by Jaime Rush
She ran into the den where several were mounted on the walls. Two knives slid free of their fancy sheaths in her clumsy grasp. She raced back, skidding to a stop and aligning herself so she wouldn’t accidentally hit him. His arms now hung at his sides. His fingers flexed, the only fight he was putting up now.
No.
Before she could throw the first knife, the bolt formed into a ball of light and shot upstairs. Mon fell to the floor in a bone-jarring thump, and she threw herself at him, sliding on her knees the final two feet.
“Mon! Talk to me.”
She gasped at the hole burnt into his chest, nearly gagging at the smell of seared flesh. His eyes lacked the light of life, dull yet still fearful.
He uttered, “Get out. Will…kill if it sees you.” He was talking at least, even if he wasn’t making sense.
“Lightning can’t see. And it doesn’t come back. It’s random, ‘lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place’ and all that. I’m calling nine-one-one.”
“No.” He raised a shaky hand and let it drop on top of hers as it went for her phone. “Can’t tell police. Rule Number One.”
“Mon, you’re in shock.”
“Tell them…lightning.”
“It was lightning. Ball lightning, I’m guessing, which I’ve heard can act really freaky.”
“Not lightning.” He took a stilted breath. “Magick.”
“An illusion?” But no, illusions didn’t inflict mortal damage. He was talking nonsense. “Mon, please let me get you help.”
“No use.” He sucked in a noisy breath. “Get the envelope I told you about…bottom desk drawer…and go.”
She sputtered a hysterical laugh. “Are you crazy? I’m not leaving you.”
“Stupid, but not…crazy.” He gasped, his hand tightening on hers. “The person who sent it…danger, ducky.”
His words sank in. “You’re saying someone sent that lightning bolt to kill you?” The thought squeezed her throat, especially when he nodded.
“Read my…letter…explains everything.” Mon spoke with what looked like every ounce of his remaining strength. “Do not see your grandfather. Too…dangerous.”
“Brom’s been in that mental hospital in Alaska for years. Wait, are you saying he did this?”
Mon’s eyes widened with determination. “Cyntag, he…” He shuddered, then fell limp.
“No. No!” She put her fists on the uninjured part of his chest and pumped. “Come back. Come back, damn it.” Even in her disbelief, grief tore at her.
A sound whispered behind her. She spun to find the green ball sailing down the curved stairs and into the den. An acrid smell hit her nostrils. Smoke rolled out of the upstairs hallway, and she heard a whoosh in the den. The ball shot back out and hovered a few yards in front of her. She stared at it, almost mesmerized by the green sparks inside—until it came at her.
With a yelp, Ruby ducked as it whizzed so close that she felt a sting on her forehead, then smelled burnt hair. Her hair. She grabbed one of the knives she’d dropped as she launched to her feet. It tingled in her hand, emitting faint electrical shocks. She couldn’t take even a second to look at it. The ball floated a few feet away, following her movements.
Following her movements?
Like Hunter/Prey. “What are you?” she screamed. Orb popped into her mind.
Flames licked inside the den and along the stairway banister. The orb had set the house on fire. Now it wanted her. What the hell?
It zinged toward her, and she threw the knife. It flew faster than she thought possible, stabbing the orb. It shuddered, vibrating so fast that she could barely discern the movements. It disgorged the knife, which disintegrated like friggin’ dust. But it had done something. The orb was smaller now. She needed to get the other knife.
The orb flew at her, and she ducked around the backside of the heavy foyer table. Hunter/Prey. It was all coming back. Wood crackled behind her, and smoke filled the house. Noxious fumes tickled her throat, hot and cloying, and she fought the cough burning up her throat.
Flames filled the den now, licking into the foyer as though they were testing the air. She lunged for the other knife but the orb cut her off. It had intelligence, all right. The knife seemed to glow, though it was probably reflecting the green sparks. Or maybe not. Obviously it wasn’t a normal knife.
The orb circled the foyer. She could barely see it now because of the smoke and the tears in her stinging eyes. Coughing spasms wracked her body, and smoke strangled the air from her. Have to get out of here. She backed toward the door.
The orb flew behind her, sending her jerking forward. Ruby feinted right, then ran toward the kitchen. It beat her to the door. The kitchen was already in flames, but a clear path to the exterior door remained. She took several steps back, facing the orb as it followed. Pretending to head to the front door, she twisted around and slid across the floor toward the second knife. She and Mon had played a form of paintball in his old house, which had marble floors and long hallways. She got good at sliding on the slick surfaces.
The knife tingled again as she gripped it in her sweaty palm. She spun around, searching for the orb. Not seeing it, she ran into the kitchen. Black smoke billowed in the upper portion of the room. The orb hovered between her and the door. The damned thing was keeping her from escaping!
She crouched, but the smoke drew closer to the floor. Soon it would fill the entire room. She readied the knife, held at her thigh and out of sight. One shot. That’s all she had because there was no going back in the den. Another coughing fit seized her, and she gripped the edge of the granite counter to keep her balance. All the while, she watched the orb come closer, taking advantage of her weakened condition.
Like a sentient thing. An evil thing.
Sucking in a breath, she snapped upright and threw the knife. Arcs of electricity danced along the blade as it plunged into the orb. While it tried to eject the knife, she grabbed a pot from the hanging rack. Like a baseball batter, she swung her whole body into throwing it. She knocked the orb against the wall and dashed back into the foyer.
Sirens pierced the air. Someone had called the fire department. Thank God.
Or maybe not. Would the orb hurt the firefighters?
She couldn’t see it as she dared a glance back while racing for the door. It flew open, crashing against the wall. Two firemen stood in the opening, clad in protective gear.
“Anyone else in here?” one asked her.
“My uncle!” She pointed, and at that moment, the entire wall where he lay collapsed in flames.
The force of it jerked her backward. No, that was one of the firefighters grabbing her as they retreated onto the front porch. She searched for the orb even as they scrambled to their feet. One firefighter led her farther from the house. She was a limp doll, all of her attention on the hellish nightmare come to life. Flames shot out through gaps in the roof and every window. If she’d still been inside, she’d be dead.
One of the men ushered her to a fire truck. A second truck pulled up, spewing men and equipment. Medics treated the small burn on her forehead, while all she could do was cough and look for the orb.
Had it purposely destroyed evidence? Yes, she was sure of it.
Orb. She’d heard that word before, in the stories Mon created for her when she was a child: a hidden world of magick, with angels and people who turned into dragons. Magick with a k at the end, spelled differently because it wasn’t the illusion type. The sorcerer-like Deuces could make orbs, instilling an intention like spy or fry.
She started shaking with the thoughts and questions bombarding her as she watched streams of water trying to tame the flames. The sounds of pumps, men shouting instructions, and spraying water filled the air. The answers were in the envelope, and it was burning away.
The Book of the Hidden
The white dove’s alarmed coos drew Garnet to the window of her turret bedroom. “What’s the matter, Opal? ’Tis not like you to be so fitful.”
She heard the sound then, far from the usual noises of the immense forest that surrounded the castle. Her gaze riveted upon what looked like black oil running along the ground, pouring around the trees as it advanced. Opal flew off with a distressed warble. Garnet knew of the dark magick in the kingdom, the creatures and dangers hovering beyond the environs of her safe little world. Her parents called it the Hidden.
As it reached the edge of the forest, the “oil” materialized into soldiers, coming faster than any normal humans could. She heard a grunt below her. One of their guardsmen fought a man bearing black horns and armor that resembled the beetles in the garden. Those horns stretched out like snakes and plunged through the guardsman’s chest. He dropped with a gasp.
She spun from the window, intending to run to her parents’ chamber. Footsteps pounded down the stone floor outside her room, and the door was flung open. Her father was still in his dressing robe, terror on his face. “I have inadvertently brought great peril to our land. You must hide, must—”
A clawed hand reached out and pulled him out of sight. “Leave her be!” Her father’s voice echoed in the great hallway.
She ran to the doorway to help him but came up short as the kind of man-beasts she’d just watched below rushed up to block her. They bore blood on their armor, and she knew, somehow, that it was her parents’. And, by the glitter in the men’s eyes, she also knew her blood would soon join it.
A scraping sound from the window behind her drew the startled gazes of the men. She dared turn to see what frightened them, these evil murderers. The sight of the creature sliding soundlessly to the floor on its clawed feet stole her breath.
A black Dragon, the size of a large horse, opened its fierce mouth and bared its fangs. It blew out not fire, as she’d read in the legends, but a black smoke that shot toward her. She would die with dignity, she thought, raising her chin. She would not cower, would not—
The stream of smoke passed her, knocking the three men back into the hallway. Their guttural screams echoed in the stone hallway and then grew silent.
The Dragon had saved her from them. Before she could thank it, it rushed forward and grabbed her with its talons. They scratched but did not puncture her skin as the beast pulled her against the cool scales of its chest and flew out the window.
Chapter 2
Despite Ruby’s exhaustion, grief and terror kept ripping her from sleep. Well before dawn, she was scouring the Internet for stories about ball lightning. Turned out, ball lightning was a mysterious phenomenon having various shapes and colors. Though it could melt metal, it passed through windows and even screens without causing a bit of damage. It rarely killed a human, and nowhere did she find an account of one chasing down or lancing someone.
And what about the knives that seemed to exude some kind of energy…and affected the orb?
She’d told the lieutenant about the freak bolt of lightning from the storm, omitting most of the bizarre stuff like how it tried to keep her from escaping. Not that he’d have believed her anyway. Mon had said something about magick and Rule Number One, whatever that was.
Had Mon been rambling from shock? He’d been lucid enough to mention the envelope he’d told her to retrieve should anything ever happen to him. She figured it involved inheritance issues or business matters. That he’d mentioned it as he suffered an agonizing death meant it was way more important. Was there a chance it survived? Doubtful, but she had to try to find it. She also needed to find the Book of the Hidden that Mon kept in his office. While she had treasured the stories like a chest of jewels as a child, she outgrew them in her early teens and could only remember the essence of them.
The thought of going back to his house chilled her. What if the orb was there or the person who’d sent it? Had it chased her because she was a witness? Probably. How much did this Sin Tag know about her?
She had searched for variations of that name, too, thinking it was a company or government agency. No luck. Maybe SINTAG was a top-secret project and the orb some superweapon. Yeah, that made sense, except…how would her uncle get involved with something like that?
She pulled on old jeans and a T-shirt, stopping short at her reflection in the mirror over her dresser. A lock of singed hair curled in tiny spirals over her bandage. She lopped off the burnt portion, which made one chunk of hair shorter than the rest, so she evened them out.
Ruby called Nevin on the way to let him know she wouldn’t be in. She’d given him the freak bolt of lightning story last night.
How did her grandfather fit into this? She had vague memories of awkward conversations with him, a man obviously not used to talking with children. Then waking up at Brom’s after the boating accident, a gash in her head and no memory of anything that had happened after she’d been knocked against the cabin’s doorframe. Brom broke the bad news about her parents in a pained, soft voice.
She was quickly settled into Mon’s life. Neither man would even let her go home to get her belongings. Mon told her that Brom sank into a deep depression and had to go to a mental facility, where he’d been all the years since. From Ruby’s memories, it appeared that he’d pretty much gone bonkers.
Her truck rolled to a stop in front of Mon’s house. Even in the soft morning light, the house was a horror scene. A firefighter patrolled the edge of the rubble. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, but his presence was comforting. The orb had seemed shy, disappearing the moment the fire crew arrived. Still, she searched for it or anything weird.
Its absence wasn’t enough to make her feel safe. But her Smith & Wesson was. She pulled it from beneath the seat of the truck. Forget vases and knives. If that thing reappeared, she was shooting it. She hid the gun in the waistband of her jeans beneath her shirt. After making sure the lump at her back wasn’t noticeable, she grabbed a couple of garbage bags and approached the ruined house. The stench of smoke filled the air. The firefighter met her halfway, ready to turn her back.
“I’m Ruby Salazaar. The man who…lived here was my uncle.”
The firefighter’s bloodshot blue eyes made her think he’d been there all night. “I remember you from yesterday. I’m sorry for your loss.”
At least he didn’t treat her like a suspect. They had swabbed her hands, looking for accelerants or other signs of foul play. They had no idea just how foul it was.
She could only nod. “I need to see what I can salvage from his office.”
The man checked his watch. “We’re not supposed to let anyone on the scene for twenty-four hours, but it’s getting close. I’ll have to accompany you though.”
“Great,” she answered too quickly.
She took in the house, her throat tightening and eyes stinging. She brushed away hot tears before they could slide down her cheeks.
“Be careful.”
She jerked around, thinking the firefighter had seen something.
He nodded to the floor. “You can’t tell what’s beneath the muck.”
“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Stop acting all scared and freaked out.
She stepped into the den. First order of business, find that envelope amid unidentifiable mounds and lumps. One was probably what was left of his massive desk. She searched for anything resembling the bottom drawer. All that remained of his files was a wet mess of ash. Paper disintegrated as she pulled things out.
The fireman hovered without intruding. He was probably making sure she wasn’t digging up some incendiary device. How would a supersecret government thingamabob set a fire?
She turned to where the bookcase used to be and found burnt framed pictures of both her and the wife and daughter Mon lost years before she came into his life. Book spines, singed covers, ruined pages—she found nothing salvageable. Some of these books had been kept in a locked cabinet, but she’d glimpsed titles with words like ancient spells and alchemy.
Beneath a slab of wood, she felt a thick leather spine and pulled out a chunk of blackened book. The wood had protected it somewhat, though half the cover and an inc
h of the outer edge of pages had burned away. She brushed away soot from the tooled lettering.
The Book of the Hid…
The Hidden. She sank to her knees, pressed it to her chest, and whispered, “Thank you, God.” She flipped through the pages with trembling fingers, the charred edges crumbling at her touch. A cry escaped her throat. All of the sketches of dragons, Deuces, and angels…gone.
She grabbed another book from the muck that was in worse shape and opened it. The ink was still there. And another. Then she picked up The Hidden again. No more girl thrown into a dangerous world, no more Dragon Prince. She recalled her favorite picture of him as he danced with Garnet, spinning her round and round and into his dark spell. Black of hair and heart, he was darkly handsome, with chips of onyx for eyes and his mouth in a permanent snarl. It annoyed Mon that she’d been most fascinated by the villain.
To a girl who’d lost everything, a powerful prince who could whisk a girl out of danger seemed dashingly romantic. Then she’d grown up and discovered there were no princes out there, and men who snarled also bit.
Ruby placed the book in the garbage bag and gave up finding anything else. She headed to the unscathed separate garage and keyed in the code for the door. The front fender of Mon’s old Rolls-Royce sparkled as sunlight hit it. She found nothing more than a few tools and some spare parts she’d procured in case he ever needed them.
The car’s interior was as immaculate as its exterior. What she did find was his cell phone on the passenger floorboard. The main screen indicated a voice message. She scrolled down his sparse contacts list, finding one that made her heart jump: Cyntag Valeron. Yes, that could definitely be the name Mon had uttered. She went back to voice mail and called in, using the same code that opened the garage door to access his voice mail. Bingo.
Her heart seized as a velvety male voice said, “Cyntag, here. I see that you called but didn’t leave a message. Have you finally come to your senses, you old bastard? Or is the Dragon beginning to show? I warned that you were playing with fire—literally. Call me. Don’t make me track you down.”
