Fate of Flames

by Sarah Raughley

  After a few minutes, we’d arrived at the first tollgate at the city limits. In America, you had to pay a small fee to use the officially sanctioned highways. Canada had them too, except apparently they were so cheap here the driver might as well have paid with Monopoly money.

  Of course, tollgates were also used to mark official, government-sanctioned entries into Dead Zones. It took almost an extra two hours of highway travel to get to the one marking off Mastigouche Reserve. Rhys showed the officers a bunch of papers, and then, after inspecting our identification, the officers lumbered out of their tollbooths for a meticulous—and lengthy—inspection of the vehicle.

  “Aren’t any bodies in the trunk, boys,” Rhys mumbled in the front seat.

  “There’s been a lot of illegal activity in this province’s Dead Zones lately,” explained the driver when we were finally allowed to leave. “Traffickers. They’re being extra vigilant.”

  “Isn’t that something you guys take care of?” I asked from the backseat.

  “Nope.” Rhys turned to the window. “We fight things. Not people.”

  “Sure about that?” I sank into my seat as I pictured Saul’s grinning face.

  We drove on a narrow, two-lane road. A large part of Mastigouche Reserve was still technically a Dead Zone, but of course, you can’t have customers getting eaten on their way to the circus. The protective rails alongside the road did their job just fine, but the antiphantom technology wasn’t quite strong enough to keep phantoms at a comfortable distance.

  The sight beyond the window stole my breath before I could make a sound. It had all happened so fast. Black bones stretching out of smoke camouflaged by the night. A roar, the gaping jaws of a serpent barreling at the car. But coming too close to the rails was its mistake—in a blink of an eye, it exploded into black mist, fading back into darkness.

  I covered my ears. “I hate this.”

  “Ha! I love this!” Rhys said at the very same time, his eyes glued to the window like a wide-eyed child. “God, this place never disappoints.”

  I dropped my hands. “You’ve been here before?”

  “Yeah, once. My mom took me here for my twelfth birthday.” He laughed. “But I haven’t been here since. Can’t believe this place still—”

  I screamed for real this time when another phantom approached from the left and promptly evaporated. “What if we go over the rails?”

  “Relax, the car can’t swerve,” explained Rhys. “There’s an electromagnetic current going down the rails and up the bars.” He pointed at the row of bars jutting up out of the rails. Each one curved in ninety degrees over the road, forming a row of frames to pass beneath. “It’s supposed to keep the car in place and atomize the phantoms.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  Rhys took in the chaos with all the giddiness of the schoolboy he would have been if he weren’t already an agent. I bent over, wrapping my arms around my stomach.

  “Oh, come on, don’t be like that!” Rhys turned in his seat. “The phantoms are part of the attraction. It’s badass! Like Jurassic Park or something—actually, wait, I think I have the sound track on my phone.”

  “Can you please stop him?” I begged the driver before a piercing roar had me ducking for cover.

  But Rhys was right. There were more phantoms drifting between the trees, more serpents. They arched their bodies over the treetops, long and twisting like magnificent dragons of legend, a bright sheen blanketing their black bodies as they caught the light of the stars. Maybe it was the cheap thrill of being so close to something so dangerous, but there was actually something hauntingly beautiful about their lithe forms, their graceful movements—like the creatures written about in ancient legends. Fairy-tale monsters dreamed up by storytellers who never could have imagined that they would one day become as real as flesh.

  It didn’t take long to get there. We drove through a white gate, and at the end of a wide road paved in red brick was the massive Le Cirque de Minuit. A string of lights hung from the pointed tips of the building, twisting around the towering fir trees.

  The driver, having met Chae Rin on one particularly unfavorable occasion, decided to wait in the lobby. There were only about fifteen minutes left in the two-hour midnight show. Rhys’s Sect ID badge sufficed as a ticket.

  “We’re here for Chae Rin,” he told security before dragging me away from the adorable baby tiger in the lobby and into the massive arena.

  Streams of colorful lights broke the darkness—soft hues of primary colors washing over the sea of heads all enraptured by the center stage. And I couldn’t blame them. The moment I stepped inside, my knees nearly gave out from under me.

  “Christ,” Rhys said in a breathless whisper. Even in the darkness I could see his hands shaking. A giant, clear tank took up most of the center stage . . . just big enough for the phantom within it.

  I staggered forward to the edge of the staircase, clutching the railing. A serpent—the same type of phantom as the ones in the forest. Lazily, it drifted in the fluid-filled tank, a sea dragon circling its own tail. It was impossible. Unthinkable.

  A phantom in a cage.

  The audience whispered excitedly, craning their heads for a better look. And then there was the ringmaster standing in front of the tank, his red ringlets of hair tumbling over his face from beneath his top hat. He worked them into a frenzy, throwing his sparkling lavender jacket around—dramatic and cheesy in proper ringmaster fashion: “Have you ever seen such a sight? Have you ever imagined the power of a monster tamed by one man?”

  “Apparently it’s all the rage these days,” Rhys said, eyes narrowed.

  I turned to him. “What do we do?”

  The ringmaster spread out his arms. “But tonight,” he bellowed, “tonight, you’ll see!”

  She came out of nowhere. Tumbling out of the sky, emerging out of the darkness. Though her flips were wild, the young woman’s feet touched down on the high wire above the stage in a perfect landing she ended in an elegant bow. A golden Venetian mask covered half of her pale face. Adornments laced her black ponytail. The silver body paint sliding up her tall, slender body made it impossible to tell where the leotard began and ended. And yet, despite the getup, I knew.

  “It’s her,” I whispered as the ringmaster lifted up a gloved hand.

  “Tonight you’ll believe! Ladies and gentlemen: the power of phantoms!”

  As he brought his arm down, the phantom burst from the top of its cage.

  THE TANK’S FLUID CASCADED ONTO the stage as the phantom hurtled toward the shrieking audience. While Rhys moved in front of me, I ducked for cover, but I didn’t need to. The phantom skirted above the countless heads—close enough for the scare alone—before scaling the wall back up to the ceiling. I drew my hands from my face just in time to see the phantom arch its sleek body over the young performer standing calmly upon the high wire.

  Chae Rin.

  Spurred on by the shuddering gasps and wild cheers from the audience, the ringmaster cried out, waving his arm forward. On cue, Chae Rin jumped right as the phantom circled underneath the wire. The timing was perfect. She landed on its head without so much as a quiver. Steady on the beast, Chae Rin rode it around the arena, scaring and thrilling.

  An Effigy-phantom circus act. If I hadn’t seen it, I’d never have believed it.

  Chae Rin kept perfect balance, waving at the crowd. Ethereal music beat in the background as more performers in masks flipped and danced onto the stage.

  I looked down at the aisle seat one row below. A woman’s bag lay open on the floor, her tablet exposed. Thankfully, she was too dazzled by the magical act to notice me stealing it.

  I typed fast and then, climbing back to my spot, held up the screen as Chae Rin passed.

  BELLE SENT US. Big yellow letters set against a black screen. It was impossible to miss, what with me jumping wildly at the top of the staircase. For a split second, my eyes met the brown pair framed by the elaborate mask. Then Chae Rin was gone, flying ba
ck over the stage to the crowd on the other side.

  The show ended with a musical flourish, a curtain call, and the phantom back in its tank, docile. Even as the audience began to shuffle out of the arena, the tank stayed onstage, an eerie reminder of an even eerier performance. I followed Rhys down the stairs, but when we got close to the stage, security stopped us.

  “At least tell her to meet us here,” Rhys demanded. “This is urgent.”

  One man nodded to another and left the arena, but Chae Rin didn’t come right away. Soon it was just me and Rhys alone with a host of security guarding a phantom in a tank. My life couldn’t get any weirder. Eventually, Rhys grabbed a seat, flinging his leg over the armrest.

  “A phantom in a cage,” I heard him grumble.

  The phantom’s white, glassy eyes never blinked. Endlessly deep, they fixed on me, just as I stood there fixed by them. If phantoms could think—and who knows, maybe they could—what was it thinking right now? What did it think of me, the Effigy staring at it from the other side of its prison? Did it know, deep down, who I was? What I was?

  “Maia,” called Rhys, because I was walking toward it. Security blocked my path before I could get too close, but my eyes never left it.

  In the past few days I’d seen more phantoms than I’d ever wanted to. I’d seen firsthand the death they caused, the horror they left in their wake. And now here I was, standing mere feet away from one, separated only by a wall of uniforms. Perfectly safe. The very creature I’d been taught to fear was now close enough to touch, safe enough to touch. A powerless, powerful thing. I couldn’t quite articulate the sudden recklessness swelling in my chest, but maybe this very feeling was why Le Cirque de Minuit was successful. It was a genius and dangerous invention.

  When the forklift arrived to drag the tank out of the arena, I knew it was getting late. I’d been awake for far too long; the seemingly constant bursts of adrenaline would keep me standing for only about an hour or so more, which meant the clock was ticking.

  “Hey!”

  The word sent a shock through my chest. I jumped and turned, almost tripping over my own feet. The girl at the staircase a few rows up from Rhys still had a towel dangling over her long, wet hair. I expected the attitude, the sneer, the piercing dark eyes. Like every picture of Chae Rin Kim gracing the internet.

  The bunny slippers and sweats, though—I didn’t expect those.

  “I was brushing my teeth. What the hell do you want?”

  Chae Rin’s youthful face was long and lean, a perfect oval shape with a healthy red flush behind her pale skin. A beauty unmarred even by a scowl.

  “Want? Uh . . . I . . .” I gulped, hating myself for being so pathetic.

  “Hey, kid.” Chae Rin descended the stairs with the slow intensity of a jungle predator considering which limb to tear off first. I had to remember to breathe. “Were you serious before?”

  Be calm and confident, Maia. This was what I’d told myself back at the hotel when I’d pictured this moment happening. Calm and confident, damn it!

  “S-serious about . . . ?”

  “You wrote ‘Belle sent us.’” Chae Rin came closer. “Did she really? Or are you just some sort of psycho fangirl angling for an autograph?”

  Usually? Yes. “Well, a-actually—”

  “You are a fangirl, aren’t you?” She glared at security. “Jesus, you guys literally dragged me out of the bathroom for this?” Chae Rin whipped off her towel and threw it at a security guard, who silently let it slide off his chest. The girl had good aim. “What the hell?”

  Finally, Rhys stood. “Chae Rin.”

  Chae Rin whipped around, her frown deepening when she found him waving his fingers at her. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Nice seeing you again too,” he said with a smile.

  “Aidan Rhys. Guess Belle really did send you. Well, in that case.” Chae Rin flashed me a bright grin. “Since I’m no longer obligated to give a rat’s ass what that stuck-up bitch thinks about anything anymore, feel free to show yourselves out.”

  I blinked. “Huh?”

  “That’s right!” she sang, stretching out her back. “I got sacked by the Sect. So, if you’ll excuse me.” Chae Rin started back up the stairs. “Oh, and tell Belle that if she wants to give me a message, she can do it her damn self. Who the hell does she think she is?”

  “Wait!” I rushed forward, only to be cut off by Rhys.

  “Hey, Kim,” he said coolly, hands in his pocket. “What’s up with the phantom in a box?”

  Chae Rin stopped. The forklift carefully loaded the tank, the sounds of its engine and signals cutting the silence among the three of us.

  “I’m pretty sure if the Sect knew you were surfing on phantoms instead of killing them, it would have been included in the reports. Which means this is obviously a recent development.”

  “A new act, in fact.” And though Chae Rin glared at Rhys defiantly, it was hard not to notice the slight waver in her tone. “Though we’ve been practicing it for a while now. Three months, if you were wondering. And look at me now. I’m already a star. Seems like being an Effigy is part of the draw.”

  Rhys frowned. “Why?”

  “Why what? I’m sorry, is there something you’re taking issue with here?” Chae Rin wasn’t as tall as he was, but her intensity made up the difference. “This isn’t against any Sect rule. My scheduled check-in isn’t for another three weeks, and most important, I’m not doing anything illegal. So? You’re, what, mad I didn’t kill it?” She laughed. “I don’t do that anymore, remember? You guys fired me.”

  “The Sect didn’t fire you, Chae Rin.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m on ‘indefinite leave for further assessment.’” Chae Rin rolled her eyes. “As if we don’t already know how that’s going to end.”

  “We don’t,” said Rhys. “You’ve been an asset to the Sect so far.”

  “Asset,” Chae Rin repeated with an exasperated laugh.

  “I’m sure whatever they decide, it’ll be fair.”

  Chae Rin shook her head. “I didn’t ask to be anyone’s asset. Paid my dues anyway, though. I trained. I went on missions. I did what I was told. Then after one screwup, the Sect just goes, Fuck all your hard work and sacrifice. Turns out you’re nothing but a problem we need to deal with, so we’ll just go ahead and treat you accordingly.”

  “It was a bit more than a screwup, Chae Rin,” said Rhys.

  “You weren’t there.”

  “But I read the reports. You were reckless.” Rhys swept his hand, motioning to the stage behind him. “Besides, considering all the leeway they’re clearly giving you, right now, if I were you, I’d be grateful.”

  “Grateful? You know what it’s like to be summoned to Internal Court like you’re a damn criminal? To be stared down by a group of strangers like you’re a murderer? Belle and Natalya get to be heroes. Meanwhile, I’ve never once been thanked or appreciated for anything I’ve done, but when I mess up, they treat me like an ‘issue.’ And then, when they need me again, they beckon me like I’m some call girl.” She turned. “To hell with that. I’m done with you guys.”

  “Can I just ask one question?” I asked before Chae Rin could start back up the stairs. “Do you have any idea what’s been going on these past few months?”

  It was like Chae Rin had forgotten I was there. She gave me a sidelong glance. “Who’s this, Rhys? Your partner? Looks like she could use a bit more time in the oven.”

  I swallowed. “Just answer the question.”

  “Sorry, I haven’t had much time for TV lately. But let me guess: phantoms? And other shit that happens, like, every day, so who cares?”

  I sucked in a shaky breath. “Natalya’s dead.”

  That got her. Chae Rin’s face softened. She looked away, awkward and silent as the forklift slowly wheeled the phantom tank away.

  “Take five, guys,” she told security. “We need a moment.”

  Once they left, Chae Rin straightened back up, wiping black strands
of hair from her face with a steady hand. “Yeah.” She shifted her weight to the other foot. “I know. It’s . . .” Wetting her lips, she stared resolutely at the stage. “It’s too bad. And?”

  “And . . . ?” I paused. “And there’s someone out there who can control phantoms.” Chae Rin cocked an eyebrow. “Someone else, I mean.”

  “Didn’t you think it was strange?” Rhys asked. “When your manager told you about the new act? When he told you it was possible to make a phantom compliant enough to let you ride it around like a show pony?”

  Chae Rin tilted her head, gathering her dripping hair into her hands. “Maybe.” She wrung it, water spilling onto the steps at her feet.

  “Why didn’t you report it?”

  “Report what?” She whipped her hair back. “It’s not a big deal. This whole area is protected from phantoms from the outside. It’s just in here. My boss said he’s drugging it with some kind of fluid: the fluid in the tank. It’s like . . . I don’t know. He said it leaves the damn thing open to suggestion or something.”

  “So you can, what? Teach them tricks?” Rhys shook his head. “You believed that tripe?”

  “Why not?” Chae Rin wiped her damp hands on her gray sweatshirt. “Look, I don’t know how it works. I just ride the damn thing. At any rate, what do we really know about the phantoms anyway? Who’s to say it isn’t possible?”

  “If that’s the case,” I said, “then what about Saul? What’s he been using? Because I sure don’t think he’s hiding a tank anywhere.”

  “Who?”

  I frowned. “Rhys, give me your phone.”

  Rhys looked taken aback by my expectant hand waiting for it, but he obediently gave it over regardless. I didn’t have to search too long for the video I wanted. Someone had captured and already uploaded footage from the battle on the Brooklyn Bridge. The terror. The screaming. People running for their lives as Saul’s phantom barreled through traffic, sending cars over the edge. And . . .