Flynn Nightsider and the Edge of Evil

by Mary Fan

  Flynn approached, surprised that she’d used kicks instead of tranks. “What was that?”

  Aurelia shrugged. “Didn’t want to waste ammo on these jokers.”

  The satisfied glint in her eyes was somewhat frightening, and Flynn wondered if she’d just felt like kicking people. He reminded himself, yet again, not to piss her off. Ever.

  “Lead the way, Untouchable One,” she said in an exaggerated tone of reverence.

  Flynn ignored her smirk and walked up to the wooden door. White mist swirled over the brass door handle. He pressed down and pushed. As soon as the door creaked open, the mist vanished. He peered through the crack. Seeing only a long, empty hallway lined with arched doorways and dimly lit by wrought-iron lamps on the wall, he stepped inside.

  Aurelia poked the door with the barrel of her trank gun. Apparently satisfied that no enchantments lingered, she followed him inside. She dashed down the hallway and disappeared into one of the rooms.

  Recalling the directions, Flynn entered the archway to his right. A large lantern with metal swirls snaking along its glass panels floated near the ceiling, giving off a dim white glow. Tall bookshelves, covered in thick tomes, nearly reached the vaulted ceiling. The nearest staircase to the upper levels lay on the other side of the room. Trank gun in hand, he walked between the shelves.

  Pounding footsteps approached. They sounded like they were coming from the aisle parallel to him. He stopped and raised his weapon. Looking through the crack above the books, he watched a patrolwoman run past. He followed the woman with his eyes, expecting her to round the bookshelf and confront him. Instead, she left the room. She must be going after Aurelia.

  Flynn exhaled and made his way up the stairs, wishing his heart didn’t pound so loudly. When he reached the top, a long hallway, similar to the one downstairs, stretched before him. Several archways led to rooms, and wrought-iron lanterns illuminated the area. Two armed patrolmen paced down the hallway.

  Dammit. I’d rather they were Sentinels. Unlike wand blasts, the patrolmen’s guns could actually hurt him.

  Flynn leaned against the wall by the doorframe to keep out of sight. The easiest solution would be to trank them in quick succession. However, he wasn’t sure if he could hit both before one of them fired. If he could get them one at a time, however, he’d have a decent chance.

  Diversions seem to be the theme of the day. He quietly opened the bullet chamber of his pistol and tipped the weapon. A silver ball slid into his palm. After putting the pistol back in its place, he dropped the bullet onto the staircase. It clattered down the steps.

  “Did you hear that?” one of the patrolmen asked.

  Flynn kept his back to the wall as someone approached.

  “Stay here,” the man said. “I’ll check it out.”

  Good, it’s working. Flynn held his breath, waiting.

  The patrolman appeared in the doorway. Flynn remained still. A little closer…

  The patrolman peered around the corner. His eyes met Flynn’s. Before he could speak, Flynn fired his trank gun into the other’s shoulder. The patrolman’s face went slack, and he tumbled down the stairs. Flynn winced. That’ll hurt when he wakes up.

  “Griggs?” The second patrolman approached.

  Flynn stepped into the doorframe and fired, but the patrolman dodged and grabbed his own weapon. Flynn cursed and fired again, pulling the trigger repeatedly, hoping that one of those shots would stick. The patrolman’s gun went off. Flynn jumped, startled. He started to fire again but stopped when the patrolman fell sideways. A trank dart stuck out of his neck.

  Flynn lowered his weapon. Sweat poured down his face. He glanced back. A bullet hole punctured the wooden doorframe behind him. That was close.

  At least the coast was clear now. Ignoring his shaking breath, he approached the maps room—third doorway to his right—which was covered in a shimmering white film. His skin tingled as he stepped through it. Mahogany bookshelves lined three walls of the rectangular space, each filled with thick volumes. A painting of a map covered the high ceiling, with colorful illustrations indicating the Triumvirate’s largest cities. A spherical lamp, hanging from the center, illuminated the room. Beneath it stood a large stone table, surrounded by high-backed chairs. Awed by the magnificence, he swept his gaze across the glimmering spines, the ornately decorated furniture, and the luxuriously painted ceiling.

  Recalling the Archive’s plans, Flynn approached the fourth wall, which was covered in wooden drawers. The map he sought wouldn’t be in a book. In fact, Calhoun had been pretty sure it would be an enchanted object. Each had a silver knob sticking out of the center. Glowing gold letters indicated what lay inside. Seeing that the drawers were arranged alphabetically, he scanned them for the letter P.

  Palace of Concord… Palace of Concord… Where are you? His eyes fell on a drawer near the bottom.

  He crouched and grabbed the knob. As soon as he touched it, the gold letters disappeared. He pulled the drawer open and found a glowing green crystal about the size of his fist. It didn’t look like a map, but he was sure that had to be it. A little presto chango would make the crystal reveal the Palace’s layout. Some of the tension released his shoulders. At least he’d found what he was looking for.

  As soon as he closed his hand around the crystal, its glow disappeared. A shrieking alarm filled the building.

  Cursing, Flynn sprinted from the room. He stuffed the crystal into his pocket, hoping it wouldn’t glow again once he released it. The last thing he needed was a bright light showing the patrolmen where he was. To his relief, it didn’t; being in his pocket must have been close enough for his Untouchable nature to render its powers moot. He grabbed his trank gun and entered the stairwell.

  Hearing voices from below, he froze. He’d nearly gotten a bullet in his head the last time he tried to take on multiple patrolmen. There was another staircase on the other side of the hallway. Hoping he wouldn’t run into any security, he rocketed back into the corridor.

  He raced past the archways, his heart pounding. He couldn’t get caught. The fate of the nation depended on him getting the crystal in his pocket to the Risers. More than his own life hung in the balance—the life of everyone in the Triumvirate hinged on his success.

  If he failed, so would the rebellion.

  Chapter 19

  Haunted

  Flynn dashed down the steps, the map-crystal in his pocket bouncing against his leg. The high-pitched alarm stung his ears, but at least its noise helped cover the sound of his footsteps. He reached the bottom of the staircase and found himself in a desk-filled room. Seeing no one around, he raced across it.

  Someone appeared in the archway ahead. Startled, he reached for a weapon but stopped when he saw it was Aurelia.

  “What’d you do, dummy?”

  Flynn ran to her. “I just—”

  “Never mind—let’s get out!” Aurelia whirled and fired her trank gun out the archway. “C’mon!” She zoomed down the hallway in the direction of the doors. “We’ve got less than a minute before Sentinels start popping up here.”

  Choosing not to question her instincts, Flynn rushed toward the exit. Keeping up with a girl who was four or five inches shorter than him shouldn’t have been a problem, but Aurelia’s speed seemed almost superhuman.

  She spun. “Get back!”

  Flynn stepped behind her as she pulled out her second trank gun. She fired both in quick succession, taking down patrolmen who stepped out from four different archways.

  “Let’s go!” She sprinted to the door.

  Flynn followed her outside. She abruptly stopped at an intersection of four brick buildings, and he barely halted in time to keep from crashing into her.

  “Sentinels will be coming from that way.” She jerked her chin at the road. “We’ve gotta take the roundabout route.” She turned right and darted around the corner.

/>   “How do you know?” Flynn ran beside her, struggling to speak between breaths.

  “Because I’m the Firedragon, and you’re slow!”

  Glimpsing gold light, he glanced up. Sentinels soared over the buildings, glowing wands held out in front of them.

  “They’re following my essence.” Still sprinting, Aurelia brushed a stray strand from her ponytail out of her face. “We should split up again so they don’t catch you. I’ll lead them away.”

  “Hell, no.” Flynn managed to speak firmly despite his burning lungs. He couldn’t stand the thought of Aurelia getting caught while he ran like a coward.

  “The Rising can’t lose you!”

  I’m sick of that argument. Knowing that wouldn’t convince her, Flynn searched for another reason. “They’ll lose me anyway if a patrolman’s bullet finds its way into my brain.”

  “Ugh, you’re right.” Her gaze darted around. “Fine, how can we shake them?”

  Flynn mentally ran though Augustine’s layout, trying to think of which way would take them back to the vehicle. A boom rang in his ears. Tamerlane must have caused another explosion. I hope he’s doing better than we are, wherever he is.

  Aurelia whirled. “Crap, we weren’t fast enough!” She drew her trank gun, and her black eyes betrayed nervousness.

  Flynn followed her gaze, confused. Five gold flashes appeared simultaneously in front of him. As soon as he saw the cloaked Sentinels’ wands, he jumped in front of Aurelia. Their red blasts hit him square in the chest. Heat stabbed him, but he’d be fine.

  “Go!” He twisted to face her. “I’ll deal with them!”

  She threw him an irritated look and fired her trank guns, taking down two Sentinels. A third shot a wand blast toward her, but Flynn moved to block it, and it dissolved against his shoulder. He reached for his own weapon. Before he had a chance to aim it, the cloaked man fell, hit by one of Aurelia’s darts. Though he managed to fire at one of the two remaining Sentinels, his shot missed widely. Aurelia took the man down before he had a chance to try again. The last Sentinel fired a final wand blast—which Flynn managed to block with his arm—before goldlighting away, probably to get backup.

  “‘I’ll deal with them?’” Aurelia waggled her fingers as air quotes and made a derisive noise. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  “At least I’m useful as a shield,” Flynn grumbled.

  “Yeah, you’re not useless—I’ll give you that.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Now, let’s get outta here!”

  Aurelia hit the pavement running. Flynn followed, mentally smacking himself for once again making an idiot of himself in front of her. He couldn’t help it. When people he cared about were in trouble, his instinct was always to make that trouble come to him instead—even when he had no idea how to handle it.

  Ahead, he glimpsed a low metal fence with black bars intertwining in intricate swirls. Cracked gray headstones rose from the dark ground beyond it. Several spindly, leafless trees stood like paladins above them, twisting their gnarled branches before the moon. Glimmering gray mist swirled over the cemetery—a strange, unearthly mist that didn’t seem to be anywhere else in Augustine.

  Aurelia stopped at a pair of black gates. “Flynn! Open them!”

  He obeyed, pulling the latch. After shoving them open, he stepped through.

  Aurelia followed close behind. “Close them! Now!”

  Puzzled, he slammed the gates shut. “That won’t keep—”

  “It’s not just a gate.” She pointed at a glowing purple symbol by the latch. It resembled an eight-pointed star with a complex symbol made of sharp angles and sharp dots in the center. “See that? This fence is enchanted. Even the Sentinels can’t get through.”

  But why would… Oh. There was only one reason to place a magical barrier around a graveyard.

  “This place is haunted, isn’t it?” He looked back. Four Sentinels stood in the path leading up to the gate, watching him and muttering to each other. They were too far away for him to see their expressions, but if they were keeping their distance, that meant something bad had to be lurking.

  “I’m beginning to think we should’ve taken our chances with them.” A slight quiver betrayed Aurelia’s nervousness, and Flynn tensed. If she was worried, things were even worse than he’d feared.

  “Never take chances.” An eerie female voice spoke behind him.

  Flynn turned. A ghostly woman, translucent and pale with a tattered black dress that hung to her knees, stood between him and Aurelia. Her dark eyes, barely visible against gaping black sockets, tilted in a melancholy expression, and she stared at Aurelia. Specter—must be a Class C, since she’s acting almost human. Though he knew such a spirit couldn’t harm him, he still shuddered.

  The specter reached toward Aurelia with her skeletal hand. “There was a time when I was young and pretty like you…”

  “Hey!” Flynn smacked the specter’s arm, which dissolved at his touch.

  The specter’s eyes filled with tears. She threw her head back and let out an ear-shattering wail. As she dissolved into mist, more specters rose from the ground. Flynn widened his eyes, unsettled and somewhat awed. Spirits of all sizes and shapes—some elderly and frail, others large and imposing—drifted around the headstones and sculptures of angels. Some would have looked human if they didn’t appear to be made of mist, and others appeared as monstrous as draugar with distorted faces, crumbling skin, and visible skeletons. He’d never seen so many.

  Aurelia jittered beside him, and he put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. They can’t get you with me around.”

  She shook him off and shrugged the bow off her shoulder, her expression tense. “They’re not the only things we have to worry about.” Her eyes widened, and she grabbed Flynn’s arm. “Look out!”

  She yanked him back so quickly he stumbled. An instant later, four small black blades hit the ground before him, and a screech tore through the night. Razorbird feathers—she’d narrowly saved him from getting impaled.

  Aurelia pulled him behind a large headstone, which was taller than he was and shaped like a cross. A whoosh filled his ears. Peering around the headstone, he glimpsed a flock of razorbirds heading toward him. One swooped at him, and his heart jumped into his throat. But before it reached him, it dissolved into a puff of black smoke then reappeared several yards away, flying upward.

  Flynn blinked. “Since when can razorbirds teleport?”

  Aurelia’s eyes were round. She must have been as shocked as he was. “That’s the first time I’ve seen it happen.”

  Flynn suppressed a shudder. That was the first time anything monster-related had ever surprised her, and if it was beyond even her experience, then something abnormal had to be going on. His thoughts wandered back to what he’d heard about the Underworld growing stronger. Perhaps its powers were starting to manifest in the creatures’ powers.

  A small cloud of black smoke appeared a few feet in front of him and materialized into a razorbird. Gasping, he reached for his pistol, but Aurelia grabbed his wrist.

  “Don’t,” she hissed. “I’d take them down, but that would mean drawing the specters’ attention. Safest thing to do right now is stay still.”

  Flynn wanted to point out that the specters wouldn’t harm him, and he could shield her if any attacked, but quickly realized how dumb that notion was. If he tried to guard her, he’d only get in the way as she tried to fight the razorbirds. And if he tried to take on the flying monsters himself, chances were, he’d end up with a blade in his chest.

  The specters roamed around the cemetery in slow, eerie movements. Most appeared oblivious, gazing out into nothingness and wandering in no particular direction. Was something wrong with them? Or was that simply how specters acted when they weren’t attacking people? Unless summoned, specters only remained on Earth after death if something horrible had happened
to them in life. How do they fit into the whole Underworld thing, anyway? They were human once…

  “Put me to rest!” said an airy child’s voice.

  Flynn whirled. The specter of a little boy, no more than ten, stood before him, tears streaming from his large brown eyes.

  “I don’t want to lose my soul.” The little boy clasped his hands by his mouth. “Can’t you put me to rest?”

  What? Flynn tried to recall what the Academy’s teachers had taught him about specters in Lore class. All he really knew was that even those that started out harmless rose in class the longer they remained on Earth, losing what had once made them human—their emotions, their wills, and eventually, their minds. The most malevolent became wraiths, whose souls were lost forever. Though no one could agree on what happened to people once they died or to spirits once they were put to rest, anything had to be better than turning into a mindless monster.

  The little boy specter stared at Flynn with pleading eyes. “Can’t you put me to rest?”

  Flynn wished he had an answer, but as a Secondstringer, he’d never been allowed to attend the Academy classes that taught people how to actually deal with spirits. “I’m sorry. I… don’t know how.”

  The little boy let out a loud sob and dissolved into mist. Flynn had never really thought of specters as people. To him, they’d only ever been the dangerous supernaturals the Triumvirate had taught him to fear more than their power. Now, he realized that when it came to the spirits, the line between human and monster was more blurred than he cared to think about. Sorrow wound through his chest.

  He glanced up at Aurelia. “Do you know how to put a specter to rest?”

  “Only Enchanters can do that, and we don’t have time to worry about dead people right now.” Aurelia stepped out from behind the headstone. “Razorbirds seem to have moved on for now. Let’s go.”

  “Doesn’t seem right that spirits who were once people are put in the same category as actual monsters.”