by Beth Cato
“Hope is a kind of gangrene!” Blum’s high laugh was aborted by the crunch of a brick on flesh. She keened, high-pitched, bestial. Ingrid and Cy rushed onward and didn’t glance back.
Chapter 24
“Maggie is alive.” It took Cy several minutes to manage the words. “She’s the gifted engineer that Roosevelt talked about, too. Lord help us. If anyone could create a flying citadel that would end the war, she could.”
“Her death must have been faked like yours was,” said Ingrid. Smoke billowed over them. Bricks and shattered wood crunched underfoot.
“Yes. Though I bet she did it willingly. In San Francisco, Father said he was grooming her to administer the company. She’d hate that. She needed to invent the way most folks need to eat. Oh, Maggie.” The agony in his voice broke Ingrid’s heart. She gripped his arm, and he looked her way. “I can’t dwell on this now. Distractions will kill us.” He took in a deep breath. “How are you feeling?”
“Like magic is the only thing that’s keeping me conscious and alive. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going, though. I should be dead.”
“Thank God I didn’t shoot you.” His voice was ragged.
“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve heard all day.”
His chuckle was dry, exhausted. “Quite the couple we make.”
“I think we’re a fine pair.”
“I don’t suppose you know where our friends the sylphs are about now? Soldiers are bound to have a perimeter established up ahead.”
“I can see.” Ingrid drew on the tingle of power in her skin. Blum’s foulness still lingered on her senses. “Damn it!”
“What?”
“Blum re-created a bond between us when she healed me. No wonder she is so nonchalant about our escape. Well, the sylphs can temporarily help us hide from her, too.”
“Right now, I imagine she has other things on her mind. Like bricks.”
“Maybe they can manage to knock her unconscious. I don’t know. I’m afraid to assume anything positive when it comes to Blum.”
Ingrid motioned for Cy to be quiet. She stretched out her magic in a way she had never done before, deploying her awareness like dandelion puffs scattered on a breeze. She intimately knew the sylphs’ distinct scent, their heat, and she let her awareness wander in search of it. It took a matter of seconds to get a feel for their presence. Her gaze shifted north.
“I found them. They really did stay close.” Even more, the eagerness of the sylphs flared at the caress of her power. They immediately began to fly toward her. She could have wept, but she couldn’t let down her guard, physically or emotionally.
Ingrid felt other entities nearby, too. Of the mundane and deadly variety. “Soldiers are moving in on us. We must hide, fast.”
“Here.” Cy left the street and clambered through a gutted building. Ingrid followed a mere step behind. Some of the interior wood walls still stood to almost ceiling level. Debris dust shifted like a cloud underfoot. They found an alcove in a corner. Part of the roof had dropped to form a makeshift ceiling. “Will this do?”
“Yes. It should only take the sylphs a few minutes to get here,” she whispered. She swiped a few scorched rocks aside to sit down, and was suddenly put in mind of how Fenris had labeled crates back in the skating rink. “Cy, I have an idea. I need your Tesla rod.”
He arched an eyebrow. “What are you . . . ?”
“I can’t feel any pain right now and soldiers are going to find and free Blum any minute. She might be hurt, but I’m not going to count her out. I need a more permanent ward against her.”
He blanched beneath the filth on his face. “You’re going to brand yourself.”
“It’s the only way. Her dark Reiki will heal a lot, but burn scars are about as permanent as you can get.” Ingrid tried to sound upbeat about it, even as her stomach clenched in a knot.
“How will you feel about yourself, with ‘inu’ permanently on your skin?” he asked, brow furrowed. “It won’t change how I feel about you or your body, but it’s not . . . it’s not a pleasant label.”
She managed a small nod. Logically, she understood the anvil-heavy weight of what it meant for someone of her skin color to bear a brand. To be permanently labeled a dog, even willingly, even if it kept her alive . . . no. The symbolism within that mark would sear too deep. The whole concept was repulsive beyond words.
“You’re right,” she said, voice thick. “We need to think beyond the old stories about kitsune versus dog. There must be other antagonists.”
Her thoughts traveled to the qilin and what it said to her: You possess the heat of potential, of the very force of the earth. She carried that heat and potential within her body right now.
“I will make myself into Blum’s antithesis. I’m powerful. Pele is more ancient and incredible than Blum could ever hope to be, and I’m her kin.” She nodded to Cy. “I’ll go with tsuchi.”
Earth. 土 Three strokes to write. Simple. Powerful unto itself. It was a positive character—literally, as it resembled a plus sign, and also a cross planted in the ground. The kanji was similar to that of the radical for samurai, too—for that, the upper horizontal stroke was longer.
She pushed back her coat and slashed skirt to bare the bloodstained bloomers on her uninjured leg. The activity of the evening had shredded her stockings, so it took almost no force to peel the cloth away to show the brown skin of her thigh.
Cy partially telescoped the rod and twisted it in a different way. The blue tip glowed. She swallowed dryly. By the time she could feel pain again, they had better be aloft in the Palmetto Bug.
“Do you want me to do this?” Cy asked softly. The voices of soldiers carried from nearby.
“I think there’ll be more power in me making the strokes. More . . . meaning. But if you can steady my hand, that might help.”
He sidled closer and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. The sorrow in his eyes caused her to blink back tears. He positioned her hands on the weapon, his fingers overlapping hers, and together they began the first stroke of the kanji.
There was something god-awfully abhorrent about burning her own body in such a way, even without the pain. She pressed as lightly as possible to leave a mark; her skin melted and scorched, brown turning to vivid pink and red. The smell was the stuff of nightmares, more primal nightmares than the ones of San Francisco she had repeated over the past week. Bile rose in her throat and she made herself swallow it down.
Cy’s strong grip kept her shaking hands steady. She made herself work past her own revulsion to the well of heat in her chest, embedding power into every stroke.
Earth. Tsuchi. A force more timeless than Blum, more resilient. Foxes lived in warrens, but Ingrid embodied the power that made that warren. Magic trickled in, hot and cold in her bared and burned tissue. She imagined the invisibility offered by the sprites, but rendered it through earth magic. To Blum, Ingrid’s essence was to be camouflaged like a wyrm in the dirt, like a clenched flower bud amid briars. It didn’t matter that Blum’s Reiki stained her; it was no longer a stain. It was bleached by Ingrid’s greater power.
She made certain it was the greater power, too. The strokes of the kanji were short, but she put everything she could into them. Ingrid shoved out the same sort of power she had used to knock down buildings in the ruins of San Francisco, except now she funneled that energy into herself.
This would work. It had to.
Heat burned and roiled as it poured through her hands and down the Tesla rod. The blue tip glowed brighter. Ingrid’s fever dissipated; she continued by pulling on her very life energy. If Blum caught her, she’d have no life, anyway. This had to work.
“Ingrid. Ingrid? Let go. It’s done.”
The kanji was complete in a matter of seconds, but in that time, Ingrid felt as if she had aged decades. Cy plucked the rod away and quickly shut it off. Ingrid’s hands seemed stuck in their curved grip, and her trembling grew to full-body convulsions.
“I hate he
r.” Her whisper rattled like the wind in an autumn oak tree. “I hate her for making me do this.”
Cy stroked loose hair from her face and cradled her close. “God Almighty, you’ve gone from a fever to freezing cold. What did you do to yourself?” His whisper was choked.
“I used the magic that I still held, and more. I had to. If I can’t prevent her from tracking me, I’m as good as dead.” She violently shivered.
“I can pull out more filled kermanite for you to draw from.”
“That might be a good idea, just to bring up my body temperature.”
Cy opened one of the bags at his waist. Ingrid accepted a pinch of kermanite and clenched her fist. The power filtered into her system, the warmth creating an especially intense shiver. She turned her hand to dump out the pulverized kermanite and her arm immediately fell limp to her lap.
“I have nothing left,” she whispered. She could shift her arms and legs a bit, but everything felt rubbery, as if her extremities weren’t fully part of her body.
What damage had Blum seen in Ingrid’s atrophied muscles, in her very nerves? Could the dark Reiki blunt some of this new deterioration that Ingrid had undoubtedly caused?
“Don’t worry about that now,” he said, though worry shone in his eyes. “I carried you through San Francisco. I can carry you out of Seattle. Here. I saved more cloth. Let me bandage your leg.”
The burn still didn’t hurt, and she didn’t even want to imagine how it would feel later.
Sylphs descended like fluttering lost stars, each one a tiny spark of heat. Ingrid assessed them. They were still tired, but the short rest had done them good.
“They can hide us for several blocks, not much more than that,” she whispered.
“Good. That’s all we need.”
The sylphs began to swirl around them as Cy helped Ingrid up. Their distinct magic slapped against Ingrid.
She staggered and leaned on Cy to make it through the rubble. Once they were in the street, he swept her up into his arms. The sylphs tightened their flight paths.
Dozens of soldiers marched along the street headed south, toward Blum. Another Durendal roared by. Cy and Ingrid remained utterly quiet as they reached the blockade past the dynamited firebreak. Scores of soldiers and police stood guard, as did dozens of citizens. Some still wore suits, while others clutched robes and nightgowns. Their gazes focused on the battle to the south, though fewer gunshots and explosions were ringing out now.
Cy dodged people, and they unknowingly dodged him in turn. A little boy in pajamas made airship noises as he wove between people’s legs. He looped around Cy while making putt-putt sounds like automated gunfire then switched back to replicating engine rumbles. Ingrid numbly stared at the boy, too tired to even feel renewed rage toward Mama and Mr. Sakaguchi.
Cy’s rhythmic walk lulled her. She hated that her weakness forced her to be such a burden to him, but at the same time, it was a relief to rest for the first time in hours. Her body, her mind, her spirit were utterly depleted.
The streets were almost vacant due to the curfew, though shadows shifted here and there as men dashed across the street. The clip-clops of approaching hooves echoed against buildings. It took another block for the wagon to fully come into view. A red cross emblazoned the side of the canvas cover.
“An answer to a prayer,” Cy murmured. He ducked into the deep shadows of a doorway. Refuse shifted underfoot. “The sylphs can go. We have our ride.”
The sylphs were almost as tired as Ingrid. This time, they weren’t resistant to the idea of rest at the Palmetto Bug. They departed as a small cloud.
“How are you doing, Ingrid?” he asked softly as the wagon rolled closer.
“It’s hard to keep my eyes open.”
“Then don’t keep them open. Your body needs to heal. Let it. You probably need to sleep three days straight and eat through the whole larder, and that’s fine and dandy.”
She snorted softly but her brain was so fuddled she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Cy emerged from the shadows, Ingrid in his arms, and dashed into the road.
“Thank God!” he called. “I have a woman here, badly injured.”
“Whoa!” The woman driver reined up. She wore a white nurse’s cap with a black outfit. “Where’d you come from? Police shoulda had you wait at the line for the other ambulance.”
“Shrapnel hit our building,” Cy said, not missing a beat. “I’ve walked along, but no taxis are about, with this curfew—”
“I’m supposed to be off duty, but I can get you to Seattle General—”
“Ma’am, beg your pardon, but I have a doctor up in Edmonds who’ll see her. She’s worked in my household and grew up with me, and I know for a fact that hospitals won’t treat a woman like her right.” He lied so easily, so fervently.
The woman grunted but she didn’t naysay him. “She looks like she’s in a bad way. Hop in. I can get you out of downtown.”
“I’m much obliged, ma’am.”
Cy’s politeness brought a faint smile to Ingrid’s face as her eyes closed and consciousness slipped away.
“Damn it, but you had me scared. Those sylphs arrived hours ago. They flew right up inside the Bug and claimed a top rack, like they own the place, and I’ve been waiting and waiting for any sign of you.”
Ingrid blearily jerked awake at the sound of Fenris’s voice. To her surprise, her head was resting against Cy’s chest as he carried her again. Had she really slept that deeply? A pink tint warmed the sky. It was morning?
“Hey.” Fenris leaned close to her. His voice and demeanor softened. “You know we just cleaned this airship top to bottom. Are you going to bleed on everything again?”
“Fenris . . .”
“Yeah, yeah.” Fenris backed off.
“Not bleeding anymore,” she slurred. Her head lolled so she could see Cy. “I slept all the way here?” More sleep sounded like a good idea, too.
A brisk wind billowed in her face. They stood at the top of a mooring mast. The view showed a variety of roofs, swirling birds, and plentiful airships at other masts. Crafts rumbled all around them.
“You did. Judging by how you slept, I’m guessing you still can’t feel pain?” asked Cy.
“Not yet, no.” The events of the night flooded through her brain. Lee, Mr. Sakaguchi, the submarines, Ambassador Blum. “No soldiers followed us?”
“Nary a sign of UP blue once we left downtown. Your sorcery seems like it successfully threw off the fox.” His smile was faint, his concern for her obvious.
“Is the Bug ready to go?” she asked.
Fenris stuffed his hands in his pockets. The wind tousled his short hair. “Yeah, but is this it? I mean . . . no Lee?”
“This is it,” Cy repeated softly. “I’ll tell you more later.”
“You don’t have to protect me,” Ingrid mumbled. “I was there, you know. Help me stand up. Your arms must feel like noodles after hauling me around again.”
Cy hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“That your arms are worn out? Yes. Now let me down.”
Her feet tapped on the steel grate of the mooring mast. Her body immediately sank. Cy hauled her close.
“I think you’re the one with udon for limbs,” he chided as he lifted her up again.
Ingrid remained quiet. Her legs hadn’t even tried to work. That was new. She just needed to rest for a few days, that was all. She was no spring chicken when it came to recovery from power sickness. The flight aboard the Bug would give her the time she needed, and Cy had assuredly stocked the larder in anticipation of her appetite.
They boarded. Cy settled her in her usual bunk. The vicinity still reeked of vinegar. Fenris prepared the ship for departure as Cy scurried around to gather supplies to thoroughly clean Ingrid’s injuries once they were in the air.
With the engine revving, Fenris returned. He leaned on the cabinets to stare down at her in the rack. “So, which way are we heading?”
“She still
needs a doctor, but we need more distance between us and Seattle.” Cy sat with his legs crossed in the hallway, his arm against hers. “Blum might not be able to track her now, but this city is a hive of soldiers, and it will be for a while yet.”
“Let’s fly to Portland,” Ingrid said. “We need to send news to Mr. Roosevelt, and he has several contacts there. Maybe he’ll even head north again because of everything that happened here tonight.”
Cy looked up at Fenris. “How much laudanum do we have?”
He waved away the question. “Lots. I can’t stand the stuff. Interferes with my focus. And my chest wound is healing just fine, thank you, so no one needs to nag me about that.”
“I’ll save my nagging for later, then. Do you need anything to eat now?” Cy asked Ingrid.
She shook her head. The movement made her feel dizzy. “No. I want to sleep more as soon as my wounds are clean.”
Cy clenched her hand. “Promise you’ll let me know when you’re ready for the laudanum?”
“Promise.”
Ingrid awoke screaming. Her legs were on fire. The vibrant pain shattered the world into black specks, her vision at pinpoint. Her full body ached and throbbed. Pain. Pain. Pain that would destroy the city, that would drown Lee and Mr. Sakaguchi in their submarine, that would bury Cy in a savage lahar—
“Ingrid! Ingrid!” Cy shouted. Broad hands gripped her shoulders and forced her down. “I’m here, calm down—”
“You have to shoot me, Cy! You have to! Don’t let Tacoma wake up, not because of me!”
“Ingrid, sweetheart, we’re not in Seattle anymore. We’re flying to Portland. The city wasn’t destroyed, just Chinatown, and that wasn’t your fault at all.” Her lungs roared with need for air. Her pulse pounded out a marathon as seconds ticked by. “Lie down. There, that’s it.”
She quivered as she settled down on the pillow again, reality slowly coming back to her. Seattle wasn’t destroyed. Blum had healed Ingrid to save the city—to save her own life. Maybe Lee and Mr. Sakaguchi were alive, too. Maybe. Where would the submarines have gone? Some remote island off the coast? She brought a hand to her face and found her skin soaked with sweat. Oh God, but her legs throbbed like buckets of hot coals, the right one worse; the bullet had blazed a path straight through her flesh.