Liquid Fire

by Anthony Francis

  That was sad; before our trip to the Bay, she had never been on a vacation, and after I met Jewel, Cinnamon told me she wanted to come see Maui. I had too—a dream of touring the sun and sand and, before I met Jewel, of finding a cute girl in a grass skirt.

  But the Maui I got was not what I had envisioned.

  First, it was cold on the mountain, and getting colder. But it was more than just night chill—we stood at the collision of climates. Upslope, Haleakala was verdant, practically rainforest; downslope, where the rains petered out, it looked like the surface of Mars. The wind carried no voices. Here, there were no tourists, no beaches, no cute girls in grass skirts.

  This was as far from the Hawaii of my imagination as you could get.

  “The water would have been blue and sparkling,” I said.

  “That’s the Caribbean,” Jewel said, leaning on the railing next to me.

  “I’d never been here,” I said heavily. “In my fantasy, the water would be great, and we’d play in the surf. With a beachball and bikinis. Bouncing in the water and the waves. Then we’d roll on the beach as the sun set, getting sand in all the inconvenient places.”

  “I wanted that too,” Jewel said—and then she hissed. “No, I didn’t.”

  I stared at her. This new “let other people talk” thing was working for me.

  “Of course I wanted you to come here,” Jewel said quickly. “But it could never happen. You had a daughter, in school—and where would you find a math program for her? I mean . . .” She smiled. “. . . that creature is absurd, Dakota. Of course you have to put Cinnamon first.”

  “She is that,” I laughed. “And, yes, I do.”

  “But I never wanted you to come here. I never wanted you to become a tourist.” She spoke the last word with venom that surprised me—and the venom in the next surprised me even more. “Maui. You have no idea what it’s like to have a name known all over the world—”

  “I’m starting to learn,” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her head, staring at the flowers. “Growing up here, you learn to hate the tourists. I’m as tired of people coming here to gawk at Maui as you are tired of people making fun of Southerners for your accents.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Still, the tourist industry funds the island, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” she said, “tourism only funds itself. Or take Science City. They say it creates local jobs, but really it’s just a resort for eggheads—atop our sacred mountain. Maui has everything from sugarcane to supercomputers—everything except a way to live that lets us be left alone.”

  I leaned on the railing, lowered my head too.

  “I’m not trying to fight with you, Fireweaver,” I said. “What do you want?”

  “I want,” Jewel said, drawing her breath in ragged, “to get my best friend back. To stop Daniel from seizing control of the egg. And, when I’m pissy, for the damn thing to actually hatch and to burn all the interlopers off the island, starting with that damn observatory on Haleakala.”

  “A real live dragon,” I said, shifting, “might not stop with just interlopers.”

  “I know that,” Jewel said, scowling, staring through her hands at the flowers. “And who am I to decide who’s native and deserves the island? I hate playing ‘other’ games. So I’ll settle for saving Molokii—and the island.”

  “The whole thing?” I pressed. “Everyone on it?”

  “Yes,” Jewel said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think that I really wanted to kill all the interlopers on the island. You just mentioned tourism and it hit one of my hot buttons. So, yes, Little Miss Subtext, I’d give up my ‘throne’ if it meant saving everyone on the island.”

  “Hey,” I said. “Fireweaver. It won’t come to that. Hopefully, Daniel’s group will contact you again soon. You pretend to give up your throne in exchange for Molokii, and then we rely on the DEI’s enormous spy-gathering power to track him back to his destination.”

  “All right,” she said. “It’s not my preferred plan A . . . but I’ll do what I have to.”

  “That’s . . . great,” I said, feeling a wave of relief. Jewel was really starting to open up. If she’d cooperate with us, if she’d let us help her . . . we might actually be able to, you know, help her. I leaned back from the railing, energized. “Really great. We may win this yet.”

  I leapt the railing, cursing myself when I landed. The damn knee was still bugging me, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I felt the ground—soft grass, good enough for my purposes—then slipped off my vest coat and chaps and folded them over the railing.

  “You’re . . . practicing?” Jewel asked, stunned. “Like, karate?”

  “Every day,” I said, stretching my elbows forward, popping my shoulders, one, then the other. “Martial arts rely on unnatural movements. Especially if we’re about to go into battle, I need to stretch out, to test myself out, make sure that I’m not rusty—where are you going?”

  “To get my spinny sticks,” she said. “You practice karate more than I spin, but karate’s a hobby for you and spinning is my life.” She paused, then raised her hand in the air. “Shame on me. I mean, shame on me! I could be going into battle too! I need to practice—”

  I laughed. “Fair enough, Fireweaver. Put some music on, and let’s dance.”

  “I . . . didn’t bring a stereo,” she said. “Just my practice sticks—”

  “Oh, for the love of Pete,” I said, ferreting in my chaps and pulling out my new iPhone and its pocket clamshell charger dock. I unfolded it, plugged it in, and found my practice mix. “What kind of dancing magician are you?”

  “We don’t dance,” Jewel said, disappearing inside. “We keep our feet on the ground.”

  That was one thing we would have to differ on, because keeping your feet planted was one thing a dancer should never do. The drums of Sleepthief’s Dawnseeker thumped out of my practice mix, and I closed my eyes, starting with the rhythmic warm-up of capoeira.

  Few skindancers were also martial artists, so I was designing my own eclectic martial art, using Taido’s acrobatics as a base. Capoeria was new to my mix—Brazilian, dance-inspired, practiced to music, starting with a swaying, back-and-forth movement called ginga.

  My left foot darted back as I brought up my left hand as a guard, then I nimbly mirrored the movement in time to the music. Instruments started to wail around the drums as my body soaked in the rhythm, my feet becoming lighter with each mirrored sequence of steps.

  Then the song exploded into a soaring soundscape, and I shifted into Taido’s dance of the eight steps, unsoku happo, which traced the basic footwork in an elaborate choreographed pattern that built speed and strength while teaching reflexes of offense and defense.

  I was fast at unsoku happo until I started thinking of it as a dance—and then I got faster. Springier than ginga, but still friendly to throwing in capoeria’s fluid esquiva dodges, unsoku happo keeps my feet moving because my feet have to move. I can’t stay planted.

  The rhythm sank into my bones, and I moved beyond martial arts into skindancing, launching into the Dance of Five and Two. I’d pulled guards and stances from capoeira and Taido into it, but this was a dance, this had the right sums, this generated mana.

  Before the world kicked my ass last year, I’d been satisfied with tattooing, ignoring the “dance” in “skindancer.” But no more; I had rediscovered not just the other half of my art, but my own love of dance, and I was as determined to perfect the art of my dance as I had my inking.

  The chill mountain air stung my skin as I danced, and I felt winded; all this traveling and talking had left me rusty. But as I moved, I acclimated, warming up, feeling my muscles stretch out, then slowly, surely, feeling my magic surge outward from my heart to my skin.

  My power poured into my tattoos,
and my vines unfurled around me as I moved. When I first tried this, years ago, with Arcturus, I got so tangled I fell on my face. Now I spun freely, my vines swirling around me fluid as thought, shedding leaves in a circle like a storm of autumn.

  Jewel stepped to the top of the stairs, morningstars alight with liquid fire.

  She descended the stairs toward my whirlstorm of magic. Her delicate feet touched the grass. Passing vines caressed her, tingling me to my core. She drew a breath, swirled slowly, entering the vortex, hands raising and falling, letting glowing leaves whirl around her.

  Now I could see the delicate threads of my own magic. Not just the visible fire, but the invisible structure—the surging arcs, the crossing lines, the subtle pulses as one kind of mana changed into another. I could see my own intents come to life, writ large upon the air.

  I no longer feared what would happen if my living magic touched her skin.

  Jewel whipped her morningstars behind her, low to the ground, then brought them together in front of her, their cords crossing, the two flaming balls spinning around each other like a fiery buzz saw. Mana flooded off them, empowering me, and I spread my wings.

  The Dragon unfurled around me, head rising, wings unfolding, tail uncurling, lifting me off the ground even as it brushed Jewel’s feet. Her skin rippled against my projected tattoos and I gasped. The Dragon’s wings snapped, hurling me into the air on the strength of her magic.

  As my maelstrom of vines and leaves lifted into the air, Jewel let her morningstars fly apart, creating another dome of magic, lifting me higher. The vines and leaves drew power from her, but it was the Dragon that they powered. Her wings flapped, drawing me higher.

  Before, when I rose over Union Square on stray mana crackling off Jewel’s shield, I’d been disconnected and overwhelmed. Now I was connected and aware. No longer cut off by her shield, I could feel her through the magic—feel her love, and feel her love of the Earth.

  Maui fell away beneath me as I rose on a pillar of magic and flame. The cracked slopes that slipped away around me were more complex than they were on the ground; forests spotted the slopes like patches of moss on a hillside. My own magic lit up the landscape.

  Then I saw it—my original Dragon.

  My breath caught as it shimmered into existence along the horizon. I don’t know if it truly faded in, or just approached from the distance, but it appeared, growing closer and larger at the same time, leeching off my stray magic the same way I was being powered by Jewel.

  By now, my maelstrom of vines and leaves had swirled out around me into a hurricane of autumn colors: sinuous vines, flowing leaves, glittering gems embedded in flowers, fluttering butterflies flying with sparks, a giant swirling vortex of mana fueled by love and fire.

  My original Dragon wove itself through them all, a giant sine wave of blue scales and green gems snaking itself through my magic-generated forest. No longer a pale imitation of a Chinese dragon with tribal influences, it was a living behemoth of magical power, embodied and real.

  I gasped, my body falling slack, my new Dragon’s will keeping me aloft while my old Dragon slowly inscribed a full circle around me. My leaves dissipated, my new Dragon’s wings furled, and as I slowly began to sink, my old Dragon sang to me:

  ———

  “The egg is ready,” the Dragon said. “Be prepared.”

  52. Compromised

  “You’ve compromised my safe house,” Mr. Iloa said, quietly, though the force with which he delivered his words made them seem like a yell. “Endangered this mission, the life of your friend, the lives of everyone who lives here—and ruined this place for future use.”

  Iloa had summoned us all to the main house, where he had proceeded to rant at Jewel and me about the irresponsibility of “our little magical stunt” and to berate Philip for his “lack of judgment” in bringing us here. He looked calm, but was winding up to an explosion.

  As for me? My cheeks were burning. I’d screwed up, royally.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, for the third time. “I never intended to—”

  “You agreed to respect my hospitality,” Iloa continued. “You yourself said you would protect our privacy. Yet you have violated both.” Mr. Iloa glared at me—and then he turned to Philip. “I’m withdrawing my invitation. This is no longer a safe house.”

  Philip looked like he’d been slapped. Of course. His bosses would blame him for my gaffe. Me, I seethed. Raking me over the coals was one thing. Taking it out on Philip, disrupting the mission, possibly endangering Molokii’s life? That was something else entirely.

  I had been ready to take my medicine, but now I had to show leadership.

  “I want you out of here,” Iloa said. “Out of here by morning—”

  “No,” I said, shifting as my Dragon slid against my back.

  “Excuse me?” Iloa said, turning to look at me.

  “No, we’re not leaving,” I said, quietly, just like Iloa had. “We stay, and we finish the mission. This is not just a kidnapping. We’re dealing with a magical crisis which may kill everyone on this island. Remember Krakatoa, the explosion felt round the world?”

  “I don’t need a history lesson,” Iloa snapped—then his eyes widened, fractionally. I had gotten through to him. “Yes, I—” he began, then recovered his anger. “That doesn’t matter! You lit up a mile-high magical sign over my house!”

  I looked him straight in the eye, calm, apologetic—but firm.

  “Yes, yes I did,” I said. “Unintentionally, but I did. I’m sorry, and it’s very unfortunate that my practice had unexpected magical fallout—but that ‘fallout’ confirmed we’re following a good lead and that there’s real danger. We need to stay, and finish the mission—”

  “I’m not a part of your mission, and you are not in charge of me, Miss Frost. This is my home, and you have no authority,” Iloa said. “You didn’t suddenly become queen of Hawai`i just because some idiot put you in charge of magic in Hicksville—”

  My nostrils flared. Nobody talks to me about Atlanta that way.

  “Read my file, did you?” I asked, cracking my neck. “Then you missed the backstory. Do you know how I got appointed Chair of the Magical Security Council, Mr. Iloa? Someone tried to destroy my city, and no one would step up to defend it—so I appointed myself.”

  Everyone was quiet.

  “Philip’s right. I did let too much of my magic out while I was practicing—but that could only give you away, not call down hatchsign,” I said. “The same hatchsign we’ve seen over Palo Alto and over my literal home. Now it’s over your home. If you won’t deal with it, I will.”

  “But . . . but still,” Iloa spluttered, “You have no real authority—”

  “One hundred fifty thousand people live on Maui. That’s all the authority I need.” I said, trying to wrestle my anger back under control. “I’m sorry, Mr. Iloa, but I’m commandeering this installation under the authority of the Magical Security Council.”

  “This is not an installation,” he said. “It—is—my—home—”

  “And I’m trying to save it from being buried in a pyroclastic flow. You should be tossing me the keys and heading for the airport, rather than arguing and risking being burned alive,” I said, turning my back on him. “Philip, control your man. I don’t want this to come up again.”

  Then I strode out of the room, down the porch and into the night. Damn it, damn it, damn it! I had wanted to show leadership, and I ended up picking another fight. Bravado or no, the MSC had no authority here; we’d be lucky if Iloa didn’t kick us all out on the spot.

  My dragon squirmed actively on my back now, seething with my own rage. I was no longer sure I bought Arcturus’s story that it just mirrored my intent, but neither did I completely buy the idea that I’d somehow picked up the spirit of a dragon, not with my old tattoo flying aro
und dispensing cryptic wisdom about the timing of the hatching. This situation was mysterious, and dangerous, and possibly disastrous. Why couldn’t Iloa see that?

  I clenched my teeth, boots crunching on the path. I shouldn’t have let the Dragon sweep me up into the sky. Irresponsible! I’d gotten carried away by the literal magic of my girlfriend and had endangered the mission—and rather than owning up, I’d doubled down.

  Before I was halfway to my cabin, footsteps sounded behind me. One set was clearly trying to be quiet, stealthy; the other wasn’t exactly trying to be quiet, but was stealthier. I felt a tingle of mana as Jewel came up on my right, and then Philip joined on my left.

  “So this is the famous Dakota Frost bravado in action,” Jewel said.

  “I did screw up and I will apologize to him in the morning,” I said, pulling out my phone. “But we’ve just seen hatchsign, and we should be focusing on how to interpret it, not quibbling over how fast you got us here or the unexpected strength of my defensive spells—”

  “Dakota, Iloa knows that,” Philip said. “He tries to play the wise sage, but he’s really quite touchy and hotheaded about the little kingdom he’s built here. You’re not the first to run afoul of him—but I think your crack about being burned alive rattled him. He’s still pissed, but he sees the danger. He’s going to come around—and let us do our work.”

  He rattled some papers in his hands. I glanced at them, then the three of us scurried over to one of the lampposts that lit the path. The sheets were seismic maps, hot off a printer, which recorded new activity in volcanoes around Hawaii.

  “We were suspicious of Hawaii before, but we’re almost certain now,” Philip said.

  “Is it on Necker Island?” I asked. “The one Daniel wants to take—”