A Shadow in the Flames (The New Aeneid Cycle)

by Michael G. Munz

  "Yeah, I suppose I might have a point." Shades seemed to consider the statement and then grinned. "Then again, I might not. I'm a little funny that way."

  Brian nodded, unsure of what to say and wondering just how sane Shades was. Was he just playing with him, or was he waiting for the right time to jump him?

  "If I may say so, though," Shades continued, "standing around chatting in dark alleys in general isn't something I'm terribly fond of. Care to join me inside, Brian? And then you can share why you've been following my happy little group."

  This was going easier than expected. Though the expression on Shades's waiting face was unreadable for the most part, his eyes appeared welcoming enough. And despite the absence of the foolish terror he had felt before, standing around in the back of the alley was still not something Brian cared to participate in. The floater would be safer, and being inside it would most likely give him a look at whatever cargo they had—information that might tell him of their connection with The Wraith. At the very least it would give him a better handle on asking about it.

  On the other hand, Shades had known he was following them. He must have recognized him from the bar. Perhaps this was a trap. The other two could be waiting in the vehicle. . .

  In a flash Brian realized he'd missed something.

  "How'd you know my name?"

  Shades smiled. "I'm good with names. Brian Savagewood, junior investigative reporter for our local Media Star Network if memory serves."

  Brian nodded, feeling both unease and pride that someone had noticed him. But Brian himself hadn't had any real exposure, and he definitely did not recognize Shades from the station. Who is this guy?

  "Don't be spooked," Shades said. "I'm just someone who keeps his eyes and ears open. And, as I said, I'm good with names." He put his hand forward and Brian almost brought up the taser before he realized he was offering a handshake. "Felix Hiatt."

  Brian switched the taser to his left hand, shook the strange man's hand silently, and then realized that he must look rather dumbfounded. "I'd give you my name," he found himself saying in a sudden effort to seem intelligent, "but. . ."

  "You could always make up a new name if it makes you feel any better," Felix suggested. Brian assumed he was kidding.

  "No thanks." Brian released the handshake. "My own works for now."

  "Refreshing. C'mon."

  With a wave of his hand he turned towards the vehicle. Brian followed and switched the taser back to his right hand to hold it inside his coat pocket, just in case.

  "By the way," Felix said as he neared the door, "you won't need that taser. But at the risk of being a cliché, next time you do need it I'd suggest taking the safety off." Brian felt for the switch inside his pocket. He swore under his breath and followed the odd man inside.

  As it turned out, Felix's two larger associates did not jump him when he entered the vehicle. They weren't even there—a fact that both comforted and, curiously, disappointed him. While it was much less complex this way, he had briefly amused himself with thoughts of getting out of such an ambush. The two could probably easily overpower him, but he would have enjoyed the chance to slyly talk his way out of the situation. No matter. Perhaps Shades would be more likely to let something slip, alone as he was.

  "So what exactly was back there, if you don't mind my asking?"

  "What?" Brian said, distracted. Felix had taken a seat in the front and was turned around to face him.

  "No offense, but you seemed a little spooked. At least that's how I've felt on a couple occasions that found me crouched behind a dumpster myself."

  "Oh, yeah. I was just, I don't know, a little— I thought I heard something and decided I'd better stop and see what it was. Must have been paying more attention to what was behind me than what was in front. I stumbled a bit before I settled in to wait for whoever it was." Brian glanced out the window. "I guess it was nothing, but there's some weirdoes around here. I was being careful."

  As he talked, Brian took in the floater's interior. It was surprisingly bare, though what he had expected to find he didn't know. Perhaps there was something more interesting in the few storage compartments.

  "I suppose I should be flattered, then," Felix responded. He didn't look like a Felix, though. It probably wasn't his real name. Not that Brian blamed him much for the deception.

  "And why is that?"

  "Well," the strange man continued in what Brian thought was a slightly patronizing tone, "you must consider whatever reason you're following us for important enough to go around in the alleys with the 'weirdoes.' You also gave us enough credit to go to the trouble of circling around behind us after you found where we were. You could have surprised me if I hadn't seen you first."

  "Recognized me from the bar, did you?" Brian asked, deciding to go along with his patronizing line of questioning.

  Felix nodded. "From the bar, yes. And from behind us on the street, and at the storage building. I didn't recall who you were until after you started following, though. I was a bit curious why you were back there, but it seemed you'd show up and tell me when you were ready."

  "And I suppose your two associates are, what, off looking for me right now?" Brian added. He was more than a little serious about the question, but he also hoped it would lead Felix into revealing a bit more of their purpose out here. Then again, they could be out looking for him and this Felix character might only be stalling him until their return.

  "Anything's possible, I suppose, but to my knowledge they never noticed you coming. If they had, don't you think they would have found you by now anyway?"

  Brian realized he had a point. He also realized his weak leading question had gone nowhere. Perhaps being slightly more direct would help. "So why didn't you go to help them with whatever it is that they're doing?" he tried.

  "Because I was waiting for you, of course," the odd man replied with a smile. "And now you're here, to ask me whatever it is that got you to follow us all this way out of that ever-so-pleasant establishment where you didn't even seem like you belonged in the first place." Felix held up an apologetic hand. "Not that I always judge a book by its cover, of course. But so far it's the only part I've been given to read."

  In other words, tell me what the hell you are doing here before I toss you back out, Brian translated. "I'm here because of some things I overheard from the three of you."

  "My, what big ears you have. So what caught your interest?"

  "A number of things." His host watched him, still waiting for more. "The name 'Wraith,' for one."

  Felix raised an eyebrow. "And why would you be so interested in that?"

  "I might ask you the same thing." This could be tricky. He had to find out their relation to The Wraith and at the same time try not to come off as obnoxious on the off chance he might want to try to tag along.

  Felix chuckled, sighing afterward. "Look, Brian, I'll be honest. I want a favor from you."

  "A favor? Anything in particular?"

  "Don't know yet. I'll know later when I need it. But in my line of work it's convenient to have an extra set of ears in a position like yours from time to time. I'd like us to be able to help each other out."

  "And just what exactly is your line of work?"

  "I guess you could say I'm in the business of knowing things. And people. I'd like to know you, Mr. Savagewood."

  "Like you know The Wraith?"

  "No," he replied, "I think I already know you better than that. You I've actually met. Him I haven't."

  "I thought your job was to know things. And people."

  "Ever known something you didn't have to find out first? The point is I might be able to help you here. Now. Maybe we could help each other. Then, later, when one of us needs to know something, we'll have established a precedent. But I can't help you now unless you tell me what you need."

  Brian's mind was still racing. This was too easy. Either things were finally starting to go his way or this was part of a trick, and Brian was a firm believ
er of Murphy's Law. Was Felix trying to get him to tell him all he knew and then kick him out? Or worse? What did he think Brian knew, anyway? He didn't know anything at all about The Wraith. Brian had no reason to trust him. Come to think of it, why would Felix trust him that much? What kind of idiot trusts someone he's only known for a few minutes?

  His host sighed. "Brian, you can either sit there and stew or you can work with me. Neither of us has anything to gain without the first step."

  Brian realized Felix wasn't going to tell him anything otherwise. It was either this or leave empty-handed and continue tailing them. Through the whole city. All night. With his quarry in a floater. Reminding himself of the importance of risk, Brian spoke up. "It's mine," he said.

  Felix looked confused for the first time in their entire history. "Come again?"

  "My hair," Brian said. Felix wasn't the only one who can make a joke, he thought to himself. "It's natural. Now what else should I tell you?"

  Felix grinned.

  Despite his training, Romulus still found his heart pounding as he rushed into the room behind Diomedes. He held his auto-pistol in front of him, ready to train it onto anyone still standing after the flood of the gas grenade. No one remained. Not until his mentor broke the silence with a curse did it occur to him that something could be wrong.

  He looked over to where Diomedes had previously indicated the heat source and saw what triggered the curse. Behind a small stack of piping, among a pile of rubbish, were at least a dozen unconscious rats. Romulus lowered his weapon and groaned silently. He spun about to examine the room and tried to still the adrenaline still running through him.

  The room wasn't much larger than a section of the hallway. Spare pipes and boxes of what looked to be supplies sat about the storage area in a slipshod fashion. A collection of discarded food wrappers and other rubbish lay near the rats' nest. Romulus checked behind a stack of boxes that he thought might conceal a door, but found nothing.

  A wet cracking sound that turned his stomach came on the heels of another curse from Diomedes. Romulus turned to see his roommate wipe his foot across the ground, trying to remove the blood of the rat he had no doubt crushed in frustration. Romulus understood. They had wasted two grenades and still found absolutely nothing. He pointed to the one in his own pocket and mouthed, "I still have one."

  A shake of the head and a dismissing wave was the only response. He watched as Diomedes scanned the room and then locked onto something behind him. Romulus turned to spot a small grating near the ceiling and watched while Diomedes began to test the dirty edges of the metal. It did look like the hole would be big enough to crawl through, but—

  The grating fell down from the concrete ridge that appeared to be the only thing supporting it almost immediately after Diomedes touched it. The man caught it and set it against the wall without a sound. Romulus continued to watch, glancing warily between the doorway and the wall as Diomedes jumped, grabbed on to the ledge of the hole, and pulled himself up halfway.

  After peering into the hole for short seconds, he dropped back down silently and motioned to Romulus, ready to boost him into the hole. He was going first? A wave of unease swallowed him. Diomedes must have seen it; he scowled and motioned more rapidly a moment later. Romulus moved closer. "Me?" he mouthed.

  Diomedes grabbed his arm and pulled him in to whisper, "You can't get up without help and I can't turn around to pull you. Move."

  Romulus swallowed and nodded to his mentor, steeling himself. Diomedes was right, of course. After a step up, boosted by his roommate's hands, he was in the hole. It was dark, but he moved forward nonetheless, feeling his way along the cement. This had to be the right way, he was sure of it, and the thought pushed him ahead into darkness. He continued straight, cautiously probing the area ahead with his hands in case of any turns or holes.

  Behind him, Diomedes clambered up into the darkness and followed. Though he could not see him, he could still sense his dominating presence close behind him in the tunnel. Too close, in fact. Romulus realized he was holding the other up. He quickened his pace through the darkness to accommodate his roommate's pace.

  His hand jammed into solid cement that bent his middle finger back with a crack. A muffled groan escaped his throat before he could stop it, and he only just managed to stop short of knocking his head on the same wall. Romulus paused to put his weapon down and rub the pain from his jammed finger.

  Diomedes waited behind him. Romulus could hear him shifting. He recovered himself, picked up his gun, and had begun to feel for the way the passage might have turned when he heard a tiny snap behind him. Twisting to look back as best he could in the confined space, he noticed a soft green glow in the darkness. Diomedes slid the plastic tube of a chemical flare up the crawlspace to him.

  Not wanting to break the already cracked silence with an expression of gratitude, he took the flare in his hand and noticed two things. The first was the continuation of the cramped tunnel to his right. The second was the jagged black "N" painted on the wall that his hand had discovered so abruptly. At least, the eerie green light made it look black. It could have been red. It occurred to Romulus just before he continued that it could have been dried blood. Would blood turn to black if dried on cement? Romulus thought so, but had never seen any to know.

  He moved on, thankful at least for the fact that he wasn't claustrophobic. After a step or two of crawling with the flare in his hand, he thought better of it and lifted his gas mask to hold the plastic casing in his teeth.

  Crawling another twenty feet or so brought them to a crossing tunnel. Romulus paused, took a breath, and peered around the corner. Darkness alone stared back at him from both directions and a moment later he realized the folly of trying to remain unseen. Even before he looked down the cross passage, anyone who might have been there would have been aware of him from the flare's glow.

  Unfortunately, bringing the flare around the corner did very little besides give him away and illuminate the area a few feet in front of him. Beyond that, the blackness swallowed it up and made the three possible paths identically unknown. With his eyes useless, he tried using his ears, but the only thing he could hear was the breath of his waiting mentor right behind him.

  "What do you think?" Romulus whispered, hoping Diomedes noticed something that he'd missed.

  "They're close," came the answer. It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but at least if they were close he would know to turn back soon if they went the wrong way and found nothing. He chose not to turn off and continued on straight through the tunnel.

  Another ten feet, a turn, five feet, another turn, and then there was a change. Romulus stopped just around the corner when he saw it. A light came from an opening ahead; though dim by usual standards, in the darkness it glowed like a beacon. The tunnel seemed to open out into a larger space—a room, possibly their destination. He pulled back around the corner and whispered of it to Diomedes.

  His roommate pointed to the flare and shook his head. Romulus nodded and sat it down along the tunnel wall. Guessing this was probably the time to use their last grenade, he took a chance and pulled it from his belt. Diomedes's only response was to check his mask. Pleased with himself for thinking as his mentor, he turned back around the corner, pulled his own mask back down, and began crawling toward the dim opening. He moved slowly, watching and feeling his way along. What if whoever was in the next room heard him before he had the chance to gas the area? Suddenly it occurred to him that he didn't know for sure if anyone was in the room. What if he used their last grenade on an empty room?

  He stopped in the tunnel and strained to hear any sound ahead. Diomedes stopped behind him. Did he understand what Romulus was doing? Or, having already sensed a presence in the room ahead, was he growing impatient at Romulus's hesitation? He waited and prayed for a sound in front of him, afraid to hold Diomedes up and afraid to let anyone ahead hear him first. If he heard nothing, he'd keep going, but—

  From ahead came a tiny shift of
something on stone! They were there, maybe heading for him already! He flipped the timer and thrust the grenade down the tunnel. It reached the edge and seemed to teeter there for entirely too long before falling over. The crack of its impact with the cement floor was followed almost immediately by the hiss of the gas, and for a moment Romulus hesitated again, unsure how long to wait until Diomedes's impatient nudge at his heels sent him scrambling forward. He was rushing down the hill now, moving to the end of the tunnel like a bullet out the barrel of a gun. His own gun was ahead of him. He had to reach the room while its occupants were still confused.

  He reached the edge of the tunnel, going too fast. Momentum carried him forward and sent him sprawling through mid-air. His vain flailing for a handhold in the gas ended with him slamming into the ground a second later in a disorganized jumble of arms and legs. Somehow he managed to keep his head from smacking onto the floor hard enough to knock his mask off.

  The fall had knocked the wind out of him, but he knew that if he just lay there he'd be vulnerable to anyone in the room not affected by his clumsy hurl of the grenade. Tightening his grip on the gun to reassure himself that it was still in his hand, he tried to pull himself up from his pain. Fifteen feet away, on the floor near the far wall, a prostrate figure lay in a heap of black robes. Romulus scrambled toward the figure and struggled to draw breath, unwilling to remain long enough to take in any of his other surroundings. He reached the figure in a flash and managed to get to his feet when he heard Diomedes land in the room behind him—on his feet by the sound of it.

  Romulus had almost verified that the robed figure was unconscious when there came a loud hiss behind him and a grunt of impact from his roommate. Romulus spun to see his mentor at the other side of the small chamber where the tunnel opened in the wall. Another figure in black was on his back. The figure clutched a knife that Diomedes struggled to keep from his neck.

  Romulus fought to pull breath into his lungs. It was as if he could see himself standing there useless as his roommate struggled. Do something! Romulus brought up his near-forgotten auto-pistol, wondering even as he did so if he would ever have a clear shot.