by Beth Cato
He had boarded his taxi as he left the auxiliary knowing Ingrid would go back inside to die. That everyone he and she knew in the building would die.
And now he had destroyed the city. Destroyed her city.
“They see us!” Lee squealed.
The first man pointed at them with something clutched in his hand.
“And that’s them shooting at us,” said Fenris.
The airship turned sharply, the window shifting to a blurred view of brilliant green trees and rounded hills. Ingrid clung to the seat’s headrest with both arms. The floor vibrated so fiercely that the cracker tin danced across the floor. Ingrid’s teeth rattled together.
“Don’t expose the broad side of the ship!” snapped Cy. “It makes us a better target!”
“Thank you for stating the obvious, copilot,” said Fenris. “I think you should start looking around for a mooring tower.”
“I thought we weren’t landing?” asked Ingrid.
“Yes, well, that was before the Bug was shot.” Fenris remained eerily cool as he checked gauges and popped the binoculars back into their overhead box.
“Shot!” Images from matinee newsreels flashed through Ingrid’s mind, of massive conflagrations that burned everyone to a crisp.
She could get them out alive, though. If she could walk Cy beneath the ocean, she could shelter them through a crash landing and fire. Ingrid was stunned at her own calmness. This seemed minor compared to everything else that had happened in the past day.
“We’re not losing air.” Cy leaned over the panel. “It clipped a horizontal stabilizer on the left side, meaning—”
“We’re slightly less horizontal and stable while in flight,” added Fenris.
The airship rocked again. From where she stood, Ingrid could see the tension in Fenris’s slender arms. Lee emitted a small moan. He was doubled over at an odd angle, his lips moving as if he prayed.
“We could make it to Mill Valley, I think,” said Fenris.
“You think?” Lee squeaked, vibrations dragging out the words.
“If we do that, we’ll lose them!” cried Ingrid.
“That man hit us with one shot. He’s good, a marksman,” muttered Cy. His head jerked up. “There! A tower.”
The black metal structure stood just across the lot from a domed Russian Orthodox church. It looked to be a converted windmill, rather skinny, but sufficient to dock a smaller-class dirigible. Ingrid guessed they had to be a half mile from the fissure. There were no other vehicles close by. Farms scattered across the hills. By the look of things, there were more cows than people.
“Here’s where it gets tricky,” said Fenris. “The tower’s not staffed. I’ll need to drop someone to moor us.” The Bug hovered over a dirt road. Dust lapped against the trees.
“I can’t let Mr. Thornton get away,” said Ingrid. “He’s not a captive. He did this. The auxiliary. The earthquake. He can’t get away.”
Cy shook his head. “Ingrid, they already fired on us—”
“Fenris, please,” said Ingrid.
“Oh, damn it, don’t start with the ‘please.’ There was a field back there and some trees blocked the view from that crack in the ground. I can probably drop you there—”
“This is suicide!” snapped Cy.
“Mr. Thornton killed almost everyone I know!” Ingrid shouted. The betrayal caused a fierce ache in her chest as if she’d been stabbed again. Heat flickered from her arms. “Maybe this man with him is the one who shot Mr. Sakaguchi! I can make a shield, I can protect myself.”
She could hurt these people, too. Out here in the middle of nowhere, she could fling a pressure wave that could knock them all flat and may even ignite the ground lander airship. She knew she had the power to do it.
She had always wanted to use her power. Truly use it. Mr. Thornton and Miss Rossi were not getting away.
“If you’re going, you’re not going alone,” said Cy.
She glared. He’d try to stop her. “But—”
“If they’re off on a gallant suicide mission, I can moor the ship,” said Lee. He unholstered the gun and shoved it at Cy.
Cy’s lips curled in disgust but he accepted the weapon and dropped it into a coat pocket.
“Meadow it is, then,” said Fenris, bringing them out of a hover and back around. The ship hugged the ground, Fenris’s arms rigid as steel as he fought to keep the Bug level. The treetops looked so close she could have sworn they’d brush the bottom of the gondola. “Cy, make sure everything’s secure since the hatch will stay open.”
Wordlessly, Cy stood. He grabbed the tin from the floor and went on down the hallway.
“Hey,” said Lee, tapping Ingrid’s shoulder. “Do me a favor. Don’t die.”
She looked at him and remembered who he was, really. “The emperor’s son. All this time. I made you scrub the floors.”
“You don’t know what was funniest about that. Remember your mom’s favorite brand of wax?”
It took her a second to recall, then she burst out laughing. “Imperial!” They giggled together.
Suddenly overcome with emotion, she flung her arms around Lee, remembering at the last second not to squeeze him. “Everything is so strange now, but thank you. Thank you for saving Mr. Sakaguchi. Thank you for being . . . you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” His voice was muffled at her shoulder.
“He’s still alive. He wouldn’t be otherwise. The rest . . . we’ll figure out.” What the Wui Seng Tong would do with Mr. Sakaguchi, how this earthquake might change everything, how to conduct hostage negotiations. What Mr. Sakaguchi and Mr. Roosevelt truly intended.
“We’re locked down!” yelled Cy.
“Very well.” Fenris looked over his shoulder. “Been nice knowing you both. Don’t die.”
“It’s not on the agenda,” Ingrid said.
“Hey, Fenris, don’t go up in a ball of flame either,” said Lee, heading off down the passage. “Especially when I’m mooring you!”
Ingrid leaned closer to Fenris. “If we don’t meet you at the church—”
“Don’t even say it.” He scowled and faced forward again. “Back at the warehouse, about Cy. I said we’ve moved around a lot, but that whole thing about him leaving behind a trail of broken hearts? I lied.” His shoulders shifted in discomfort. “Now get the hell off my ship. First voyage and my beauty’s already dinged up because of you. Go.”
CHAPTER 21
Cy stood over the hatch. “Lee, close that door behind you, if you will.” He did so. “Ingrid, we’ll be about fifteen feet off the ground. I can duck and roll, but you two haven’t trained for that. Do you think one of your bubbles would work here?”
“Yes.” No hesitation.
“Lee, hold on to her tight, no matter what happens.” Cy unfastened some latches on the floor, keeping the stairs secured flat, and came around to Ingrid’s other side. “All of us sit down, right on the edge. I’ll kick the door open and we’ll drop.”
Unable to manage words, Ingrid nodded as she sat, her knees tucked against her chest. Lee wedged in beside her, a thin arm clinging to her bloodied waist. Cy barely fit in. His grip on her was as strong as always.
“Go!” yelled Fenris.
Cy kicked the floor, hard, and it gave way beneath them. The stairs rattled against their restraints. Grass rippled within a sea of turbulent blue fog, and then Cy was over the edge and dragging them with him. Panic spiked in Ingrid’s chest as gravity seized her. She drew out power, but instead of focusing it on her feet, she pushed it below her soles. She imagined it like a mattress, something to catch them, cradle them. The ground zoomed closer and then they struck—not the grass, but the invisible cushion just above.
The impact shuddered through her feet as though she’d made a mere five-foot jump. As her skirts flew up and her bottom impacted, she felt a jolt again along the length of her spine. The fog stroked her like lukewarm water. Cy grunted, while Lee managed a somewhat piglike squeal. Neither let go, though Lee’s hold was tenuo
us on her silk obi as he bounced alongside her and stilled.
She let the buffer fall away. Soft, tall grass embraced them, and the heat welcomed her. It curled up her calves in sinuous tendrils, like a hot version of the grass. She’d used enough energy in their fall that the new flow didn’t completely addle her brain—not yet, anyway. It wouldn’t take much for her to be overcome by energy sickness again.
“That was almost fun,” Lee said, scrambling to stand. The grass came up past his knees.
“Good landing,” Cy said to Ingrid as they both stood. Without cloud cover, sunlight shone directly down on them for the first time that day. His clothes were crackled with blood and soot. The blotchy red of his face looked strange next to the raccoon rings around his eyes.
Ingrid stepped forward, the heat whispering against her bare feet. Her terrible sense of dread increased. “I think they may be preparing to attack again. There’s so much power here.”
Cy grimaced. “We’re grounded for now, whatever happens. Lee—”
“Yes, yes. Good luck, be sure to tell Fenris that we might be swallowed up by another earthquake at any time, et cetera. I better see you two in a while. Don’t make me come after you.”
Lee’s worried gaze raked over Ingrid. She offered him a soothing smile, though with the blood on her hair and face, she probably looked like a ghul. He set off across the field.
“What are you feeling from the earth?” Cy asked as they walked. “Should I carry you?”
“No. It’s not that bad, not right now.” She could see the stiffness in his movements now, the pain. It was a wonder he hadn’t killed himself jumping out of the Bug back in San Francisco.
“I have a smidgen more kermanite. Let me know when you want it.”
She granted him a curt nod. They entered the strip of woods, and from here, they could see the rigid hull of the airship on the far side.
She stopped to press a hand to the leafy duff. The fog of heat ebbed and flowed, as if the earth itself breathed. Her own breaths fell into sync with it. She couldn’t even comprehend the majesty of a creature that could create such an outpouring of power.
“It’s the Hidden One,” she murmured. “The snake. It’s really here. I can feel it breathing through the ground.”
“Will they—it—attack us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason so few people have sighted the Hidden Ones and told the tale.” Heat increased with each step she took.
Despite the danger of this confrontation, she could imagine the delight on Mr. Sakaguchi’s face when she told him that she’d seen a Hidden One in the flesh. She would tell him, too. God willing.
Voices rang out. Arguing, loud voices. The airship’s engine had been shut off. Ingrid hunkered down low to pass beneath some branches. The miasma lapped against her with a slightly audible electric buzz. There was so much . . . potential to it, like a thoroughbred at the starting gate with its muscles bunched in anticipation of the bell. She joined Cy behind the bushes at the edge of the tree line.
“We have to bring him out! Completely out here!” That was Miss Rossi, her voice high and imperious.
“You’re a fool. I poked him with a fork in Chinatown a few days ago, and the building almost fell in. You saw what the Hidden One’s thrashing did to the city from thirty miles away just now. What do you think will happen with us standing here?”
Mr. Thornton stood by Miss Rossi about ten feet from the edge of the fissure, on the far side from Ingrid and Cy. His blue glow had intensified since she’d seen him from above. If he stood on the ground long he’d become ill as well.
“In Chronicles of the Fantastics, they say biggest cracks near fault zone mean nearest to head. These heads, they are what I want!”
“They may want you, too—for breakfast, you bloody ninny. Besides, I dosed him with enough chloroform to sedate a Clydesdale.”
The third man was silent. He stood tall and pale, a brown tweed suit a bit too loose on his lanky form. He still held the pistol and eyed the sky, clearly their bodyguard. The airship sat behind them. The entrance door was on the side of the craft, with the stairs swung down over the landing tires.
“The cows are alive!” snapped Miss Rossi.
“The cows are a quarter mile away, and more. Even cows have more sense than you.”
“Quite the affectionate relationship these two have,” Cy murmured.
“He wasn’t like that with his wife, but he changed after she died. Became angrier.” A sense of sadness weighed on her. “He changed more than anyone realized.”
“You two might make the creature rise with the way you go on!” The bodyguard spoke with a clipped British accent, not unlike Mr. Thornton’s. “That airship could come back.”
Mr. Thornton turned on him. “That airship was probably checking to see if we needed assistance, or wanted to look at the crevasse themselves. There was no call to shoot them and draw attention to us!”
While Mr. Thornton spoke, Miss Rossi whirled around with a flounce of her lush skirts and headed back inside the airship.
“Maybe, maybe not,” said the man. “I’m not about to take the risk. They see us, they die.”
Cy looked at Ingrid in warning, and she glared back. She wasn’t turning back now.
“Except they didn’t die, did they?” asked Mr. Thornton. “They flew away. Christ.”
“The craft moved strangely fast, even for a Sprite.”
Fenris would have preened at that.
“And if they had crashed here, we’d have a plume of smoke to attract everyone in Olema. I’m surrounded by bloody fools.”
The man stiffened at that, his gun shifting in his grip.
Miss Rossi reappeared on the stairs of the airship with her arm wrapped around the waist of a tall, frail figure. Long silver hair trailed past his shoulders and blended with a scraggly beard that reached to midchest. He wore a robe red with blood. Ingrid could see fresh patches against fabric that had already been fully saturated. Fainter stripes crossed him horizontally from his shoulders to the blue fog at his knees, as if straps had held him down.
Miss Rossi certainly didn’t care about his injuries. She all but dragged the figure down the stairs, treating him like a spoiled girl would treat a doll.
“No!” yelled Mr. Thornton. “Don’t let him—”
As soon as the bloodied man’s legs made contact with the ground, the earth shuddered.
Caught off guard, the two arguing men were bowled over. Bright blue power boiled up from the fissure and lapped against Ingrid’s legs. The bloodied man stood upright as he looked across the divide and straight at her. Azure spirals encased his body.
“Another geomancer.” The words were both a whisper and a scream. He pointed straight at her, as if he could see her hidden in the brush. A sharp crack shuddered through the air. Cy grabbed hold of Ingrid’s shoulders and shoved down. She dropped. A succession of tree branches crunched to the earth, several larger than entire Christmas trees. Leaves rattled and stilled. The man had lopped off a tree’s canopy with a motion of his hand.
“You fool!” screamed Mr. Thornton. “The energy shocked him awake! He’s feeding off it!”
“Come out!” called the man drenched in crimson. He paid no heed to Thornton. “You’re powerful, too powerful. You glow like the sun. Who are you?” He sounded more curious than angry, even as he waved his hand again. More branches crashed to the ground just a few feet away. Loosened leaves whirled across her bare feet.
Cy’s hand rested on her shoulder. “Dear God,” he whispered.
Ingrid kept staring at the man as she struggled to see through the blue sheen. His sunken eyes. The cheekbones. His dark skin, chalky, perhaps from loss of blood. The way he pulled and contained an abundance of energy from the earth—the way they saw each other, both aglow.
“Come out and say hello,” said the man, waving her forward.
His hooks of power latched on to her legs and shoulders, not with pain, but with immense pressure. She jer
ked into the open, her feet scraping on the grass. Grinding her teeth, she called on her own magic. Her heels dug into ground and created small furrows as she dragged to a stop. She felt the man’s sharp intake of surprise more than she heard it.
“Hello, Papa,” she said.
CHAPTER 22
Papa.
Captain Sutcliff and Ambassador Blum had been wrong. He was alive. He was here. Papa was more extraordinary than any Hidden One, more mythical. Ingrid could sense Cy coming after her, but she gently propelled him away without a backward glance. Energy rolled from the crevasse and wavered in the air. She breathed in power as she walked into the meadow.
Across the gap, Abram Carmichael stood with his arms dangling slack like a marionette. His head tilted to one side. How alike they looked at that moment, both of them slathered in blood and gore and rippled in blue.
“Ingrid?” The word was a whisper, but somehow it caught in the fog of power and rang in her ears.
“I was told you were gone. Killed in China.”
He grinned. It was an ugly thing of crackled blood and missing teeth. “I don’t die easily.”
Papa’s presence, saturated in blood, made everything clear.
The attacks on San Francisco had indeed been caused by him. He was the weapon. His pain had devastated the city, and in turn created a harvest.
No other geomancer could channel energy like Ingrid—no one except her papa. He had at least partially filled the stolen kermanite. That’s why the rock had been brought to the Bay Area. It wasn’t powering a weapon—not yet.
“Ingrid Carmichael?” Mr. Thornton worked to his feet. The ground quivered. He looked at her in utter disbelief. “A geomancer?”
“Why? Why attack San Francisco?” she shouted at him. To her surprise, the words boomed as if shouted from a megaphone. “How could you kill everyone in the auxiliary? You walked away from the building. You left us there to die!”
Mr. Thornton and the others staggered backward and covered their ears—but not her father. He stood there with a grotesque grin, his teeth bared, dried blood cracked on his cheeks.
Mr. Thornton looked from Ingrid to her papa. Some twenty feet separated them, the ten-foot fissure in the middle. “You can’t be a geomancer! You’re a woman! I’ve known you since you were a child!”
