by K. Gorman
A different kind of ringing began in her head. She started to shake. It was not a soft shake. Her eyes went wide, following the plane’s path. It sped over the valley’s lights like a jet-powered hawk above a feast.
The Phoenix shook, too. Her control slipped. Fire crawled up her clothes and kissed her cheek in gentle heat.
“I looked you up after our last meeting,” Redenbacher went on, oblivious to the danger. The alcohol was dark in his glass. “I’m sorry about your mother. You can understand why I want to protect my family.”
He couldn't have picked a worse topic.
“I will never understand.” she said.
The liquor cabinet went first. Lacquered wood caught like kindling, freeing spirits with a soft whumph and the shatter of broken glass. In the reflection of the window, she saw it blaze.
Redenbacher watched it with a loose sobriety. It was maddening. She tipped fire into his glass, too.
He examined the burning drink. Calmly, he put the glass on his desk.
“I guess I won’t be drinking anymore.”
Her attention returned to the plane, its solitary light cold with distance. It blinked like a beacon. The Phoenix had an answer to that, too. Fire rocked the room. Redenbacher took a step. The cityscape wavered before her. She was the sun. Orange flames heated to blue. Mieshka raised a burning hand.
“Meese!”
Jo had abandoned Gerard. The bar’s fire put her muscled figure in a stark silhouette, outlining every gun and hard edge, every hair that had slid free of the bun. Mieshka’s fire reflected in her eyes. Wide eyes.
Gerard had the same eyes. She doubted he would ever underestimate her again.
Her hands stopped shaking. In her mind, she saw the end of her power. The Phoenix had near infinite power, but its wick was burning out. Maybe this Phoenix had lived long enough.
She pointed her burning hand to the sky. Fire burned a black hole into the ceiling above. Its cry was made of hissing air and crackling drywall. The plane was closer now, its light blinking a beacon for it.
Mieshka, haunted by the lives of ten million people, by the picture of her mother, by the grief of her father, let the Phoenix fly.
She was barely aware of things after that, only of the fire.
Fire enough to burn a thousand forests.
Fire enough to challenge the sun.
Fire enough for hell.
***
Meese collapsed. Like all her strings had been cut. The fire was gone from her clothes. Smoke rose from her prone form.
She seemed down for the count.
What the hell happened?
The bar burned behind her. Jo felt its heat on her back, like an open oven set to broil. Gun in hand, she looked back to Gerard. At this point, it was fairly safe to say that he wouldn’t move. Too much of his blood soaked the carpet for any heroics.
Redenbacher leaned back over his desk, one hand raised as if to shield himself.
Mieshka didn’t move.
He lowered his hand. “What did she do?”
Jo’s jaw tensed. Behind, something fell on the bar. A blast of heat hit her back. The smell reminded her of other fires, where burst trees had splintered, looking like they got kneecapped in the trunk. Singed sap had incensed a pine scent over the Front.
She rounded on Redenbacher, who was staring down at Meese with a mild shock and puzzlement concerning his face.
“You. You brought this.” She levelled her gun at him. He didn’t notice, still staring at the burning sky. The fire reflected in his eyes. Soon, its glow would consume them all like a midnight sun.
“What did she do?” he asked.
With a quick glance at Gerard, Jo knelt by the fallen redhead. Mieshka’s skin was hot, like someone who’d been by the campfire too long.
Jo felt a pulse.
Mieshka was alive, breaths shallow. She smelled of smoke.
Jo stood. Redenbacher was too close for her liking.
“What did she do?” he asked again, alcohol poisoning his breath.
She flipped the gun over. The movement caught his drunken eye. He watched as she slammed the butt into his face.
The wet smack satisfied some dark part of her. He flinched back late, scrabbled at his desk, and slid to the floor.
She bent down and pilfered through his pockets. Unarmed.
“Look. Outside.” Gerard sat against the cracked, bloodied glass. Her attention snapped to the hand inside his coat. She’d stripped him, though. There was nothing under the jacket but a bullet wound. She looked out the window.
Pollution put a haze over the city, giving the air a glow. Far below, a lot of vehicles crowded the curb in front of the Cyprios Skytower. The army, she thought. Late as usual.
“The sky,” he said.
She looked up. Her eyes grew wide.
There, spreading across the star-strewn deep blue, was fire. It drifted like ten thousand will o’ wisps, growing like the movement of a giant amoeba. Jo moved closer to the window, watching it spread. It was a forest fire for the sky.
“What did she do?” Gerard asked this time, not Redenbacher.
Jo could take a guess. The fire followed the same pattern as the Mages’ shield.
She glanced down at Meese, who did not move. Turning back to Redenbacher, she flipped her gun back around.
His eyes, though blurred by alcohol, fixed on the barrel as she pointed it at him. His mouth tightened. She’d done him a good blow to the jaw.
Fire seethed inside of Jo, too.
Redenbacher spoke. “You won’t shoot me. I didn’t…”
Jo did not smile. She had no sarcastic quip. Her face was stone. Impassive. Full of faults. She thought of shooting him, her hand on the trigger. Thought, too, of all the soldiers they’d encountered today. How many of them had died? How many lived?
“You brought this,” she said.
He flinched.
She hit him. The butt of her gun pummelled hard onto his upper back. He had nowhere to fall. He curled over from the pain and whimpered.
Gently, she cradled Meese’s small shoulders. As she dragged her away, the sprinklers spurted on. The wall of glass blurred with water, tilting orange into the city’s light.
The elevator dipped as Jo stepped onto it. Gently, she leaned Meese against the wall. Mieshka’s skin wasn’t as hot as before. Standing up, Jo stepped onto the threshold and took in the room.
Gerard watched her by the window. The bar fire had spread to the carpet. Her boot stopped the door from closing. She stared at him, considering her options.
Gerard held her stare.
She swore. Meese was making her too soft.
She spun a chair into the door to keep it open, and walked over to the bleeding man. Except for a tiny whine of pain, he didn’t protest as she dragged him to the door. She put him next to the couch outside the elevator, kicked the chair out, and watched while she waited for the doors to close.
“I’ll send it back up when I’m done. Ambulance ought to have come by now, with all the fire alarms we’ve set off.” Redenbacher was still doubled over by his desk, staring up at the sky. Water darkened his slate-grey suit. “Try not to bring your boss.”
“Thanks,” said Gerard, whose wound had a tougher time with the water.
“Don’t thank me. Thank the kid. She’d hate herself if I let someone die.”
They exchanged a long look. The door rumbled shut. She tapped the button.
“LEVEL 1, MAIN LOBBY.”
Meese was still out. Jo began to worry. Hopefully this was some sort of magical side-effect and not brain damage. Something that ended with her alive and well.
Jo looked away, finding an engraved warning in the control panel.
IN CASE OF FIRE, USE STAIRS.
Her laugh was a single, savage vowel.
CHAPTER 17
Aiden was no longer tired. Buck’s driving had seen to that.
He punched the hatchback to speeds inadvisable in traffic, its little engine whining. I
t was not a smooth ride, but it was quick. Within five minutes, Buck sped into the roundabout that marked the turn-off for Aiden’s neighbourhood. Loose change rattled in the cup-holder as the car cranked through traffic. A chorus of horns followed them.
Aiden braced himself against the door, knees knocking the glovebox. He clutched the flaring Fire Crystal to the seatbelt across his chest, watching the road blur.
It still wasn’t fast enough.
“Whose car is this?”
“Mo’s.”
“Nice of him to lend it.”
Aiden itched to use his magic. Unfortunately, the laws of teleportation specified an ‘only teleport yourself’ rule. There were nasty consequences if he brought a friend.
The crystal had enough energy for two people. Maybe more.
Hence Buck’s manic driving.
He glanced over. Buck’s face had dropped its usual Zen. His forehead furrowed as the Little Engine That Could got boxed in. A traffic light turned red. Buck stared at it, focused. His arms were tense on the wheel.
Aiden didn’t blame him. He felt antsy without the shield.
“Will Meese be okay?”
Aiden leaned his head back, closing his eyes. It seemed his apprentice had grown on them.
“Yeah, she’ll be fine. Give it time.”
A lot of time. More time than he’d estimated. She’d been dumped with a lot of power. By her experience leeching power through the transfer, it was like going from a straw to a fire-hose.
“What’s that?”
The crystal pulsed in his hand. Through his eyelids, the light changed. Aiden frowned. Opening them, he glanced through the windshield.
Above—high above—a silent curtain of fire spread over the sky.
That wasn’t an enemy attack. Aiden swore.
“It’s Meese. Keep going. I’ll meet you at the engine.”
Aiden left the Fire Crystal in the cup-holder, pulled his element, and teleported.
***
This was exciting.
Robin caught her breath on the stairs, pausing to poke her head over the guard rail. Not the wisest move, considering the raid was still on, but she did it anyway.
Shadows moved on the railings below her. Friendly shadows. They’d already cleared the first five floors. She’d been through them herself. It was impressive: enemy soldiers had been bound against a wall, their weapons piled next to three guards. The Underground must have some badass veterans. The bound men had glared when she’d walked by. One of their guards had offered a piece of gum, which she now chewed.
It was around then that her fear had vanished.
On the fifth floor, she’d helped someone relieve another enemy of his weapons. All she had to do was stand and point a gun. That had been the most exciting part.
That, and the sprinklers.
Some say it was Meese who’d set them off. Robin wasn’t so sure—in her experience, it didn’t take much to set an alarm off.
Either way, she was soaked.
It still rained, of course. It felt like ice, and it crept down her shirt. Her hair was plastered to her skin. Her jeans itched as if they thought about drying.
Where was Chris? She hadn’t seen him since the tunnel. He’d looked scared. Then again, so had she. She remembered being scared. In the tunnel, she couldn’t move. Cornered. Choked.
No longer.
Adrenaline poured through her blood. She took the stairs two at a time, sneakers kicking up spray. The landing was a lake. Her shoes squished with every step.
Focused on her feet, she nearly ran into someone.
“The army’s here,” they said.
“Which army?” Robin glanced up. The man was large—maybe thrice her size—and wore a wife-beater, jeans, and three guns.
“Lyarne’s,” he answered, continuing past her with surprising speed.
Huh, she thought, looking up. She’d never seen the army in action before.
Two flights later, she flattened to the wall as a line of soldiers filed past. Few gave her a second look. By their patches, all were Lyarnese.
She relaxed her grip on the gun and turned through the doorway.
The fire alarm hadn’t reached the Skytower’s lobby. Except for the slick path trailing out of the stairwell, the black marble floor was bone-dry. Robin slipped past a frosted glass barrier and stepped aside, taking it in.
It was big. Very big. The ceiling was at least three storeys high, with bright lights hanging from its black background like stars. Five chandeliers hung closer to the floor. The hall was longer than it was wide, and the high ceiling gave it an unwarranted sense of narrowness.
Soldiers formed small clusters around the hall. Robin recognized some Underground people relaxing on benches to the sides. A medical team laid someone on a stretcher by the front windows. The white sheets stood out in front of the black windows.
A shadow caught her eye. She turned.
“Did you lose the boy?”
Roger leaned against the frosted glass, watching her from under the brim of his hat. Water darkened his clothes, and his sweatshirt stuck to his skin. In addition to the knives at his belt, six bumps on his arm suggested hidden weaponry.
As before, his stare had weight.
She shrugged. “Seems that way.”
Movement turned her attention back to the front. The stretcher wheeled toward the door, a dark-skinned, well-armed woman striding next to it. A blob of orange hair spilled over the white sheets.
Meese?
The stretcher clattered out the door and out of sight.
“The Fire Mage says she will be okay.”
So it was Meese. Robin stared after her. Too late to do anything now.
“You are her friend, aren’t you?”
Robin turned back to him. He seemed relaxed, weight on one leg. His arms crossed in front of him.
“Yes. We go to school together. What happened to her?”
“You haven’t seen yet?”
“Seen what?”
“You will see it eventually. There is no rush.” His stare dropped to her gun. “What will you do with that?”
She looked down at it. The silver metal gleamed in her grip.
“Isn’t it yours?”
Roger’s eyes glittered. “It could be yours, if you like.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that, should you wish, you could own that gun and learn how to use it.”
Her parents would kill her. It was perfect.
“Keep it for now,” he said. “If you are interested, come to the Underground. If I don’t hear from you for a month, I expect the gun to be returned. Both Chris and Mieshka can find me.”
Nodding, she stared at the gun. It felt heavy in her hand. Powerful.
She slipped it into her hoodie’s pouch.
Somehow, she didn’t think she needed a month.
CHAPTER 18
Mieshka heard a steady, constant beep. It seemed to come from everywhere. She felt heavy. She didn’t want to move.
It smelled cold. The air hissed. What happened?
A draft blew across her neck. She shivered. That was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be cold.
Gradually, the room focused. Baby blue curtains half-furled around her bed. Where they parted, she saw worn pale walls. They wore soft black scud-marks, waist-high. Light filtered in through a window on her right, making her father’s hair a dead orange.
He sat with his head bowed, elbows resting on his knees. A plastic cup of water, half-empty, stood on the table beside him. He looked worse than she remembered.
Her body felt like lead. Her dad looked up.
“Mieshka?” His voice was a croak. His eyes were red and raw. He looked ready to cry.
“Hi, Dad.”
He swallowed. Emotion strangled her throat.
“How you feeling?”
She tried to move her leg. It hurt.
“Like shit. What happened?”
What happened was more complicat
ed than she thought it’d be. As he explained, in a rough and raw voice, she began to remember. Redenbacher’s office. The plane. Fire. Endless fire.
She’d set the sky on fire. It had burned for five days.
Grey clouds filled the sky. Nothing burned now. Seeing her gaze, her dad reached over and squeezed her knee.
“The normal shield is back. The enemy broke the engines. It took time to fix.”
“What’s the news saying?”
“Trust the shield, of course.”
Of course. She closed her eyes, pushing her head straight on the pillow.
“I think my magic is gone.”
“Aiden said it might be.” She looked back over at her dad. He met her eyes. “Sorry. I think you used it all up when you made the shield.”
Her laugh was weak.
“Does that count as using my powers for good?”
“I think so. But don’t do that again.”
She raised an eyebrow. His eyes were sad.
“Your comas are bad for my health.” He looked away; his throat quivered.
Hers choked, too. She burrowed into the bed, wincing at the pain. Blankets kept her warm now. The Phoenix was gone. Its absence pulled at her.
She felt like cold ash on the inside.
On the outside, everything hurt. Every muscle, every bone, every joint. Hell, her lungs hurt. Fog filled her head. Fog and smoke.
“How long have I been out?”
“Seven days.”
She swallowed. Her arms trembled with her weight. The IV was a dead ache in her wrist. The heart monitor beeped beside her. Tubes forced cool air up her nose. She took a shallow breath. It hurt to breath any deeper. Wound around the guard rail beside her pillow was a white, plastic switch.
“You call the nurse. I’ll get you some food.”
“Chocolate pudding,” she said automatically. “Smuggle it in.”
He stood and saluted. His back was hunched and stiff as he left. How long had he been in the chair?
***
Three days later, Mieshka poked her head into the office.
“Meese!”
Buck sat on the couch, a book spread on his lap. Behind his chair, black mechanical parts littered the floor. More were stacked on Aiden’s desk, along with hastily-folded papers. The computer monitor glowed on Aiden’s empty chair.
Jo leaned against the window. She’d probably seen Mieshka walk up.
“How are you feeling?”
Sore. She’d had to stop for breath on the stairs. It felt like the IV was still in her wrist. Without her backpack, she felt skinny.
“I’m all right,” she said. “Give it a week. What about you two?”
They’d left flowers and a card by her hospital bed. Beyond that, she’d heard nothing. They didn’t seem surprised to see her. Obviously, someone had told them she’d woken up.