Down in Flames

by P. W. Catanese

  Angela obviously sensed it too, because she laughed. It wasn’t one of her mischievous laughs this time. This was a shy giggle that Donny had never heard. “Oh, you,” she said. “I’m too young for that. I won’t take a spouse for another hundred years.”

  The man laughed too. “Oh, it will be sooner than that. I guarantee it.”

  This guy, thought Donny. He wanted to run around the corner and punch him right in his perfect complexion. He resolved to leave again, and got two steps away before the next exchange froze him once more.

  “I have my friends to keep me company,” Angela said.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” the man said. “These humans of yours. You seem very fond of them.” Donny held his breath, afraid to miss a word.

  “Fond?” Angela said. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  Donny clapped a hand over his mouth.

  “They’re interesting, mostly,” Angela said. “The girl isn’t very useful. She’s more like a toy.”

  “And the boy?” said the man.

  “Useful enough,” Angela said. “Having him around helps me learn the human ways. I need to talk like them and act like them so I can pass in the modern world. And some of my missions to the mortal realm require the help of humans.”

  Donny’s knees weakened. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

  “But you already have human servants in the mortal realm,” said the stranger. “It’s unusual to bring one to Sulfur to live.”

  “I need to learn what I can from the boy while he still lives. It’s very likely that one of our adventures will get him killed. Then . . .” Donny could almost see her shrugging. “I’ll find another. It’s easy enough to replace him. Just set a fire or something, put them in danger of their lives, and they’ll beg to come with me.”

  Donny found it hard to breathe. Just set a fire or something. He remembered that terrifying moment in the burning building and how Angela had appeared like a miracle when he needed saving. Was it really her? Did she set the fire that almost killed me? How could he not have guessed? His heart felt ready to explode. He leaned against the wall and fought to keep his legs from folding underneath him.

  “Angela,” the man teased. “You can’t fool me. I’ve heard how you act around the boy. You adore him.”

  “Of course I act that way,” Angela said. “I want Donny to think he’s important to me. How else will I get him to do what I want?”

  The man chuckled. “And there we have it. That is the power of Angela Obscura,” he said. “You could make anyone believe anything.” She laughed with him.

  Donny pushed himself away from the wall. His brain was spinning. Part of him wanted to race around the corner and scream at Angela. But he staggered away instead, more afraid of being seen if they should decide to walk his way. He nearly blundered over the edge, dizzy with rage and tears.

  If he could choose to undo all of it, to return to that burning building before he’d met her, and choose that fate instead of living to hear the truth, he would have let the fire take him.

  CHAPTER 18

  When Donny got back down, he told Tizzy he wasn’t in the mood for games, and went to his room. He kicked off his sneakers, flopped onto the bed, and stared at the canopy above.

  An hour passed, maybe two, and then Angela was at the door. She pushed it ajar and knocked at the same time. “Adventure awaits,” she said with a smile. She was back in her human form, this time with an unruly mass of straw-colored hair.

  “Okay,” Donny mumbled.

  “Okay,” she mumbled back, deepening her voice to mock his. “What’s with you, Mister Grumpy-Pants? Gadzooks, you’re not still moping about what happened at Cataracta?”

  “Not moping about that,” he told her. “And nobody says ‘gadzooks’ anymore. I’m not sure they ever did.”

  “Well, fiddledeedee,” she retorted. “Get your stuff together. We’re gonna investigate this missing-souls business. Pack for three days. And think tropical.”

  • • •

  They stood once again before the cascade of flames. Angela gave Porta their destination, and the diminutive demon gestured at the fire.

  Once the globe appeared, Porta waved her hands to spin it until Donny spotted what was obviously the Caribbean Sea, with Florida to the north. He had always loved maps and geography, and knew the islands pretty well. Florida pointed like a finger to Cuba, the largest of a string of islands that reached east like stepping-stones. Haiti and the Dominican Republic came next, and then, before a sprinkling of smaller islands bent toward South America, he saw the place that Angela had named. Porta beckoned the flames, and the island of Puerto Rico grew large in the field of fire.

  “There,” Angela said. “Old San Juan.” Donny saw what she meant: A starlike point shining white against the dark red flames, near the northeastern corner of the roughly rectangular island. A few gestures later, Porta had opened a doorway between Sulfur and Puerto Rico. Donny hefted his backpack and followed Angela into a small, dank, dimly lit room lined with blocks of timeworn sandstone. Just like that, they had stepped between worlds.

  The room looked like a centuries-old basement. There was a small bed in one corner, and a little sofa. A desk was nearby, and on it a laptop computer glowed softly. A small desk lamp was the only source of light besides the fire. A dehumidifier hummed in another corner. But nobody else was in the room. There was only one exit, aside from the fire-portal. That was an old wooden door, currently shut tight.

  Donny turned to look at the fire they’d stepped through. Like most of the fires that humans maintained for the use of Angela and other travelers from Sulfur, this one came from a pipe connected to a gas tank. He watched as the portal vanished from sight, the supernatural opening filled by flames.

  “Someone ought to be here,” Angela muttered. As if that was a cue, Donny heard a key scratch inside a lock, and the door creaked open. A dark-haired, middle-aged woman clapped her hand over her mouth when she saw Angela and Donny.

  “Disculpe!” the woman said. “Tuve que usar—”

  Angela interrupted with a raised hand. “Do you speak English? Hablas tú inglés?”

  “Sí, sí,” the woman answered in a quaking voice. “I mean, yes. I am sorry. I had to use the baño, and I stepped away for only a momento.”

  “Thank you for that glimpse into your glamorous lifestyle,” Angela replied.

  “I am so sorry, señorita. I did not think I would miss anything. This . . . this entrance, it is not used so much lately, you understand? We hardly see Señor Fiasco anymore. But we so appreciate the—”

  “You’re not in any trouble,” Angela told her. “But let’s keep someone here around the clock for the next few days, all right? I’m not sure when I’ll need this fire. No hay problema?”

  “Absolutamente,” the woman said. She took a deep breath. “No hay problema.”

  The woman led them out of the room. She locked the wooden door behind them, and led them down a stone-walled corridor lit by bare bulbs strung along the ceiling. They passed a plastic porta-potty (the baño, Donny said to himself) and came to the bottom of a long set of stone stairs. At the top was an iron gate. When they reached it, the woman unlocked the heavy padlock that secured the gate and pushed it open.

  “Muchas gracias,” Angela said as they stepped out into a narrow alleyway between a pair of old buildings. The alley was shadowed, but Donny saw bright sunshine beating on a stone-paved street at the far end, and he heard music from afar. Even in the shade, the air felt warm.

  “Thank you,” Donny told her. He gave her a wave and a smile.

  “Señorita,” the woman called when they’d walked a few steps away.

  Angela stopped and looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifted.

  The woman looked behind her to make sure nobody else was near, and kept her voice low. “My mother, she has been ill. And my daughters. I have two; they are both very smart.”

  Angela cocked her head to one side,
asking without saying it aloud: So?

  The woman fanned her face with her hand. “Sorry. I am too nervous. But my mother, she will be well again. And my daughters—I can send them to good schools.” She pointed at the locked gate. “Because of the money you give us, to guard that room. So I say, thank you so much.” She lowered her eyes. “Or perhaps I should have said nothing.”

  Angela looked at Donny and shrugged. “De nada,” she told the woman. “See you around.” She turned and walked briskly down the alley.

  Donny lagged behind long enough to say, “I’m glad your mom will be okay.” The woman was red-faced, biting her lip. She looked like she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  Donny jogged up beside Angela. “She was really grateful. You should have been a little nicer.”

  “Don’t be so sappy, Donny. We pay people because somebody has to maintain the fires. If we do something decent, it’s by accident.”

  “But you are doing something decent. And that’s kind of ironic, right? Considering where you’re from?”

  “Absolutamente,” Angela said.

  CHAPTER 19

  Old San Juan was broiling and beautiful, a mix of old-world Spain and Caribbean splendor. They walked down narrow, sloping streets paved with blue cobblestones, past rows of three-story pastel buildings.

  There were cats everywhere, lounging in the shadows. They were perfectly relaxed until Angela approached. Then they slunk away, their bellies scraping the ground, and occasionally hissed over their shoulders. Angela let out a hiss of her own through her nostrils, a sound of pure exasperation.

  Donny thought about something the woman had said that he hadn’t understood. “Angela, who is Señor Fiasco?”

  “Ah, Fiasco,” Angela said with a crooked grin. “An old friend. Fiasco is one of us. He came to Old San Juan a long time ago and refuses to return to Sulfur. We’ll go and meet him—I want to ask him something. Also, he might have a clue about the missing souls. His intuition is very strong.”

  They passed a tall, majestic cathedral and came to a plaza with a tree so wide, its branches nearly brushed the buildings on either side. A handsome hotel, yellow with white pillars, stood before them, and Angela led Donny inside. “This used to be a convent, as long as we’re doing irony,” she said.

  Donny let out a laugh of surprise when he saw two familiar people sitting in a pair of leather chairs in the lobby, sipping icy drinks. One was Howard, the courtly, secretive gentleman who seemed to be responsible for anything Angela needed in the mortal realm. Howard had enormous wealth and resources at his disposal. He arranged for Angela’s earthly living quarters, although, thanks to some bad judgment on Donny’s part, a luxurious apartment in Manhattan had to be abandoned. Donny shuddered at the memory. He had almost exposed Angela to the police.

  The second man was Carlos. Donny had met Carlos in Brooklyn when he helped Angela capture a nasty whispering demon that had stirred up trouble. That was the first time Angela had lured Donny into a near-fatal situation. How many times was he up to now? At least four, he figured. Those awful words he had overheard resounded in his head: It’s very likely that one of our adventures will get him killed. Then . . . I’ll find another. It’s easy enough to replace him.

  Donny felt his teeth mash together, and he tried to suppress the angry, saddened expression that he knew was twisting his face. He didn’t want Howard or Carlos to see it. Donny liked both of these men, although Howard was aloof and intimidating. He forced a smile and gave them a wave as he and Angela walked across the gleaming checkerboard floor. Howard returned a subtle two-fingered salute, and Carlos flashed a grin underneath his sunglasses.

  “I didn’t know you guys would be here,” Donny said.

  “Summoned by Miss Obscura,” Howard replied as he got to his feet. “We just arrived.” He was tall and trim, and dressed in a light cotton shirt and slacks. Carlos wore a flowered shirt, shorts, and sandals.

  “I’ve never flown on a private jet before,” Carlos said. He took off his sunglasses, and his dark eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Very luxurious. Have you been on Howard’s jet, Angela?”

  “Sit in a metal tube thousands of feet in the air with a bunch of nervous, gassy mortals? No, thanks. I like my way better.” Angela presented her cheek for a kiss by both men. “Glad you made it, my darlings.” She leaned closer to Carlos and talked softly. “I know I haven’t told you much yet, but how’s your radar? You sense anything here?”

  “Not yet,” Carlos said. He lifted his chin and shut his eyes. He turned his hands so his palms faced up. Donny got the impression that he was turning himself into an antenna.

  A few seconds later Carlos opened his eyes. “Maybe? I am not so sure. I hope I have not come all this way for nothing.”

  “That’s not the spirit,” Angela said.

  “Let me wander a bit,” Carlos said. “I will rent a car and drive around. It helps . . .” His face reddened, and his eye contact with Angela faltered. “It helps if you are not so close by.”

  Angela smiled as if he’d paid her a compliment. “Jamming the frequencies, am I? Well, have a nice drive. Howard, Donny and I will check in and put our bags away. Then we’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

  “Miss Obscura,” Howard said before Angela turned for the reception desk. “I hope you’ll keep a low profile while you’re on this island?” He shot a sideways look at Donny, who pulled his head between his shoulders like a turtle.

  Angela snickered and headed for the front desk.

  CHAPTER 20

  We have time to kill,” Angela said when they were all back in the lobby. “I’m going to find a salon and try to get this hair improved. It looks like, I don’t know, a haystack in a tornado or something.”

  “Do you need any funds?” Howard asked.

  “Oh, Donny and I managed to retrieve a bundle recently,” Angela replied.

  “I wish you’d let my organization handle that,” Howard said. He rubbed his temple with his fingers, as if he’d suddenly developed a headache. “May I ask where this happened?”

  “Milwaukee, home of beer and bratwurst,” Angela replied.

  “And were you seen doing anything . . . out of the ordinary?” Howard asked.

  Angela glanced at the ceiling. “Not that I can recall.” Howard looked at Donny, and Donny shrugged. Then Howard pulled a leather notepad from his pocket and scribbled something in it. Donny had a feeling that Howard’s people would soon be checking out any strange news reports in Milwaukee.

  “As always,” Howard said, “my advice is to behave as normally as possible. And don’t do anything that might draw attention to yourself.”

  “You’re being a fussbudget again,” Angela chided. “Donny, you want to watch me get a haircut?”

  “Why don’t you take a walk with me, Mr. Taylor?” Howard said. “We’ll go to the old fort. It’s very impressive.” Donny was surprised. Howard hadn’t shown much interest in him before. If anything, he seemed to regard Donny as a disaster looking for a place to happen, especially since he was still technically a missing child.

  “Oh. Sure,” Donny said. A few minutes later he and Howard were on the street. As they headed downhill toward the sea, Donny caught a whiff of salty air.

  “Mr. Taylor. Donny,” Howard said when they were a block away from the hotel. “Is everything well with you?”

  Donny gulped quietly. Howard must have seen the expression on his face when he walked into the hotel. “Um. Yeah. I’m fine,” he lied.

  “Hmm,” Howard said back. He was silent for a while. The street led to the coastline, and ahead of them, beyond a vast green lawn, stood an ancient, thick-walled fortress. Howard bought bottles of cold water from a street vendor and handed one to Donny. “Hydrate. Do you know what this excursion of Angela’s is about?”

  “Not exactly,” said Donny. “I know there are some souls that should have turned up in Sulfur but didn’t. Angela wants to find out what happened to them. She has some kind of map. I guess some of the
souls vanished from here.”

  Howard wore a white Panama hat. He took it from his head and fanned himself with it. “I don’t get too involved with infernal matters, but I know a little about these things. That would be a map of the invisible currents that capture human souls.”

  “Soulstreams,” said Donny, remembering what Zig-Zag had called them.

  “Really,” mused Howard. His eyes twinkled at Donny. “You’ve learned a lot down there. So you know that those currents are like tributaries, which eventually lead to the River of Souls, which runs through Sulfur.” He pointed with the hat toward the fortress. “See that? It’s called El Morro. It was built by the Spanish almost five hundred years ago. Back then, San Juan was the most strategic location in the Caribbean, and therefore the most heavily defended. This was the Spanish empire’s stepping-stone to the New World.” He put the hat back on his head and took a swig of water. “So it’s not surprising that one of the soulstreams, as you call them, passes through here. They have always flowed through historically important areas. Come on. Let’s go inside the fort. It’s remarkable.”

  They ambled down the paved path that divided the immense lawn. People were everywhere, picnicking, napping in the sun, and kicking soccer balls. Dozens of kites soared in the sea breeze. A spectacular old graveyard, dense with statues and monuments, was visible to the right.

  “I want to ask you this again,” Howard said as they walked. “And I hope you feel that you can trust me, and you can be honest with me. You don’t seem quite the same as the last time I saw you. Not as lively, or happy. Is everything all right for you in Sulfur? Are you healthy? Has Angela treated you well?”

  Donny opened his mouth, intending to lie again, but a weird choking sound came out instead. Howard patted Donny’s shoulder. “Take your time,” he said. “But I want to hear it.”