Galefire II : Holy Avengers

by Kenny Soward

  Selix held in her smile. “Something like that. Think you can help him?”

  The old man stooped and helped Lonnie to an upward position. The reek of mud and tobacco and bitter tea washed over him, and then everything was pain as the one called Gruff prodded his side with knobby fingers. Lonnie coughed and sputtered on his own blood, spitting into his lap and making whatever room he could for air. His breath was a light wheeze as his body weakened and the edges of his vision frayed. He went limp in the old man’s arms.

  Gruff kept prodding, mumbling as he did so. “Indeterminate injury. Will have to looksee inside `im.”

  “Inside?” Faint panic gripped Lonnie. Faint only because of his exhaustion. He tried to grab the old man and shove him away, but his hands were too weak.

  Selix fixed Gruff with a hard look. “We can’t let him die, Gruff. You hear me? I’ll do anything.”

  Gruff leaned forward and looked directly into Lonnie’s face with his mismatched eyes, pelted him with bitter breath. He quit his mumbling and focused. “Well, son,” the old man said, lips puckered in concentration. “I’ll churn and narrate and conjure. Might be you won’t die. Might be you will.”

  Gruff’s rough hand covered Lonnie's nose and mouth, and sleep swooped in like a welcome friend to put him out of his exhausted misery.

  Chapter 13

  When Lonnie awoke, he breathed. Really breathed. Not a sputtering, pathetic gasp, but a full and lovely suck of air that made him weep with joy. Real tears, careful sobs, even chuckling as he cherished the simple movement of his expanding lungs. His head was clear if not a bit itchy for a fix. But as long as he could breathe, anything was possible.

  “I will never take that shit for granted again.” The sound of his own voice, hoarse but strong. It felt damn good.

  And then he noticed the ceiling. Low, made of baked mud or clay, and he kept staring at it as if it was the most astounding thing he’d ever seen. His eyes traced the rivulets and chasms, pondered the miracle of its construction. Looked archaic. Had they used trowels and spades? Not that it mattered, no. The breathing was the best part.

  The room was warm, but not uncomfortable. A dry heat. An easy heat. He rested on a firm pallet, arms at his sides, head resting on a stiff pillow. His clothes were dry, too. Gloriously dry. Dressed in a pair of old sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Not his normal thing, but the sensation of the newer cotton against his skin was second in glory only to the air.

  After a time, he gave up the ceiling and tried turning over onto his right side. Easy enough. Things inside his chest seemed to have adjusted. The ache remained but there was none of that miserable pressure. Nothing sharp stabbing at his insides. Hard to believe the old man's skill at mending him. If Lonnie was religious, he would have called it a goddamn miracle.

  There was a small, battery-powered lamp sitting on a paint-flecked nightstand by his bed. It gave off a decent glow. Two thick candles stood on plates next to that, wicks burning with flickering flame.

  Lonnie closed his eyes, enjoyed breathing for a while longer, and then dozed.

  His dreams were anxious and disturbed. The sense of being drowned, suffocating, and then something cracking his ribs wide open. A force pinned him to the bed, but he lifted his head, strained to peer inside his chest. There was no blood or organs. Instead, his guts had turned to char, blackened beyond recognition.

  And then the floor dropped out from beneath him and Lonnie was spinning in an endless void with nothing but the echoing drip of water. Arms flailing, he yelled for help, but there was just that drip, drip, drip.

  With a jarring halt, Lonnie appeared in a chair. He was a boy at a time before Manx and his mother’s death, sitting with a mechanical turnpage in his lap. He read his lesson while a diminutive woman played at cutting his hair. It was a comfortable presence he recognized as his mother’s, and Lonnie’s heart swelled with love. He wanted to see her face as she wound her way around him, snipping at his longish locks with a tiny pair of scissors. But moving meant risking an errant cut, and he could ill afford to look stupid in front of the other students. Especially Yamina, the young daughter of a high-ranking skin trader. A girl Lonnie hoped to study with soon.

  Aside from earning a skewed haircut, his mother would tweak his nose with her finger if he moved. Lonnie didn’t want that, either. Not only did it hurt, but it turned the end of his nose red. Much easier to watch the mechanical pages in his lap, spinning and churning with exquisite precision as it repeated this basic rotation of cogs and gears. While he wasn't required to be an expert at clockworks, it was part of his learning the business of machines and weapons to help his family win contracts on Septu and abroad.

  Mother didn’t approve, of course.

  She stopped her quiet humming and peered over his shoulder at his book. “Mardokh, what does that lesson tell you?”

  Anxious to please her, Lonnie replied, “This shows us how to form precise cog and sprocket links, which allow for accurate aiming of skyship cannons.”

  He sensed his mother’s disdain. “Hmm,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be better if you refit those links to make better loaders?”

  Lonnie' s brow crinkled. “Well, I suppose so.”

  “Think of the benefit to trade.”

  Snip, snip.

  “But what about the Sky Pirates? How would we defend ourselves against them?”

  “There would be little time for piracy if everyone focused on helping instead of hurting, don’t you think?”

  Snip.

  Lonnie shrugged. He didn’t want to say something that might offend his mother. With father gone away on trade halfway around the Rim and Makare wandering the castle in a gloomy mood, Mawia was Lonnie’s one true friend aside from Manx. They got along great. Better than great. She excelled at getting him to focus on what was important, not on the frivolous trap games his sister sometimes coaxed him into playing. Games where he’d end up with a bruise or a pricked finger.

  Snip, snip.

  “You’re right, Mother. It's good when people help one other. I mean, without you, I'd have a terrible haircut and Yamina—” He caught himself. Mother didn’t know. She couldn’t know. It was a betrayal, placing someone else above her.

  But Mother only laughed. “This is true. And I’ll do my best to make you look handsome enough to capture Yamina’s heart.”

  She stopped snipping and held his cheeks, gazing into her son’s eyes. She wore her simple smile and her usual colorful scarf wrapped over her head, tied beneath her chin. Her face was round, frail-boned, but impervious to derision or negativity. That face, and her plain but meaningful expressions, was the reason people fell in love with her.

  Lonnie too.

  The dream eased away, leaving a sad smile on his lips, eyes watering, pain lingering in his heart. His mother was dead, but memories made her live again.

  Lonnie stretched on the mat. Despite the uncomfortable dreams, he’d slept well. Better than he had in ages. Except for the never-ending need to fix, he felt damn good.

  He opened his eyes to the soft electric light of the lantern. The even softer glow of the candles, burned lower since he’d been asleep, bathing the walls of the small chamber in flickers of amber. Raising, he saw the room was full of them. They rested on old wooden nightstands and crates and whatever appeared stable, giving the room an aura of comfort.

  “Lonnie.”

  Lonnie rolled onto his back, eyes tracking through the shadows beyond the foot of the bed. Two shadowy figures stood in the candlelight. One tall, with wavy dark hair falling past her shoulders. The other shorter, cowering against the other’s legs, afraid to let go.

  A mother and daughter.

  Lonnie’s heart skipped a beat. His mouth went dry. It couldn’t be them because they were figments of his imagination, characters dreamed up and inserted into the narrative of his life, an old charade.

  He squeezed his eyes tight and took a breath. Opened them again, and a white-blond head doused in candlelight leaned forward where
the two shadows had been.

  “Hi,” Selix said. She sat in a metal chair with her knees drawn up inside a blue T-shirt three sizes too large. Faded white letters read KENTUCKY across the front. Her pale feet stuck out of the bottom. Her toes wiggled.

  “Hey,” Lonnie said, as glad to see her as he’d ever been. Her hair looked clean. She’d combed it over to the right in a fluff of soft whiteness except for that spark of red at the tip, leaving the left side of her head shaven. Her face was still hollow, cheeks sunken, but her eyes were crystal bright.

  “Wow,” she said. “Been a long time since I've seen that look. You in love with me or something?”

  The direct question should have put Lonnie off guard, but it didn’t. His feelings for Selix might have been complicated before, might always be complicated, but the revelation back at Rose Park—their status as castaways from Hell, and the idea he and Selix had been lovers before—made it easier to admit the damn truth. Lonnie had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  Lonnie broke eye contact, mouth tripping. But he forced himself to look at her again. Her eyes hadn’t moved, just two beams of blue filling his head from across the room. “Fuck yeah, I love you. How can I not?”

  Selix blinked, the playful sparkle diminishing a fraction. She looked away, and when she turned back, her face ran with angry, resentful tears. She started to say something but faltered, then swallowed and composed herself. “You know how it feels not being able to touch the person you love the way you want to touch them?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You know hard it was keeping Elsa and Ingrid in line? That was your job and your fucking sister who started this spat. I mean, fuck, Lonnie. You made me love you. With my whole heart. You made that happen, and then you ripped it away. I tried to keep it together here on Earth. Tried to make the right deals. But I never knew when to bring you out of the icing. And you were off limits because it might set you off and get us discovered.”

  “And I came out of it on my own.”

  “Mostly.”

  This was Selix continuing her anger from Rose Park when he'd accused her of betrayal and manipulation. When he was the one who’d broken the gang apart. All of it, his fault, and Selix had suffered.

  She had a right to be angry. Deserved to punch him if that's what it took.

  “I’m sorry, Selix. I’m remembering things about my mother and what happened. How I should have seen her death coming a mile away. I’m mad at myself, and it will only get worse as the memories return. But I’m fucking happy, too. We’re both here. Alive, right?”

  “Yeah, took you a few hundred years.”

  “Yeah,” Lonnie laughed. “My name is Lonnie and I’m a fuck up.”

  The dark clouds parted and Selix smiled. “Lonnie. I—”

  “You going to sit there all day? Get your ass over here.”

  Smile lingering, Selix got off the chair and stood. Her T-shirt drooped like a dress. And then she raised her arms, did a graceful spin forward on her toes. Finished with a flourish, leaning, falling onto the foot of Lonnie’s bed with a laugh.

  “You can dance.”

  “I’m normally so much better. The drugs have fucked me up. I’m out of practice. Stretched so thin.”

  “Why do we need them? I mean, why did we start with the drugs?”

  Sitting by his feet, Selix explained. “After coming to Earth, we realized we weren’t as powerful as we were in Hell. Especially me and you. So, after a lot of trial and error, and some close calls, I gave up on fixing a permanent tether back to Hell.”

  “It would give us away.”

  “Right. So, we made a link through the drugs. Happened by accident. We figured out getting high allowed us to channel energy through the Fade.”

  “To break through?”

  Selix chuckled. “No, it's not that strong, ever. Some combinations are better than others. Humans can do it, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Many this world’s greatest musicians were drug addicts. Paganini, Jimmy Hendrix. All tapping into powerful shit and didn’t even realize it. Or, maybe they did. And there’s regular Earth magic, too. Buried deep. I’ve learned to draw on that.”

  “Like the bridge?”

  “Yes. And god magic.”

  “God magic?

  “Yes. Faith. The Holy Avengers. Don’t ask me how, but their belief is a force. Haven't seen it myself, but they say it's powerul."

  “What about Elsa and Ingrid? How can they fly? Is that the drugs, too?”

  “Yeah. The drugs help them channel enough energy to transform, but not like they could if we were back home. There are some whorchals who don’t use drugs at all, and they’re still very powerful on Earth. Very strong.”

  “It must be hard on them.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Lonnie frowned. “Now I want to get high.”

  “Me too, but let's stay sober for something first.”

  As quiet as a ghost, Selix slid around the edge of the bed on her hands and ass, making Lonnie’s stomach flutter every inch she came closer. When she got to Lonnie’s side, she reached and touched his face. Her hand was softer than he was used to, and she smelled soapy. Her blue eyes were on fire.

  “What about your family? Don’t you love them, too?”

  “You mean the people you put in my head?”

  Selix nodded, fingers still stroking Lonnie’s cheek. Damn good, that touch. Strange and familiar. He returned the touch, rolling closer, allowing his fingers to drift to the back of her neck and trail her spine, caressing her beneath the shirt. Selix’s eyes relaxed, half-lidded, and she leaned into him, a once feral cat ready to trust a human again, craving simple affection.

  Lonnie closed his eyes, content to live in the moment.

  Once he reached the small of her back, he pulled her closer. She groaned and slid further onto the bed, leg pressed up against his. It was a different thing, whatever the hell was happening. Not the same as when she was helping him across the bridge and giving him shit along the way. Not the same as their repressive time in the Eighth Street apartment. No, Selix’s body language now, the fucking emotional heat coming off her, was overwhelming.

  She smiled, leaning in. “Yeah, the people I put in your head.”

  “They’re gone,” Lonnie said. "Sad, but true."

  Selix looked satisfied but doubtful. “You sure you love me? It’s been a long time, kid. Like, a few fucking centuries since you said those words to me.”

  Lonnie traced her delicate jawline, smallish ears and smooth-shaven head. “Yeah. I’m serious.”

  She paused, fingers playing along Lonnie’s shoulder, sending chills across his skin. “You’re a good person, Lonnie. One of the most loyal people I’ve ever met. You shouldn’t be. None of us should be. We’re junkies.” Her expression changed, taking on a hint of steel. “So I hope you realize what you’re saying. I don’t take promises of love lightly.”

  “I know. I’ll say it again. I love you.”

  Selix leaned closer, hair falling across her temple. Lonnie would have risen to meet her, but there was no sitting up in the tight bandage. He glanced at her lips, watched them part. Softer than before. Covered in lip balm. Yes, and that hint of cinnamon.

  Their lips touched. Pressed. Parted to make way for their tongues, hesitant and flitting against one another, rolling as Lonnie’s hand cradled her neck.

  Drawn into an embrace, they made love.

  For once he wasn’t at odds with his memories, with Selix, or the gang.

  “I love you too, Lonnie,” Selix said between passion-filled breaths. And then a sob escaped her. She punched him half-heartedly in the arm. Grabbed him close. Pushed him away again.

  And when they were done, Selix fell limp with a sigh.

  Lonnie caught her, eased her to the bed in a pleasant daze.

  They didn't speak, content to hold one another on this bed below the river. Lonnie tuned in to the water rushing overhead not six or seven feet abo
ve them. The scent of the votive candles tried to mask the musty scents of borderline sewage; refinery run off, mud, and other pollutants that gave the Ohio its uniquely malodorous aroma.

  He dwelled on what they’d been through. Their defeat and escape from Xester. The gate. Lonnie’s soul iced. Like going to bed one day as Mardokh and waking up the next day as Lonnie. Only, they were the same person, too. He recalled the crossing to Earth and their new lives.

  The past, an entire lifetime ago, wiped clean by this moment. He was safe in the Under River with Selix and what remained of the gang. Safe with the woman he loved curled against him.

  Guiltless and free of doubt, Lonnie fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 14

  Lonnie awoke snuggled into Selix's warmth, but her careful breathing said she was not asleep.

  “You didn’t leave me.” Lonnie’s hand toyed with her limp hair.

  “What?” Voice a tired mumble against his chest, her fingers played at the bandage.

  “Nothing.”

  “Hm. Sorry, was just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About how far we’ve come. I still can’t believe we’re here, doing this. We’ve lived so many lives since crossing to Earth.”

  “You know what? It’s almost a blessing.”

  “How so?”

  Lonnie shrugged. “I see the mistakes I made. I understand them."

  “Through a different person's eyes?”

  “Not quite. Well, more like two sets of eyes. And from a distance. So many opportunities to make better decisions. To handle things in a different way. I'm ready for whatever comes next.”

  Selix kissed his bandage. “Good. So, what's next?”

  Lonnie wanted to say he had no fucking clue, but that was the wrong answer. The gang needed him to lead them. They’d been waiting a long time for him to come back.

  Still, no need to go rushing into things. If he’d learned anything, it was that.

  “We fix. We eat. And then a plan.”

  Selix peeled away, got off the bed, and padded over to the corner of the chamber where their belongings were piled.