by K. Gorman
“To Lower Ryarne?” she asked.
He grunted.
The lower city spread out below them, barely visible under the cloud cover. Uptown was the main city area; Lower Ryarne… not so much. Mostly a collection of residential suburbs and quasi-townships, this area had buildings as old as those in the Underground. If she squinted, she could make out the slate-black shore of the lake in the distance.
She hadn’t really seen it up close yet. Just a couple of trips to one of the big box stores with her dad when they’d first moved in.
“You know a place?” she asked.
“We’ll find a place.”
He slowed the car as it descended down the hill. The skyscrapers ceased about halfway down, replaced by shorter buildings. At the bottom, they passed the first house. The snow fell thicker. He turned on the wipers.
“I heard you took a job with Roger?” he asked.
“Yeah. Jo volunteered me.”
“How come? Need money?”
“Government cut off Mom’s grievance package.”
Aiden paused. “Really?”
She glanced over at him. His voice had a contemplative tone to it that she hadn’t expected. “Yeah. Dad told me yesterday.”
“That… is worrying.” He frowned at the windshield. “You think they’re out of cash?” He frowned at the road. “Shit.”
Mieshka lifted an eyebrow as he fished his phone from the cup holder. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is they haven’t told me anything, which violates our agreement. Here, take this. Password’s zero-six-one-three.” He handed her the phone. “Text Sophia—she’s in the contacts—and tell her what you told me.”
“What, that the grievance package is off and I’m broke?”
“That the government may be broke and that they haven’t told us. Tell her to look into it.”
“’Kay.”
The next few minutes passed in silence. She put the phone back into the cup holder when she was done. Aiden’s speed had increased on the road, and his fingers gripped the steering wheel harder than they had before.
“So,” she said. “What happens if the government has violated your agreement? What is the agreement, anyway?”
“Plan B happens.” They passed a small hybrid in the next lane, engine roaring down the slope before he addressed her second question. “We agreed to build and power a city-wide shield so long as the Ryarnese government could sustain the city. Cutting off packages like your mother’s is one of the first signs that they’ve weakened.”
“But, isn’t that federal government? The military?”
“It’s all intertwined. Ryarne’s only free so long as Terremain holds, and Terremain can only hold as long as Ryarne feeds her. If Ryarne runs out of money, we’re done.”
She swallowed. Uncle Alexei was still there, along with all of her mother’s friends.
“Isn’t Kitty in Terremain?” she asked. “With an Electric Mage?”
“She is. They are. Under a similar agreement.” Aiden braked suddenly and pulled into a strip mall. The SUV beelined for a fast food joint near the opposite end. “Fuck. I need a burger.”
She gripped her seat as he parked. The Fire Mage grabbed his phone. She stopped him before he got out.
“Aiden, what’s Plan B?”
He paused, hand on the door. The orange of his hair stood out in the gloom, but his blue eyes looked as diffused as the light.
“That’s when we jump ship and take our magical shield with us.”
*
After lunch, Aiden unwrapped a second set of candles and went back to his pre-lunch bundling. Snow fell against the windows, slowly building on the sills. They hadn’t bothered to turn the light back on, which alleviated some of her growing headache. When she lit the candles, the flames glowed like stars.
She hunkered down and focused on the wicks.
It was easy to see what Aiden was going for. It wasn’t so much that practice made perfect, but that it made something second nature—a trained reflex. Back when she’d run track seriously, the coach had subscribed to much the same mindset. Do something enough times, and you won’t have to think about it.
When she’d first absorbed the Phoenix, Elemental use had been effortless—the fire had been a matter of instinct rather than the concentration she needed now. It had taken nothing at all to burn a room full of soldiers. When she’d created the city-wide shield, it had been made from a simple, thoughtless desire rather than a focused, concentrated effort.
Back then, the hard part had been holding the power back.
She wanted to be like that again—but in control, this time. She wanted to be a player, rather than a passenger.
So, she lit the candles and put them out. Again and again.
An hour passed. Aiden stirred, moved off the couch, and turned on his computer. She focused on different breathing styles, counting time in her head, creating set patterns in the candles. Flames winked in and out. The air smelled like hot wax. Heat rippled above the table, creating brief, curling shadows.
When the wax burned too low, she opened a new bag. Cranberry scent. New colors, new patterns.
Then, Aiden told her to stop.
He stood by the end of the other couch, his head turned toward the door. Three candles glowed on the table. Short circles of warmth bobbed on the glass. It took a few seconds to pull her head out of the focus she’d put it in—out of the haze of heat and fire and smoke—but when she did, she noticed the changes to the room. Time had passed, taking the day’s thin light with it. The room looked cold. Only the candles burned.
His eyes caught the shivering orange light.
“We got company,” he said.
A moment later, footsteps echoed up the hall.
She twisted around. The flames jumped with her, their tongues licking higher into the air. Her Element rose inside her, much more reactive to her thoughts than before.
He glanced at her.
“Relax. I know who it is.”
The candles snuffed out behind her. Aiden’s doing, not hers. As the footsteps neared, she forced herself to relax. Voices murmured from the hall. They sounded familiar.
Sophia walked in, a bulging messenger bag hanging from her shoulder. Roger followed, back in his usual wide-brimmed, jet-black fedora.
The Water Mage met Aiden’s stare.
“Let’s talk contingency plans.”
Chapter 7
They cleared the coffee table, plucking her candles from puddles of cooled wax. The smell of jasmine and cranberry hung in the air. Sophia took Aiden’s spot on the opposite couch and pulled a heavy, three-ring binder from the bag. Next came a slim, rectangular device—roughly the size and shape of a computer tablet, but with the jet-black finish of Lost Tech. She placed it flat on the table, where its obsidian surface reflected the room with a dull, distorted sheen similar to the dormant flat-screen on the wall.
Snow continued to pile up against the windowpanes. Someone turned on the lights. The fluorescents hummed to life above them.
Aiden hovered at the end of the couch next to Sophia, watching her flick through the binder. A mix of loose-leaf printed sheets and pockets of what looked like architectural or geological surveys flew by.
“For a quick ‘cut and run’ plan, you’ve sure done a lot of research,” he commented.
“I’m not running.” Sophia didn’t look up. Strands of black hair fell in front of her face as she looked through the book. “I’m staying. Which is why we need to talk.”
“No kidding.”
The couch dipped as Roger sat next to Mieshka. He picked up one of her candles, inspecting it between his thumb and forefinger. Smoke still curled from its wick. New white bandages poked out from under his right sleeve, wrapping his wrist and palm. She ignored him, packing the rest of the candles away.
Sophia found the spot in her book. She touched the piece of Lost Tech, and its black surface lit up with the cool blue of her Water Element. Lines of the Mage�
��s old language slipped into view, the logographic characters looking like an odd combination of Korean and Russian Cyrillic.
“I want to get the Underground off the grid,” she said.
“That’s ambitious,” Aiden replied. “What about the shield?”
“I’m not sure we’ll need it, at that point. I’m planning a more localized one, once you’re gone.”
Mieshka glanced up. Aiden’s face was blank, eyes scanning the text on the tablet. Sophia touched it, and the screen shifted to a diagram.
“The Underground entranceways, nothing more. Easy peasy.” The Water Mage tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “The hard part is the power grid. Derrick’s helping me. I’ve got the blueprint drawn up—here.”
She shifted her grip. Tendons tightened in the back of her hand. The screen moved, paused, lagged…
…and reappeared in the air as a 3D model, floating above the table.
Roughly the size of a microwave, the schematic had a skeletal framework made from thin blue lines of light—like a complex, mechanized web. Mieshka recognized parts of it from Aiden’s shield engine.
The projection shifted in the air, wavered. Sophia began to point out to parts of it, the blue lines intersecting her fingertips.
“I’ve finished the hub and cylinders. The mainframe and motherboard need more work, but should be done this week. I’ve got a guy perfecting the interface. It’s a biped for now—the first leg feeds the shield, the second is a stump. I want to start connecting it.”
Aiden raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a guy? Who?”
“A local. Has a gift with computers.”
“You should send him my way,” he muttered. His eyes narrowed, following the lines of the engine. “There’s room for two crystals here.”
“There is.”
“You can’t have mine.”
“Not planning to.”
“Okay. Well.” He frowned, squinting at the lines. “You crosshatched it?”
“Yeah. It can function just fine with one.”
“Okay.”
Mieshka fingered the bag. She got the gist of the conversation, but the details were beyond her. Technical shield-engine mumbo-jumbo. Roger shifted beside her and then handed her the last candle. She caught a whiff of antiseptic from his bandage.
“Robin’s looking for you,” she said.
“Is she?”
“Yes. She’s coming around tomorrow. Says she has a gun?”
Roger grinned. “Fun.”
He never failed to make her uneasy, but she was starting to get used to him. She dropped the candle into the bag. “Why does she have your gun?”
“It’s complicated. I see you’re training?” He indicated the bag of half-burned candles.
“Yes.”
Then, movement from the projection caught their attention.
The blue lines shifted. The diagram turned. Some parts had small labels on them—all in the old language, of course. Her mom had taught her some Russian once, nearly a year ago now. It made the shape of the old language agonizingly familiar, but still wholly unrecognizable.
She let the memory slide through her. The emotion wasn’t as raw as it had been before. Time healed most things. Even grief.
Or, at least, it gave her distance. Like watching a movie of her memories rather than actually being in them.
Aiden leaned back from the diagram. It continued to revolve in front of them, like a jewelry piece on display. Stifling a yawn, he sat on the arm of the couch, next to Sophia.
“Michael will be a problem,” he said.
“Michael’s always a problem.”
“Yep.” He looked down at the Water Mage. “Got any contingencies for that?”
“No. We need him, for now.” She propped her elbows against her knees. The blue light of the diagram caught her eyes. “You know, I tried to get him to do some structural survey work for the Underground, but he turned his nose at me. Doesn’t like my dirty Bismank skin.”
“Prick.”
“Seriously. Anyway.” Sophia lifted her head, catching Mieshka’s eyes. “Hi, Meese. Finally burning things?”
“Yep.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Been a while since I’ve seen a magical girl. Ryarne’s a big sausage fest. It’s been lonely.”
Mieshka opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Sausage fest? Had Sophia really just said that?
The Water Mage continued, shifting her cool gaze to Roger. “I didn’t even get to see Kitty, last time. Someone cut that short.”
Roger grinned.
“Anyway.” Sophia sat up. A press from her finger deactivated the tablet. The diorama vanished. “I should get going. I’ve got people working on our government problem. Maybe they have something by now.”
Aiden stood. “Maybe.”
“We’ll work out the particulars on my biped-trunk experiment.” Sophia scooped both tablet and binder back into her bag, the fluorescents above them putting a dim sheen on her black hair. When she stood, Mieshka and Roger rose with her.
They left back through the hallway, making a right turn to the building’s second staircase. Aiden and Mieshka listened to their footsteps echo off the walls. The fire door at the end of the hall squeaked when it opened, and slammed when it shut.
Aiden stifled another yawn.
“Well, that’s that.”
“What does ‘off the grid’ mean?” she asked.
“Off the city’s power grid. Independent power. She wants to feed the Underground with her crystal instead.” Aiden glanced back to the table where the diorama had stood. “You know, I bet she’s already got the plumbing figured. Maybe diverting the river? Who knows.”
“So, she’s not leaving Ryarne if… if it falls?”
“No. She’s staying.”
“Does her Plan B affect our Plan B?
Aiden met her eye. “No. Just means more room on the boat. Now, back at it. Try to light them in pairs now. Triplets, if you can.”
*
The key stuck in the lock. Mieshka sighed, rested her head against the door, and closed her eyes. Elemental training had taken a toll on her. Her head felt heavy. Waterlogged. The bright lights of the hallway were hard to look at. She’d fallen asleep twice on the train ride home.
Had she been this tired after her stint with Kitty? She couldn’t remember. Probably. There’d been all that adrenaline to think of, too. And back when she’d had the Phoenix and Elemental stuff had been easy, creating that big shield had put her in a coma for over a week.
She opened her eyes and focused on the key. Gave it a jiggle.
It didn’t budge.
She groaned.
Then, raising her hand, she knocked.
Hope Dad’s awake.
She pressed her ear to the door.
Was that the TV? She couldn’t tell. She glanced down the hallway, where identical doors led to identical apartments. It smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke. She pulled out her phone. Maybe she could text him. Dad was always online. Maybe—
The door opened. She glanced up into her dad’s tired face.
“Hi,” he said.
She pointed at the door. “Key got stuck. Maybe it’ll be unstuck now. Try jiggling it from your side.”
He stared at the key for a few seconds, unmoving. Then, as if it took more than the usual effort, he bent down to fiddle with the key.
It scraped loose on the second try.
“Careful with it. They stick more, this time of year,” he said.
He retreated back into the apartment.
She shrugged her backpack off, hanging onto the strap with her hand, and followed him in. The door hissed on the carpet when she closed it. The apartment’s dim hall light hummed above her, on the verge of burning out. Looking farther in, she saw that the living room lights were on, too. The television flickered on the wall.
“Did something happen?”
She got no response. Dad vanished into the kitchen. She could see his shadow m
ove on the living room floor. As she walked down the hall, she caught a whiff of fabric softener. A basket of clean laundry sat on the couch.
A pan banged on the stove. When she turned the corner, Dad was laying strips of bacon across its surface.
“Didn’t we have that this morning?”
He glanced over her, then back at the pot. A computer tablet hung from his hand.
“I like bacon,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow, watching him work. Smoke rose from the pan, tinging the air.
Okay, then. I guess we’re having bacon.
She turned back to the television, heaving her backpack onto the couch. A grainy video of an explosion played on the screen. Below it, the headline read: Fighting Intensifies in Terremain.
Huh. They didn’t normally show that stuff here. Ryarne had a tendency of ignoring the war. The screen switched over to a video clip of a tank firing. It had better quality—probably from a documentary or a propaganda film.
“Have you heard from Uncle Alex lately?”
Her dad, head bent over the screen of his tablet, took a moment to reply. “Yes. He’s fine. Busy.”
His voice seemed distant. Distracted.
She tried again. “Will he be coming here?”
“Dunno. Probably.”
A great fount of information, he was. She eyed the stove. “We gonna have anything else with that bacon?”
“Dunno.”
She rolled her eyes and walked over. The fridge door stuck when she tried it, and she had to wrench it open. Her stiff shoulder flared up at the movement.
“There’s leftover pasta. Rice in the cupboard. Part of a salad kit.”
“Sounds good.”
He’d turned away, angling the tablet screen out of the glare of the overhead light. She inspected him, noting the same pajamas from this morning. He’d shaved at some point—she could tell by a nick the razor had left on his jaw—but his hair retained the same scruffy look as when she’d left earlier.
She let the fridge door close.
Whatever.
Snow gathered on their tiny balcony, piling onto the railing. Two inches already. The sliding door reflected the apartment scene as she approached. She caught a glimpse of her face before she wrenched this door open, as well.