Belle, Book and Candle: A Fantasy Novel by Nick Pollotta

by Nick Pollotta

  “What do you mean they’re locked?” Colt demanded, yanking down the zipper on his borrowed security uniform. The shirt underneath was drenched in sweat until it was nearly translucent.

  “The freaking doors are locked!” Fitzgerald cried, rattling the handle to the exit again. “What do you think that means, Einstein?”

  “But how can they be locked?” Colt demanded furiously, shrugging off the jacket to fan away the thickening plumes of dark smoke. “They’re fire doors!”

  “How do I know?” Fitzgerald retorted, releasing the handle as if it were something unclean.

  “Hello, police!” a short man shouted into a cell phone. “Is anybody there? Hello?”

  Not knowing what else to do, Colt tried the handle himself, putting all of his strength to the task. Although designed to unlock at the first sign of a fire, the door stubbornly refused to move as if it had been welded into place.

  “Maybe they’re jammed, or something,” a bald secretary muttered, hugging his briefcase as if drawing strength from the object.

  Abandoning his efforts with the fire door, Colt spun around and grabbed a wheeled chair. Swinging it upward, he smashed open a glass box on the wall. Even before the jagged shards finished falling, he yanked out the water hose inside and twisted the valve. Nothing happened.

  “Why is there no alarm?” an unseen man shouted from across the smoke-filled office.

  Angrily casting the hose aside, Colt snatched the fire axe. Striding back to the stairwell door, he swung the axe fast and hard. The titanium-steel blade bounced off the thin aluminum, the shock almost tearing the handle from his grip.

  “This is not possible,” an elderly man muttered, hitting speed dial for 911 again and again.

  Bracing himself with a wider stance, Colt swung again to the same results. Then twice more. The last time the wooden axe handle snapped and the blade spun away to embed itself into the wall just under the bizarrely silent alarm.

  “Come on, open, damn you ...” a man snarled, pushing the call button for the elevator.

  “Those automatically turn off during a fire!” Fitzgerald shouted.

  Ignoring that, the frightened man kept rapidly tapping a finger on the button as if sending Morse code.

  Glancing around the smoky office, Colt desperately wished that he had gotten more sleep last night. His arms were tired and his temples were throbbing like voodoo drums.

  “Help!” a plump woman screamed. Standing in front of a closed window, she frantically waved her arms at the peaceful city below.

  Spotting a Styrofoam cup on a nearby desk, Colt checked to see if it held coffee. It did, but somebody had used it as a makeshift ashtray and there was a cigarette butt floating on top. Picking out the soggy mess, Colt drained the cup in a single swallow, trying to ignore the foul taste.

  “Why aren’t the sprinklers working?” a woman yelled, standing on top of a desk and slapping the nozzle in a futile effort to make it operate.

  As fresh energy flowed into his body, Colt desperately wondered what to do next. The exit doors refused to open, the elevators were dead, and the sprinklers wouldn’t come on, which left only ... ohmigodthatmightjustwork!

  Keeping a sharp watch out for any more coffee, or maybe a nice Danish, Colt charged through the swirling dark clouds, dodging people, chairs, and assorted office equipment. The floor felt hot even though his shoes, which meant the fire must be on the floor immediately below. Hopefully. Either that, or else the entire building was ablaze. But he didn’t want to think about that possibility.

  Reaching the far wall, Colt used another chair to get a second fire axe, and boldly strode toward the windows.

  “Don’t do it, sir!” a woman yelled. “The fresh air will only make the fire bigger!”

  “True, but we can jump! This overlooks the river!” Colt countered, slamming the blade into the tempered glass. The sharp blade went deep, sending out an explosive spider web of cracks. But as he yanked out the axe, the cracks promptly closed like wounds in living flesh until the glass was smooth and unmarred once more.

  Screaming in horror, a woman backed away, holding up a crucifix for protection and muttering a prayer.

  Certainly hoping that helped, Colt added one of his own, then tried the axe again, this time aiming for the decorative aluminum frame holding the glass in place. But the results were exactly the same.

  Overhead, the thick smoke crawled along the ceiling like a living thing on the hunt for prey.

  “This can’t be happening,” a burly man muttered, starting to giggle. “It isn’t real. This is only a dream ...”

  “Snap out of it!” a tall woman snarled, brutally slapping him across the face.

  Spinning wildly around, the man collapsed across a desk, bleeding from the nose and still giggling. “Not happening,” he laughed shrilly. “Not happening!”

  “Behold, Darwinism in action,” Fitzgerald muttered in mocking scorn.

  Just then a security guard burst out of the storage closet with his fly partially unzipped. Close behind came the CFO of the company, her blouse on backwards.

  “Sweet Jesus, the place really is on fire!” she gasped, then broke into a fit of coughing.

  “You! Got a gun?” Colt demanded hastily.

  “What? Ah ... yes, sir, I do!” the security guard said, patting her gently on the back.

  “Good. Shoot the window!”

  His free hand went to the weapon holstered on his belt, but the security guard scowled. “What was that?”

  “Just ... do as ... he says,” the CFO wheezed, struggling to breathe.

  With a curt nod, the security guard drew his weapon and pumped five fast rounds into the nearest window. The bullets slammed into the glass and came out the other side to disappear into the distance. But once more the holes closed with a soft sucking noise until they were completely gone.

  “Again!” Colt snarled, brandishing a fist.

  Needing no encouragement, the security guard emptied the rest of the clip into the window. Then reloaded and did it again, to the same results.

  Taking off a pair of dark sunglasses, an elderly man turned to a plain young woman. “I’ve always loved you,” he said softly.

  Startled at first, she blinked in confusion, then stepped forward, and they passionately embraced.

  “Ready ... set ... heave!” Fitzgerald shouted from across the office.

  Groaning from the effort, five men hoisted up a huge metal file cabinet, then raggedly charged forward. The makeshift battering ram slammed into the fire door with a resounding crash and no other effect whatsoever.

  That was when Colt noticed that the monogrammed carpeting near the elevators was no longer merely smoldering, it was burning. Which was absolutely impossible. The carpet was fireproof, not just flame retardant. Even if soaked in gasoline, it could not burn, only melt. Yet there it was, crackling away like a sheet of plywood. He had no idea what was happening to his building, but from the very bottom of his heart Colt thanked God that Rissa was not trapped in here with him.

  Oddly, just the thought of her filled him with renewed determination. Going to a water cooler, Colt lifted out the half-filled jug and heaved it at the elevators. It landed with a splash and rolled directly into the flames, gurgling out spring water. Hissing in protest, the burning carpet was extinguished, but only seconds later it started smoldering again, tiny flames licking around the wet spot. Damn it, he needed more water!

  Suddenly a woman appeared from the break room with both arms full of juice boxes. Throwing them like grenades, she savagely attacked and put out the last of the fire. But almost immediately the whole charred area began to eerily glow a dull red, wisps of fruity steam slowly rising.

  “Good work! Suzette, keep it up!” Colt shouted, wiping the soot off his face with a sleeve. “Everybody else, find more water, milk, coffee, anything that pours! Piss on it if you have to! But we must keep that area soaked until the fire department arrives!”

  “How do you know they will
?” a pale man asked, hope thick in his voice.

  “Are you serious?” Colt laughed. “The whole city can see the smoke and flames, so help is already on the way!” He really didn’t know if that were true, but the words brightened a lot of scared faces.

  “Okay, you heard the boss!” Fitzgerald added, slapping his hands together. “We need to find more water! Davis, get a bucket and empty the toilets! Claire, use a trashcan and drain the big aquarium! McGinty, find that case of souvenir snow globes we bought last year! It has to be here somewhere!”

  “Hey, there’s several water jugs for the coolers in there!” said the CFO, jerking a thumb at the storage closet. “Along with cases and cases of pop!”

  “That’ll do for starters!” Colt grinned in frank relief. “Fitz, stay right there! You’re in charge of that damn door! Batter it down and you can have my parking space!”

  “Will do, chief!” Fitzgerald declared, tying a handkerchief across his mouth to help with the smoke. “Okay, let’s move with a purpose, people!”

  Everybody surged into action, and for a short while the only sounds that could be heard were the all-pervasive crackle of the fire mixed with the desperate thumping of fifty-seven frightened human hearts.

  ***

  Rushing to the window, Rissa threw open the curtains. Just past the fence, the sprawling city of Savannah spread out before her like a diorama in a museum, beautiful and perfect. Except that now there was a dirty smudge on the living exhibit. Dark smoke was rising on the far side of town, near the river, and Rissa could hear the distant howl of firetrucks.

  Just for a split second, Rissa remembered the scene inside the crystal ball and oddly felt connected to Colt, as if they were standing alongside each other. Her skin prickled from the awful heat, and her throat tightened from the acrid smoke. Then the sensation was gone, and Rissa started to panic at the possibility that he had just died.

  “If he had, you’d know it in your heart,” Melissa said, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving a little squeeze.

  “Still that transparent, eh?” Rissa whispered, both of her hands clutching at the empty air.

  “You wouldn’t be human if not scared to death for the man you love,” Melissa said, changing the comforting pat to a hard nudge. “Okay, Sabrina, what can we do to help?”

  “Damned if I know,” Rissa muttered tersely. “I’m still figuring out how to make pizza.”

  “Nonsense, dear heart!” the woman in the oil painting called out from the wall. “Control of the elements is basic magic for any mage!”

  That took a moment to seep in, then Rissa swung up the ring to point it at the clear blue sky. “I summon rain!” she commanded, trying to envision a storm as she spoke the words. “Drown those flames with water!”

  Something deep inside of her reached out to the sky so quickly that for a moment Rissa thought she was going to fly away like a kite. Then a peal of thunder rumbled as dark clouds flowed over the horizon to gather above the city. Then lightning flashed and a hard torrential rain began, the vertical column of bluish-gray centered directly on the distant burning building.

  “Well done, girl!” Melissa said, reaching into a pocket. Whipping out a pair of opera glasses, she snapped them open.

  “Thanks. Is it working?”

  “Gimme a moment,” Melissa muttered uneasily. “Weird. I can see lots of firefighters moving outside the building, but nobody seems to be going in or coming out.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Beats me.”

  “But the rain is helping?” Rissa asked, squinting hard in an effort to see.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Melissa said, passing over the opera glasses.

  Adjusting the focus, Rissa quickly scanned the rain. Oddly, the building did not even seem to be wet, and dark plumes of smoke were rising from the garage next door—which did not seem to be on fire. Yet the Tower itself was clearly filled with flames, but none of the smoke was leaving the building.

  Demanding greater magnification, Rissa felt a rush of power through her veins. The ring pulsed and her sight zoomed in to clearly reveal terrified people on every floor banging on the windows and screaming to get out. There was no sign of Colt on the fifteenth floor, but it was difficult to see through the combination of rain and roiling smoke.

  “Something’s terribly wrong over there,” Rissa said, tossing back the glasses. “I have to go.”

  “Then don’t waste time talking,” Melissa replied, making the catch. “Hop on your broom and zoom!”

  Already starting to head for the front door, Rissa paused to stare at her friend as if she had just suggested a ménage à trois with a lawnmower.

  “Don’t use a broom, huh?” Melissa asked inquisitively. “Ah, well, so much for tradition!”

  Leaning in fast, Rissa kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll try to learn,” Rissa promised. “But for right now ...” Stepping back, she closed her eyes to focus on his face. “Take me to Colt!”

  Invisible energy flowed from her beating heart to gush out of every pore, and Rissa was soon surrounded by a swirling vortex of colorful lights. But as they faded away, she was still in the mansion.

  “Colt, now!” Rissa repeated anxiously. “Take me to the Coltier Tower right now!”

  Once more the magic flowed and the vortex appeared, brighter and more colorful than ever. It filled the living room, shaking the chandelier and scattering loose papers. The tables toppled over, the books on the shelves trembled, bottles rattled in the liquor cabinet, and the wingback chairs threatened to take flight. Raising a protective arm, Melissa staggered backward, and even the figure in the oil painting took refuge in a concealed vestibule.

  A few seconds later the whirlwind died away, and Rissa had not moved an inch.

  “Very impressive,” Melissa said with a scowl. “But from your expression, I’ll assume this is not how it’s supposed to work?”

  “Hell, no!” Rissa stormed, glaring at the ring in open hostility.

  “Unfortunately, I recognize that effect,” the woman in the painting muttered, stepping back into view. “It would appear that the Tower has been sealed.”

  “Sealed?” asked Rissa with a worried frown.

  It gave a nod. “Just like this mansion, dear, only a much cruder version. My guess would be that not even the caster could enter or leave.”

  “But everybody will die!”

  “I’m sure that was the plan,” Melissa snarled, straightening her rumpled blouse. “Sounds like your antiques dealer just decided to grow a pair.”

  Breathing hard, Rissa processed this new information, her expression becoming darker and more furious by the microsecond. “Magenta!” she barked, holding out a hand. “Car keys!”

  Expecting this, Melissa tossed over both items. “Want some help?” she suggested, going to the fireplace and grabbing a poker. “Cold iron, baby! It’s the archenemy of most ghosts, all demons, and a wide selection of pandimensional whatnots!”

  “No, stay here and guard the mansion!” Rissa ordered, running for the front door. “Don’t let anybody in ...” She paused. “Not even me. Unless I say the password ... ah ... ”

  “Swordfish?”

  In spite of everything, Rissa briefly smiled. “Perhaps something a little less obvious,” she suggested. “Succotash?”

  “Succotash,” Melissa repeated in agreement, resting the poker on a shoulder.

  “Best of luck, dear!” called the woman in the painting with a wave.

  Waving back, Rissa then gestured with both hands and vanished in a flash of light.

  “She couldn’t have Jumped to the fire,” the woman in the painting began hesitantly, then abruptly stopped talking.

  “Probably just Jumped to my Caddy to save time,” Melissa stated, flourishing the heavy poker like a fencing foil. “Okay, since I’m now in charge of home security, I’d like something more deadly than an iron bludgeon and my amazing good looks to defend this place. Are there any more weapons? Machine guns, bazoo
kas, knives, swords ... what about rings?”

  Sitting perfectly still and reading her book, the figure in the oil painting did not reply.

  “Hey, wake up!” Melissa snarled, snapping her fingers. “Lives are at risk! Are there any more rings?”

  Dead silence.

  “Only in her presence, eh?” Melissa sighed, running stiff fingers through her ruffled hair. “Fair enough.”

  Laying the poker aside, Melissa brushed the soot off her shoulder and went to the liquor cabinet. Choosing a lovely chilled bottle of Polish vodka, she poured herself a healthy three fingers into a cut-crystal glass, then stopped with her mind awhirl. Cut crystal. Cut, as in manufactured. Rissa had said that her grandfather made those rings. Logically, that would mean he must have a laboratory, or a workshop, somewhere in the mansion. It was probably hidden, but ferreting out secrets was something Melissa was especially good at doing.

  Knocking back the drink, Melissa gave a long sigh of contentment, then grabbed the poker and started for the kitchen. The most logical places for a workshop would be the garage or the basement. But since it was hidden those would be the last places to look. After that it was a crap shoot, so she’d start in the attic and work her way down if necessary. However, a magical workshop was certain to be protected against unwanted intruders, so first she needed some counterprotection.

  Opening the pantry, Melissa took down a large container of salt. Tasting the contents to make sure it actually was ordinary salt, she then poured a little into every pocket, her bra, and both shoes. Then she spotted some dried sage hanging from a rack and repeated the process.

  Armed with cold iron, and armored as best she could be under the circumstances, Melissa proceeded directly to the living room and recovered her crystal ball.

  “Reveal to me everything hidden inside this house!” Melissa commanded, concentrating on the amber rings.