Call of Fire

by Beth Cato

  “Does it talk?”

  “Yes and no. It . . . chimes. It’s impossible to describe.”

  “You’re talking to the woman who communicated in images with a gigantic snake.” Ingrid laughed. Then she realized what Lee had said. “It chimes?”

  “Yes, a little like the sound of bells. I also smelled things, wonderful things, when it was with me, like your mother’s cardamom bread right out of the oven. I couldn’t help but think of happy memories when it was there.” He looked away, his expression wistful.

  Ingrid blinked, momentarily stupefied. Apparently, she had been herded through Portland by a qilin.

  She could understand why it might want them to retrieve the Green Dragon Crescent Blade, but if it had come to Lee before, why had the qilin only made its presence known to her this time?

  She wanted to tell Lee what happened, but at the same time, it felt wrong for her to have encountered a qilin at all. She wasn’t sure what to do.

  Lee reached out to steady Ingrid as she almost slipped. The guandao’s bag bobbed against her. “You’re wearing out, Ing. This was too much walking.”

  As if it were that simple. When she had switched stockings that morning and felt along her legs, she couldn’t ignore the abrupt changes that had occurred in her own body over the past few days. Her muscles felt . . . depleted. Slack. As if the near-fatal magic she had held and used in San Francisco had consumed actual body tissue.

  That made it all the more important for her to get out and move, to bolster her physical strength. She needed her full vitality to survive the next quake.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, but her voice was strained.

  “Damn it. Mr. Sakaguchi was right, you know. You’re arrogant sometimes.” Lee spoke in a fond though exasperated tone that reminded her of Mr. Sakaguchi. “Don’t be stupid, too. We passed a Reiki place not far from the clothes shops. We can stop in there.”

  Anger flushed her cheeks. “No. The bus stop isn’t far from there either—”

  “Good. You can rest before we continue our walk.”

  “They might not even serve me, Lee.”

  “You forget that it’s your birthday and that I’m treating my loyal nanny. They had better serve you.” He glanced back, his gaze softening. “Seriously, Ing. I might not get another chance for something like this,” he whispered. “The one measly advantage with most of the Chinese locked up is that no one can give me away. No rival tongs can call me out.” He motioned with his chin to the arm where his brassard should be. “Let me do this for you.”

  Frustrated as she was, she nodded.

  The Reiki business was well lit with decorative, kanji-adorned banners on the brick walls. The white receptionist did a double take at the sight of Ingrid but was all smiles as Lee explained his desire to treat his nanny. Soon enough, the doctor emerged and engaged in pleasant palaver with Lee before walking Ingrid back to a small private room overflowing with the earthy fragrance of fresh seeds.

  Mr. Sakaguchi and Mama had always coddled Ingrid and taken her to a Reiki doc if she had the slightest injury; they had simply told her that she couldn’t handle pain. She hadn’t learned until this past week that they were sheltering her from a dangerous truth: that her pain caused earthquakes.

  The Reiki doctor looked to be in her forties, her brown hair streaked with gray. “Since your complaint is fatigue, not a physical injury, you won’t need to take off your dress. Sit in the chair and we’ll get started.”

  Ingrid hooked her coat on a rack and exchanged her shoes for slippers. An assistant entered and they set up the appropriate plant seeds for the job. This doctor was a licensed practitioner of Reiki and used only plants. Less reputable businesses drew from living animals, even people, but for much more potent results. That’s how Uncle Moon had saved Mr. Sakaguchi’s life with his Chinese take on Reiki, lingqi.

  Ambassador Blum had snapped the necks of baby rabbits and used their ki to mend Ingrid. As loathsome as that healing had been, the power of Blum’s work had also saved Ingrid’s life through the worst of the earthquake as she struggled with the overwhelming influx of energy.

  The doctor twirled her hand over a mound of seeds as if swirling invisible cream. An assistant stood close by. Just as Ingrid could see the blue energy of the earth, ki doctors could see and manipulate the colors of life.

  “Are you recovering from influenza?” asked the doc. “We had a terrible season here.”

  “Something like that.” The lingering symptoms were similar, in any case.

  “Now relax. Breathe deeply. Let your ki be at peace. Open your body to be healed.”

  Ingrid allowed her shoulders to relax into the high back of the chair and breathed in to fill her lungs. The doctor hummed, then made a small choking sound.

  “Your colors. That’s . . . interesting. No, continue to relax.” The doctor continued to coax energy from the seeds and draw it to Ingrid. The seeds’ ki caressed her skin like a breath.

  “What do you see?”

  “When you were sick, did you almost die? Were you healed by . . . a different sort of doctor?” By the way the doctor hedged her words, she wasn’t referring to standard Pasteurian physicians either.

  Could the doctor actually see evidence of Blum’s dark Reiki? Ingrid resolved to play dumb. “I was very sick. I’m not sure who my employer called to tend to me.”

  “I see. Your ki is very unbalanced. Miss Harold, can you fetch another bin of the class-three seeds?” The assistant left, the door closing behind her, and the doctor faced Ingrid, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’ve worked Reiki for fifteen years. I’ve seen a lot. Your ki isn’t just out of balance, it’s stained. I’ve heard that dark Reiki can do that, but this . . . this . . .” She shook her head. A loose strand from her bun whipped her cheeks. “Was it voodoo? Something pagan? Whatever it is you people do.”

  You people. People with Ingrid’s skin tone. Ingrid clutched the chair arms, heat rising to her cheeks. If she had held any power, the chair would have broken beneath her grip.

  “That kind of energy regenerates you for a longer time than licensed Reiki, that’s true,” the doctor continued, “but it’s like . . . ghosts become part of you for a while. I have trouble believing that a good Japanese family would meddle with this sort of thing.” She gestured toward the front office, where Lee was waiting. “I’m telling you this as a favor. If you want to keep your job, you should tend to both your body and your soul.”

  “That’s very generous of you.” Years of secretarial work in the auxiliary had taught Ingrid how to grin through seething rage. She stood. With a few abrupt kicks, she shed her slippers and shoved on her boots. Her legs felt a little stronger, but maybe that was from sitting down rather than the brief whiff of floral Reiki. “I’ll take my stained ki elsewhere then, thank you.” The door opened, and the assistant stepped back as Ingrid walked forward.

  “Young woman, I’m not done—”

  “Yes, you are.” It would’ve been nice if her body had the help of Reiki to heal faster, but it wasn’t worth listening to this tripe. Ingrid shrugged on her coat and walked herself out.

  Lee jumped to his feet as she emerged. He took in her mood in an instant. He gave the receptionist a cheery farewell and waited to speak again until they were outside and walking toward the bus stop.

  “What happened in there?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Patronizing unpleasantness.” She hunched her shoulders, making it quite clear she was unwilling to say more.

  The doctor’s attitude aggravated her, but the assumption that she wanted Blum’s healing bothered her even more. Ingrid had been handcuffed and stabbed! She didn’t want those rabbits to die, for Blum’s dark, horrible power to flood her body. And now to hear that the macabre healing continued to stain her even days later . . .

  Ingrid felt sick. She felt violated. How long would this taint linger in her life energy?

  It was still helping her to recover from her power sickness, too, and likely
was the only reason she wasn’t bed-bound on the ship. It appalled her that she should be grateful to Blum in some way.

  “We should grab fresh food to take back to the airship, Master Sato,” she said, her voice tight. As much as she wanted to explore Front Street, now was not the time.

  “Yes. It’ll be good to get this on board, too.” The leather bag swayed in his grip.

  No passersby seemed attracted to the guandao. No one else seemed to sense it as Ingrid and Lee could.

  “Let’s keep that item a secret for now,” she said. “Just in case.” Not that she didn’t trust Cy or Fenris, but an artifact of such importance was priceless to both the Chinese and the Unified Pacific. The fewer who knew of it, the better.

  “That’s a good idea,” said Lee.

  Behind them, loud yells rang out, dozens of people in a terrible chorus. Ingrid glanced back. She couldn’t see anything amiss in the past few blocks, but she recognized the source of the noise. It came from the vicinity of the burned building.

  “Should we—” Ingrid started to say.

  “It’s a riot.” Lee spoke in a raw whisper. “We can’t stop it. We can’t save anyone. If we turn around, we only endanger ourselves.” He clutched the guandao closer to his body. His posture stayed upright as he walked faster, his Japanese-boy act still in place except for the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

  Chapter 4

  Saturday, April 21, 1906

  “How are repairs proceeding?” Ingrid murmured. She had awakened to find Fenris fussing about the engine room; he dinged on metal like a drunken musician. She stood in the hallway in her stocking feet. Not far behind her, she could hear Cy’s soft breaths as he continued to sleep. He and Lee might very well sleep through Kingdom Come.

  Weak morning light leaked through the cockpit glass down the way. Cy had insisted they all stay aboard the airship at night for safety’s sake, as there weren’t any decent inns within convenient walking distance of Swan Island.

  “Repairs are gliding along like a snail in a footrace.” Fenris propped his goggles onto his forehead. “The majority of the work is done. The Bug can fly now, if she must, but I won’t like how she flies.”

  “How long would it take to reach that esteemed approval level?”

  “Another solid two or three days, maybe. Depends on how much Cy can pitch in. You’re stealing him away for part of today and that will slow things down.” Fenris pressed down with all the weight in his slender frame to make a valve turn.

  “She’s hardly stealing me away.” Cy swung his legs into the hallway, his tall form hunched over so that his head didn’t strike the top bunk. “I need to head to downtown, anyway. We need laundry done and more food.” Ingrid couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing nothing but cotton drawers and a loose shirt. One pant leg had rolled up to expose his hairy calf. She felt herself flushing with the sudden, intense wish that more of his skin was visible.

  “Normal-people needs. Bah.” Fenris dismissed the notion with a wave.

  “I can help with repairs.” Lee’s hoarse voice came from the bunk above the mattressless rack. Metal rings rattled as he pushed open the privacy curtain. Ingrid knew why he wanted to stay on the ship. He had quietly told her that he didn’t want to be apart from the guandao, and he certainly didn’t want to carry it away from the dock unnecessarily.

  Ingrid had a hunch that he didn’t want to continue with the subterfuge of being Japanese either. Or find out what happened to the Chinese people and Quakers caught in the riot.

  “Ah yes. Help. Which means training and explaining as I go. That will slow me down, too.” Still, Fenris didn’t seem too displeased to have a new volunteer.

  “If all goes well, we won’t be gone long,” Cy said, stretching out his legs. A knee popped.

  “Oh yes, because things always go well for us. Like a kraken taking up mountain climbing.”

  Ingrid and Cy shuffled around in the confined space to attend to their morning toilet rituals. She brushed against him on occasion. He acted perfectly polite, hands to himself, but when he was close, all she could think about was that magnificent, all-too-brief kiss the day before. She could have growled in frustration.

  Only when Ingrid and Cy were ready did Lee emerge from his bunk, his black hair spiked on one side and flattened on the other.

  “Here.” Lee shoved his gun toward Ingrid. “I’ll feel better if you have this.” She opened her mouth to argue with him and remind him of his promise the day before. He shook his head. “Yeah. I remember what you said, but you’re going to be out there surrounded by people. You need this.”

  “I have my Tesla rod as well, miss.” The telescoping metal rod dangled at Cy’s hip, ready to extend and deliver an electric shock on contact.

  Lee gave Cy a tight nod. The two of them had engaged in a private talk the prior evening. It seemed that Lee had come to a grudging understanding about Cy’s background as an Augustus and a weapons engineer.

  A few minutes later, Ingrid and Cy set off. About half the mooring masts were filled today; other airships were blips against a gray smear of sky that poured rain. They sloshed through a veritable minefield of puddles.

  “I wish I could carry that,” Cy muttered.

  Ingrid had a waxed canvas bag full of laundry hefted over her shoulder. “We can’t attract that sort of attention. I’m obviously a servant. I need to do my job.” The societal expectation bothered her; the actual work did not, especially since she felt a bit stronger today. Maybe the Reiki and exercise had helped her to recover some muscle. “Don’t glower so much, Cy. It doesn’t suit you.”

  At that, a warm smile creased his cheeks. “Much as I like the company aboard, the confines are awfully cramped after a time. It’s a pleasure to be in the open air with just you.”

  Her smile strained her cheeks as she resisted the urge to giggle. “I’ve been wanting to ask. Where did you get that milk yesterday?” Cy’d been true to his word. Ingrid had returned with Lee to find a saucer of milk at the top of the mooring mast.

  “I do believe the original source was a cow, though I didn’t taste to be sure.” He grinned.

  “I didn’t either. I carried it down the mast to share with other felines at the port.”

  “Quite generous of you, Miss Ingrid.” His teasing tone was going to undo her one of these days.

  As they rode the bus, Ingrid had to remind herself that she was in public and was expected to act a certain way. It was so easy to converse with Cy—easy to laugh, to flirt, to behave as though the tight corsets of propriety didn’t exist. But they did. Cy didn’t exactly act appropriately for a man in town with his female servant either. A grin kept teasing the corners of his mouth as he gave her little side glances.

  They disembarked in downtown and found the nearest laundry. Roaring fans of the kermanite-run dryers made the place as loud as an airship dock. The flustered proprietress said they were shorthanded with their Chinese staff gone and it’d take a full day to get their clothes done. Cy produced more money from his pocket, and suddenly their clothes would be clean and dry in three hours.

  As they left, he lingered at the edge of the porch and assessed the street, then Ingrid.

  “How does the earth feel to you here?” he quietly asked.

  “Calm. I can tell there are geomancers nearby to hold the energy in check. There’s no blue on the ground. It’s how San Francisco used to be, back before.”

  “Good. Tell me, Miss Ingrid. What geomantic Hidden Ones are said to be around Cascadia? I only know the aerial fantastics. Seen wyverns and thunderbirds from a distance a time or two.”

  She stayed quiet a moment as people passed by speaking in fast Japanese. “Native tribes tell tales of two-headed snakes in fault lines as far north as Vancouver Island. Then there are the volcanoes. Mount St. Helens and Mount Hood were boldly visible from the air yesterday, and Mount Tabor is a cinder cone right here in the city.”

  Cy looked troubled. “What manner of creature can live in a volcano?�
� He hopped down to the street. Ingrid followed.

  “A god,” she said. That took him aback. “That’s only one way to describe that sort of Hidden One. As Mr. Sakaguchi used to explain it, language evolves, and not always in the best way. Native-told tales describe the entities as gods, spirits, or elders, then Christian missionaries transcribed their stories and the Hidden Ones became demons. Volcanoes fit in well with the whole idea of fire and brimstone, after all. No matter what names these Hidden Ones have, though, they do tend to be fickle.”

  “My father wondered if the Gaia Project could trigger an eruption.” Cy was quiet a moment. “He’s been on my mind a lot.”

  “Of course he is, Cy.” Ingrid longed to give his arm a sympathetic squeeze. “He knew something terrible was afoot in San Francisco. Surely he left before the earthquake.”

  “When I spoke with Reddy that night, I told him to get Father out of there.” Reddy was George Augustus’s manservant, an elderly black man who clearly doted on Cy. “Father knows I need to keep my identity hidden from the UP. He wouldn’t linger in the city, knowing soldiers were nosing around close by. He wouldn’t want to help them add two plus two.” Cy didn’t sound convinced of his own argument.

  Ingrid subtly tapped his elbow with hers. “We’ll keep an eye on the papers. The headlines yesterday said it was awfully chaotic down there with fires still burning and refugees scattered in camps all over. Your father’s one of the most powerful men of industry in the world. He’ll earn a mention.” A positive one, she prayed.

  Cy nodded. Rain dripped from the brim of his brown derby hat.

  “Returning to the subject of volcanoes,” Ingrid said, her voice soft. “I think it’s a valid concern. A terrifying concern. Last week I compiled a portfolio on the current eruption of Vesuvius in preparation for the wardens’ discussion on the matter. I had to analyze how many people had died, how many were estimated to die, how many were refugees, how many geomancers were needed to offset the eruption. I gathered photographs forwarded by other auxiliaries. I felt so . . . detached from everything. An eruption is beautiful when viewed in black and white.”