Fire, Ruin, and Fury (Embers Saga)

by Matthew Taylor

“I won’t be up late,” she said reassuringly.

  “See that you aren’t,” grunted Shay without looking up from his bowl of stew.

  Her father just smiled at her and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Go enjoy yourself.”

  She could only surmise that Latonya knew of Emily’s friendship with Jasmine—the way the Ellies seemed to know everything. OmniComms trackers? The secret police? Maybe Jasmine’s request for Paul had revealed it. She had to swallow the feeling of being violated and take consolation that at least Latonya used the information to make her stay more enjoyable.

  It was already late—or at least it felt late—when Emily arrived at Jasmine’s quarters. They both were thrilled to see a friendly face, though both were desperately tired. They immediately agreed that Emily agreed to sleep over in Jasmine’s quarters as long as they were both there so as to squeeze every moment together. Emily would probably be too busy to see Jasmine much, regardless of how soon the storm abated.

  Jasmine was genuinely happy—and curiously relieved—to hear Emily’s news of their family’s new contract with the Baumgartens. “I probably won’t see you as much once you move out here, but I’m thrilled for you and your family.”

  Move out here? She hadn’t thought of that in any serious way, and she was filled with dread until they finally packed it in for the night.

  The epiphany was there waiting for her when she woke up, forcing upon her the deflating reality of the changes that were about to unfold. Day to day, her life would be basically the same. Wake up before the sun. Sleepily put on her still-damp work clothes. Stagger to her mother and father for a few gulps Cafecito. Meet Dorian Lee to get their assignments from Shay and set off for a long day of work without breaks.

  It’ll at least be cooler here. Prob’ly safer too, she hoped.

  But what’ll happen to the Lancasters? If they come, they’d have to give up their residency passes. Vic’d have to leave the Track. Where will Paul go when he gets out of the Expeds?

  They wouldn’t stay in Troy, would they? Nessa and Shay would eventually fall apart id they separated. Dad’d be heartbroken. Who knows how long the township’ll honor their passes. Would we have to fight our way across the country to get them again?

  Uncle Joshua’ll want to stay behind if Vic and Nessa stay. But he can’t preach there, and his livelihood depends on the family business. He’d have to come with us.

  Then there was the reality of getting from Troy to the Mid-Atlantic Province.

  Back on the road? The thought made her sick to her stomach.

  It was too much to think about, so she curled up in the soft sheets, the strange cool breeze of air conditioning rolling over her face, and she listened to Jasmine’s breathing and the tapping of rain drops on the windows in the pre-dawn glow. She resisted the temptation to look at the clock, knowing her alarm would go off again before she was ready.

  Chapter 35: Emily and Patrick

  (Emily Goldbloom)

  Emily Goldbloom closed the bedroom door softly behind her and leaned against it, breathless. A storm of thoughts charged furiously in her mind, leaving her unsteady on her feet. She took a deep breath in a fruitless effort to make her mind stop racing before shuffling over to her bed, and plopping face down on her pillow. Rolling over, she pleaded with herself for quiet and sleep.

  Just the day before, day three on the Baumgarten Estate, she had been head-to-toe in sweat and filth, slaving to make final repairs on the estate and a few key points in Harrisburg. She shared a quick breakfast with Dorian Lee, her father, and Shay. Warm rolls, wrapped in spotless linen, with honey, marionberry jam, and iced Cafecito. They mopped up every drizzle of honey, knowing how valuable it was since the global bee collapse eighty years earlier. To her, it was one of the most treasured benefits of working for the Baumgartens.

  “Best go see the Senator now,” Dorian said, checking the time. Christian looked at his wrist-plat to confirm. “I’ll walk through the assignments with her,” Dorian added. She hated when they talked about her as if she weren’t there.

  “We’ll be with the Senator most of the day,” her father explained. “But I’ll come out every hour or so to check in.”

  I hate working alone, she grumbled silently. The Baumgartens had a small army on the estate, so she knew she’d be safe everywhere she went. But the work was difficult and lonely without company.

  “K,” she answered dutifully.

  The group then piled into the small autocar waiting for them in front of the visitor’s quarters and whirred them off to the mansion for the morning meeting with Senator Baumgarten.

  She was no longer star struck by Senator Baumgarten, as she had been when they first arrived. Something about being on the margins of conversation among “grown-ups” every morning had taken away his luster. She sat silently on the edge of the group, trying to fight off boredom and listen to the discussion.

  As the meeting wound down, she followed Dorian, her father, and Shay in standing up from the table, always minding her manners in the presence of the Senator. That’s when Patrick Baumgarten, son and heir to the Senator, entered the room. But for his youth, he was the spitting image of his father—even wearing the same beige slacks, brocade waste coat, and stiff white -collared shirt. His dark hair and lack of crow’s feet showed what the Senator must have looked like thirty-or-so years earlier.

  “Morning,” Patrick said cheerfully. “Latonya said you were in here,” he added before noticing Dorian, Shay and Christian.

  “Come in, come in,” the Senator replied, half-embracing him with one arm before making introductions.

  “Good to meet you, Sir,” Patrick said as he eagerly shook hands with Shay, Dorian, and Christian.

  Sir? She wondered, perplexed. She had never seen the Ellies interact with urchins with such respect.

  With each hand shake the young man glanced—if only for a fraction of a second—at Emily. When the introductions finally reached her, his handshake lingered just a moment longer than it had with the rest before he remembered himself and returned his attention to the senator.

  She sensed the men exchanging uncomfortable looks, but she found herself staring fixedly at Patrick.

  “Father, I have an update from Factory 7,” Patrick said, breaking the awkwardness.

  “Very good,” the Senator replied, gesturing for them all to sit back down.

  Dorian Lee excused himself and Emily, however, explaining that it was time for her workday to start. She offered the Senator and his son a half-curtsy, catching Patrick’s attention again, and followed Dorian out the door into the muggy heat.

  It wasn’t more than an hour later, as she laid in a dusty crawlspace making repairs to the mansion’s sump pumps, when a shadow passed in front of the panel door behind her.

  “Emily?” called a voice. “Em, are you down here?”

  Recognizing Patrick’s voice, she froze in her place, her heart beating fast.

  Oh no. No-no-no, she fretted. The cautionary voices of Dorian and her father echoed in her mind. Queen’s manners, she commanded herself, but get rid of him.

  “Emily?” came his voice again, this time with a hint of concern.

  “Yes. …I’m here.” Her heart was beating through her chest, and her hands went clammy. “I’m in here. …working.”

  “It’s Patrick.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “I know you’re busy,” he added hesitantly, “but I brought some lemonade if you have time for a break.”

  She sat silently, scrambling to think of the right response.

  “Do you want to come out? …Or I could bring it in there, if that’s better?”

  Emily turned her head to peer over her shoulder at the portal. Against the bright sunlight, she could make out Patrick’s form, crouched low in his fancy clothes, trying to see into the dark crawlspace.

  “Patrick, thank you so much for the kind gesture, but—”

  “Just lemonade,” he inserted. “No ulterior motives.”
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  His words sent a thrilling jolt—and terror—through her whole body. Goosebumps chilled her arms. She turned her head away from the portal and rested it on her folded arms in the dust.

  What do I do? What do I do? This is bad. …This is really bad.

  “Emily,” came another voice from outside. Peering back over her shoulder again, she saw a second pair of shiny dress shoes and slacks.

  Oh my God. Senator Baumgarten, she panicked.

  “Miss Baumgarten, would you please come out here? I’d prefer the servants not see my oldest son with lemonade on a serving dish, speaking into a dark hole.”

  “Yes Sir,” she answered quickly. “Coming now, Sir.” She wriggled backwards toward the portal. “Just a moment, Sir. It’s a little hard to move in here.”

  “All the more reason you should not be in there anymore,” answered Thomas.

  Emily’s fear was soon replaced with the nagging feeling of inadequacy, which returned as she felt herself becoming more grimy and filthy with every squirm.

  I’m just following the Senator’s request. I can’t be blamed for this. But the potential consequences for her family’s business if the encounter went south undermined her attempt to convince herself.

  She emerged back into the daylight, squinting to see Patrick’s extended hand, a crystal pitcher and glasses sitting on a shiny trolley beside him. He helped her to her feet, and she immediately looked around nervously. She caught the back of the Senator as he re-entered the mansion. Then Dorian Lee, staring at her through a window. He offered her a wrinkly smile, and nodded, as if to give her permission to set aside her work—but not his warnings—in dealing with the Ellies. She acknowledged with a raised eyebrow, and he disappeared from the window.

  Emily followed Patrick to a shady patio nearby, but they were intercepted by Latonya Pryor, the assistant and acknowledged task master of the estate. Latonya shot Patrick a disapproving look and motioned for him to proceed to the table alone. She then gave Emily a warm smile and led her by the arm to a small room off the patio. Inside, servants brought Emily cool, wet face-towels that smelled of citrus.

  “Take off those boots and coveralls, Dear,” Latonya said maternally as she unwrapped a floral sundress. Emily uncomfortably stepped out of her filthy coveralls, covering her naked body with her arms as best she could. Latonya rolled her eyes, but then she bid the other servants to leave. “I’ll give you a moment,” she said sweetly. Emily then hurriedly wiped herself down with the damp cloths and stepped into the dress, which felt as light and silky as the sheets on her bed.

  “Ma’am?” Emily called out hesitantly.

  Latonya reappeared immediately and proceeded to brush Emily’s hair and apply a small amount of make-up to her face.

  “You’re very pretty,” Latonya said. “I don’t even think you need this, but it’s kind of fun.”

  In a blur, Emily was clean, dressed, and sweet smelling. Latonya then put both hands on her shoulders and squared up with a serious expression.

  “I can only imagine what you’re thinking right now. But you are under absolutely no obligation to do or say anything you don’t want to. Your family’s deal with the Senator is more important than any fancy Patrick may have taken to you. Just enjoy yourself for a while. I’ll be right nearby. Understand?”

  Emily nodded affirmatively.

  “Have you ever had lemonade?” Latonya’s enduring smile somehow melted Emily’s fears and embarrassment. Emily shook her head, without any resentment.

  “It’s delightful. You’ll love it. Ready, Dear?”

  Emily nodded again, telegraphing as much gratitude as she could to her chaperone.

  She and Patrick talked for hours, until the sky over the patio canopy changed from powder blue to pale yellow and then purply-pink. The conversation passed like a blur, as she waxed between agonizing nervousness, infatuation, and genuine surprise at how kind and charming he was.

  He’s nothing like what they say. Though maybe that’s just how he gets what he wants.

  She was so aflutter that she couldn’t put together a single thread of what they had discussed after Latonya came out to adjourn the date. Latonya invited Patrick to join his father inside as she discreetly placed a small canvas bag next to Emily, her cleaned and pressed work clothes and boots inside. Patrick complied, standing up from the table and offering Emily his hand. He helped her to her feet, but he paused before letting go.

  “Can I invite you to dinner tomorrow?” he asked sweetly.

  Emily stammered, and ultimately settled with a nod and smile as Dorian Lee came out of the house and beckoned for her with a wave. Patrick escorted her to Dorian, still gently holding her hand. But sundown was upon them, and she anxiously realized how much time she had spent—wasted—in idle chat. Without much in the way of goodbyes, she offered Patrick an awkward half-curtsey and followed Dorian around the side of the house to their waiting autocar.

  The ride back to the guest quarters was uncomfortably quiet. She suspected no one had processed the implications of the bizarre turn of events with Patrick or know how to address it. The trip was mercifully short, and she immediately made her way to the room she now shared with Jasmine Goodwell.

  Emily was at first reticent to tell Jasmine about her encounter with Patrick Baumgarten, but she was bursting at the seams with excitement, so she spilled it within seconds of closing the door. As the narrative poured out, a nagging voice in her head urged more caution. Jasmine knew that Emily had harbored an ill-fated affection for her brother Alias. Jasmine had also shared enough gossip about Patrick that she might look askance at Emily for even considering engaging Patrick. Emily also knew she was inexperienced and naïve, outclassed in love savvy by nearly everyone—but especially him, the playboy Ellie.

  “He’s tall. …and handsome. …and charming,” she heard herself say, immediately admonishing herself for sounding like an Ellie schoolgirl on the OmniComms telenovelas.

  Jasmine listened in stunned silence, trying to maintain a smile as she wrapped her head around the narrative. She said nothing until Emily had run out of gas and collapsed in a lovesick heap on the bed. Jasmine laid down next to her.

  “Alias told me Patrick is very charming,” Jasmine said.

  If there was a kinder, more gentle way to let Emily down, Emily couldn’t think of it. Still, she felt her heart descend rapidly from its terrific heights. There was a long pause, and Jasmine spooled Emily’s sandy-blond hair sympathetically on her index finger. Emily’s eyes teared up as the foolishness of her desires settled in.

  “I don’t s’pose he ever had to force himself on anyone,” Emily said at last with a sniffle. “Probably just made them feel like they had a chance. Someone who might reach beyond his caste and save them—only to leave the next day and become unreachable.”

  Jasmine stroked Emily’s hair softly as the tears broke in waves. Emily sobbed in a way she had never sobbed. Her years of toil, reserve, and loneliness welling up and refusing to be stopped.

  Emily awoke the next morning, eyes sore, with an aching vacant feeling in her chest and stomach. She forced herself from the bed, leaving Jasmine to sleep, and trundled to the bathroom to inspect the residual damage of her collapse the night before. She looked back at Jasmine, feeling an almost familial appreciation, along with embarrassment and regret. She splashed some water on her face and stared at herself in the mirror. She vowed to never be so weak again, even if it meant never feeling the euphoric high of love again.

  Love, she thought derisively.

  She got dressed as quietly as she could and went downstairs to meet Dorian Lee, determined to avoid any discussion about Patrick. As they zipped across the compound in one of the Baumgartens’ autovans, though, she found herself scanning the estate in a reluctant effort to spot Patrick. Nothing. She chewed her lip and focused straight ahead, pretending the lapse in determination hadn’t happened.

  Her mind was taken off of her heartache in minutes, however, as the autovan passed through the est
ate’s front gate, where it was joined by three snake-eater assault vehicles and a small flock of aerial drones. They wound through the hilly landscape and motored slowly, steadily down toward the river to Harrisburg.

  At the first bridgehead they reached, the fire rings and steel barrels smoldered, dusty ash swirling into the hot morning breeze. Crumpled bodies were scattered around the intersection before the bridge span. Scorch marks and small mortar craters pocked the street. But the bridge lights blinked green without interruption, just as they were supposed to do. Dorian focused on the road ahead, but Emily couldn’t help but look around and take in the image, knowing she was just buying herself nightmares.

  Crossing the bridge, she spied burning vehicles—jeeps, armored trucks, motorcycles, and ATVs—mangled on the side of the span. More bodies were heaped in piles on the sidewalks to make the bridge passable.

  The road beyond was mostly clear, and Emily rolled down her window for some air. The muggy heat of summer had not yet released its grip on the region, even though the leaves on the trees were already changing color with the tilted November sun. She tried to ignore the faint crackling of gunfire in the distance, the thuds echoing through the river valley. Jump-jets and drones thundered overhead, nearly scraping the treetops.

  We’ll be fine. We’ll be fine, she repeated to herself.

  Martial law was still in effect, even here, and she could only imagine what was happening in the coastal cities. Emily’s father would be beside himself if he knew she was out in this. Dorian acknowledged as much when they came to a stop at their work site and he explained that her father and Shay had been assured the location was safe. Dorian tried to say it reassuringly, but he was visibly unconvinced.

  Regardless, their guards set up a perimeter, and she and Dorian set to work on repairs for one of the Baumgartens’ security outposts. The muggy heat, sweat, insects, and lingering fear kept her mind occupied until the sun began to wane over the Appalachians. The idea of traveling back through the town, over the bridge, and up the winding forested roads to the estate filled her with dread. She might have refused if the darkening sky didn’t make their current spot look like the more ruinous option.