Flynn Nightsider and the Edge of Evil

by Mary Fan

  She walked up to him, and he put his hand on her shoulder. Brightness filled her vision as he goldlighted away, bringing her with him. For a split second, her whole body felt hot, like the air temperature had risen by a hundred degrees and she had a fever on top of that. The light cleared, and she found herself in a barren room with concrete walls.

  She looked around, recognizing the room as one she’d used as an entry point to the Capital before. The Rising had a handful of places like this—low-key spots owned by people sympathetic to the cause that they could goldlight into without worrying about a patrolman catching sight of them. The only illumination came from a narrow strip of windows near the ceiling, which revealed the gray dawn above the Capital’s skyscrapers. A wooden staircase with chipping paint stood in the corner, leading up to the building’s main level. Judging by the lack of anyone else present, the other Risers had already gone off to prepare for their big diversion.

  Aurelia shook Tamerlane’s hand off her shoulder and rushed up the staircase. The door at the top was unlocked. The first thing she saw upon opening it was a giant poster plastered on the brick wall of the building across the street. The words “Ever Vigilant” splashed across the bottom, forming the platform on which a heroic-looking Sentinel in a flowing gold cape stood. It seemed as though the government had covered the Capital in even more propaganda since the last time she’d been there.

  A throng of neatly dressed Triumvirate civilians—the spouses and relatives of Defenders, most likely—crossed in front of the poster. At least one of them would recognize her as the Firedragon, the most amazing Cadet the Academy had ever known. She had no idea which of her fellow students had been the first to call her by that nickname, but she was glad they had. It suited her. “Firedragon” sounded as fierce as any monster name—razorbird, fangbeast, et cetera—and she considered herself the monster to the monsters, the one they feared. She’d been sent to the Academy as a Secondstringer, since she was an orphan, but her combat prowess had earned her a promotion to Cadet shortly after her arrival. She’d astounded the teachers with her abilities during her initial assessment, which was always held in front of all the other Cadets and Scholars. The next thing she’d known, people were muttering about how awesome the Firedragon was, and she’d realized they meant her. She’d eventually learned that the nickname came from her swiftness and agility, which had reminded people of the fluid motions of the legendary Chinese dragons and from how she fought as though she was on fire.

  Though she used to bask in the admiration, at the moment, being recognized would be the worst thing that could happen. She looked down, letting her long black waves fall over her face, and pretended to examine her fingernails as she waited for the people to pass. If they knew who she was and alerted the authorities, she’d be arrested on the spot—not for any crime she was known to have committed, but for daring to defy the Triumvirate. They’d been her guardians since she was an infant, though she’d had no say in the matter. Her mom had died when she was born, and her dad—well, she might as well not have a dad. She’d always been told that because of all the training and resources the government had put into her upbringing, she owed it to them to be the person they wanted her to be.

  She’d had no problem with fighting monsters, but she’d hated that they thought they owned her. Finally, she’d had enough and run away from the Academy to join the Rising. Although the Triumvirate didn’t know what had become of her, she was certain that if she were ever caught, they would use their magic to brainwash her into compliance. That was a fate worse than death and a fate she faced every time she entered one of the Triumvirate’s cities on a mission.

  And on this particular quest, there was too much at stake to fail. The success of the Rising could hinge on her ability to steal Flynn Nightsider from the Triumvirate. Knowing that made her heart skitter with anxiety, but she pushed away the feeling. Fear would only slow her down.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder. Knowing it was Tamerlane behind her, she turned. “Hm?”

  “If anything goes wrong, and I mean anything, send up a flare, and I’ll goldlight you out. Understand?” He tapped his orange wand against his palm, practically quivering.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She wondered how someone so antsy had ended up joining the rebels in the first place. But then she felt bad for being rude when he’d always been nice to her. “Don’t worry. I promise, I’ll call for help if I need it.”

  Aurelia headed in the opposite direction from Tamerlane, who was going to join the others on the diversion team. She turned left, recalling the directions from the Rising’s entry point to the spot where she was supposed to wait for the transport. Nervousness crept into her chest, and she inhaled sharply. No matter how many missions she went on, and no matter how many times she succeeded, she could never quite shake the looming fear that the latest one might be her last.

  She reminded herself that there was nothing incriminating about a young Defender strolling down the streets of the Capital’s Third Ring, which bustled with people starting their days. She kept her chin tilted toward the ground and glanced away whenever she sensed someone’s gaze sliding toward her.

  She arrived at the intersection of two narrow streets. Tall buildings with concrete walls, neat lines of square windows, and flat roofs surrounded her. She leaned against a black lamppost, keeping her eyes knife sharp for any sign of the authorities. So far, there didn’t seem to be any patrolman in this particular area. As she waited for the transport to arrive, she pulled the hair tie from her wrist and swept her locks into a ponytail. Having her hair down was good for masking her identity, but her thick waves would get in her way once the time came to take action. She watched the street warily, nervous since her face was out in the open.

  Right on schedule, three plain white vehicles wheeled toward her in a single-file line: the Triumvirate’s convoy, carrying Flynn Nightsider. Her target. Drawing a breath, she watched for the signal from the other Risers. Any moment now…

  A sudden whoosh filled her ears, and hot air blasted her face. A thirty-foot-high wall of flames filled the street at the end of the block, right in front of the convoy. Tires screeched as the vehicles came to an abrupt halt. The rebels had made their move.

  The blaze leaped toward the gray sky. Red blasts, fired from Risers’ wands, rained down at the vehicles from several directions, accompanied by the sounds of gunshots. Though she couldn’t see them, she knew the others were hiding in the buildings. People shouted and screamed as they scrambled to get away, but they weren’t really in danger—not from the Risers, at least. Those gunshots were blanks, and the red wand blasts would barely sting a person.

  She grabbed the crescent-shaped Lockpicker from her pocket and watched as two Sentinels emerged from the vehicle at the front of the convoy, along with two patrolmen. More of the officers emerged from the vehicle at the back, and they returned the Risers’ fire. The doors of the middle vehicle, which contained the prisoner, remained closed.

  She pulled a trank gun from one of her holsters, searching for the signal. With those Triumvirate goons so close to her target, going in right at the moment would be too risky.

  Two more blasts of hot wind hit her. Though she kept her gaze forward, she caught glimpses of flames from the corners of both eyes. Walls of fire, summoned by the Risers, now blocked three of the four streets leading to the intersection. A cacophony of screams surrounded her, and people raced into the intersection, crowding around the vehicles. Evidently, no one had realized yet that those flames were enchanted and wouldn’t burn a tissue. Calhoun’s plan was to herd people toward the convoy to give Aurelia cover when she grabbed Flynn, and it seemed to be working.

  A fourth blast of heat hit her back. Fire blocked the last of the streets, creating a blazing prison for the panicked civilians. As far as they knew, they were trapped, and they ran to the patrolmen and Sentinels near the convoy, seeking help from the authorities. Good. It’s wo
rking.

  A burst of red light flashed across the street. That was the signal she’d been waiting for. With the Lockpicker in one hand and the trank gun in the other, she dashed toward the middle vehicle, dodging the crowd. The patrolmen and Sentinels had scattered to pursue the Risers in the buildings and shoo people away from the convoy, leaving the three vehicles unguarded but for whoever remained in the middle one. Won’t be long before backup arrives, though.

  Aurelia reached her target and slammed the blue-green Lockpicker against its back door. “Activate!”

  Azure light radiated from the magic crescent, briefly making the golden skin of her hand appear blue. As soon as she heard the click of the door unlocking, she yanked it open. The patrolman inside pulled a gun on her, but she was faster. Before he could fire, she nailed him with a trank dart to the neck. Knowing the officer in the front passenger seat would be the first to react, she fired at him before he could turn around then reached across the prisoner in the middle of the back seat to knock out the patrolman on the other side of him. She spun and fired at the woman in the driver’s seat next, getting her in the neck too. All four officers slumped, unconscious. She’d taken them down in less than a second.

  “What’s happening?” a boy cried out in alarm.

  Aurelia turned her attention to the prisoner, who had a black bag over his head. Flynn—there was only one prisoner, so he had to be Flynn—yanked at the chain binding his handcuffs to a bar on the ceiling.

  She stuffed the trank gun back into her belt. Leaning across an unconscious patrolman, she used the Lockpicker to free Flynn from the chains. As she slipped the tool back into her pocket, she pulled the black bag off his head with her free hand. A pair of startled blue eyes met hers.

  She grabbed his arm. “Move it!”

  With a few tugs, she pulled him out of the vehicle. He looked around wildly, his expression filled with confusion.

  Aurelia gave his arm another yank and dragged him away from the vehicle. “This isn’t a theater show! Come on!”

  “Who are you?”

  “The girl who’s saving your caboose!”

  “What’s going on? Who’s—”

  “I’ll answer the FAQs once we’re outta here! Just follow me!” She darted back in the direction she’d come from then froze. The backup patrolmen would come from that direction. She could see them approaching through the enchanted wall of flames. Keeping her grip on Flynn’s arm, she spun toward the opposite street and ran. To his credit, he was able to keep up with her rapid pace.

  “Wait!” Flynn stopped abruptly. “Where’s Brax?”

  “Who?” Irritated, she tried to pull him forward again.

  “I think he’s—”

  “Shut up and run!” Whoever this Brax person was, he wasn’t on Aurelia’s to-rescue list, and there’d been no one but patrolmen in the vehicle with Flynn. With the Triumvirate’s backup seconds from arriving, she didn’t have a moment to spare.

  Flynn jerked his arm out of her grip and ran back toward the three vehicles. Surprised that she hadn’t been able to stop him, she followed at a sprint. She caught up, slammed into his back, and pinned his arms to his sides. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He twisted, and she felt her grip slipping. “Let me go!”

  Despite her efforts, he was once again able to escape, racing right back toward the convoy she’d pulled him from. She scowled. Whatever he was doing, her job was to get him to the escape vehicle, and if she didn’t get there soon, the Triumvirate’s backup would arrive, and they’d all get caught.

  That’s it! She grabbed her trank gun and fired a dart into his back. He fell forward onto the pavement, and she ran to him. Stupid, ungrateful idiot!

  Her first thought was to drag him to the Risers’ escape vehicle. Realizing that would take too long, she huffed and grabbed the flare from her belt. Much as she hated calling for help, sometimes it was the smartest thing to do. She twisted the flare’s end to ignite a spark then tossed it a few feet away from her so it wouldn’t go off in her face. A red blast shot into the air above her.

  Tamerlane appeared beside her in a flash of light, his eyes wide with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  Aurelia jerked her head at the unconscious Flynn. “The moron tried to fight me, so I knocked him out.”

  Tamerlane nodded. “I’ll tell Rodriguez to meet you here.” He goldlighted away.

  Aurelia remained crouched beside Flynn, certain that Rodriguez—the guy manning the getaway vehicle—would be here soon. But not before trouble finds us. The roar of motorbike engines buzzed in her ears. The back-up patrolmen she’d been expecting were getting close.

  Cursing, she grabbed her second trank gun and spun toward the sound. Apparently, having been ordered to ignore the dangers of the fire, the patrolmen—eight of them total—sped right through it, their faces covered by the dark visors of their black helmets. That was bad. It meant people would realize the flames weren’t real. If they scattered, she’d lose her cover.

  She held both guns out in front of her. For most people, using two guns at once would be a terrible idea, since their attention would be split, and they wouldn’t be able to aim with either weapon. But I’m not most people.

  She pulled her triggers in quick succession. Some of the patrolmen swerved or dodged, but their movements were too predictable to avoid her. She hit each with merciless precision, and the riders slumped sideways off their bikes, landing in a heap on the pavement.

  Within seconds, all eight lay unconscious. Aurelia tried not to take too much satisfaction in their defeat, since someday, they could be fighting alongside her for the Rising. Calhoun had often spoken of how the patrolmen were themselves abused by the Enchanters and Sentinels, and many would rebel against the system given the chance. Besides, the trouble wasn’t over yet. These eight were the first wave. More would arrive soon.

  The screech of tires rang in her ears, and she whirled to see the Risers’ black transport barreling toward her. People scrambled to get out of its way, and it halted beside her. She blew out a breath, relieved. They’d be getting Flynn Nightsider out in one piece after all.

  Tamerlane jumped out of the passenger side. “Everything okay?”

  “For now, but we don’t have long.” Aurelia looked up. The sky was clear, but it wouldn’t remain so for long. “Sentinels are on their way by now.”

  Rodriguez—a giant of a man with a tangle of black hair—exited the transport’s driver seat, approached Flynn, and scooped him up. Aurelia held both trank guns out in front of her, ready to take action at the first hint of trouble. As she stood watch with Tamerlane, Rodriguez shoved Flynn’s limp form into the vehicle’s back seat.

  Aurelia climbed into the passenger seat. The next part of her mission was to guard Flynn during the drive back to the Citadel in case the Triumvirate caught up. Tamerlane goldlighted away, undoubtedly to rejoin the others in distracting the authorities.

  Rodriguez got behind the wheel and stepped on the ignition. She looked out the window as the car sped away, searching for trouble. A wall of weariness hit her, and she was suddenly aware of the sweat covering her face and the heat rising from her skin.

  She twisted back. Flynn lay across the seat behind her, and she regarded his placid face with a sense of wonder. She had to admit—with his prominent cheekbones and firm jaw, he was kind of good-looking. You don’t have a clue who you are, do you?

  Once the Rising got him whipped into shape, he’d be the rebellion’s most valuable asset and the greatest danger to the government they were fighting against. With him in their ranks, they could finally fulfill missions they’d tried and failed at countless times before.

  And then, the Triumvirate would fall at last.

  Chapter 8

  The Scarlet Citadel

  Flynn didn’t want to open his eyes. The last time the world had come back into view from bl
ackness, he’d found himself blinking into consciousness on the cold concrete floor of a jail cell, about to be taken to the Palace of Concord, where death awaited him. Since he presently lay in a comfortable bed somewhere, he wanted to stay asleep and not have to deal with the troubles of the real world, to forget about the insanity he’d found himself in and simply disappear into the peace of ignorance.

  But the call of reality was too strong. He remembered being chained inside a Triumvirate vehicle and then having the black bag torn off his head by a girl. Her face, ferocious and energetic, remained vivid in his memory: black eyes, round and slightly angled at the corners, a nose that could accurately be described as “button,” a thick black ponytail streaked with red and gold highlights that gleamed in the light of the flames. With her full, golden cheeks and small, pouty mouth, she would have looked almost doll-like if her expression hadn’t radiated fierceness. There had been something familiar about her, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. Whoever she was, she’d remain forever etched in his memories.

  But she wasn’t all he remembered. Flames and wand blasts, gunfire and a panicking crowd… Somewhere in the mess, he must have been hit in the head since he had no idea what happened next. Nothing had made any sense, and he recalled with some annoyance that the girl had refused to answer his questions. Figuring the only way to get answers was to search for them, he opened his eyes, sat up, and took in his surroundings. Someone had left him on the bottom bunk of a wooden bunk bed, one of about two dozen arranged in rows across a wide, rectangular room. No one else was around. Worn-looking wardrobes with nicked drawers lined one of the walls. Daylight spilled through the tall, rectangular windows covering another. A myriad of white spheres, each about the size of an apple, bobbed near the ceiling, which was cracked and peeling in several places. They must have been enchanted lanterns of some kind, though they didn’t glow at present. That meant this place, wherever it was, had magic.