Taylor Davis and the Flame of Findul (Taylor Davis, 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  We flipped upright in a fluid motion and headed back toward the wounded Churkon.

  “Isn’t this awesome?” Mike exalted, helping me to my feet. I didn’t even bother to answer. The altitude must have frozen his brain.

  Elena managed to stay on her feet during the twist, thanks in large part to Ranofur. She took a bead on the faltering beast and put another bolt into its chest. It threw back its head in a hoarse scream before melting into a green river that blew apart in the wind.

  “One down,” Q cheered. “We’ll let the mountains take out the last one.” He veered sharply and dropped into a descent so steep it left me chewing on my socks.

  The sharp crags and the snow-covered peaks of the Cascades reached up to swipe us out of the air. Q weaved skillfully between them. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t look away as pillars of rock rose up on either side and the rugged terrain skimmed along just below our wheels. The light and shadow of early morning messed with my vision. We twisted and rolled, following valleys, dodging cliffs, snaking past jagged precipices, narrowly avoiding death. The Churkon flapped relentlessly in our wake.

  Q whipped up the horses. They strained at their traces, necks bulging with their effort as the mountains flew past at a reckless speed. We rounded a snowy crest and a wall of sheer rock materialized before us, blocking out the sun. Q set a collision course.

  I shrank into the bottom of the chariot again, cowering as the wall grew larger and larger. We were a missile honing in on a target. At the last second, Q jerked the reins. Up we shot, straight into the air. One of our wheels actually scraped the cliff face as we skimmed skyward.

  Below us, I heard the echo of one shrill cry and then nothing. Looking back, I saw the cliff face smeared with green slime.

  We rounded the peak and Mike let out a whoop. I was shaking too much to celebrate. As our ride leveled off, I rested my head against the side of the chariot and let my blade fall to the floor.

  “That was some driving, Q!” Mike shouted. “I wasn’t worried for a minute!”

  Quinset actually grinned before wrestling his face back into a dour mask. “Humph,” he grunted. “Wears out a good team.” Our pace slackened noticeably. “We’ll get out of these mountains, find a level place to set down, and tend their injuries.”

  Ranofur turned to me and Elena. “Are you two all right?”

  Elena nodded. Her hands shook and her face was taut with strain, but she mustered a smile for her angel. I, on the other hand, was a pasty lump of dough at their feet.

  Ranofur grasped me under the armpits and hauled me to a standing position. “Come on, get up. You’ll feel better where the breeze can reach you.”

  I let him guide me to my feet, leaning on him for support. “I thought Swaugs were the ones with noses for pastrami,” I wheezed. “What were those Churkons doing here?”

  “Churkons can smell it too, though they rely more heavily on sight,” he answered. “Swaugs have a keener sense of smell, but they’re earthbound unless they shape-shift. Then they’re only as strong as the form they’ve chosen.”

  My stomach still churned, but the fresh air cleared my fuzzy head. The ride was now gentle and smooth, and after a few moments even my stomach began to settle. I took a new interest in our surroundings.

  The Cascades spread out beneath us like broken white glass. We traveled over miles of rugged territory before the range softened into a broad coastal plain. I recognized Vancouver Island and, far to the south, the northwestern arm of Washington created by Puget Sound.

  “We’ll dodge around Vancouver,” Q told us, “and set down below the city. It’s not too crowded down there.”

  Elena handed me my sword, which I tucked into my belt. “That’s pretty slick.” She nodded at the belt. “Schmiel give it to you?”

  “Yeah,” I wearily replied. “Someone tipped him off about the makeup case and he—” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Say, are you the one who told him?”

  She smirked. “Not me, Davis. I wouldn’t separate you from those cute little red hearts.” She grinned and leaned over the side of chariot, watching the topography change. I observed her from the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not.

  Mike threw an arm around my shoulders. He was still high on adrenaline. “So, what’d you think of our ride, Taylor?” He grinned. “Wasn’t that the most incredible rush you’ve ever experienced? It makes roller coasters seem like child’s play.”

  “Mike, you have to be the sickest person I’ve ever met,” I replied.

  He laughed. “I wanted to be a pilot like Q once, you know.”

  I couldn’t picture it. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Oh,” he shuffled uncomfortably, “you know. Quotas and all that. They found out about my aptitude for data systems…”

  Q scowled. “It didn’t have anything at all to do with that wreck on Saunder’s Peak, did it?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Wreck?” I looked from Q to Mike. “What happened?”

  Mike tugged at his collar and worked one shoulder in a circle. “Er, nothing that would interest you, I’m sure. Why, look at that—”

  He spun me around to redirect my attention. At the same moment, Q shifted the team to prepare for landing. Still a little woozy, I stumbled and barely managed to catch myself at the lip of the chariot. As I teetered precariously, Mike lunged for my arm, missed, and knocked me out of the vehicle.

  I plunged earthward, watching my friends grow smaller and smaller above me. The only thought running through my mind was whether or not I could request a new guardian angel the next time I visited Nigel.

  Lesson #19

  Bungee Jumping without a Bungee Makes for a Rough Day

  The cold air screaming past my face sharpened my senses pretty quickly. The Strait of Georgia, the broad band of seawater that separated Vancouver Island from the mainland, shimmered beneath me. Fortunately, most of the ice had melted. Unfortunately, the water would still feel like a parking garage at the speed I was traveling.

  I was too frightened to scream. I thought fast. Could I make a parachute out of my fleece? Probably not.

  If I landed feet first and pointed my toes, would I slice through the water easier? Perhaps, but I’d still slam a femur into my brain and probably break all my toes for my effort.

  What if I removed my jeans and tied off the ends to create a flotation device? Okay, that was just idiotic. It was also the thought that saved my life.

  The belt!

  Frantically, I began pushing buttons. Sirens blared. Blue and red lights flashed. A net streaked from my side and caught in the air currents above me. One button even fired a stream of marshmallows from my waist like an M-16. I couldn’t think of a single use for that feature outside of being chased by a platoon of grizzly bears.

  The belt began to overheat as I exhausted all possibilities. The water rose rapidly, spreading out across my entire field of vision. I had four hundred meters to live. Three hundred. Two hundred. I clawed frantically at the leather.

  Around back, my finders closed on a small handle I hadn’t noticed before. I yanked at it with all the strength in my arm. A whoosh of fabric streamed past my head and opened, slowing me with a bone-jarring jolt. The next second I plunged into the frigid waters of the strait.

  The ocean was bitterly, painfully cold—a million frozen needles stabbing me again and again. As the water closed over my head, I fought the urge to gasp. Instead, I kicked up to the surface and sucked in great breaths of air. I was alive!

  From my low position, I couldn’t see Vancouver Island at all, but the mainland appeared to be five or six miles away. My heart leaped at the sight—until I realized how long it would take me to swim it. It looked so close, but I knew I’d need several hours in ideal conditions. The water had to be forty-five degrees. I figured I had less than an hour before hypothermia set in.

  The parachute that had saved my life floated on the surface nearby, mocking me. I pulled a knife from my belt and sli
ced through the lines. Already my teeth were chattering and my body felt sluggish. I wished there was some way I could wrap myself up in the fabric and conserve warmth, but floating around in the straits wouldn’t do me any good. Slim as it was, my only chance was to swim for it. I struck out for shore.

  It took only a few strokes before I kicked off my shoes and ditched my backpack. My bulky clothes were a hindrance, too, but I kept them on, hoping they might hold in some heat. My toes had gone numb, and my whole body trembled, though my Schmiel gloves seemed to give my hands some protection. I set out for the mainland again, settling into a comfortable sidestroke. In warm water I could keep this pace up for hours.

  The sea was calm. One- to two-foot swells lifted me gently and set me down again. I had gone perhaps a quarter mile when something brushed against my foot. I jerked it back in a reflex action and bit back the scream clawing its way up my throat. I knew great white sharks rarely swam this far north, but the fear of the unknown wrapped itself firmly around my brain anyway. I forced myself to keep swimming and tried to think of all the harmless animals that reside in northern coastal waters: seals, sea lions, porpoises, salmon…

  The water rippled to my left. I closed my eyes and conjured up mental pictures of puppies and kittens and blazing fires. I put more effort into my strokes, hoping the heat I created would offset hypothermia’s slow creep. I hummed Weird Al Yankovic songs just to keep my mind off my predicament.

  It was no use. A current created by something very large swimming very near sucked at me. I opened my eyes and watched a dark shape pass beneath the surface not three feet away. The creature must have been the size of a small yacht. I gulped and slipped the sword out of my belt.

  The shape drifted away and the water grew still. I hovered in place for several long minutes, paralyzed with fear and cold. I had just convinced myself it might have been only a tranquil whale when the sea suddenly exploded before me. Water sprayed high in the air, and I caught a glimpse of massive teeth and red, gleaming eyes. It was the hugest, ugliest shark I’d ever seen. Yet I knew it wasn’t a shark at all.

  I’d finally met a Wasitter.

  The creature lunged, and I swung my sword with all the force I could muster. The blade cut through flesh then the monster was gone, circling beneath the waves once more.

  I rotated in jerky, frantic circles, aiming my sword at the depths. I could see nothing in the blackness. My heart drummed in my chest, sending blood coursing though my veins. At the very least, my terror was keeping me warm.

  The beast launched into another attack, tearing through the water with jaws wide enough to swallow me whole. This time I could see the leathery fringes of skin that hung off its body like rotting flesh. The air reeked of decay. I held the sword steady and let the creature impale itself on the point. The blade sank into the soft tissue of its mouth.

  It roared in fury and wrenched to one side, nearly ripping the weapon from my hands. With a slap of its tail, it retreated into the murky depths.

  I wondered how much longer I could hold out. My body was shuddering violently now, my limbs turned to ice. Even my fingers were going numb and forgetting the feel of the sword in my grip. The monster was sure to figure out that I didn’t stand a chance if it took me from below.

  My nerves had reached their breaking point when a whale spouted twenty yards away. Two more breached just beyond the first, black and white rainbows arcing through the air. It was a pod of orcas. Killer whales. I was doubly doomed.

  The water roiled as the Wasitter torpedoed to the surface. It rammed me from below, tossing me high into the air with the force of a freight train. Pain etched through my body. Air blasted from my lungs. I swung feebly at the beast and missed before landing, stunned, a dozen feet away. I had enough presence of mind to cling to my weapon, but I knew one more attack would be my end.

  I lay gasping on the surface. My vision blurred, and my body began to feel warm and sleepy. I recognized the dangerous signs. Hypothermia was patiently waiting to claim me in the event that the Wasitter and orcas passed up their chance.

  A huge black and white face rose up before me only a few feet away. It peered at me inquisitively, clicking in a language I didn’t understand. I hoped I didn’t look too much like a seal, but I hadn’t enough strength left to even raise my sword.

  The face disappeared. Another moment and it would all be over.

  I felt a powerful current stream below me. The Wasitter broke the surface with an ear-splitting roar. I closed my eyes and waited for the end to come. But it didn’t. I heard a tremendous splash and felt another surge of water. Blackness was beginning to take me, but I forced my eyes open. Instead of charging me, the Wasitter had flung itself out to sea.

  As I watched, it breached again, farther away. A black and white blur streaked after it, tearing at the rancid flesh with powerful jaws. Another orca rushed in from the opposite direction before they all disappeared in a blinding splash of white spray.

  It took a moment for my sluggish brain to realize what was happening. The Wasitter surfaced again, fifty yards further, followed by the three orcas. They were hunting! Like a pack of wolves, they were driving the Wasitter out to sea.

  I smiled wearily, thanking them, before slipping quietly beneath the waves.

  Lesson #20

  Sometimes a Guy Just Wants to Go Home

  Strong hands dragged me to the surface and hoisted me into a boat. “There now, I’ve got you,” a voice said. My waterlogged clothing was stripped away and replaced with a warm, soft blanket. I don’t remember much of the ride back to shore, just the blissful feeling of life returning to my frozen body.

  Sometime later, Ranofur shoved a cup of hot tea into my hands. I blinked up at him. “Where am I?”

  “A hotel in Vancouver, British Columbia,” he answered. “The homing signal from Schmiel’s belt led us right to you. Of course, it also drew the Wasitter. I was afraid we wouldn’t reach you in time. As it is, we plucked you out of the drink none too soon.”

  It all came back then: the fall from the sky, the freezing water, the monster, the orcas, and the clod of an angel who caused it all. “Where’s Mike?” I asked with a surge of anger.

  “He and Elena went to find you some dry clothes.” He pushed me back onto the couch. “Elena already laid into him quite heavily, but she couldn’t make him feel any worse than he already did. He’s pretty shaken up about this.”

  “Not as shaken up as he’s going to be,” I fumed.

  The big angel paused thoughtfully. His next words were spoken with gentleness. “Taylor, this may be a critical moment for Mike. He’s been through a lot these last few centuries. Another failure might push him over the edge.”

  I was seething inside, my rage warming my body temperature faster than tea ever could. “I don’t care. I mean it, Ranofur. I’ve had enough. Mike is—he’s—” I couldn’t even find a word nasty enough to describe him.

  “I admit, he may not be the most qualified agent for the job—”

  I laughed incredulously. “Not qualified? Ranofur, who else in the history of the world has had their guardian angel chuck them out of a moving chariot at ten thousand feet?”

  Ranofur winced. “Nevertheless, I hope you consider Mike’s feelings in this. He has good intentions and a soft heart. Your rejection might do him in, and we need him on this case. He’s too talented to lose.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What about me? Am I more expendable than he is? Because the way things are going, that fool is going to kill me.”

  Ranofur sighed unhappily.

  I heard noises in the hallway. Footsteps, low voices, the rustle of packages. Mike and Elena were back.

  “Taylor, for the sake of the mission, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive him,” Ranofur said and headed for the kitchenette.

  I didn’t turn around when the others came in. “How is he?” Mike asked, his voice sounding strained and unnatural.

  “He’s awake.”

&n
bsp; Hesitant footsteps approached. “Taylor?” Mike asked.

  I turned to face away from him.

  There was a long silence then, “I’m sure you must be upset with me right now, but I assure you, I never intended—”

  I whirled on him. “Upset? Mike you shoved me out of a chariot! If it hadn’t been for a string of fortunate events—that had nothing to do with you, I’ll add—I’d be gone to Davy Jones’ locker by now.” I snorted, thinking of the crusty old pirate. “He was certainly right about you, wasn’t he?”

  Mike wilted, his thin shoulders drooped. His costume was in tatters, and the powdered wig hung about his face in ragged tufts. He looked absolutely pitiful. With a mournful shake of his head, he whispered, “I’m sorry,” and dragged himself to his room, closing the door behind him.

  My heart softened just a bit, but not enough to go after him.

  “You were pretty hard on him,” Elena stated from her position against the doorframe. “I don’t know if I blame you, though.”

  “I don’t care,” I glowered. “Mike is absolutely, totally worthless.”

  She tossed a package at me. “We bought you these.”

  I didn’t move, and she didn’t leave. “So what are you going to do now,” she asked, “ignore him for the rest of the mission?”

  “I want out.” I hadn’t planned on saying it. I hadn’t even thought about it, but as soon as the words passed my lips, I knew they were true.

  “You mean quit the mission?” she asked in surprise.

  “Yeah. I want to go home.”

  Ranofur poured more hot water into my tea. “You’ve just been through a difficult experience. You’re exhausted. Emotion is getting the best of you. Give it till morning and you’ll feel better.”