Soul Fire

by Nazri Noor

  “None the worse for wear,” he groaned as I settled him down on his stone shelf. “I’ll be back to fighting form soon enough.”

  I patted him on the hilt. “Sure you will, buddy.”

  The two shifters disappeared from the Boneyard after we’d mostly made it livable again. I don’t think Gil was kidding about being more attracted to Prudence than ever, and it was going to be good for them to spend some alone time someplace where Carver’s all-seeing eye wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon them doing something, uh, frisky.

  Bastion and Herald stuck around the longest, unsurprisingly. As mages, the three of us felt obligated to help out with reinforcing the Boneyard’s barriers and structures, whether it was through applying magical energy or small, simple reconstructive rituals.

  I was a little surprised at how enterprising Bastion was, if I’m honest. Prejudiced of me, I suppose, to immediately assume that someone like him would be so eager to help out with the magical equivalent of manual labor, but his fondness for creating sturdy, solid things meant that he couldn’t stand to leave the Boneyard a crumbling, rickety husk.

  “Thanks,” I muttered to him, just as he was getting himself ready to leave.

  Bastion cocked an eyebrow. “For what?”

  “Don’t make me say it. Aww, man. For saving my life. You shielded me from Agatha’s spell.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t mention it. Anyone would have done the same.”

  See, this was the point where we would have been trading barbs, poking cruel jokes at each other, but things were still weirdly awkward since that night on the hill. I stared at the ground, wondering what to say, hating that I was at a loss for words. It just wasn’t my style.

  “So,” Bastion started. “About that night.”

  Yeah, about that. Dude was hot, no question. Very, very hot. And he’d proven time and again that he cared, that underneath the bluster and the arrogance, Bastion had a good and loyal heart. In another time, in some alternate universe, I might have considered it, but I was with Herald, and with Herald I was going to stay. And what about Mr. Grumbles? No. No lions for me. Tigers all the way.

  All that and more swirled in my head, but all I could say in a breathless rush was “Let’s just try to work past it.”

  “Yes,” he breathed, his face flushed with relief. “Forget I said anything. I was being a dick. Let’s just – let’s try to do the same thing that we did around here.” He gestured around the Boneyard vaguely.

  I chuckled. “Rebuild?”

  “Sure. Why not.” He offered me his hand. “Friends?”

  I reached for his hand, but he snatched it away at the last moment. He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back.

  “Psych.”

  He turned to leave, and I chuckled. Good old bad Bastion. Perhaps things could go back to normal after all. But as he left, he threw me one last glance, holding his gaze a little too long. He grinned out of the corner of his mouth, then winked at me as he exited through the Boneyard’s portal back into Valero. I swallowed thickly. Maybe I wasn’t being clear enough.

  Herald sidled up to me, wiping his hands off on a rag, sweaty from exertion. “What was all that about?” he asked, nodding his head at the portal.

  I shook my head and smiled. “It was nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Because that was what it was. I didn’t want to give Herald reason to stress out since nothing – nothing at all – had happened. I reached for his hand, flinching when I found it damp from sweat, then squeezed it anyway.

  “Long day,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get me started.”

  I leaned into him, sniffed, then backed away, wrinkling my nose. “Oh. Oh wow. You smell like a trash can, Igarashi.”

  “Damn it Graves, I said don’t get me started.”

  “You smell like the thing that trash lives inside of.”

  He shoved me in the shoulder, laughing as he hugged me. I pretended to complain when his bare arms got sweat on me, pretended to cringe when he planted a wet kiss on my cheek, then shooed him down the corridor, pointing him to my bedroom, and therefore, the shower.

  Alone. Silence. I admit, I wanted a little time to myself. We, all of us at the Boneyard, lived bizarre lives. I was sure as shit that everyone was happy as I was to just savor those precious few moments of normalcy, of sanity. I stretched my arms, sighing pleasurably at the empty space around me, at the sight of our break room mostly restored to its former function.

  They had to throw the sofa out, though, the one that had Loki’s blood on it. Sterling was livid, at first. It was his favorite one, Sterling’s Sofa, the nice red couch that he loved to stretched out on like a cat. I noted that he specifically asked to have a private moment before Mason and Gil hauled it into Valero to toss into a dumpster – or, more likely, to leave it on some sidewalk. I didn’t know if Sterling wanted to say goodbye to the couch, or find some way to suck up the dregs of trickster god’s blood left on the upholstery. I didn’t really want to find out.

  All that we had left to sit on were the assorted models of armchairs and stools Carver had picked out of a catalog, those convenient modular Swedish bits of furniture that you had to put together yourself. Most had been damaged in some way during the fight and were just barely usable. Mason sounded excited over the prospect of helping to build the new ones Carver was planning to order.

  I didn’t really want to park my butt in a slightly burnt chair, though. So I sauntered off towards the rim of the platform, sitting down on the floor and letting my legs dangle over the edge. One of the world’s most powerful witches had held me hundreds of feet in the air that day. Kicking my feet at the abyss like it was a swimming pool wasn’t so scary anymore.

  I groaned as I stretched out my legs, lifting my head to look at the breach. You could hardly see where the hole had been blown into the Boneyard – twice, no less, by our explosive little canine friend. I chuckled at the very idea that we had a magical corgi as a pet to begin with.

  “My life is weird as fuck,” I said softly, to no one in particular, maybe to the abyss.

  A woman’s voice answered. “There is a town in Alaska, fleshling, where the mayor was a cat.”

  I sighed. Not even ten minutes. I counted. “Hello, Hecate,” I grumbled. She was sitting next to me, similarly posed, her legs and her dress draping down into the abyss. “I’m so tired. Please. What are we talking about?”

  Hecate smiled, her features shifting as she did. “You did say that your life was strange. This is factual. The oddest things can happen, with or without the influence of the supernatural. A cat as a mayor, indeed.”

  “I still don’t understand,” I said, sounding more and more tired with every word that left my lips.

  “Your life,” she cut in abruptly, “will in no way become less complicated from this point on. You must know that. Truly, you must have known it from the start. It is best for you to accept that your existence is meant to be lived in extremes. Constant danger, fleshling. Constant sorrow. Is it not better to be prepared for the worst?”

  My fingers dug into the floor. She was bringing it up again, all this talk of permanent change, of acquiring power. “Tell me what you have in mind, then. As plainly as you can. It’s been a long day, Hecate.”

  Her hand was warm against mine, a gesture meant to be sympathetic, but coming from an entity – a triune goddess of magic – that could simply be calculated, meant to simulate a human response.

  “You tasted a different form of magic when you bonded shadow to fire, did you not? You rose to another notch in the arcane hierarchy when you understood that the darkness and the flames could work in concert.” Hecate waved her hand, a wireframe diagram of a staircase appearing in a hazy green light in midair. She tapped one claw at the bottom of the staircase, then tapped at the top. “What if you could go from here, to there, in the blink of an eye?”

  I watched the diagram intently, a little thrill tumbling in my stomach. “To ascend. Wasn’t th
at what you called it?”

  Hecate clenched her fist, and the staircase dissolved into fading motes. “Yes. To rise above the bounds of what humanity can accomplish, to join the very highest echelons of earthly power. Hercules. Perseus. Maui. Gilgamesh. Do you know these names, fleshling?”

  My heart thumped so quickly that I could hear my blood pulse in my ears. They were demigods, every last one of them. I nodded.

  “Then you understand.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but my chest was tight, my mouth parched. “What do I have to give?”

  “Everything.”

  It was so hard to breathe, but I tried harder, wanting to ask more, wanting an answer.

  “And if I did this, Hecate – would I have what I need to end the Eldest and their dominion forever?” My eyes were huge when I looked at her, as open as my heart. “What could stop me then?”

  “Nothing,” Hecate said. “Nothing at all.”

  The sound of shuffling feet came from the corridor far behind us. I blinked, and Hecate was gone. I gasped, finally finding that I could breathe again.

  Herald stepped up next to me, then joined me on the ground, holding his glasses up to his face as he looked into the abyss beneath us.

  “What’re you doing here?” he said, smelling of my shampoo, my soap, smelling like someone I could never bear to lose.

  “Just, you know, hanging out.”

  He chuckled, because that’s how Herald could be – giving, and understanding, even when it came to my dumbest jokes. He scuttled closer, his skin and blood warm against mine, then nudged me with his shoulder.

  “You’re looking a little serious there, buddy. Everything okay with you?” He adjusted his glasses, studying my face, then smiling. “What’s on your mind?”

  I grinned back at him, lying to my best friend like it was the simplest, most natural thing in the world.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

  END

  About the Author

  Hi, I’m Nazri, a Filipino-Malaysian author based in California. I’m trilingual, but I really only write in English. I can also speak just enough Sindarin and Valyrian to impress absolutely no one. My urban fantasy novels focus on heroes who use wits, style, and their wildly unpredictable magic to save the day. Think sass and class, while kicking ass.

  My influences come from horror and fantasy: HP Lovecraft, Anne Rice, George R.R. Martin, Chuck Palahniuk, Terry Pratchett, and Neil Gaiman. Growing up I was shaped by the Blood Sword, Fighting Fantasy, Lone Wolf, and Grey Star game book universes. I’m also inspired by video games, specifically the Castlevania, Final Fantasy, and Persona series.

  Long story short, I’m a huge nerd, and the thrill of imagining wizards and monsters and worlds into existence is what makes me feel most alive. Writing, to me, is magic. If you enjoyed my work, please do consider leaving a review on Amazon. Even just a sentence can do so much. Reviews help readers like you decide whether they’d like my books, and they help indie authors like me with better visibility and credibility.

  And do consider joining us over in the Arcane Underground, my own reader group on Facebook. You can talk about my books with other readers, or even directly ask me questions about my stories if you like. I frequently share free and discounted books from myself and other authors, but most importantly, the group is always the first to learn about my latest releases and see new covers as I reveal them.

  I hope to see you there. Thank you for reading, and thank you for supporting independent authors everywhere.