this, acting tough while hiding your damn faces! And you call this glorified hazing an assessment! Tradition? Screw all of you!”

  I gasped. My vision blurred. The cathedral fizzled and spun around me, and for one fleeting second I could see Natalya. Tall and willowy, the fallen soldier stood before me, reaching out to me, mouthing a name I couldn’t hear. But with a blink, she was gone.

  Gripping my throbbing head, I fell to my knees, my body burning from the inside. I didn’t want to cry, not now when there were a bunch of cowards waiting for an excuse to dismiss me as a defective product so they could melt me down for parts. But the tears budded anyway.

  “Leave her.” It was voice I hadn’t heard yet—young, elegant, and feminine. The woman spoke softly. “She’s young, and she’s already done so well. Let her prove herself. Every Effigy should be allowed to have that chance.”

  The voice was the air my chest had been aching for. I drew in a sharp breath, my shoulders loosening.

  Blackwell’s laughter broke the silence.

  “Very well, then,” said a member of the Council. “Blackwell, bring the book.”

  It was Vasily who moved, reaching across the altar behind him. The tome had remained hidden behind Blackwell, but now, as Vasily handed it to him, the magnificent leather-bound book held my gaze. Blackwell’s grip buckled slightly under its weight.

  “The Sect is an organization of millions.” Blackwell rose to his feet. He was much taller than he’d originally looked, his rigid back giving him a sense of majesty. “Warriors, scientists, even businessmen. Each member of our Order has sworn to protect its aims.” He took the steps one by one, his eyes never leaving me. “And you, Maia . . . you are an Effigy. Sworn to protect mankind. And so you must swear to us.”

  I was still on my knees when Blackwell stopped in front of me.

  “One knee,” he told me.

  Both of mine were on the floor. Kneeling while Blackwell loomed above me stripped me of confidence in ways I hadn’t thought possible. I felt small. Powerless. And that was probably the point. But here, with the Council watching, I didn’t have a choice. I had to comply.

  Begrudgingly, I lifted my right knee.

  “Good,” Blackwell said. “This codex is the Sect. It is our history, our present, our future. It contains our rules, our goals. And now you must swear on it.” He stretched out his arms. “That you will be loyal to us. To the Sect. That you will protect this organization as passionately and as dutifully as you will protect mankind. Swear yourself to us, Maia Finley, Effigy of Fire.”

  I placed my hand on the book. I was shaking. “I—I s-swear.”

  It was quiet, feeble. Certainly not the kind of response to engender confidence in the Council members watching, but apparently, it was enough. Blackwell withdrew the codex.

  “Maia Finley,” said a member of the Council. “We give you leave to proceed with your duties as an Effigy. But you’ll be monitored closely.”

  “We also hereby require that you undergo monthly psychological assessments in order to be assured of your continuing ability to perform to the utmost of your abilities.”

  Monthly assessments. Well, I already had about a year of therapy under my belt. It was certainly better than the nuclear option they were originally itching for.

  I rose to my feet, my legs numb. “Is that it? Is . . . is there anything else?”

  Blackwell grinned as he turned from me. “You may go, little Maia Finley. You may go.”

  • • •

  It was raining outside. Of course it was. But my heart lifted when I saw Rhys waiting by the car under an umbrella.

  “I heard you’d already gone to Ely.” Droplets of water rolled off the tips of the umbrella and splashed at his feet. “Figured you
might want to see a familiar face.”

  At first I was surprised to hear he’d be coming to England to help me. Now I didn’t even want to imagine an alternate reality where he hadn’t. He met me halfway, grabbing my hand and drawing me under the umbrella with him. “Are you okay?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. Luckily, I didn’t have to.

  “Come on.” He reached for the car door.

  “Aidan Rhys. So we meet again.” Blackwell exited the cathedral with his elongated hands in his pockets. Vasily held a pearl-white umbrella over his head. “How’s your mother?”

  Rhys met the lighthearted greeting with a cold glare, colder still when it found Vasily.

  “Oh.” Blackwell looked from one to the other. “Oh yes, I heard there was some kind of misunderstanding between the two of you in Canada.”

  “You would have,” said Rhys, “since you were the one who sent him there in the first place.”

  “And why would you think that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You’re the only one he answers to.”

  Rain dribbled freely down Vasily’s cat grin. I felt Rhys’s rough hand snake around my wrist. He drew me closer.

  Blackwell laughed. “Yes, well, do forgive him for any mishaps. Vasily’s still a little rough around the edges, you see. You should know that better than anyone, having trained with him—Greenland, was it? Horrid place.”

  “Rhys,” I whispered, because his grip had tightened suddenly.

  “Don’t worry,” Blackwell continued. “The ring is already being processed at the London headquarters, along with the other one you confiscated in South America.”

  Rhys’s frown deepened. “What I want to know is how you knew about its existence when nobody else did. He had to have gotten the lead from somewhere, after all.”

  “Rhys!” I wrenched my sore wrist from his grip, rubbing it as he stared back at me. Judging from the look of slight shock on the face, he probably hadn’t even realized he was hurting me.

  “The poor girl has been through so much this morning.” Blackwell tilted his head in a suspect show of empathy. “Take her home, Aidan.”

  A white vintage luxury car was there waiting for the strange pair. I stepped aside, my hand going absently to Rhys’s chest as they passed. Surprised at myself, I quickly drew it away.