by Beth Cato
“You saw the newspaper back at the rink?” Cy’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. “Ah, Fenris. Of course you assumed I’d be off to liquor up. Not like I didn’t think of it. I would have imbibed, if every place along here wasn’t so packed. God Almighty.” He rubbed his face. “I may very well be an orphan. I might be twenty-seven, but that still hurts like hellfire.”
“Cy, the fact that your father’s missing doesn’t mean that he’s dead,” Ingrid said. “It’s chaos down in San Francisco right now. There are refugee camps scattered all over and hospitals besides.”
“It’s not just about my father.” Pain carved lines into his face. “It’s my mother. How could he not tell me? He looked me in the eye and acted like everything was well at home.”
“Bringing up your mother’s death would be a bit of a damper during your happy reunion,” said Fenris. “Even I can see that.”
Cy shook his head. “I’ve been reading the major newspapers these past few months, too. It never even warranted a mention. Like she didn’t matter. That she was just his wife.” He struggled not to cry. “Maggie’s death only made the papers because of how she went. Sensational laboratory accident and all.”
“Your father was told you had died in an airship crash, Cy. You can’t trust what people say. Your father might be fine. Don’t give up hope.” Ingrid lightly touched his sleeve. “Are you hurt?”
“Are you brain-damaged?” muttered Fenris.
“My fists are banged up, that’s all. The blood belongs to that brute.”
“You should know we’ve spent the past while scouring these foul blocks in search of your inebriated carcass.” Fenris spoke through clenched teeth. “Yes, I get it. You’re grieving. You needed to walk. Well, you needed to keep some goddamn sense.” He stepped close to Cy and jabbed a finger at his face. “Don’t ever do that to us again. You hear me?”
“I hear you.” Cy’s voice was small.
“Did your chivalrous action work out some tension?” asked Fenris.
“Yes, actually.” Cy rubbed his hands together and winced. “God help me, but it did feel good. Everyone else was waltzing by and pretending not to see how he harassed that woman. I couldn’t abide with that.”
“Here I thought I was special.” Ingrid nudged Fenris. “Does he do this in every city?”
“Usually cats are the bigger issue. It’s as if they sense he’s an easy mark. I’ve told him, one of these days he’ll lure in a Cat Sidhe and then we’ll really be in for a world of grief.”
“Instead he brought me home.” Ingrid shook her head. “A different sort of grief.”
“I am standing right here, you know. I would hardly compare you to a soul-stealing fae feline, Ingrid.”
“Now that our immediate crisis has been averted, I really need to continue work on the Bug.” Fenris fidgeted. “I don’t like leaving the ship alone. It’s already been stolen once, and now the city’s filling up with even more men who are dense and desperate.”
“Yes, let’s head back, maybe Lee is waiting—” Ingrid took a step and froze.
“Ingrid?” Cy asked, a hand at her elbow.
“Something is off-kilter.” The ground didn’t exude any blue miasma, but she felt a minuscule shift. She frowned at the wooden boardwalk beneath her feet. As natural material, the planks would readily conduct the earth’s energy.
She jerked. There it was again. A twitch. A reverberation in the air, through her feet, like the snap of a rubber band.
“Do you feel an earthquake coming?” asked Cy, looking up. “This place is brick—”
“No. Not a seism. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve never felt anything like this before, it’s like . . . ripples of power, but without any visible earth energy.”
“You’re not hiding an injury, are you?” Fenris scowled, but beneath the frown was genuine concern.
“No.” Her exasperation was clear in the one word. “Let’s get away from the building. I see trees over there. Maybe I can sense more once I’m on dirt.”
The street was dirt as well, but offered no safe place to linger. Bicycles and rickshaws sped by, as did puttering autocars and horse-drawn wagons. They entered an undeveloped area of pines and marshland, a speck of wilderness surrounded by city. Birds sang and fluttered from branch to branch. A few women chatted beneath a larger tree, while men with carpetbags appeared to be setting up a camp.
Ingrid found a deep, grassy spot and crouched. The leather pouch dangled awkwardly beneath her slicker as she pressed her fingertips to the ground.
“Do you see any blue fog?” asked Cy. Fenris, his hands in his pockets, studied the ground as if he expected a crevasse to appear.
“No, it’s not like an earthquake. It’s like . . . twitches. But not directly from the earth.” Another shuddered out. Then another. And another. It felt like . . . released compression. Like the stays on a corset coming undone.
The constraints on earth’s energy were being loosened. Twitch by twitch. Life by life.
“It can’t be,” she whispered. “When the Cordilleran . . .” Cy and Fenris waited, frustration obvious in their expressions as she struggled to find words. “When the Cordilleran Auxiliary blew up, my senses were overwhelmed by the violent explosion and the debris and the strangeness of using my power in such a new way. So much happened at once. Here, I can isolate what I feel.”
“What are you saying, Ingrid?” asked Cy.
“How close is the Cascadian Auxiliary?”
“Maybe a half mile east, closer to Lake Washington. Why?”
Ingrid swayed and gripped Cy to stay upright, sheer horror stealing the remaining strength from her legs. “I think the geomancers are being killed, one by one.”
Chapter 14
“We need a rickshaw,” said Cy, and dashed toward the street.
Fenris stood close to Ingrid, arm out in case he needed to grab her. “Is the local Hidden One angry?” he asked, brow furrowed.
“No. But I can feel the geomancers’ hold on the energy relinquish, bit by bit.” Death by death. She shuddered, sick with dread and horror. “What if the Thuggees are attacking here? They don’t have Papa to channel more energy into that kermanite, but . . .” She couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.
Fenris grimly nodded. “But they know how to effectively destroy a city.”
“Come on!” Cy waved them over to a dented orichalcum cart. Its two rubber-encased wheels stood almost shoulder high to Ingrid.
“Where to?” asked the driver. Beneath a broad sugegasa straw hat, his skin color was similar to Ingrid’s, though cast darker from exposure to the sun. She felt another ping, another death. They couldn’t tarry.
“The Cascadian Auxiliary,” said Cy. He motioned Fenris and Ingrid to climb in first. The cart had tilted forward at rest, but the footboard bent at an angle, granting them a stable surface to step on for boarding.
Ingrid sat in the middle, the pouch adjusted to rest on her lap. Cy climbed in at her right, his hand brushing her thigh. Fenris was pressed tightly against her left side. The structure of the cart didn’t conceal another faint snap of power.
The driver grunted as he pulled the cart upright. A metal bar folded back to rest above their thighs. The man had to be strong as a titan, pulling around people all day long up and down these hills. With a glance at the street, he rolled out into traffic.
The cart bounced along the unpaved roads. Being packed so tightly into the seat prevented the passengers from sliding side to side, but the hard leather cushion provided little comfort. Ingrid gritted her teeth and clenched the bar at her lap. The rickshaw wheels clattered and squeaked as if they might fall off at any and every pothole. The cacophony of the city surrounded them—autocars roaring, horse harnesses jingling, rickshaws clattering. Ingrid eyed the horses in particular. When the earth’s agitation accumulated in San Francisco, even the most docile old cart horses had been rendered half wild with anxiety.
The animals around them trotted and trudged as if it were a n
ormal day. For now.
Cy followed the angle of her gaze as he tugged his hat more firmly onto his head. “The horses’ behavior is a good sign, isn’t it?”
She could scarcely hear him, so she knew the driver would be unable to hear them at all. “For now, yes. It’s not like San Francisco. Not yet. Remember that it took several days for things to escalate there, and that was exacerbated by Papa’s presence.”
If the Thuggees were eliminating the Seattle wardens, did that mean that they actually had another geomancer to act as an energy conduit as Papa had done? Good grief, did Papa have more children elsewhere? He had traveled all over the world as a warden, and even after his presumed death, he hadn’t stayed put in Portland. What if a child was about to be tortured to pull in energy to fill the kermanite—with Seattle as collateral damage? She couldn’t help but think of Mirabelle and her murdered brothers.
Ingrid was reminded of the promise she asked Lee to make, too, but he wasn’t here now. What if they had to flee Seattle? Lee said he would try to get word to her, somehow, but . . .
A particularly hard bounce caused her to grip Cy’s knee. She felt an extra lurch of frustration at the sorry turn this day had taken.
“Your gun’s loaded?” she murmured to Cy.
“Certainly. And I have my rod.”
“And I have mine, of course,” added Fenris. The copper length of it was pinned against Ingrid’s thigh and knee. She hadn’t noticed before that Fenris was left-handed.
Cy leaned closer. “You know what I want to say.”
“You want me to stay behind so I don’t risk injury. I know.”
“I also don’t want you to hurt yourself in order to pull in power.”
“That’s . . . a last resort. Especially now.” The words pounded out, rapid like her heartbeat. She caught Cy’s sidelong expression. “The surest way to keep Seattle safe is to keep the other geomancers safe. The problems in San Francisco only emerged when the geomancers were dead and that buffer was gone. We can’t let that happen here.” The very thought almost broke her down in sobs.
He nodded, clearly unhappy. “What are you carrying there?” He motioned toward the bulge of the Crescent Blade beneath her coat.
She glanced down and realized this was no time to lie—or to fully tell the truth. “An artifact that I found in Portland with Lee. He wouldn’t want it left in the airship with no one there.”
Cy was plainly curious, but his attention was pulled to a street sign as they zipped by. “We’re almost there.”
“Have you been inside this auxiliary?” she asked.
“Once, to purchase a variety of smaller kermanite chunks. Didn’t wander much. I recall it was a two-story structure.” By the gleam in his eye, he was already working on a strategy.
“Yes. It should have classrooms below, and dorm rooms and offices above. They’re closed to the public on Mondays, so hopefully there are few other people present.” She gasped, doubling over the bar on her lap. More tugs, in quick sequence. Not here, not again. The ground blurred by; there was still no hint of blue mist. “God. Is anyone left alive in there?”
“How many people should be inside?” asked Fenris, keeping his voice low. The rickshaw quieted as the driver huffed and dragged it up a slope.
She closed her eyes to slits and tried to focus through her fear and grief. “Four wardens, maybe around twenty students, and I’m not sure how many adepts. The numbers depend on how many geomancers they sent to San Francisco or elsewhere.” She hadn’t followed international news in recent days. As far as she knew, Vesuvius was still erupting and geomancers from around the world were still congregated there.
Ingrid wanted to say more but traffic lessened and the street smoothed out. They rolled down a quiet business thoroughfare that fully blended Japanese and American styles, with curved-roof buildings surrounded by pines, vibrant Japanese maples, and green grassy lawns that thinned at the dirt street. The rickshaw stopped and the driver leaned it back. As soon as the bar lifted, Cy quickly handed him a wad of money.
“Much obliged,” Cy said, hopping out of the cart. Ingrid and Fenris followed.
Sweat sheened the man’s dark skin. “Maido. Do you want me to stay around? Not many other rickshaws come this way on Sundays and Mondays—”
“We’ll find our way,” Cy said, tipping his hat as he backed away.
The driver didn’t seem to pick up on their urgency. “Go a few blocks west,” he said, waving that way, “and you’ll be on Boren. You’ll find some rickshaws and taxi wagons there.”
“Domo arigatou,” said Cy, his voice tight. The driver hefted up the cart again and rolled down the slope toward downtown. “Damn it all. I should’ve asked for us to be dropped off a block away. Anyone inside the auxiliary can spot us.”
“I don’t see a problem.” Hands in his pockets, Fenris strolled across the street.
“Fenris,” Ingrid hissed. “What—”
“No. He has the right idea,” said Cy. “Walk casual.” Ingrid’s heartbeat raced as she scurried to catch up.
The auxiliary looked downright pretty from the street. Red-shingle siding lined the walls while dark green paint trimmed the windows and the sloped gutters. The steps creaked damply. The porch was empty, the double doors shut. A sign in the window stated, in English and Japanese, that the auxiliary was always in operation but only open to customers five days a week. In the meantime, messages could be left with the central phone operator.
The curtains didn’t move. All was quiet. To any other visitor, it might appear normal, but Ingrid knew better. Even on a day like this, the auxiliary should be bustling inside. Trying to keep young boys silent and still for any duration was like trying to prevent a cat from quivering at the sight of a grounded bird.
“It’s closed!” Fenris announced loudly. “I guess we’ll need to come back tomorrow.” With that, the three of them left, walking toward Boren as their driver had advised.
“I think your acting skills could use more nuance,” muttered Cy.
“There go my dreams of the opera.” Fenris rolled his eyes.
They took shelter behind trees in the yard next door as they watched the auxiliary. Eerie quiet smothered the street. Another death pinged against Ingrid’s skin like a plucked guitar string. She pressed her fist to her chest and took in several deep, rattling breaths. Her body ached with the need to sob and scream.
“The deaths are slowing down,” she murmured as she wiped a tear from her cheek. “There can’t be many more geomancers left inside.” The words scratched through her throat like broken glass.
“We’ll go in the back. Hopefully this’ll go better than when we broke into your house, Ingrid.” Cy nodded to her. “It’s troublesome how quiet things are. However they’re dying, it’s not by gunfire or the neighbors would’ve noticed.”
“Thuggees like poison,” Ingrid said, thinking of Warden Calhoun’s death.
“Let’s be honest, everyone likes poison these days. I thought poison was interesting before it became downright popular.” Fenris wrinkled his nose.
Cy grimaced. “I wish we had gas masks. Could be an aerosol poison, far as we know. The UP’s using those in China. We’ll vent windows and doors as we go through. If you smell anything odd, run. Maybe that’ll be fast enough to prevent damage.”
Well, this sounded just dandy.
Cy stood on tiptoe at the fence to scout out the backside of the auxiliary. “There’s a cat nosing along the back porch. It looks healthy for now. That’s a good sign.”
“See? Him and cats,” Fenris muttered. He used his Tesla rod to adjust his bowler hat.
Cy didn’t spy any traps rigged on the fence, so they went through the gate. The familiarity of the yard’s design struck Ingrid like a blow.
The backyard showed a typical auxiliary lesson in progress. Sections of the yard were scraped bare, while others had wooden slats, stacked bricks, and metal platforms. At the slightest quiver of an earthquake, the boys were to run to the backyar
d and stand on different materials to recognize the distinct ways that energy filtered through each.
Spaced-out small boulders formed a little amphitheater in a back corner. On a fine day like this, many book lessons would probably take place outdoors to allow students ready access to the ground.
The brown tabby cat spotted them and trotted up, yowling. Her belly swayed from the burden of past litters. A cat had lived in the alley behind the Cordilleran Auxiliary, too. Ingrid still hoped that she had somehow survived the explosion, unlikely as it was.
She blinked back tears as she scratched the tabby cat’s head.
Cy hopped up onto the back porch while staying low to avoid the window. A stone kirin statue sat by the back door; it looked a great deal like the one Mr. Sakaguchi kept in his backyard. The dragon-like muzzle was worn smooth by passing hands rubbing it for good luck. Maybe no one had touched it today.
Ingrid gave the kirin a rub as she passed by, and thought of Lee and his qilin. She wondered if there was really a difference between the Japanese and Chinese creatures or if it all simply came down to semantics.
“Door’s open,” Cy murmured. He nudged it wider with his elbow. Ingrid followed Fenris to the porch. She made herself breathe slowly, attuned to the inherent magic of the earth, to the thrum of her own body.
A thought popped into her mind. Maybe she didn’t have to hurt herself to pull energy to protect Fenris and Cy.
Maybe, in an emergency, she wouldn’t need any initial earth magic. Maybe she could directly pull on her own life force to form a protective bubble or throw someone. She had done it before . . .
She doubted she could sustain such usage for long, but it might just keep them alive. The possible physical repercussions . . . she couldn’t dwell on those now.
Ingrid crept inside the building and left the door cracked open. Several wooden quarterstaffs leaned against the doorjamb. Each bō was about Ingrid’s height, so she grabbed a shorter jō instead. The staff was about four feet in length, ideal for younger boys to use while drilling in martial arts.
