Running into Fire: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Magic of Nasci Book 3)

by DM Fike

  Her eyes raked down my hoodie, shorts, and boots. “That remains to be seen.”

  Guntram grabbed my shoulder as the Sassy Squad flipped on their heels and disappeared into the trees. I hated that Tabitha got in the last word. Again. I waited until she left earshot before grumbling, “Who peed in her tea?”

  Guntram motioned me in the opposite direction, away from the heavy machinery. “Come now, Ina. Despite your love of city life, you must understand why most shepherds find the general population an aggravation. You know the struggles we face with what few resources remain in the Talol Wilds.”

  “No, I get it. I really do. But even you don’t think we should kill people, do you?”

  “Of course not,” Guntram replied quickly. “That’s heresy. Shepherds do not kill creatures of Nasci without just cause.”

  “And admit it, you don’t believe they’re all bad. I noticed how you conveniently covered for Vincent during the debrief.” I hated saying his name since I was still so angry at him, but I was also dying to understand Guntram’s motivation. “Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t cover for anyone,” Guntram huffed into his beard. “Everything I said about him was completely accurate.”

  “But you’ve been mad at me for keeping in contact with him ever since the incident with the mishipeshu,” I pressed. “And now, suddenly, you’re cutting him some slack. Is it because he helped the owl and her nest?”

  “I gave him the same courtesy I would bestow to any person who aided in the forest fire suppression,” Guntram said. “We interfere as little as possible with humans, Ina. It’s better that way, and you know it.”

  A flashback of Vincent driving away with his little girlfriend ran through my mind. “Yeah. It would be better if I never saw him again.”

  Guntram looked surprised that I agreed with him so easily. “Good. I’m glad you feel that way.”

  Guntram let the matter drop. We had our own area to scout. He led us south to Highway 36, a rather lonely country road that connects the major Oregon cities to the coast via a scenic, remote route. As we walked, Guntram taught me a basic fire suppression sigil—a trapezoid with a cross in the middle. Drawn on everyday objects like defensive sigils, Guntram explained that they wouldn’t completely halt a fire, but they would keep flames from spreading as quickly. The sigils were only temporary, too, meaning they would only last a week or so.

  We drew them every hundred yards or so on trees, rocks, even patches of dry ground. Breaking only for meals Guntram had packed for us, we put in a full day’s work, never noticing anything outside of the ordinary. We reinforced a decent section from the town of Swisshome and ended up outside of Mapleton, traveling not far from the road.

  We were beat when the sun set behind the mountains. Guntram decided we could quit for the day. We went through our normal camping routine: finding a quiet nook by a stream, lighting a fire, foraging for roots and berries, and locating the most comfortable spots to lie down for the night. A raccoon lumbered out of a bush to steal some berries I’d gathered for myself. Guntram’s ravens did the same. I’d gotten used to nature’s indigenous thieves a long time ago and had picked more food than I could eat so I could consume the amount I actually wanted.

  It wasn’t until the fire got low and my eyelids grew heavy that Guntram said, “Get some sleep, Ina. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover along Highway 126 tomorrow.”

  “Highway 126?” I asked in between a yawn. Unlike today’s route, 126 was a major east-west road with lots of traffic. “What’s with sticking around the highways, Guntram? Why don’t we reinforce areas more toward the heart of the forest?”

  “We have to start somewhere.”

  I didn’t have the energy to argue. Sleep sounded too good. I let my sore body succumb to that numbness and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 11

  IF YOU’VE NEVER lived around ravens, like I unfortunately have, then you don’t know how freaking loud they are in the morning. Roosters don’t have anything on ravens. Ravens flock in groups and screech their heads off as if the sun might not rise if they’re not making enough racket to raise the dead.

  That’s why when I first heard Guntram’s kidama uproar, I just groaned and pulled the top of my hoodie farther up over my head. My internal clock told me to ignore them. Unless Guntram started cawing at me too, I refused to crack my eyes open.

  “Ina! Wake up!”

  A sharp, stomach-turning scent assaulted my nose. It took me a few whiffs to realize it was smoke.

  “Fire!” Guntram yelled.

  I jolted awake. A distinctive red glow loomed out of the southwest. Half of Guntram’s ravens had already taken off in that direction. I threw on my boots and followed Guntram, sprinting our way up, down, and around small hills to catch up to the blaze.

  “The fire’s breached where we drew sigils yesterday!” I screamed at Guntram’s flying cape ahead.

  Guntram called back over his shoulder. “That means the fire may be too strong for them. Stay sharp, Ina!”

  A sense of foreboding came over me the farther we ran. We passed a familiar wisp channel, the trunk’s base glowing with little blue firefly-like lights as we streamed past. I recognized the area. We were heading straight toward the geezer’s farm where I’d withdrawn cash outside of Mapleton.

  My worst fears were confirmed as we crested a hill and looked down at the fire. A burning inferno created a palm-shaped print below, one finger of fire streaking out toward a dilapidated shed. Beyond it, the farmhouse squatted like a lamb in the grass. It would be only a matter of time before the fire destroyed the entire property.

  Before I could point this out, Fechin flew down and landed on Guntram shoulder. Guntram grunted and nodded as they communicated telepathically. Then, in one swift beat, Fechin took back off into the sky.

  “There’s a herd of elk trapped over there.” Guntram pointed on the opposite side of the blaze. “We must get them out.”

  My mouth went dry. “But what about the farm? Somebody lives there.”

  “The elk need us first. We’ll swing back around to it if we have time.”

  I understood Guntram’s priorities, so his decision didn’t surprise me. Still, my heart pounded as the fire inched ever closer to the old man’s house.

  “We won’t make it back in time!”

  “We’re shepherds, Ina. The elk come first.” Guntram jogged down the hill. “Let’s go.”

  I took a few hesitant steps behind Guntram, but I couldn’t follow. The geezer may have pointed a gun at me, but he was still a flesh and blood person, living his life. I couldn’t let him and his adorable dog burn to death.

  I took a sharp left turn, angling down the other side of the hill. “I’ll catch up to you!” I shouted behind me.

  I thought I heard Guntram call after me, but kept pushing forward, tree trunks zipping by me like shadowy zombies underneath the blood red sky. The smoke actually thinned for several hundred yards, hanging above me, until I got closer to ground level and thus to the fire itself. I drew an octagon with a cross in the middle, providing me a straight path through the fire and toward my target much faster than circling around.

  I’d barely taken a few steps out of the flames when Rufus the bullmastiff nearly plowed me over. I managed to maintain my balance while Rufus charged toward the house, ears flying backward like little black flags. He skittered on his paws until I caught up to him, barking and whining on the front porch.

  “Good boy.” I gave him a quick pat on the head. He could have run off scared, and no one would blame him given the approaching fire, but he wanted to save his owner. Whoever said animals don’t experience emotions didn’t have half the morality of this pooch.

  “Sir!” I banged on the door. “Sir!” But I knew he wouldn’t respond, not if Rufus’s barking had no effect on him. Was the geezer really that much of a sound sleeper?

  I had no choice but to go inside the house. Remembering the geezer’s shotgun, I grabbed onto the defensive charm hanging
around my neck. It had saved me from a bullet before, and although it would hurt like hell, I trusted it would do so again. I tried the knob and found the door unlocked. I lurched inside.

  And tripped over a groaning body.

  I cursed as my knees slammed into the hard floor. I’d toppled over the geezer’s bare bony legs, the rest of him (thankfully) covered in a long nightshirt. I opened my mouth to berate him for laying on the floor right inside the entrance when I noticed the gash on the side of his head. A trickle of blood matched a smear on the corner of a nearby side table. Not far from his slippered feet, a rug had been folded awkwardly in half. Scattered all around us were photos that had fallen out of an old shoe box.

  The geezer must have slipped on his way out the door and hit his head.

  I crawled over to him. “Sir! Can you hear me?”

  He turned his head to the side. “Ouch. Tone it down, woman. I’m not deaf.”

  “I’m here to help.” With only a little awkward maneuvering, I managed to get his arm around my shoulders and, ever so gingerly, helped him stand.

  Once back on his feet, he wobbled unsteady, grabbing the doorframe.

  “Can you walk?” I asked.

  He blinked at me a few times. “Wait!” he cried. “Aren’t you that punk that broke into my shed? What are you doing here?”

  “Saving your sorry hide,” I snapped back. “Now let’s go!”

  He grunted an affirmative, and I helped him out to the front porch, thankful that an excited Rufus jumped around us but not directly underfoot. That sense of relief fled as I caught sight of the shed, the backside having already caught fire. It wouldn’t take long for that aging tinderbox to burst into high flames, fueling the fire toward this side of the yard.

  We needed to leave. Now. I’m a shepherd of many talents, but even with endless earth pith at my disposal, I wouldn’t be able to roll the geezer around the ground fast enough to keep ahead of the fire. And I didn’t see any water anywhere for us to jump into. That left one last, non-magical option.

  I eyeballed the only possibly working vehicle, the battered pick-up truck. “Does that thing run?”

  “Better than you do,” the geezer snarled. “And it’s twice as old.”

  Great. That really boosted my confidence. “Where are the keys?”

  “In the cab.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  The nasty old guy grabbed onto the porch railing, refusing to budge. “Not without my photos!”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled. But I left him clutching the wooden poles as I marched back into the house. I grabbed overturned Polaroids by the handful, shoving them willy-nilly back into the shoe box. They all seemed roughly the same, taken in the 70s or 80s of some middle-aged woman that liked floral blouses, big hair, and thick black glasses. I marched back outside and showed the geezer the full box.

  “Happy now?”

  He grunted again. Shaking, he latched onto the crook of my arm and painstakingly navigated down the porch steps. I glanced over at the shed, completely up in smoke to its turquoise roof. The fire sizzled across the yellow grass toward us. The geezer started hacking as we shuffled as fast as he could manage across the lawn toward the pick-up. I drew a quick infinity loop, two Ss joined mirror image, to create a spinning wind around us. It eased the smoke but wouldn’t do diddly once the fire reached us.

  When we got to the truck, I half-escorted, half-shoved the geezer into the passenger seat, then threw the box on his lap. Slamming the door, I raced to the driver’s side, let Rufus slide in between us, then jumped in myself. The pick-up was so old it had cracked cloth seating with fluff sticking out everywhere across a bench seat, meaning if I wanted to scoot the driver’s side up to the wheel (which, hello, I’m short), I had to scoot all of us forward—geezer, dog, and shepherd. I didn’t have time for that, so I sat at the edge of the seat like a kindergartener, straining my right foot forward to find the gas pedal.

  The fire had reached the front porch. I turned the key in the ignition and gave a shout in victory as the engine started on the first drive. Then, throwing it into reverse, I zoomed out of there, south on Highway 36.

  I noticed the geezer bobbing up and down violently. “Put on your seat belt!” I cried.

  But he didn’t hear me, focused on the old house, fire slowly eating it alive. A tear leaked down his wrinkled face. “I’m so sorry, Millie,” he muttered, clutching the shoe box to his nightshirt. “It’s gone.”

  I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. I wanted to say something comforting, like “Millie wants you to live” or “It’s just a house,” but given my verbal propensity for making matters worse, I kept my mouth shut. As we bumped down the gravel driveway and onto the (again thankfully) paved rural road, I tried to keep the ride smooth so he didn’t die in a car accident while being rescued. I didn’t think I could get him to fasten his seat belt in his current frame of mind.

  We drove a few minutes in silence before I noticed a sign declaring Mapleton another three miles ahead. Finally, a break. Mapleton might be small, but even in the dead of night, there had to be some public place I could find help for the old man. I needed to drop him off and dart back into the forest. Guntram must have been furious with me by now.

  We drove past a residential neighborhood on the west side of the Siuslaw River. I knew beyond the intersection of the two highways I’d find a few gas stations. I intended to drive there first until the distinctive strobe of emergency lights pierced the valley. Squinting, I could tell the source originated across the bridge, toward the center of town, although the houses along the river made it impossible to pinpoint any actual vehicles.

  “I’m going to drive you over to those lights,” I told the geezer. “They can get you to a hospital or something.”

  The geezer mumbled something, a faraway look in his eyes. At least he’d traded in crying for grumpiness. I handled the latter a lot better. Pulling into the left turn lane, I eased the pick-up truck across the bridge.

  I expected a police car in a speed trap, making traffic cash for the local municipality. I did not expect a full fleet of cop cars, ambulances, and fire trucks crammed next to the combined middle and high school building. There were so many of them in the parking lot, several had spilled over into a carefully maintained grass field nearby. I parked the pick-up near these outliers.

  “What in the hell is going on over there?” the geezer gaped out the windshield.

  A decent crowd of people from adjacent houses had also gathered, most in their night clothes, necks craned to view the commotion. We both exited the pick-up, and I let the geezer lean on my arm so we could shuffle over to them.

  A frazzled-haired woman carrying a fussy baby approached us. “Mr. Pitts!” she exclaimed, staring at the blood matted in his hair. “What happened to you?”

  Her cries caused a decent chunk of the crowd to notice and offer aid. I gratefully allowed a middle-aged man in a stained tank top to take the geezer off my hands. They focused so intently on Mr. Pitts that they didn’t see me back away. The less they questioned me, the better. I pinpointed a grove of trees that would allow me to melt back into the forest and inched my way in that direction. I wanted to know what was going on too, but I didn’t have time. Mapleton would have to contend with its own problems.

  I’d almost completely broken away from the crowd when a hand suddenly grabbed me by the elbow, pulling me backward.

  “Hey!” I yelled, yanking my arm free.

  I turned around to face striking blue eyes. My insult fell silent as I recognized the backpack and salon-tossed hair.

  “Rafe?” I asked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Ina, is it?” he greeted. “I could ask the same of you. Do you live here?”

  “No.” Then I realized his question answered one of my own. “But that means you don’t live here either.”

  “I’m doing some research in the area,” he explained. “What an odd coincidence, meeting again under such
extreme circumstances. What brings you here?”

  I blatantly ignored the question. He made it sound like he knew what the commotion at the school was about, so I focused on that. “What’s going on?”

  He stiffened. “Fire.”

  Fire? This far out? Fires spread fast, but the original blaze shouldn’t have spread here from where Guntram and I saw it earlier. Unless…

  My heart skipped a beat. Unless the vaettur that had started the fire had traveled this way.

  “How did it start?” The words came out harsher than I intended, but I had to know.

  Rafe raised an eyebrow but replied, “Back in the forest, I’m told, but spread this way by wind. The firefighters are spraying chemicals so it doesn’t enter town.”

  His words confirmed my theory. There was likely a vaettur, possibly even another khalkotauroi, somewhere out there starting fires. I had to stop it.

  I dashed off into the trees without further explanation.

  “Wait!” Rafe shouted after me.

  I paid him no mind, grateful that I didn’t hear him follow. The last thing I needed was some regular bro thinking he could save me, the damsel in distress. I was in distress, all right, and about to fling it right back in the face of the nasty monster that caused it.

  I kept to the tree line, watching the firefighters hosing down the roofs of nearby houses with thick white foam. By the time I made it to the far end of the school yard, the temperature had risen, acidic smoke now thick in the wind.

  And like a light switch coming on in a dark room, I sprinted right into a massive inferno.

  It came on so suddenly, I’d only half prepared for it. I choked as I drew a quick cross with an octagon, trying my best to force fire pith to flow through my pithways rather than my lungs. As my anxiety rose, I struggled to maintain balance, standing in the flames. I recalled Azar’s words, how mastering fire meant letting go of all emotion. I closed my eyes on the molten terrorscape before me, taking deep breaths and telling myself everything would be okay. Everything would be okay.

  Then I opened my eyes to a vaguely humanoid shape punching me to the ground.