by K. Gorman
But, except for the metal plate on the front, which looked no bigger than the fender of a small car, there were no protrusions. Or any marks at all.
“Do you know how to open it?” She spotted a small place for a key at the corner of the panel—an indentation that looked similar to the security features on some cars she’d been in as opposed to the lock on her apartment’s door. “You think we need a key?”
“It might be faster if we just broke it,” Jo said. “What do you think, Buck? Do you think this one has a dead-man on it?”
She didn’t know what, precisely, a ‘dead-man’ was, but she got the idea it wasn’t a good thing—the last time they’d discussed it had been in reference to potential damage to the crystals if they broke the safe.
Buck gave it a study, his eyes narrowing. “If it does, I think we will have to risk it.” His mouth turned into a thin, tight line. “If they aren’t all unconscious, they can defend themselves.”
“Even with Unexposed Maanai, they’ll defend themselves,” Roger said. “It hasn’t mutated, yet.”
Mutated? She gave the flat surface of the door a second glance-over. Didn’t Aiden mention something about that before?
“Meese? You think you can melt this thing off?”
“Hell, I could probably vaporize it if I tried hard enough.” She stepped up to the door, fire already enveloping her hand as she lifted it.
It took her about a minute, with the caustic smell of burning metal joining the rest of the smoke that had filled the air with a gray haze. She focused on the locking mechanism, and the Phoenix latched onto her thoughts and did the rest.
She felt its power etch into the back of the plate, super-heating the bolts it used to anchor to the Lost Tech surface until they snapped.
It swung down. She grabbed at it, catching its corner in her grip before her mind caught up with her reflex and reminded her that grabbing glowing-hot, half-molten metal with her bare hands was not the best thing.
Except that her hands didn’t get burned. The metal felt hot, yes, but so was she.
Belatedly, she dropped the plate. A few drops of liquid-hot metal dribbled down the black material of the door.
Underneath, the surface turned from a matte-black to the shiny, glass-like surface she was more accustomed to on the ship.
Her eyes narrowed. Behind her, Buck and Jo shifted. Roger didn’t move.
“Do you think—?” Jo started, cutting herself off mid-sentence, only to start again. “Is it like the memorial?”
In answer, Mieshka pressed her palm against the shiny part of the surface.
Orange lines appeared, spidering out just as they had on both the ship, the memorial, and the door Aiden had used to guard his engine room.
With a heavy groan, the entire thing shifted and gave way.
Chapter 36
The light hurt Aiden’s eyes. White mercury gas light pumped down through a black-lined grating in the ceiling, reflecting off the black walls in a fuzzy haze. A corner of the frame was slightly crooked, as if someone hadn’t quite cut the hole properly, which then made the screw anchor in at an angle.
He’d had time to notice things like that.
He sat with his back to the door and an arm on his knee, a small improvement from a few minutes before when he’d been taking a long nap on the floor. Sophia sat across from him, hunched over her knees, her head bowed into her arms. She hadn’t moved in a while. She could have been sleeping, for all he knew.
He rubbed his eyes and moved his aching butt to a different angle on the floor in hopes of shifting some blood. It might have worked, too, if he hadn’t done the same thing five minutes before.
“Still holding out for your girl?”
Michael’s dark gaze watched him from the corner. He sat cross-legged, back erect against the wall, hands poised in the cradle of his lap, and his face without expression.
It didn’t need one. Aiden could hear the sneer in his tone. The Earth Mage had been in here for three days—and it had done nothing to improve his manner.
“No, I’m not. Like I said before, I told her to go away,” Aiden said. He was beginning to regret ever mentioning Mieshka. “She’s a good kid.”
If she got away, I hope she’s more than halfway to the border by now.
Apparently, the Earth Mage did not share his optimism.
“Good kids don’t get involved with this stuff.”
To him, Mieshka would be a thief. She was a Terran, a new-worlder. The uniqueness of her power be damned—if she needed to steal an Element, then she wasn’t truly like an Elemental. She was their engine. A tool. A conduit.
Aiden didn’t care. The light gave him one headache. The Earth Mage gave him another. The two clashed in his head, clamoring for room.
Clamoring.
Wait, is that not just in my head?
He cocked an ear. “Do you hear that?”
Neither Mage answered.
Maybe it was just his head.
“The water’s late,” Sophia said, lifting her head, her puffy and dark-lined eyes opening into slits. Strands of black hair fell loose from her ponytail, straggling down her face in slow, greasy curls.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Michael added.
Aiden leaned his head back against the wall, squinting as the headache shifted, pain rising like goop in a lava lamp.
There was a thump on the door.
They all looked at it. After a pause, they heard a series of bumps and scratches.
Then—voices.
Aiden was the first to his feet, though his disused legs made him regret the action. His vision dotted out briefly. Behind him, he heard a quiet plop, like something dropped in water. The toilet began to run.
Sophia had armed herself. Maybe Michael could use the porcelain. Although, glancing at him, it didn’t look like the Earth Mage would be much use at all. He was standing, but only barely. He had to lean on the toilet tank for balance.
Another clunk. The door shifted, swinging ajar. Through the crack, he saw the other room.
Aiden leapt forward, slamming his shoulder into it. He gritted his teeth and grunted as pain rammed through his muscles and bones—then the door smacked into something, and someone yelped.
Meese appeared around its corner, eyes wide, arms snapped to her chest, burning a startled fire into the air. Beyond her, Buck had a small smile, his watchful eyes dark and clear. By the wall, Roger had palmed a knife, which he now slipped back into his wrist sheath.
Jo appeared out of his peripheral vision, assault rifle at the ready.
So that was who he’d hit with the door.
Well, one of them, anyway. By her reaction, he might have clipped Meese, as well.
He took the rest of the room in, from the thick smell of smoke to the drenched floor at his feet.
“Why’s it raining?”
Following their glances, he rounded back on Meese, who looked guilty. He listened while they brought him up to speed. He caught her flinch as Jo described what had happened at the ship, and, when they came to the soldier who’d died in the room, a cold, slippery feeling slithered into his veins.
He didn’t need to look at the scorched mess of wall and floor that occupied the far corner of the room, nor the smoke that turned the air into a thin haze—his Elemental senses were enough to read that latent heat signature.
They were also enough to read the not-so-latent heat signature coming off of her.
The air around her was very, very hot. Volcanic, almost, but only within an inch of her body. Ghosts of flames started on her skin, vanishing almost immediately. She kept her distance from the others, which was a plus for her.
It showed that she was, at least, somewhat aware of what she was capable of.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She didn’t answer immediately. Everyone in the room looked at her, and she, in turn, looked at the floor.
“It’s burning her up,” observed the Earth Mage, who had limped to one of the chai
r. “You’ve killed the crystal, putting it in her.”
“The crystal wouldn’t have transferred if it hadn’t wanted to.”
“Speaking of crystals, where are the rest?” Sophia asked.
Meese glance up, then pointed a finger. Everyone rounded on the wall safe to the left.
“We cannot open it,” Roger said.
Sophia shrugged a shoulder at the Earth Mage. “That’s your department.”
The Earth Mage opened his eyes and gave the safe a long, considering look. Then, he made a quick, violent gesture with his hand.
Metal wrenched. The door twisted away, broke its hinges, and clanged onto the floor.
Inside, a glow of soft light spilled out, the radiance almost completely absorbed by the Maanai coating on the inside of the safe. His engine’s crystal caught his eye first, glowing with a golden-orange light that was a touch dimmer than the rest—he’d really strained it on the shield today—followed by the other two, which sat in the back.
Sophia pushed him to the side and stepped into action.
“Right,” she said, handing him his crystal. “Each of us takes our crystal and books it to our engines. We need that shield back.”
Heat sank into his hand. It distracted him—her voice faded into the background as it flickered, and a dart of fire passed across his bicep and slipped inside the crystal, strengthening the light. Frowning, he glanced to Meese, then met Buck’s eyes.
She stood off to the side, hunched into the wall, hugging herself. By that posture, an outsider might presume that she looked cold—but Aiden could feel the heat wrapped around her, and it had been part of her heat that had just transferred into the weakened Fire crystal in his hand.
“Meese? How are you doing? Okay?”
She nodded slowly, shoulders rising as she took a breath.
“There’s too much. I feel like I’m going to burn up.”
He knew what she meant. A crystal was an awful lot of power to carry. His mouth grew tight. Taking a few steps toward her, he felt the magic that singed the air.
“I’ll fix this. Just hold tight.”
Mieshka nodded. She pulled the cuff of her sweater over her fists.
“You need to fix the shield,” she said.
“Yeah. We’ll take you back with—”
She was shaking her head. “No. I want to stay here.”
He frowned. “Er… what?”
Her smile was small, but her eyes were dark. Water hissed when it touched her skin.
“I promised Kauffmann I’d bomb his office.” Her boot scuffed the floor. “Besides, my friends are helping attack this building, apparently. I want to make sure they’re okay.”
An eyebrow lifting, he rounded on Sophia and Roger. “You guys have child soldiers, now?”
By the shift in expression on Sophia’s face, he guessed that hadn’t been her policy, which left Roger.
Jo, watching the interaction between them, stepped forward. “From what I understand, these two were quite insistent, and it was presumed safer to let them join the back in support rather than leave them and risk they find a way into active conflict.”
“Child soldiers,” Aiden repeated. “Child soldiers. I—You know what? Never mind.” He threw his hand up, cradling the crystal in the other. “Make sure they’re not maimed or dead. We’ll talk about this later.”
“I’ll go with Meese,” Jo said. “Make sure things are good around here. You guys go fix the shield.”
Child soldiers. Etania save them all. And Meese wants to set more things on fire.
Whatever. As the remains of the dead soldier in the corner of the room proved, the Phoenix would ensure her safety.
He had other things to worry about.
“Okay, do that. Call me if anything happens.”
“Your phone’s dead,” Meese said. “The soldiers trashed it before they left.”
Fuck.
“Light a flare, then,” he said, moving to leave. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Chapter 37
Adam’s security clearance wasn’t authorized for Kauffmann’s office. The elevator’s security lock met Mieshka and Jo’s attempts to thwart it with a shrill, insensitive beep that grated on her nerves.
The Phoenix melted it.
After, there was no problem.
She rested her forehead against the wall as the lift pulled her up, feeling the metal heat to her touch. Whatever painkiller the Phoenix had provided during the transfer was wearing off. It may have healed the bullet scrape on her shoulder—and likely the cut on her finger, too—but the ache in her bruised and abused legs had returned, along with the exhaustion she’d felt earlier in the car.
Just one last thing left to do.
She didn’t think Aiden had quite understood what she aimed to do. Coming up here was vengeance, pure and simple. It was also inadvisable. She didn’t want to kill any more people, but there was a good chance that the sight of Kauffmann might trigger the Phoenix’s protective side.
As she’d found out downstairs, its results were devastating.
Hey, Phoenix, can we not kill anyone? Just make a shield around me?
That seemed to be a simpler solution, but considering the Phoenix’s reaction earlier…
She repressed a shudder.
Jo stood on the other side of the door, switching out her guns. Water shone on her arms and dripped from her hair, and her shirt was absolutely soaked and sticking to her skin. As she watched, Jo put her assault rifle on the floor and pulled out a handgun.
Perhaps feeling her gaze, Jo’s eyes glanced up to meet hers.
“You okay?”
She managed a nod. “I think I can handle it. Aiden will fix the fire… thing.”
As if to underscore her words, the Phoenix shifted inside her, making the air heat up and shimmer between them.
Jo stared at it, an eyebrow rising, then flicked her eyes back to Mieshka. “That’s not what I meant.”
Ah. Mieshka swallowed. “I hurt people today. Am I supposed to be okay?”
“I’d be worried if you were. Abuse of power and all that.” Jo’s attention turned back to her gun. “You didn’t kill anyone—well, except for that one guy, anyway, and I assume that was more the Phoenix than you. The rest of those guys we fought are probably in the hospital right now, receiving treatment under our wonderful medical system.”
She gave a hollow laugh. “The night’s still young.”
Memories of the memorial came back to her. Screams. Smoke. Singed clothes. Burned flesh. Gunshots. She tried not to think about the blackened, bubbled skin. One man hadn’t moved when they’d come back. Jo had assured her he was still breathing.
They probably hated her.
Then, the image of the man she’d immolated came to her mind—the expression of shock and pain as the fire ripped through him.
A raw, dry sickness rose from her stomach.
Movement made her glance forward. She snapped her head up just as Jo closed the gap between them, her arms open. Without question, Mieshka moved into them.
The hug was awkward. Guns pressed into her chest. The Phoenix didn’t hurt Jo, though she tensed at the heat. Two silent tears crept down Mieshka’s face. After a moment, she sniffed. Jo smelled of gunsmoke and peppermint.
“You did what had to be done. It’s all we ever can do.” Jo’s arms squeezed tight. Their strength reminded Mieshka of her mother. Her throat closed around the link. “We’re almost there. You should get a bulletproof shield up, if you can.”
She could. She felt the Phoenix pull it into existence, heat rising around her, and the carriage gained the distinct smell of cooking charcoal. Above the door, the elevator’s electric numbers blinked in red. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven…
“Thirtieth Floor, Executive Suite,” said the tinny voice over the speakers.
The doors rumbled open, and the car spilled its mercury-bulb light into the surprisingly dim office. She held her breath, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
“I was wondering when you’d come.” Kauffmann stood by the window where she had left him, a glass of liquor in hand, his speech slurred.
“I had some business to take care of,” she said.
“As do I.” Kauffmann looked to the other side of the room. Not at her. Mieshka followed his gaze in time to see Gerard standing with a gun.
Bang!
Fire flashed in front of her, spitting and hissing from a point about a foot in front of her face. Hot metal bled off it, sparking and falling to the floor.
Even as her ears were still ringing from the gunshot, Jo shoved her aside and returned Gerard’s welcome. With a dull, numbing sensation, she watched as he fell to the floor, blood splattered and smeared on the window behind him. A deep crack rose up the length of the window, top to bottom.
That was the second time she’d seen his blood today.
“Keep an eye on the drunk,” Jo said as she moved past, her handgun aimed steady.
Mieshka looked back at Kauffmann, who raised the glass to his lips.
Her anger returned.
She walked forward, trailing a hand over the back of his nice leather couch. Acrid smoke rose to her touch as she singed the material.
“I got the crystals back. Freed the Mages,” she said. “They’re fixing the shield.”
“Yes, you saved the day, didn’t you?”
There was no mockery in his voice, but his voice had a dryness that did not mix with his alcohol. It turned something in her heart.
The ringing in her ears subsided, replaced by Gerard’s ragged breaths. Lines of blood leaked down from the window. The carpet underneath him had gone darker. Moist.
Kauffmann stared at the horizon.
“Do you see that?” he said.
Behind him, the city lights illuminated the dark sky. Only the brightest stars shone through. She followed his gaze to the mountains, straining to see past all the lights, and recognized the defiant peaks of the Twins. The Scorchio constellation burned bright above, its stars like pinpricks in the sky.
“See what?”
He lifted his drink to point, the glass tapping loudly against the window. She stared harder. Was he drunk and hallucinating?