The Dawn of Dae (Dae Portals Book 1)

by Anderson, Trillian

  Life on the fringe changed people; it certainly had changed me. I recognized the dull-eyed stares of the children who knew they were facing defeat. They were the ones poised on the brink of failure, who understood what their lives would become once they were ejected from primary school. Those who scored better stood tall, watching me, judging me, and deciding how best to overcome the challenge I represented.

  I saw myself in their eyes.

  The oldest was maybe ten, while the youngest was five or six; although I could remember details well enough, I’d never been a good judge of age. I turned my attention to the adults. I would deal with them first.

  Once they were gone, I would be in a better position to manipulate the system I had created for judging dae and their potentials. All I had to do was keep close enough to the truth—and make a best-guess decision on whether the child would be better off under the heel of the elite or returning to the fringe.

  The adults were all fire-breathers. I flipped through the sheets and found the one most likely to burst into a column of flame.

  “Sylvia Manchester,” I called out. Grabbing my bag, I moved it to the ground behind my chair. The laptop had survived both of its unintentional run-ins with Rob, and I booted it up while the woman approached my table.

  “I’m Sylvia Manchester,” the blond-haired woman stated, coming to a halt a discreet distance away. I heard the crackle of fire in her voice.

  “Let’s skip the bullshit,” I suggested, slapping the stack of papers onto the table. The woman jumped, and the scent of wood burning teased my nose. “You’re a fire-breather. I’ve been burned, singed, covered in soot, and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost a few inches of hair over the past couple of days. I’ve seen a woman decide she liked fire more than life itself. I’d rather not have those sorts of demonstrations. Prove you’re elite-quality and capable of controlling yourself, or tell me exactly why you can’t control yourself.”

  The way Sylvia flinched warned me the woman likely had control issues. She stared at her feet and said nothing.

  “You don’t know why you can’t control your fire.”

  She nodded.

  “Are you a threat to those around you?”

  For a long moment, Sylvia stared at me. Her eyes reminded me of Rob. Once again, the thought of the dae roused my annoyance.

  Normal women didn’t growl. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Instead, I watched Sylvia. Orange tinted the whites of her eyes.

  I considered my next words carefully. There were so many different types of people from the fringe. I could infuriate her into a repeat performance of Claudia’s demise, or I could strengthen her resolve with my words. I wouldn’t know until I tried. I tensed, wondering if I’d be able to get out of the way if she did decide to open her mouth and flame me in the face. “A woman who thought she had control and burned herself to a crisp the other day, you know. It was dumb luck she didn’t take out a lot of people with her when she went.”

  Sylvia’s cheek twitched. After a long moment, she sighed. “When I touch things, they catch on fire.”

  “That classifies as a control problem. What can you touch without causing combustion?”

  The way she refused to meet my gaze told me everything I needed to know. People counted as things, unless I was very mistaken.

  “I see.” I hesitated. My next words would condemn the woman to the elite, but if she was killing people accidentally, leaving her on the streets would make me guilty of other crimes—worse ones. I echoed her sigh. “Well, you certainly can’t go around lighting everyone around you on fire. I’m going to send you over to the dean for a second interview. I’ll send an escort with you to open the doors, since I don’t think you want to burn the college down.”

  “I’ll try to do better,” she whispered.

  All of my life, I had heard the same words over and over, and I swallowed them back before I could use them on Sylvia. Telling her to try harder wouldn’t do her any good. I’d been a victim of the phrase often enough. I nodded, because I believed her.

  “When you touch people, you burn them, don’t you?” I whispered, hoping I was soft enough no one—even the werewolves—could hear me.

  “Yes.”

  “You kill them.”

  Again, Sylvia diverted her gaze to the ground. She did nod, which was enough for me.

  “Be direct when you speak with the dean. Don’t mince words. Be up front, honest, and detail the facts. He doesn’t appreciate his time being wasted. If you can find a pair of gloves you can wear to prevent accidental contact with people until you learn to control your skill, I recommend you wear them.”

  I waved my hand for the police. A werewolf came at my call. I couldn’t tell its gender, but it had a splash of white across its nose and reddish fur, which made it stand out compared to its brown-and-gray brethren. “Miss Manchester needs to be escorted to see the dean. Make certain no one touches her. It could have adverse affects for them and their property.”

  “Come with me,” the werewolf snarled, and because its ears were perked forward, I realized it wasn’t angry despite the viciousness of its voice.

  I waited until Sylvia was out of sight before calling the next person. The young man who approached my table had black hair. I couldn’t tell if his skin had always been black or if he was covered in soot.

  “Can’t walk down the street without bumping into a fire-breather,” he said, a little too cheerfully for my liking. “Figured you didn’t want to see another one of us muckin’ about in your business, but they said I had to show up, so ‘ere I am.”

  He didn’t sound like someone from the fringe, and puzzled, I looked over his file again. “I try not to bump into anyone, Mr. Hasling. What makes you different enough you were sent here?”

  “Arthur. I work the steel down around the docks. You know, liftin’ the heavy weights. Import from the south, and they like a bit of brawn ‘round these parts, so it worked well, you know? I got a bit of the temper, you know? I was hotheaded before, but now I’m somethin’ else.”

  “So you set things on fire when you get angry, Arthur?”

  “Pretty much. Just happens it’s really hot fire, and it can melt steel down right fast.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. Baltimore didn’t have forges, but it had a very busy port, which handled a lot of shipments from cities responsible for the refinement and processing of metals. “How much steel did you destroy?”

  “Just a bit.”

  “Define a bit, please. Are we talking about one or two girders or an entire ship worth of steel?”

  “Not quite the entire ship.”

  “I see.” With that much loss of goods, no wonder the elite had sent Arthur over. If destruction was what the government desired, the dae in front of me had it in spades. “Can you do it on purpose or only when you lose your temper?”

  Arthur chuckled. “Wouldn’t know, haven’t tried.”

  “Please don’t.”

  Laughing, the man shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Can’t say I blame you, lady. I don’t really want to be tryin’ it myself, either. Heard about that woman the other day, poor lassie.”

  I grimaced, both at his accidental use of Kenneth’s pet name for me when he was in a good mood and the reminder of Claudia’s death. “Right.”

  What was I supposed to do with him? He had power, but without any idea if he could control it, it was a toss of a coin on whether or not he was suitable for the elite to deal with—or a risk to send back to the fringe.

  “How often do you lose your temper, Arthur?”

  Glancing in the direction of the gathered children, Arthur shrugged. “Now and again.”

  Fire-breathers made odd noises, especially the strong ones I’d met, but before him, none of them sounded quite so much like a wind-whipped inferno. I shivered, following his gaze.

  Happy children laughed and played, but the ones waiting for their interviews stood still and quiet, as though they waited for
their turn to be executed. What would happen to the ones I rejected?

  Would they return to their lives, or would the government deem them too dangerous to live? I sucked in a breath, my eyes widening. Would the elite go so far as to remove threats to themselves by killing kids?

  Arthur’s attention focused on me. “You understand.”

  “What do I understand?” I demanded, and my cheeks burned at the conflicting worry and embarrassment of having my grim thoughts reflected in my expression.

  I wasn’t supposed to be so careless.

  Arthur leaned towards me and whispered, “I won’t let them have the kids. Not you, not them, not anyone. But, you seem like a nice enough girl. You want to help them.”

  I opened my mouth, so incredulous at his bold declaration I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Flames erupted from Arthur and surrounded me. They caged me in, and instead of the light I expected, I was engulfed in darkness.

  People caught in billowing balls of fire burned, which is what should have happened to me but didn’t. My still-alive status froze me in place while I tried to figure out what was going on and why I wasn’t dead. At least I could figure out the cause easily enough; Arthur was exactly the type of man the elite worried about, and for a brief moment, I rejoiced in the fact he was doing what I couldn’t.

  Reality reasserted its influence over me, and the waves of heat swirling around me reminded me I was supposed to be dying a fiery death. Was I like Claudia, who had been so enthralled by the glory of her flames she hadn’t noticed them consuming her until it was too late? Smoke stung my eyes, and I got to my feet, coughing and spluttering at the acrid fumes in the air.

  Arthur’s flames reeked of sulfur and tasted terrible. I slapped my hand to my mouth and held my breath. If Arthur wanted to help the children, I wasn’t going to stop him. I wanted to help them but couldn’t.

  But how had the dae known I wanted to help the kids? If he had read it in my expression, the police likely had recognized my thoughts, too. Before I could worry about it, I needed to get away in case he decided to turn me into a steaming pile of ash.

  Then I remembered Colby. I sucked in a breath and choked on the smoke. I had set my bag, with Colby nestled inside, somewhere behind my chair. Had Arthur incinerated it? I fumbled through the darkness. Maybe I hadn’t been killed outright, but it wouldn’t matter if I couldn’t breathe. I wheezed, and the air seared my lungs.

  I found the strap for the bag, which seemed intact. I gave it a tug, and its weight reassured me my macaroni and cheese roommate was still inside.

  “Mommy!”

  I saved my breath, secured my grip on the bag with both hands, and prepared to make a run for it. Finding my way by memory would prove problematic; I had no idea which direction I was facing. I didn’t want to get caught near a burning building. Maybe the fire hadn’t killed me, but falling debris would get the job done well enough. Behind my table was a large lawn, and my best bet was to reach the open space and hope I found the edge of the firestorm before Arthur changed his mind about leaving me alive.

  I shouldn’t have found the irony so funny, but a giggle tickled my throat as I dragged Colby’s bag in the direction of what I hoped was relative safety. Arthur was the exact sort of dae the elite wanted.

  If Arthur could turn a shipment of steel to slag and control his flames enough to pick and choose who he killed, the elite would do anything to have him. They’d also do anything to get rid of him, if he didn’t do what they wanted when they wanted.

  I would worry about Arthur later, when I wasn’t caught in the middle of his defiance. I staggered under Colby’s weight, gasping as I tripped over something I couldn’t see. I pitched forward, and someone caught me. An arm slapped over my chest, and fingers grabbed my arm in a bruising grip.

  “Where do you think you’re goin’, little lassie? I’m not done with you, not yet.”

  Why did I always run into the dae who thought I was theirs to control? I let go of Colby’s bag and leaned forward. When Arthur’s grip on me tightened, just like I wanted, I slammed my head backwards.

  I went limp from the force of my blow, and the gusting crackle of the dae’s flames faded to utter silence.

  Chapter Twelve

  If anyone ever found out I had managed to knock myself out trying to escape a kidnapping, I would never live it down—assuming I managed to survive the mess I was in. Not only had I failed to free myself, I had likely made Arthur’s job easier.

  I had a faint memory of cracking the back of my skull into the dae’s face. The rest was a confusing blur, and it hadn’t ended well for me. My head throbbed. My ears hurt worse than my head; each time my heart beat, a stabbing pain lanced down my spine all the way to my toes.

  Death scared most people, myself included, but I dealt with the unknown in a simple enough way. Once dead, I wouldn’t have to worry about a whole lot, including pain.

  I hurt, therefore I lived.

  Maybe I wasn’t dead, but I sure as hell didn’t feel very lively. Opening my eyes was a challenge, and while I managed to crack one open, my vision was too blurry for me to make out more than a few gray blobs. I was lying on concrete, and that meant I was in trouble and a lot of it.

  The college, so far as I knew, didn’t have concrete floors anywhere. Concrete was reserved for sidewalks in the fringe and warehouses—or anywhere the elite didn’t tend to go. The places the elite frequented could afford proper paving stones, and concrete wasn’t good enough for them.

  It didn’t matter where I’d been taken; I wanted to leave, and that was that. What did Arthur want with me? Burning me to a crisp would have been much easier than taking me. Why did he bother with me if helping the children escape had been his goal?

  It didn’t make any sense to me. Maybe once my head wasn’t throbbing so much, I would be able to think it through and figure out what I was missing and why a dae would want to kidnap me. Making my escape before Arthur could get what he wanted was my highest priority.

  Once I was free, I’d figure out what I’d tell the police and worry about convincing them I had played no part in the dae’s schemes. I wasn’t surprised someone had finally decided to use his newfound abilities to strike out at the elite. Most parents thought elevation to the elite caste was an honor, but some didn’t.

  I surely wasn’t the only one who realized what the government was really after. Did any parent want to see their child become a weapon? Arthur had looked young to me, but it was possible one of the kids was a sibling or relative. I had no way of knowing.

  I forced my attention to my more immediate problem. I tested my fingers and toes, wincing at the stab of pins and needles in my hands and feet. I rotated my ankles, which grudgingly obeyed my demands.

  My wrists weren’t so cooperative, and it didn’t take long to figure out my hands were tied behind my back. I couldn’t tell what I was bound with, but it was too strong for me to escape. I twisted my hands, hissing at the pressure on my healing burns.

  The pain helped me focus, and I squinted in my effort to force my eyes to focus. The gray shapes in the distance solidified into steel shipping containers.

  The fringe had many warehouses, and most of them were near the docks. While it was possible I’d been taken elsewhere, I was most likely on the far side of the city, far from where the elite preferred to live.

  As long as I could get out of the warehouse, I could find my way to one of Kenneth’s haunts. It’d be trivial to break into one of his stashes, arm myself, and make it somewhere safe. He’d drag me over the coals later for stealing his stuff—if he noticed anything was missing.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the only one I had.

  My time with Kenneth had taught me a few tricks, and while Arthur had done a good job of tying me up, he hadn’t secured my elbows together, giving me all the wiggling room I needed. I wasn’t the most flexible woman, but I was determined, and a little pain wasn’t going to stop me.

  Once I had my hands in front
of me, I’d be able to figure something out. I cursed my long legs as I twisted my arms beneath me, tucking my feet so I could work my shoes through the gap between my arms.

  To pull off the maneuver, I’d need to get on my knees and sit back so I could wiggle my hands to the front. If I did it wrong, I’d end up a human pretzel, stuck in a contorted, painful pose until someone came to check on me.

  The risk of further humiliation spurred me on; grinding my teeth together, I jerked my body so I’d be kneeling. I gasped at the way the concrete bit at my knees through my jeans, leaned forward a little too far, and cracked my chin when I fell.

  Bursts of light blinded me. I shuddered at the taste of blood in my mouth. While painful, my tumble hadn’t ruined my plans. My hands were caught in front of my shoes, and I worked my legs under me.

  All I had to do was slide my wrists over my knees, then I’d be able to see how I was tied up and work from there. I grabbed hold of my jeans so I wouldn’t undo my efforts and flopped onto my side. The movement hurt almost as much as smacking my face into the concrete. I groaned, and for several long minutes, I focused on taking deep breaths to control my urge to scream.

  I don’t know when or how it happened, but there was something wrong with my side. My ribs throbbed, and the burning itch of an allergic reaction distracted me from my jaw. Tears of pain and frustration burned my eyes.

  When I was free, I could find somewhere to hole up and fall apart. Once safe, I’d find my way home, lock myself in my apartment, and hide. In all likelihood, the police would be looking for me, either as a victim or a criminal. With luck, the former, although I’d plan for the latter.

  Bad luck haunted me and planning for the worst-case scenario had saved me more than once. Even if the cops arrested me, a prison cell was a better fate than whatever Arthur had planned for me.