Richie pulled two Super Soaker squirt guns from his pack and twirled them, grinning. “Bring on the blaze!” he said.
“What are you looking for, Sandy?” Nat asked.
“I found an entire section on Charr. The demon flame’s history is right here in Dhaliwahl’s entries, you know.”
“Yeah, in Bengali,” Nat complained. “I can’t read it.”
“I’ve figured out a bunch of it,” Sandy said. “Dhaliwahl’s mentor, Yatabe the Wanderer, captured Charr, and it lived with Dhaliwahl before his apprentice, the Thin Man, ran away and took it with him. Here’s more . . . ” She dropped her head into the book and translated Yatabe’s old passages. “Oh my. Oh gosh. Oh no.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Richie complained, “tell us what it says.”
“It’s not that simple,” Sandy said. “It takes time to translate.”
They paused in front of an 1800s bathroom that had been left to decay. Sandy struggled to interpret, typing and reading and then retyping. Finally, she read aloud in a slow, halting voice.
“A very powerful demon in the wild, Charr, the living flame, is best kept in its small, smoldering form. Charr grew to lethal size in the late 1800s. It flared up in Chicago in 1871, Seattle in 1889 and, finally, San Francisco in 1906, where it was captured along with Wedge, the great divider.”
“So what does that all mean?” Richie said.
“Are you kidding? The Journal describes the great Chicago fire, the great Seattle fire, and the great San Francisco fire.”
“That was Charr?” Nat gasped. “Our Charr?”
“This one demon has killed thousands,” Sandy whispered. “And it was with Wedge when San Francisco was leveled . . . by both of them.”
Richie’s eyes grew huge, and he glanced over his shoulder down the dark tunnel. He handed Sandy a squirt gun and began to back away toward the entrance.
Nat stumbled over something in the darkness and toppled backward. The thing gave way, crunching beneath him. Sandy swung her laptop toward it, shedding light. Nat yelped. It was a body, burnt to a crisp. Nearby lay a singed novelty hat.
“The tour guide!” Sandy gasped, pulling Nat up off the dry blackened husk. Nat brushed ash from his pants, not wanting a dead man’s remains on him.
As they stood aghast, smoke drifted into the tunnel around them. Nat looked ahead down the corridor. An eerie red glow burned in the distance.
“We’re in over our heads here,” he said. “Get to the surface.”
Suddenly, more smoke rolled toward them—huge, billowing black clouds. Nat pulled a fire extinguisher from his backpack. “Go! Now!”
Nat stood firm, intending to buy Sandy and Richie time as Charr descended upon them in a flaming fury and faster than he’d thought possible. Nat grasped the extinguisher nozzle and held his ground while Richie ran, as instructed. But Sandy didn’t follow Richie. She stood by Nat as Charr quickly burned through the old, dry wooden walls, surrounding them.
“I told you to go!” Nat said.
“I would never just run off and leave you,” Sandy said. “And you can’t order me to. I’m not your apprentice.”
Flaming ash from the old dry wood drifted down around them. Sandy whirled and fired the Super Soaker at Nat, drenching his clothes.
“What are you doing?” Nat said, dripping water.
“Protecting you!” Sandy turned the Soaker on herself and doused her own clothing.
Nat held the extinguisher up like a gun, trying to hold off the darting demon.
“It’s too big and too hot. I can’t get close to it. I need to make it smaller before I can trap it in the box.”
“Look for the base of the fire,” Sandy said. “Ignore the flames and shoot for its roots where it’s touching its fuel source—the wood.”
Nat nodded and tracked the core flame. “There!” he exclaimed, and he fired the extinguisher. White foam flew. There was a great sizzling sound, and the air filled with smoke and steam.
Nat and Sandy ducked away, coughing, into the old underground bathroom. “Did I get it?” Nat spluttered.
Sandy shook her head sadly as the fire crept out of the haze, unfazed. “I don’t see demons outside the house, Nat, but there’s definitely still a fire, and it’s still coming right at us!”
Charr pulled its flames inward, condensing and glowing brighter.
“It’s gathering to strike!” Nat said.
Sandy tackled Nat and grabbed the lip of an ancient cast-iron tub, yanking hard and tipping it over on top of them. They fell together. Nat lay on his back beneath her as fire roared overhead. He heard the flames thrash against the tub.
“Now what?” Nat whispered, nose to nose with her.
“It’s consuming all the air,” she said. “Now we suffocate.”
Nat winced and put his arms around her. “If we die,” he said softly, “I just want you to know . . . ”
“Shhhh!” Sandy said. “I’m thinking.”
Outside the tub, Charr gathered itself. It pulled itself tighter, concentrating all its heat into a single, tight, intensely hot ball of molten flame. The pulsating sphere of fire leaped onto the tub, burrowing into the metal surface, trying to get to Nat and instantly heating the iron like an oven.
Suddenly, water poured in from overhead, dousing the tub.
Sizzzzzzzle!
Nat felt cooler water soaking into his sweaty shirt and running under the tub on the floor. “Let’s go!” he barked.
He and Sandy pushed up, toppling the heavy tub. Water doused them from above in a steady stream. They looked up and saw Richie’s eye peering down through a hole in the sidewalk. He’d broken out several glass blocks in the pavement above, and a torrent of rainwater was pouring into the underground. He broke another block, and more water rushed down.
Charr limped away along the soggy wood of the old bathroom, quenched to near death. It found a damp splinter and clung to life as a mere ember.
Above, Richie poised to break the last and biggest glass block.
Nat hailed him. “No more water! Don’t destroy it!”
“That thing’s a killer!” Richie yelled down.
“But you are not,” Nat shouted back. “It’s just a wild animal. It doesn’t know what it’s doing. We must catch it, not kill it.”
Richie debated, torn, as Charr weakened, smoldering and barely alive. The hallway grew dim and then went dark.
“I can’t see anymore,” Sandy said, groping for Nat’s hand. She found it and held it tight.
Suddenly, they heard a sound in the darkness. Movement. A high-pitched scream-sizzle cut through the shadows. Sandy held her ears, but Nat listened. He knew what the sound meant—the death of a demon. Charr was gone.
Minutes later, Nat and Sandy struggled up out of underground Seattle and through the tour office, singed, dripping, and coughing.
Richie met them in the rain.
“You killed it,” Nat spat, frowning down at his apprentice.
“What?” Richie threw up his hands. “No, I didn’t.”
Nat shook his head. “Now the great historic demon, Charr, is gone.”
It was a destructive creature, Nat thought, but it could have been kept under control. The Thin Man had done it. It could have been captured again and kept somewhere safe.
“This is a hollow victory,” he mumbled. He looked away from Richie, disappointed, and walked off.
The three of them were standing at the car when Calamitous appeared on the sidewalk, soaking wet.
“Look who we have here!” he grinned. “The fire is out, eh? After destroying ten buildings, five cars, and a few people, it has fizzled. Delicious story, yes? You saw it down there, didn’t you? Did you fight it? Was Seattle saved by a certain special few children?”
“Fight what?” Nat motioned for Richie to get in the car before he said anything.
“The thing you were trying to catch, eh?” Calamitous persisted. “Eh? Eh?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, and there
’s nothing special about us.”
“We were taking the underground tour and got caught in the fire,” Sandy said. “That’s all.”
“The rain put it out,” Richie said from the backseat, “but it didn’t mean to.”
Calamitous’s erratic gaze locked in on Richie. “You’re the smaller boy from the Troll site and the Space Needle. Can I get your name? Your age? Or, more importantly, your address?”
Nat stepped between them and slammed the door on Richie. He waved curtly at Calamitous and ducked into the car with Sandy, who was already buckling her seat belt.
“Drive,” Nat said.
CHAPTER 18
WE’RE GONNA NEED A BIGGER BOAT
Nat, Sandy, and Richie pulled up to the house and dragged their soaked and sooty selves out of the car. Lilli was waiting for them on the porch, sheepish. The three wet companions stared at her, exhausted.
“Anything I can do to help?” she asked.
“Besides run away?” Richie snapped.
“Make herbal tea, maybe?” Sandy said snidely.
“I hear the fires are out downtown,” Lilli said.
“Yes. The fire is out,” Nat said. “We lost Charr.” He glared at Richie.
“Hey, don’t look at me. I tried to save your life, and I swear I stopped when you told me to.”
“Fire is very elemental,” Lilli offered. “It’s sad.”
“Hey, that’s right,” Sandy said. “Charr was fire, one of the four ancient elements. And Wedge is earth, another ancient element. That leaves air and water.”
“Fascinating,” Lilli said, “but I should tell you that the Troll has moved again.”
Nat was just opening the front door. He spun around. “What? When? How do you know?”
“Easy,” Richie said. “You sound like that stuttering reporter dude.”
“I don’t know how you feel them, Nat,” Lilli said, “but I get this serious vibe when they stir, and I’m getting it now.”
“Are we off to catch another demon?” Richie grinned. “I’m starting to get the hang of this.”
“Kicking their ‘butts’ and destroying them is not getting the hang of it,” Nat said.
“The Troll will be a creature of habit,” Sandy offered. “Not terribly smart. It’ll be in the lake again.”
Nat sighed, weary and burdened. “I’ll have to go get it. Richie, you’re staying here.”
“Dude, you can’t leave me behind. I swear I won’t kill anything else, even though I swear I didn’t kill the last thing.”
“No, and that’s final. But, Sandy, will you come?” Nat looked to her for support. She’d been right about Wedge, just as she was right about most things, and she’d stood by him in the underground. She hadn’t run away, and he needed someone he could count on.
“My parents are probably freaking out and wondering where I am,” Sandy said. “I’m two hours late already, and I purposefully haven’t called them. There’s no possible way.” She shook her head. “I can’t go.”
“I’m going,” Lilli said. “It’s an art piece. I want to save it.”
Nat nodded. “Okay, you’re in.”
Sandy glared, aghast. “She’s going with you?”
Sandy babbled into her cell phone as she joined Nat and Lilli at the docks on the shores of Lake Union.
“Yes, Mom. I’m okay. I’m just stuck in the traffic from the fires.”
Zoot made honking and siren noises through his nose. Sandy frowned at the pink demon at first, but the sounds were surprisingly convincing.
“See? Sirens,” she told her mom. “I’ll probably be several hours. Don’t wait up. No, Dad doesn’t have to come get me. Whoops . . . cars are moving. Can’t talk and drive. Bye!” She hung up. “Man, I hate lying,” she said.
They walked down the long wooden ramp to a dark dock. Unlike the other yachts in the marina, the old boats moored along the dock looked like they hadn’t been touched in years.
A familiar shapeless figure came clicking across the rotting wood planks toward them.
“Hey! Hey you! You there! I still want to talk to you!” shouted Calamitous.
“How do you keep finding us?” Nat demanded.
“I don’t,” he said. “I find them.” Calamitous pointed at the lake. It was clear what he meant. He meant the Troll. He meant the demons. “You just seem to show up too,” Calamitous said, thrusting a thick finger at Lilli and then Nat. “Why is that? How do you do it? Tell me, tell me.”
“Which news organization do you work for?” Sandy said. “NPR? KOMO? Channel Five? The Times?”
“Independent. Autonomous. Freelance,” Calamitous shot back.
Nat turned and walked away. The others followed him, and Calamitous followed them.
“You have bad karma, man,” Lilli said over her shoulder.
“He’s like you, isn’t he?” Calamitous asked, lurking just behind her and whispering in her ear. “Similar. Akin. Comparable.” He sniffed her.
“Back off,” she snapped.
Just then, Calamitous looked past her toward the water. “Fine. Done. As you wish,” he said, and he trotted off back up the dock as though he’d not been terribly interested in the kids in the first place.
“He creeps me out,” Lilli said, shivering.
“He knows too much,” Nat said. “We can’t let him expose what we do.”
“Maybe he’s a Keeper,” Sandy suggested.
“No!” Nat and Lilli said in unison.
“Wrong aura,” Lilli said.
“Just wrong,” Nat added.
He stepped to a boat slip with a dark, looming fishing vessel tied to it. The boat’s flaking paint and crusty anchor told of its age, and there were heavy cog and gear–style mechanical devices bolted to the deck, ready to churn to rusty life.
“Come on aboard!” Nat called, hopping over the transom.
“This is yours?” Lilli gasped. “Wow, it’s vintage.”
“Does it still float?” Sandy asked skeptically.
“It’s Yatabe the Wanderer’s old vessel. He came here in it when he fled from India. One of my chores was to keep it ready.”
“For what?” Sandy said.
“For transporting demons on the high seas,” Nat said, “and for demon fishing. Although I hope I never have to take it out on the open water.”
Nat cast his eyes downward, and Sandy knew he was thinking about the horrible storm on Puget Sound that had sunk his parents’ vessel when he was a child.
“At least we can look for the Troll in the safety of a sturdy craft,” Sandy said.
“Oh no, this is too big and loud to use for searching in Lake Union,” Nat replied. “It would just drive the Troll away.”
“Then what do we use?” Sandy asked.
Minutes later, Sandy rowed the big boat’s small dinghy out into Lake Union, while Nat and Lilli sat in the rear scanning the dark water.
“Over there,” Lilli instructed.
“I hope we have a big net,” Sandy said.
Nat pulled out the puzzle box. “Yes, we do.”
“Why isn’t she rowing?” Sandy pointed at Lilli, who sat pressed up against Nat in the narrow rear seat.
“I’m trying to hone in on it,” Lilli explained, rubbing her temples, “and you’re interrupting.”
“She’s feeling for signs of the Troll,” Nat said in Lilli’s defense.
“If you’re such a great Keeper,” Sandy said to Lilli, “then what signs should we be feeling for?”
“I never said I was a great Keeper,” Lilli mumbled. “I never said I was a Keeper at all. I collect things.”
“Then what are we looking for, collector?” Sandy said.
“Anything strange,” Lilli replied.
“Brilliant,” Sandy said, and she stopped rowing.
They were almost exactly in the middle of the lake. They drifted in silence for a time, watching the water, looking everywhere except at each other.
“I feel something,” Lilli said finally.
The girls looked up as two houseboats drifted out of the darkness. Their mooring ropes trailed in the water behind them like rat tails. They’d been ripped from their moorage and floated loose in the lake.
“Does that qualify as strange?” Sandy whispered.
She grabbed the oars and rowed hard to get out of the way. The houseboats bore down on them, and Nat dug his arms into the water to help, drenching Sandy. As the massive waterborne homes drifted by, missing them by inches, Nat could see a man sleeping on his couch through a window.
“Look!” Nat said. He pointed to a wake in the water behind the houseboats. A six-foot hand broke the surface and pushed them along with a gentle but powerful shove.
“We’re sitting ducks in this little tub,” Sandy said, glancing about in vain, unable to see through her dripping glasses.
Nat pulled Dhaliwahl’s snake staff from his coat.
The snake staff was both demon and tool. It was also Dhaliwahl’s former minion. It elongated for Nat, uncoiling and stretching itself to several times its original length. When the huge hand passed the dinghy, Nat lassoed it.
The dinghy suddenly jolted forward and began to skim across the lake like a water ski towed by the Troll. Nat braced himself as the snake staff wrapped itself tight around his wrist. Even the small boat produced a lot of drag in the waters of Lake Union, and Nat thought that the Troll might yank his arm out of its socket. But soon the dinghy straightened and began to track directly behind the submerged hand. The three of them bounced along in the rowboat, holding on and hoping it wouldn’t flip over as Nat tried to reel himself closer to the mighty statue.
“If I can press the box against the Troll in the right spot, I might be able to suck the whole thing down into it,” he told the girls.
“Might?” Sandy said.
“Just help get us closer.”
“I can’t see a thing!” Sandy complained, unable to let go of the oars to wipe her glasses. She tried to row as they were dragged but succeeded primarily in splashing Nat with water from her oars and smacking him once in the head.
As they approached the far side of the lake, the Troll gave the houseboats a final, mighty shove, and the homes plowed through the water at high speed toward the shore.
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