by K. C. Lannon
“What could we have a chat about?” Iain focused on the street again. “Gals and the latest match over a few scoops or something equally as riveting?”
Philip cleared his throat. “Nah. Nothing like that.”
“How about you just tell me then, and quit prancing around the subject. Your brother’s never held back.”
Philip squinted at Iain. “Never took you for the petty type. That’s more Boyd’s speed.”
Philip was right, and Iain’s satisfaction had faded almost instantly after he’d spoken. Trying to maintain his bitterness toward Philip for an entire conversation was exhausting and tedious. Indifference was easier.
“I was just trying it out,” Iain said, his mouth twitching into a wry grin.
“Doesn’t suit you.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“Everything’s always rolled off your back. I’ve always admired that, even when you were being a right prat.”
Iain chuckled, relaxing somewhat. “What did you want to chat about then?”
“I’d rather not, uh, discuss it here.”
Iain only shrugged.
Iain followed Philip’s lead and saluted at the proper times. Philip soon left him, however, when he got an order on his radio to deal with a slight row breaking out a few blocks away outside a pub. He was glad to be alone again.
Iain straightened his posture and watched intently as a car carrying General Callaghan and General Windsor drove by. He kept expecting his father to look his way, so he wanted to make sure he was doing everything properly, but his father never did glance over.
There were cheers and applause as the horse-drawn carriage escorting King Eadred came into view. People started to nudge him, trying to see past him.
Iain sucked in a breath, and his hand flew to the back of his neck as sharp fingernails raked across his skin hard enough to leave a mark. When Iain turned around, he froze, watching as Elaine danced out of sight in the crowd, her teeth flashing a laughing smile.
He didn’t know how long he’d been staring after her when he heard the sound of hooves clacking and the piercing sound of a horse’s agitated whinny. Iain turned back to the street. The king’s horses were alarmed, their ears folding back and their muscles twitching. The driver attempted to calm the creatures but to no avail. Iain wondered what had upset them, just before he got his answer.
It happened fast. There were cries of alarm. Before he realized what was happening, people were pushing against him frantically. Righting himself before he lost his balance, he pushed back against the crowd and held up his shield, trying to keep anyone from running into the street.
Across the way, someone ran in front of the carriage. When Iain moved to act, several Iron Wardens instantly tackled the being to the ground. The king was being urged to stay put by his bodyguards.
Someone shoved Iain hard against his back; he was facedown on the pavement before he registered what had happened, his chin scraping against the concrete, a burst of light flashing behind his eyelids.
Voices rose up around him. People were crowding him, stepping in front of him, over him. Their legs obscured his view somewhat, but through the bodies, Iain lifted his head dizzily to see a figure leaping past him into the street, heading straight for the king’s carriage.
“Move!” Iain shouted, shoving people out of his way as he jumped to his feet.
“Someone stop him!” A man shouted from behind.
The king’s bodyguards had their guns trained on the man.
Before Iain could move, a blinding flash of light sparked from the street, and a thick, dark purple smoke rose up from around the carriage, swallowing the king and his guards. The attacker dove into the cloud.
Screams erupted from all around. Iron Infantry members were already sprinting toward the carriage, weapons drawn, General Windsor leading the charge and shouting something unintelligible.
A soldier stumbled out of the smoke, barreling past Iain, and fell to his knees hacking and choking. The soldier’s skin was a bright, angry blistering red, as if he’d been scaled with boiling water.
General Windsor staggered backward out of the smoke. He had hold of a body and bellowed hoarsely for help, his voice laced with desperation.
Iain watched with wide eyes, locked in place. An Iron Warden ran up to him dressed in full riot gear. “Clear these people out of here. Now!”
It was at that moment when a gust of wind whipped through the street, swirling the smoke into the air and spreading it further down.
Cries of alarm and pain echoed through the street as the smoke swept toward them. People doubled over coughing, staggering.
“Get out of the way!” Iain shouted, his eyes beginning to water and burn from the smoke. “Move and keep your eyes and mouth covered!” He began to motion people down the street and away from the smoke. “Keep moving!”
As he herded the crowd as best he could, using his shield to steer people in the right direction, he pulled off his hat with his free hand and covered his mouth and nose with the fabric, but it did little to stop his lungs from seizing up. He tried to call out again as another Iron Warden ran over to aid him, but he could only gasp, his chest feeling like fire.
A mother collapsed on the pavement at Iain’s feet, clutching her child in her arms to shield him from the smoke. The woman’s arms were twitching uncontrollably, reaching out to him. She sputtered for someone to take the child.
Iain dropped his hat and grabbed the screaming child from her arms, holding him against his chest with one arm. As two Iron Wardens lifted the woman to her feet between them, Iain motioned again for everyone to follow him. He had to get them away from the smoke.
Gunshots rang from the street behind Iain as he led the people away, but he did not look back.
People rushed into an office building a block away. Once Iain reached the doors, several more Iron Wardens ran out to corral more people inside.
Some people were lying on the floor of the building, their breathing labored and shallow. A girl lay sobbing with her head in her friend’s lap, writhing as someone poured water over her streaming, bloodshot eyes. A paramedic was kneeling beside a man, holding an oxygen mask to his face and coaching him to breathe past the pain.
Iain struggled to breathe for a moment, his throat burning. He stood there for a long while, unaware he was still holding the child until another Iron Warden pried him away and reunited him with his now stabilized mother. His ears rang from the child’s cries.
For a few minutes he stood there, deaf to the panicked murmurings around him. He replayed everything that had happened in his mind, trying to sort it out, but wound up just going in circles.
It was not long before the room was filled with civilians. Most of them were unharmed by the smoke, having been upwind from the attack. Most of the people who weren’t suffering were antsy, restless, crowding by the glass windows to peer outside and constantly asking questions. The rest remained true to their British sensibilities, remaining calm and polite.
One of the Iron Wardens walked up to Iain and said, “I’m heading out. I’ve been called to Ferriers Town.”
“Got it.” Iain nodded.
“Ferriers Town?” Evidently the soldier spoke loud enough for more than Iain to hear, because a man dressed in business attire, well put together save for his red, sweating face, came lumbering up to the two of them, jabbing a finger at them accusatorily. “I hope you’re going there to arrest those bloody faeries or burn the damn place to the ground. Like their lot need protecting when they’re the ones who’ve done this!”
Iain’s face twitched in disgust.
He had seen this man before—not specifically, but he knew his type well enough. Iain had encountered every type of person in the city, so it was rare that any behavior surprised him anymore. This man was the type who harbored nasty opinions he considered superior; only, he never had the chance to express those opinions out of fear of being ostracized.
He’ll have his little rant, but h
e won’t do anything. Doesn’t have the guts. And if he does… I won’t let him get that far.
The Iron Warden ignored the man and walked out the door and into the street, following his orders dutifully. Almost everyone ignored the man’s ranting as well, save for a few people who groaned or shouted at him to shut it. Worse still, Iain thought he heard a few murmurs of agreement.
Iain shifted so that he was stationed in front of the door, shield still in hand, blocking the outspoken man from leaving should he decide to do anything stupid.
The man paced shortly, then turned on Iain. “So you’re going to stand there while those faeries are out there still, no doubt celebrating their latest achievement in the nice little town you’ve set up for them?” The man scoffed, looking Iain over with great scrutiny. “What a fitting image of how low this city has sunk, putting punks like you in charge.”
“You should take a seat,” Iain said calmly. He hoped the man would listen. Having to arrest anyone in this situation could spark panic. For emphasis, Iain brushed his hand casually over the cuffs at his belt.
The man stared him down for a long moment. Iain kept his gaze focused on the wall across from him, his face blank. The man stood down, muttering a few more equally unpleasant words and phrases under his breath before plopping back down to his seat on the floor.
As time dragged on without further incident, Iain made a few passes around the room, answering questions where he could and just trying to keep order and calm. After half an hour, a few more stragglers were led inside, and as Iain went over to tend to them, he felt his throat close up a second time, though this time it had nothing to do with smoke.
Elaine…
She appeared to be in rough shape—more than what was normal for her. Propped up between a civilian and a soldier, her feet dragging on the ground, her limbs limp and pale, she looked more like a corpse than a living human woman.
As the soldiers lowered her to the floor to lean against the wall, she let out a wheezy, shuddering cough, her eyes screwing shut in pain. When her eyes opened again, heavily lidded, they were quick to lock on him. Even dazed with pain, she still found her smirk and wore it unabashedly.
Iain, without hesitation, grabbed the paramedic’s attention and ushered her to Elaine’s aid with the oxygen mask. He knelt down on the ground a few feet away, watching silently as the paramedic treated her until she could breathe properly again.
“You all right?” Iain asked once the paramedic left them. He maintained the distance between them.
“You should’ve had me left passed out on the street,” Elaine suggested, eyeing him closely as if to gauge his reaction. “It’d only be fair, wouldn’t it, love?”
“Are you all right?” he asked again tightly, ignoring her twisted attempt at humor or to get a rise out of him and ignoring the way his stomach turned.
“Like you care.” There was a thump as Elaine threw her head back against the wall. She glared up at the ceiling, rubbing at her eyes and smudging her dampened eye makeup. “No, you’d never do that, would you? Too good for that.”
Sensing the conversation was going nowhere pleasant, Iain stood. “If you’re all right, then I should go around and check on everyone else—”
“But you’re not too good for me,” Elaine interjected, her voice hard. “You only think you are. But you’re not good at all. Not anymore.”
“You should save your breath,” Iain suggested seriously, though he quietly enjoyed the hidden insult. “You’re only getting yourself worked up.”
“You’re worked up!”
As Iain turned, Elaine slammed her hands down on the floor, causing several people to look up in alarm, halting him. In that moment, Iain felt he could finally see her clearly: she had reached the edges of her desperation—she had given up now that he pretended nothing she said got to him. There would be no fun in it for her now.
“That ginger girl,” Elaine drawled, “she probably thinks she’s too good for everything too. Poor Red. She’s got some hard lessons to learn.” Elaine chuckled, her demeanor shifting and switching as abruptly as the English weather—one moment a raging rainstorm, the next a clear, calm sky.
Why bring the girl up? She’s got nothing to do with any of this…
“You know,” Elaine continued, staring past Iain at the wall, “pretty little Red reminds me of you, back when we first met. You were so young, innocent, stupid, and so hopeful about this hellhole of a country.
“Of course, once I was done with you, nothing of that kid was left. I don’t think that stupid boy would even recognize you now.”
Iain ignored her jabbing words. Most of what she said, he knew, was meant to distract him from the real point. “But that girl won’t be seeing you around, will she?” he asked. “I meant what I said the other day, Elaine.”
Elaine did not laugh this time as she had the last time he’d threatened to report her.
“I’m leaving the city soon anyway.” Elaine took a few steadying breaths, relaxing back against the wall again. “I’m meant for bigger things than what this city’s got to offer me anymore.”
“Is that so?” He hoped it was true, but she’d always liked to talk big. He hoped she was leaving. He hoped she did have something better lined up for her elsewhere.
“If you were smart, you’d get out of here too. Things are changing—even the freaks in Ferriers Town sense it. And after what happened today, that just proves it.”
Before Iain could ask her what she meant or puzzle it out himself, Elaine just sighed and twisted her face away from him. “I’m tired,” she said.
This time when Iain turned away from her and walked away, he did not look back. “Take care of yourself, Elaine,” Iain said with sincerity and finality.
Iain made his rounds, focusing only on following his orders and refusing to become distracted again. At least another half hour passed before Philip Prance, sweating and pale, walked purposefully into the building to replace him. Iain could honestly say it was the first time he was glad to see him. He locked eyes with Iain’s as he strode determinedly toward him. Iain finally set his shield down on the floor.
Philip grabbed him by the shoulder. “I’ve just found Boyd with your father. They’re both fine.”
Iain could almost breathe properly again. He wanted to ask Philip about the king, but he knew better than to risk panicking the already anxious civilians in the room.
“We’re about to start moving the civilians out of here and farther down the street away from the incident. Transportations have shut down, so it will be a while before anyone can get home.”
Iain nodded, thinking that was for the best. The room was stuffed nearly to capacity. Moving would at least give people something to do other than sit and wonder what had happened.
“Listen, Callaghan,” Philip said urgently, “I saw your brother when I got sent on that call earlier. I’m giving you permission to look for him. I’ve sent word for backup here so you can go.”
Iain took off instantly, darting past people on his way out of the building. Behind him, he heard the protests of the civilians, asking if they could leave too. The small bit of fear he had felt disappeared in an instant. His lungs burned as he ran and dodged through the crowd, but he did not let up.
He passed by the now-quiet street where King Eadred had been. The carriage remained, empty and abandoned, but the horses and everyone were gone. The street looked slick in some places, like it was wet. Tiny fragments of metal glittered on the pavement. Iain was certain the king had been protected. The Iron Infantry was one of the greatest specialized forces in all of Europe.
The streets were nearly empty. He saw a few people and paramedics huddled around an unconscious but breathing body on the ground. He pushed through to get a better look. It wasn’t James.
Iain spent another hour scouring every street the parade traveled down, finding nothing. Before too long, the Iron Wardens and Iron Infantry flooded the streets, sending people in buildings or sulking in back all
eys away and telling them to find somewhere safe and secure, telling them there was nothing to worry about, but the festivities were cancelled. Military tanks and vehicles lumbered up the streets, and soon the military personnel were all that were left out in the open. It was a strange sight. It was if the entire military had taken the city over by early afternoon.
Eventually, as Iain neared the government buildings, he saw the tall, unmistakable silhouette of his father in the distance, surrounded by a small crowd of members of the Iron Infantry and a group of people in lab coats who were clearly not with the military. Relief filled his chest as he neared the group, knowing that General Callaghan would know what to do.
Maybe he’s found James already…
Over the heads of people gathered, Iain could just see the top of some type of metallic machine. He’d never seen anything like it. As Iain stepped closer to get a better look, a few Iron Infantry soldiers barred him from going any farther.
The machine whirred to life, stopping Iain in his tracks like the soldiers were attempting to do. Before his eyes, the smoke began to dissipate from the air as if it had never existed, shimmering into nothingness. It was the machine.
“General Callaghan!” Iain called recklessly, as loudly as he could manage with his lungs still aching from the smoke.
General Callaghan turned his head toward him and then went back to discussing something with the group around him. A few minutes agonizingly passed before he finally made his way to Iain.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, looking Iain over quickly.
Iain shook his head impatiently. “Have you seen James?”
“He should be at home, where he was ordered to stay.”
“Prance said he saw James in the crowd. I can’t find him.”
General Callaghan’s expression was unfamiliar and concerning. For the first time in Iain’s life, he saw what fear looked like etched in his father’s face. “Where would James have gone?”
Iain wracked his brain for any slip of information, but he was too frazzled to think. “I dunno, I dunno,” he murmured. He drummed his fingers against his forehead, as if that would help. He pressed his fingers against his closed eyes, hard enough to where red burst behind them in the darkness.