Flynn Nightsider and the Edge of Evil

by Mary Fan

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Mary Fan

  Flynn Nightsider and the Edge of Evil

  Copyright © 2018 by Mary Fan All rights reserved.

  First Edition: 2018

  Jacket design: Streetlight Graphics

  Jacket photograph: Tom Castles

  Jacket models: Joe Rorem and Angel Fan

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  For those who won’t stay silent.

  Prologue

  87th Day of Glory

  The Triumvirate of North America

  Gunfire rang out in deafening bangs, and muzzle flashes lit the night with bursts of yellow and orange. The noise was too much for Flynn’s ten-year-old ears, and he covered them as he dropped to the ground. You were supposed to duck when people started shooting, right?

  The metallic smell of gun smoke wafted toward him. He could barely see anything but the dark pavement under the dim streetlights. Who was fighting? Maybe the rumors saying a violent anarchist group would attack the Capital that night, on the biggest holiday of the year, had turned out to be true.

  Confused and terrified, Flynn looked up. To his relief, a shimmer of silver, barely visible against the blackness of the sky, glowed above. That meant the Capital’s shield enchantments were still in place, keeping the dangers of the Underworld away. Beyond it, a flock of deadly razorbirds screeched as their efforts to enter the city were thwarted. Their knife-sharp black wings reflected traces of moonlight.

  Flynn suddenly recalled that those protective spells were meant for supernatural creatures, not humans wielding dark magic—such as the anarchists. According to the government, they drew their power from the Underworld, just like the monsters. If they were the ones attacking, what was he, alone in a strange part of the city, supposed to do? Despite his mom’s warnings about how breaking the government-mandated curfew was a crime, he’d secretly followed her out that night. He needed to know why she so often snuck out after dark, when he was supposed to be sleeping. What was she doing that left her exhausted—and sometimes injured—the following morning?

  It had to be something dangerous, or she wouldn’t get such a nervous look in her eyes every time he asked. What if she was in trouble? She was the only family he had, the person he loved most in the entire world. So that night, he’d made the split-second decision to follow her and find out what was going on.

  Flynn had known it would be risky, especially since it had meant leaving the Fourth Ring, the zone designated for the Norm caste of ordinary, non-magical humans like him. If one of the patrolmen—non-magical law enforcement officers who policed the streets—caught him, they would lock him up for ages. Still, he’d never imagined he’d get mixed up in an attack with the sound of guns thundering in his ears.

  The shots stopped. A cacophony of voices, muffled through his hands, filled the air. But something didn’t seem right. Flynn uncovered his ears. The voices weren’t screams. They were cheers and laughter—people shouting things like “Great Day of Glory!” and “What a show!”

  Show? A realization hit him. An all-guns salute, of course! He’d never felt more stupid. The shooting hadn’t been an attack but a staged ceremony, where people shot firearms into the air—just another bit of Day of Glory revelry.

  But his relief was short-lived. Even though he’d been wrong about the anarchists, he still had the patrolmen to worry about. Now that the sun had gone down, he and the other kids were supposed to stay at home and let the grown-ups have fun on the one night a year there was no curfew for them. Hopefully, the abundance of holiday activities would keep the patrolmen too busy to notice one kid.

  Tonight, everyone was celebrating the anniversary of the Triumvirs’ triumph over the Lord of the Underworld, who had all but destroyed the world of humankind when he’d escaped from his dark dimension almost a century before. With his monsters, the Lord had overrun the earth, wiping out entire nations. But after years of fighting, the Triumvirs had led the Sentinels, an elite group of Enchanters who safeguarded the nation, to victory, defeating the Lord once and for all.

  Flynn had spent the better part of the day at his neighborhood’s Day of Glory fair, pretending to celebrate the great nation’s greatness like everyone else. But he’d heard his mom talk about the dark side of the government too many times to believe the hype anymore.

  “Just because they’re in charge doesn’t mean they’re right,” she’d said.

  Another series of bangs rang out, but this time, Flynn recognized the sound of fireworks. The sky sparkled with bursts of color. Still annoyed at himself for having been so easily spooked, he scurried down the narrow street. At least his momentary distraction hadn’t caused him to lose sight of his mom, who he’d been close behind until then. Her slender silhouette grew smaller in the distance, and he picked up his pace.

  She started to turn around. Alarmed, he slipped between two nearby dumpsters, wrinkling his nose at the foul smell of garbage. Being small for his age had its advantages. Mom would kill him if she knew he’d followed her. Getting caught by her would be better than getting caught by the patrolmen, but not by much.

  He held his breath and listened to her approaching footsteps. What would he do if she found him? Come up with an excuse? Demand to know what she was doing? Start saying sorry right away?

  The footsteps moved away. He exhaled—more out of a need to release the air than from relief. Mom’s footsteps continued moving, although they didn’t seem to get much closer or farther away. He realized she was pacing and wondered why.

  A man’s low, resonant voice shot out of the darkness. “Vivian! This way!”

  Who’s that? He had to be someone Mom knew, since he’d addressed her by her first name. Flynn poked his head out, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man, but all he could see was his mom walking toward the intersection.

  “There you are.” She broke into a run and turned left, disappearing from sight.

  Flynn dashed out of his hiding spot and rounded the corner after her. Maybe if he got closer, he could hear what they were saying and figure out what was going on.
To his dismay, the long alley he faced was deserted. Straining his eyes, he searched the shadows and corners for his mom. Maybe she was there, and he just couldn’t see her in the darkness.

  Someone set off a firework. With a pop, a red bloom of sparks lit the alley, accompanied by a boom-crackle.

  Still no Mom.

  Dang it! Where’d she go? Flynn sprinted forward again, wondering how Mom had vanished. No doors stood along the buildings lining the alley, so she couldn’t have ducked into a house. And he hadn’t been that far behind.

  He couldn’t help wondering if she’d used some kind of abracadabra to disappear so quickly. Norms weren’t allowed to use magic, though. She wouldn’t break the law like that, would she? Even if she would, the non-magical were physically unable to cast enchantments—they could only activate existing magical devices or concoct potions. Did a magical device or a potion that could transport people even exist?

  Raucous voices filled the air—men and women singing an off-key rendition of a Day of Glory carol. The sound came from an open window some distance ahead. Flynn ran toward it, thinking maybe one of the partiers might have seen his mom run by, then froze. If they turned out to be the less-than-friendly type, they might call the patrolmen on him.

  The need to know where his mom had gone itched in his mind, urging him forward. What if she really was in trouble? So despite his sweating palms, he marched toward the window.

  As he drew closer, he recognized the carol they were singing as being about how the Sentinels, led by the three Triumvirs, had vanquished the Lord of the Underworld. Funny, how the lyrics made the current world sound like the sunny ending to a Triumvirate fairy tale. The war had left the earth a blasted shadow of its former self, plagued by creatures of the Underworld that lingered long after the Portal to their dimension was sealed. Leave the protection of the Triumvirate’s cities, and you’d be lucky to last a week before something ate you. Stay, and you had to do whatever the Sentinels said while being treated like crap for being born non-magical, even though there were far more Norms than Enchanters.

  And if you broke the Triumvirate’s rules by, say, being a kid outside his zone after curfew, they’d find horrible ways to punish you. Some happily ever after.

  Flynn stopped by the open window, aiming to ask if anyone had seen a slender woman with a fair complexion and sandy hair like him. Inside, festively dressed people filled a small room. Snack foods and half-empty bottles of colorful liquids littered the tables.

  “Hello?” He’d meant to shout, but his throat was so tight, the words came out as little more than a squeak.

  No one paid him any attention. They kept laughing and singing, their words slurring and their pitches rising in discordant peaks. Their cheeriness seemed to mock his frustration, and he wondered what the Day of Glory was even celebrating. The apocalypse had come and gone, and everyone had lost. The Lord may have been destroyed, but his monsters had flooded the earth. But from the way the people in the room were acting, you’d think the world was one giant party.

  Annoyed, he forgot his fear and cupped his hands by his mouth. “Hey!”

  A voice shot toward him from behind. “You!”

  Flynn whirled, and his heart stopped. Though the streetlamps silhouetted the man running toward him, Flynn recognized the square shoulders and brimmed hat of a patrolman’s uniform. Flashes of gold piping along the man’s pants and jacket confirmed Flynn’s fears.

  Alarmed, Flynn bolted and rounded the nearest corner into a dark alley.

  “Stop where you are!” The patrolman’s command nearly disappeared under the boom-crackle of a golden firework.

  Flynn ran blindly, not caring where he was going, as long as he escaped. He was the fastest runner in his class—surely he could get away. Even if the patrolman had glimpsed him, Flynn couldn’t have been the only blond-haired, blue-eyed white kid out that night, right?

  He pushed through a crowd, ignoring the indignant shouts. Was this the kind of fear his mom faced each time she snuck out? What could be important enough to risk so much danger? The punishment for adults out after curfew was even worse than for kids, since at least kids were released eventually. Many adults never returned after being arrested.

  He flew down another block then glanced over his shoulder. No one was following. The patrolman must have given up. Breathing hard, he stopped and wiped the sweat from his forehead. But he was too disappointed to feel much relief in escaping. He’d never find his mom now. She might as well have vanished into thin air, and he didn’t even know where he was anymore.

  Failure filled his stomach with a sinking feeling. He’d been so close. In a way, he’d let his mom down because he couldn’t help her if she was in trouble or make sure she was okay if she wasn’t.

  He didn’t have time to stew about it, though—not out here, where someone might catch him. Though he didn’t want to give up, he didn’t know where to begin looking for her. The city was enormous.

  The weight of disappointment sat like rocks in his chest as he looked around, trying to figure out exactly where he was. A colorful window sign advertising spell books told him he’d wandered all the way into the Second Ring, which was reserved for Enchanters. The area was lit with dim electric lamps instead of the magical lights you usually saw in the Enchanters’ territory, so he was probably in a humbler part of the sector, near its outer border.

  He had to get out. Trespassing on the Enchanters’ turf was the worst thing a Norm could do, short of actual treason. The street ahead looked brighter than the rest. Hoping it was one of the Spokes—the streets that ran in a straight line from the Palace of Concord to the edge of the Capital—Flynn picked up his pace. If it was, he could follow it straight back to the Fourth Ring and at least be in his zone.

  The Capital was laid out like a giant wheel, with the Palace of Concord, the Triumvirate’s seat of power, in the center and the four Rings around it. The First Ring, the innermost zone that directly surrounded the palace, was reserved for the most important citizens of the nation, the Sentinels. And the Fourth, which was at the outermost edge of the city and by far the largest, was for Norms like Flynn.

  When he reached the end of the block, he saw, to his relief, that he’d been right. Tall silver lamps decorated with intricate swirls lit the wide street, and angular white lanterns floated between the high buildings, as though suspended by invisible strings. White stone glowed pale blue under the enchanted illumination—a sure sign that this was a Spoke in the Enchanters’ part of the city. The brightness was startling compared to the flickering yellow streetlights of the Fourth Ring. Everything in the Enchanters’ part of the city looked so much nicer. Not that it was a surprise since they got the best jobs, the best schools—the best lives—just for being born with magic. But beautiful as the lights were, they made Flynn nervous. Any patrolman within eyeshot would have an easy time spotting him.

  A flash of bright blue caught his attention, and he gasped at the sight of the Palace of Concord. Even in the distance, its sharp silver peaks, surrounded by a high wall of white stone, appeared majestic and intimidating. Long ribbons of colorful sparks twisted around the palace’s angular structure in elaborate patterns, and the light glinted off its reflective walls. The building reminded him of a cluster of daggers with the ones in the center rising above the rest as if aiming to stab the sky. The rest of the city glittered with spurts of gold and swirls of green from the people’s fireworks, but they seemed like pale flickers compared to the dazzling explosions flaring over the Palace. Within those walls, the three Triumvirs made the decisions that affected everyone. Flynn wondered what it must be like to have so much power.

  Mesmerized, he momentarily forgot his nervousness. But he didn’t have time for sightseeing. He tore his gaze away. Keeping his senses sharp for any sign of the patrolmen, he broke into a sprint.

  The overpowering stench of decay suddenly filled the air, strong enough to mak
e him gag. Ugh! Where’s that coming from?

  An enormous man—too colossal to be human—emerged from behind one of the buildings onto the wide, brightly lit street.

  Flynn’s blood froze, and he stopped in his tracks.

  The top of the giant’s head almost reached the tenth floor of a stone structure with towers and turrets. Flynn stared, shocked, at the monstrosity before him. Not only was it humongous, but it looked… dead. Stringy black hair fell across the rotten gray flesh of its bony face, and the bluish-white light of the floating lanterns threw the jagged hole where a nose should have been into sharp relief. The creature curled its blackish, crumbling lips, revealing an uneven set of decaying teeth. The torn skin on its bloody shoulders looked like it had been peeled off, exposing the white bone underneath, and flaps of gray flesh swayed as the giant moved.

  What in the world? Flynn’s heart pounded so hard, he wondered if the giant could hear it from a block ahead.

  The thing—whatever it was—stopped and turned its empty white eyes toward him. Flynn’s breath stopped in his throat. It sees me.

  For several seconds, neither of them moved.

  The giant trundled toward him, bringing the rancid odor of rotting flesh. Flynn did the only logical thing you could do when an undead monster came at you: he bolted.

  He raced down the street, fear coursing through his blood. He’d heard rumors of dark magic being used to raise the dead, and the giant looked like a rotten corpse come to life. But he’d never thought they were true.

  The ground shook with the monster’s heavy footsteps. Flynn careened around a corner, hoping to throw it off course. How could such a thing even exist? Using dark magic, especially on the dead, was forbidden, even for the Triumvirate’s most important citizens. He recalled hearing of a prominent Sentinel getting exiled for experimenting with that kind of devilry.

  Though he couldn’t hear the footsteps behind him any longer, he wasn’t about to give the monster a chance to catch up. Gold light from above caught his attention, and he glanced up. Five Sentinels soared across the sky in an X formation, their gilded capes trailing behind them. His lungs burned from running, and his legs were starting to feel wobbly, but he couldn’t stop. If the Sentinels were involved, the situation was even more dangerous than he’d thought.