Into the Fire

by Patrick Hester

  Nevil’s place had a red-brick walkway with little bits of grass and weeds poking through widening cracks. The driveway had seen better days—concrete cracked in several places, oil stains visible even in the twilight before dawn. The overgrown, unloved lawn stayed contained within a chain-link fence that had both a small gate and a large one, the former at the walkway, the latter at the driveway. No car on the street or the drive. Could be hidden inside the tiny garage, or Nevil could also be an alternative transportation sort of guy.

  The thought brought pain back to my head in a serious way.

  Now? I thought. Now you start?

  “Let’s move,” Mayfair said.

  Something made me reach out and snag his leg with my hand.

  “What?” he asked.

  The house flashed, multicolored.

  “Don’t you see it?” I asked, voice strangled inside my own throat.

  “See what?” he asked.

  I slipped my grip to the bare skin of his ankle.

  He gasped. “What? How are you doing this?”

  “I don’t know,” I breathed. “Do you see it now?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Let go.”

  I did, falling forward. Couldn’t breathe. My head pounded, eyes pulsing with every beat of my heart.

  Mayfair crouched beside me. “Stay here for a second,” he ordered, shoving something against my face. “And, you’re bleeding.”

  He moved off, and I concentrated on breathing. Took me a few moments.

  “Should’ve known,” Mayfair said when he returned. “He has wards. Good ones. Similar in several ways to what I’ve got at Banba. They’ll react to anyone with magic or power, and not in a good way.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Will you be okay here alone for a few minutes? This will take time.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  I lay there, cigarette smoke-scented handkerchief pressed against my nose, and wondered why, for me, magic always came with some sort of pain. Remembering the bottle of water, I rolled over, found it, and started drinking. I’d dropped the last of the bread, but the thought of eating something didn’t appeal anyway, so I just drank. The headache receded almost immediately. I sat up and put my back against a tree.

  Tired didn’t cover it.

  The pain kept fading until I felt about the same as I had at Banba.

  Footfalls on asphalt announced Mayfair’s return. Opening eyes I hadn’t even realized I’d closed, I saw that the sky had brightened considerably. Dawn couldn’t be too far off now.

  “I cut through everything I could see,” Mayfair said. “He really did have some nasty stuff around. That alone is enough reason to want to talk to him. Anyone walking into his yard would’ve been vulnerable and in danger. We can’t do that; it’s against the rules. Feeling any better?”

  “Yes,” I lied. My head throbbed dully. Still, I pushed myself to my feet and stood there. When my knees didn’t give out, I nodded to him. “I’m good to go.”

  “Any idea how you did what you did?” he asked. “Or how you shared it with me?”

  “None whatsoever,” I answered truthfully. “Instinct?” That had been his explanation.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  He led the way across the street, walking slow enough I could keep up. My eye landed on the mailbox hanging on the fence.

  “Hold up,” I said.

  Mayfair had his hand on the gate but turned when I spoke.

  The mailbox had letters and junk mail stuffed inside it, enough to represent days, if not weeks’ worth of mail. “Are you sure he lives here?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I mean, this is his house.”

  I held up some mail. “Then he hasn’t been here in a while, or he doesn’t check his mail.” Shoving it all back in, I waited while Mayfair pulled the latch on the gate and pushed it open. Following him up the path, he walked right up to the front door.

  “What did I tell you about thresholds?” he asked.

  “They protect a home from supernatural stuff like Vampires, but not dragons.”

  “Hmmm. Look here.” He pointed. A crack ran through the middle of the wood above the door, zigzagging like a lightning bolt. “It runs clean through to the house,” he added.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Trouble,” he replied. Lowering his hand parallel to the door, he spread his fingers wide, then gave a pushing motion.

  Flows of Air gathered at his elbow. My breath caught at the sight. The flows streaked down his arm, out through the palm of his hand, and slammed into the door with a whump noise to blow it open. Before the door had fully opened, dozens of little balls of fog shot out from his fingertips, bouncing through the house at a blur before returning to him.

  “There’s no one here,” he said. Stepping inside, he pushed the door back so I could enter, then closed it behind us. “A little light,” he said. A glow formed above his shoulder, taking the shape of a large pumpkin. Pieces broke off and shot around the room, each the size of a golf ball. When he finished, the room had dozens of the little balls filling the space with soft light.

  “Or,” I said. Reaching to the left, I flipped the light switch on. The fixture in the ceiling above us flared to life. “Ta-da.”

  “Smart-ass,” he said, moving deeper into the house.

  I stood in a short entry opening up to the living room on the right. The kitchen and bathroom were in the back, and a small bedroom on the left. A back door from the kitchen led to the yard. No garage access from the house I could see. Overall, not a large house, and we cleared it fairly quick.

  Other than that, the place had all the telltale signs that a war had taken place here. Furniture had been turned over in the living room, coffee table smashed, lamps too. The scent of fire permeated the air, and burn marks scarred walls, floor, and ceiling. One of the windows from the kitchen to the backyard lacked a large portion of glass, ragged edges all around the frame. A carpet tossed to the side revealed an open trapdoor in the floor.

  Mayfair stood over it, one of his bright golf balls hovering beside him. Without comment or command from him, it shot down and inside the hole.

  Searching the bedroom, I found a small, twin-size bed with the covers thrown back as if someone had jumped up from a dead sleep. A dark bathrobe lay on the floor.

  “Blood here,” Mayfair said.

  I returned to the living room.

  He crouched near the corner of the room, eyes fixed on the carpet there. Sure enough, a small puddle of darkening blood rested there. Wiggling his fingers above it, a swatch of carpet rose as if sliced by a knife. Mayfair pulled a Ziploc bag from his coat, and the patch floated inside. He sealed it and returned it to his coat. “I should be able to track whoever bled here.”

  “That’s not disgusting at all,” I said. “There’s been a fight here. Good one, too,” I offered.

  “Yes.” He moved into the kitchen.

  I stepped up to the hole in the floor, the little ball of light still glowing inside. The trapdoor covered a space maybe three feet by two. Reaching in, I judged it to be maybe two feet deep. Enough space to hide a few books, maybe more. Say what you will about the man, he knew how to build a hidey-hole.

  Mayfair returned from the opposite side of the room, having made a full circle through the tiny house. He now carried his cane in one hand and a sheathed sword in the other.

  “New look for you,” I commented.

  “He wouldn’t leave without this,” he said. “It’s probably the only thing he owns that really means something to him.”

  “A sword?”

  “Not just any sword—a Ranger’s sword. His sword. This marks him to any Wizard in the world, gives him rank and status. He wouldn’t leave this behind, not willingly.”

  “You think someone came here tonight and took him?” Given the evidence around us, it wasn’t really a question. “Someone or something strong enough to get through the stuff outside and take Nevil out?”

  “I don�
�t know what’s going on, but if I don’t find out, we are all going to be in a lot of trouble very soon.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Day Three

  October 29th

  By 6:00 AM, we’d returned to Banba and filled Jenni in on everything we’d found. Before getting too deep into the conversation, I reminded Mayfair that I needed to get back to the hospital. He had me back in the room before Doctor Byers stuck his head inside to check on us.

  “We’re going to run some tests today,” said the doctor. “See if he wakes up on his own. Even if he doesn’t, we’ll know more in just a couple of hours. Until then, shift change is coming up soon. You should head downstairs, grab a bite to eat, maybe even head home.”

  I thanked him for the suggestions, then checked my cell. It had a little juice left, so I called Mom to tell her the non-news. She, too, had suggestions.

  “At least go home and shower, Samantha,” she said. “You probably stink to high heaven. Your brother and I will be there as soon as I can drag him out of bed. Go. Shower. Eat. Come back at lunchtime?”

  My brain being in a weird place, I made noncommittal mumbling noises before hanging up. Kissing Pop on the forehead, I fixed his hair again, staring at his closed eyes.

  Leaning in, I whispered. “Hey, Pop. You in there?”

  No response.

  “I sure could use your insight right about now. I feel like I’m drowning here.” Saying it out-loud, even in a whisper, was difficult. “I know who Rosario is now. Why him, Pop?”

  Nothing. Not even eye movement beneath the lids. “I’m gonna go see him, Pop. Today. Promise.”

  I waved to the nurse in the glass box before heading downstairs to my car.

  Someone had smashed the taillights. Moving to the driver’s-side door, I found a ticket for broken taillights under the windshield wiper.

  To my credit, I did not scream. The shit had started. Cops could be vindictive when they wanted to be.

  Pop trained us well, so I popped the trunk, opened my emergency toolbox, took out the red tape, and did a little surgery on my lights. Not perfect, but it should be enough not to get me stopped.

  Seething, I left the hospital and drove a little further than I otherwise would’ve to get a sack full of my favorite green-chili burritos from a hole-in-the-wall place on Broadway. Coffee from a drive-thru washed down the first one right there in the parking lot. I ate a second while driving home, saving two more for later. A shower sounded good. So did a nap, but I knew I only had time for one, so I had my mind fixed on a shower as I climbed the stairs to my apartment and ran into Ronan waiting at my door.

  “Hello, Sam!” he said. Grinning like a fool, he certainly dressed like one. Today, his too-small suit had a light blue hue with a matching, too-big bowler hat covering up his ears.

  “Why are you here?” I barked, then instantly regretted it as the grin on his face melted away. At that point, all I wanted to do was hug him and make it all better. I shook my head. Damn the man for being so beautiful! “I’m sorry. Been a long night.”

  “I understand,” he said solemnly. “Jack asked me to accompany you today. He worries.”

  “Bodyguard?” I asked.

  “Companion would be more apt, though I have been known to be useful in a fight.” He grinned, and I couldn’t help but grin back at him. His was an infectious smile and personality.

  In other circumstances, I would probably like him a lot. Not, though, when someone was trying to shove him down my throat.

  “I can take care of myself,” I said, brushing past him to unlock my door.

  “Jack never suggested you could not,” he said. “Only that, given the difficult times we find ourselves in, we take solace in the company of friends.”

  I thought about it for a second. “Strength in numbers?”

  He laughed. “Exactly. May I come in?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying not to sigh.

  Jack freaking Mayfair. This didn’t change my plans to go visit Father Rosario. Ronan would just have to come with me. I tossed my keys on the counter, then set down my coffee and the remaining breakfast burritos.

  “I need a shower,” I said. “You’re welcome to anything you can find in the cabinets, but don’t eat my burritos or drink my coffee.”

  “I would never dream of it.” He looked so earnest, even hurt by the suggestion he might steal my burritos. I let him off the hook. Reaching into the bag, I pulled one out and handed it to him. “Here.”

  “Thank you,” he said. Sniffing it, he frowned. “What is it?”

  “A green-chili burrito,” I replied.

  “Ah,” he said. “Of course. And that is …?”

  “Our version of lembas,” I replied, then laughed.

  Had to remember to thank Jenni for making me watch those movies.

  * * *

  One hot shower, a cup of mouthwash, and a vigorous brushing of my teeth later, I felt mostly human again. I noted the dried blood in my nose. Dried blood! The steam from the shower helped clear most of it out. I don’t use a lot of makeup, but the dark circles under my eyes had me digging through what I had. A little foundation and cover-up helped, plus a clear lip gloss for my lips. A tube of Chap Stick went into my pocket. I just wasn’t getting enough water or sleep, which meant dry, cracked lips.

  I chose a fresh pair of jeans, a dark shirt, and steel-toed black boots from the closet for today’s outfit.

  The borrowed trench coat and hat lay on my bed.

  Tradition, he said. More like a uniform. I’ve never been against uniforms. I’d worn blues for years as a cop, same as my dad. This one, though—I don’t know why it bothered me, but it did. How could a coat and hat be a uniform? Gandalf had a hat, I guess, though much bigger and pointier than this one. With a flourish, I slipped my arms into the coat and spun to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. Adding the hat made me look a bit roguish if I gave it a little tilt. Fixing my gun and badge on my belt, I could still access it easily enough if I left the coat open, so I ditched the tan belt altogether. Really, the hat, dark brown, and coat, light tan, didn’t match, which bothered me. They clashed awkwardly.

  Not exactly the paragon of fashion, I couldn’t say for sure why it bothered me so much, but it did. Crossing the room, I opened the closet door and started pushing through the clothes hanging tightly on the rod. They were crammed so tight, I could barely move stuff around, which reminded me for the umpteenth time I probably needed to donate some stuff to charity. Somewhere in here … ah! There.

  A couple of years ago, Chase and I had gone to a Halloween party dressed as Neo and Trinity from the Matrix movies. He’d dyed his hair black; I wore a wig. It was a thing. Anyway, part of the costumes were these really nice, long, black coats. I added a black cowboy hat and reused the coat the next year for another party, going as an old-west marshal. Finding the coat, I tossed it on the bed, then dug around on the shelf above until I found the box with the hat in it.

  Losing the trench coat and fedora, I stared at myself in the mirror.

  Jeans, dark shirt, dark coat, and black hat.

  Time for a new tradition.

  * * *

  “I enjoy automobiles,” Ronan offered.

  We headed north on I-25. Him being so tall, pushing the passenger seat all the way back didn’t give him enough leg room, so his knees bunched up against his chest and the dash in my car.

  “Automobiles?” I asked. “Who talks like that?”

  “I talk like that.” He started fiddling with the radio. “Everything has changed since I last rode in one. You humans are always changing things.”

  “That’s us,” I said. “We like to change stuff.”

  “Did you know I once spent seventeen hundred years studying sword craft? I never became an Artisan, not by our standards. Still, it was fun to learn.”

  “Seventeen hundred years of school? Sounds like my worst nightmare. Did you have recess?”

  “No,” he replied. “Unless you count wars a
s recess. Then yes.” Poking the radio, he ejected the CD. Removing it, he studied the back side as if it were the first time he’d ever seen one. Actually, all things considered, maybe it was the first CD he’d ever seen. Why had Mayfair insisted that he bother me today?

  “How is your family?” he asked.

  “What? Fine. Why? What do you know?” Traffic on I-25? Nightmare. Rush hour elevates nightmare to hellish. The left lane seemed to be moving, so I shot over. Brake lights met me, so I slammed on my brakes. Suddenly, we weren’t moving. Then the right lane started moving again. Freaking rush hour!

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Just that your father is ill. Family can be complicated.” He laughed, suddenly, replacing the CD in the slot, watching carefully as it got sucked back in. “My eldest sister, for example, once tried to enslave the world. She recruited an army of dark folk and undead, then marched upon the free peoples. Mother disowned her, of course. We all did.”

  “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about,” I admitted.

  “How long will this take?” he asked, rather than explain what he’d just said.

  “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “This is a guy my father wanted me to talk to, but he didn’t say why.”

  “Your outfit is … interesting.”

  This caused me to blush, which then caused me to curse myself for blushing. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Affect me—make me feel like a little girl with a crush?”

  “Something about elf men and human women. I have never understood it, but it has always been so. The effect fades with time and association.”

  “Yeah, everyone keeps saying so. The sooner the better, Spock.”

  “I am unfamiliar with modern colloquialisms.”

  “My point exactly.”

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, I drove down a rural road towards a little house in the middle of nowhere. Literally. Nothing on the horizon in any direction. And absolutely no way the occupant couldn’t know we were approaching, not out here.