by K. Gorman
A peek down the second-floor hallway showed more of the same. After a few seconds’ study, she stepped back and joined the tail of another group of Underground people on their way up.
Her thighs began to burn as she reached the eighth floor, the adrenaline high finally acceding to muscle fatigue, if only briefly—but a commotion in the hall was what really made her pause. Through the door, one man from a trio of half-bound enemy soldiers was attempting to fight back.
One of the Underground men subduing them gave him a swift kick to the face, then brought him down with another to the knee. A second Underground man piled into him, tackling him the rest of the way to the floor.
As they were binding his wrists and ankles, an alarm ripped through the air, making everyone flinch.
A second later, the fire suppressant system overhead switched on, spraying them with water.
She yelped as the cold doused straight down on her, instantly soaking her hair and pants. The outside of her hoodie darkened, becoming heavier.
What the fuck?
After the initial flinch, and an unsubtle suck of air as the cold water hit her, she gave her head a slow shake. She peeled some of her hair back from where it had plastered to her face, and noticed that one of the men down the hall was gesturing for her.
She jogged forward—and was absolutely delighted when he took her hand and had her aim her gun at the soldiers they were attempting to bind, now inhibited by the slosh and slide of the falling water.
It took her another forty minutes before she returned to the stairs, busy providing an extra hand as they moved up the hall and scoped out each room.
By then, everything was soaked. She took the steps two at a time, but with more care now, more aware of the ache in her thighs and the delay in her muscles. Plus, her shoes were getting heavy and soaked. She’d already misjudged a couple of strides, nearly falling once. Each step kicked up more spray.
Focused on her feet, she almost ran into someone on the stairs in front of her.
“The army’s here,” the man said, barely glancing at her. He had blue eyes, like her, but with blond hair that had slicked back in a dense, soaked sweep away from his face.
She frowned and glanced up, angling her neck in an attempt to see up the rest of the stairwell between the railings. “Which army?”
“Ryarne’s. Homeguard, I think.”
“The actual Homeguard, or more of the fakes?”
“The real deal,” he said. “Heard it confirmed on someone’s radio. They recognized the major.”
She assumed that was a good thing. Her brother might have taught her about the gun, but that’s about where his usefulness ended. She knew nothing about military ranks—her mom didn’t want her to have anything to do with it, and he’d started being on her side when he’d come back from his first tour about a year ago.
“Thanks,” she said, and bypassed him, taking the stairs slower this time.
Two flights later, she flattened to the wall as a line of soldiers filed past, running down the stairs as quick as they could manage. Real soldiers, she assumed, since no one was firing on them, but they did make her eyes widen.
When they were gone, she relaxed her grip on the gun and kept going.
Soon, the stairway transitioned from utilitarian concrete to a kind of dark, marble-like veneer, slick with water. And beyond, a lobby so fancy it made her stop in her tracks.
Jesus Christ. I recognize this place.
It took her a minute, since she usually only caught a glimpse of it from the other side, but she’d passed it quite a few times over the years, though mostly in the car with her mother—it was on a small side-street that was a convenient in-between for two of Uptown’s main roads.
The sheer luxury of it took her breath away, then made her lip curl.
This was the face of betrayal. Whoever was running this place had let the enemy in and opened the sky for bombs.
The fire alarm hadn’t reached the lobby, and, as she moved farther and farther into the room, staring up at the designs and decorations—the straight, hanging lights in the ceiling, the ghost of imprint designs on the high walls, the posh collection of lounge chairs and sofas to the right—she relaxed her grip on the gun’s handle.
There were soldiers everywhere. And by the relaxed way they stood, and the lack of hurry in the way others moved and directed operations around the space, the work here was done.
It was over.
Her gaze extended to the end of the hall just in time to see a medical team lay someone on a stretcher by the front windows. The white sheets stood out against the darkness outside the glass, and she caught a glimpse of red hair as they tucked the person in.
Meese?
Before she could check, someone approached her side. She glanced over and caught Roger’s eyes.
“I see you lost the boy,” he said.
Water darkened his clothes, and parts of his sweatshirt stuck to his skin. When he drew close, her gaze found on a bump under his sleeve, but his eyes caught hers again before she had a chance to question it.
As before, his stare had a weight behind it that made her want to squirm beneath it. She crushed the feeling with a thought, meeting his gaze with a shrug.
“Seems that way.”
The noise of metal hitting glass clattered from across the room. She looked over just in time to see the stretcher wheel toward the door. A well-armed, brown-skinned woman followed it, the grim look visible on her face from all the way across the room.
Robin started forward. “Is that Meese?”
“Yes. Aiden—the Fire Mage—has said that she will recover. She’s on her way to the hospital. You’re her friend, correct?”
“Yes, we go to school together,” she said, distracted. “What happened to her?”
“You haven’t seen it yet?”
The tone in his voice made her look back at his face. His eyebrows had lifted, dark eyes following her every move.
“Seen what?” she asked.
“Never mind. You’ll see it eventually. It’s all over the sky now. No rush.” His attention dropped pointedly to her hand. “I see you managed to arm yourself.”
“It’s one of yours, I think. Er…” She doubled back, frowning. “I mean, not yours specifically, but—well, someone was handing them out.”
“Ah. I was wondering why I was being admonished for having child soldiers.”
“I—what?” She glanced up, startled, but relaxed at the amusement in his eyes.
“Would you like to keep it? Since it seems to have found its way into your hand, anyway?”
Her face blanched, and she took a step back. “Jesus Christ, you’re giving me a gun?”
“For now. Consider it an opportunity. We’re always looking for new talent. If you are interested, come to the Underground. Both Chris and Mieshka can help you find me. If I don’t hear from you for a month, I expect it to be returned.”
Her jaw slackened, but she stopped her mouth from dropping out—barely.
“Uh, okay. Sounds good.”
Actually, it sounded absolutely psychopathic, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.
Besides, she was actually liking the gun. And, from what she’d seen of the Underground tonight, she was liking the organization connected to it.
When she got home, she’d grill Chris, Meese, and whoever else she could find about them.
But, for now, she held onto the gun.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He was already moving away—someone else was looking for his attention from back down the stairs. “I’ll see you soon, little bird.”
She didn’t turn as he passed behind her, but she felt him go, anyway. Every little hair on her neck stood up, giving her a thrill that rippled down her back. Despite the water and the noise of others’ footsteps, she didn’t hear him as he left.
Jesus, what a psycho.
Chapter 41
It took two days to fix each engine enough th
at they could network with each other, and a third before they produced a semblance of the shield.
Simply put, the Swarzgard forces had done a number on them.
Engines were like fine, exceedingly complex puzzles, and what pieces the soldiers couldn’t break, they’d scattered to the wind. Even days later, people were still finding bits of Lost Tech in random Underground tunnels.
Aiden doubted he’d get all the pieces back.
He poked around the undercarriage, squinting as he twined two wires together and capped them off. His shoulders ached, and the wire was already hot to the touch, but it’d have to do. Copper was a poor substitute for Maanai—it leaked too much. The wire’s coating would be stripped bare in less than a week.
But at least, it worked.
Sweat dripped down his neck. He retracted his hands and gave his muscles a rest as he rechecked the wire’s path.
Then, he closed his eyes, craned his neck back, and rested it against the padding on the floor. It felt strangely comfortable. The hum of magic above was warm, soothing.
Today had been another long day in a series of long days. Given another minute, he’d happily fall asleep then and there.
Footsteps echoed in the room.
Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes.
There was still a large hole in the wall from where the enemy had blasted through. Outside light streamed in, making halos in the dusty air and turning Jo’s approaching figure into a silhouette. Her hips swaggered as she walked, but the image it made wasn’t sexual so much as it was powerful. Intimidating. Like a large, muscly cat that knew it could kill.
She stopped a few feet short of him and squatted down, peering under the engine.
“You okay under there, or shall I haul you out?”
Aiden grunted, waving a weak, dismissive hand. “How’s Meese?”
“Still out. Buck’s with her now.”
They’d been switching out, making sure she stayed under guard. The first few days had been difficult, with doctors poking in every hour to check her vitals. Then, she’d passed some danger zone.
According to them, it wasn’t so much a coma as it was a deep sleep. She’d be okay, given time.
Aiden hadn’t studied medicine, but he knew the effects of magic on an untrained body. At her level, using magic should have been like pulling teeth. It was a muscle she’d never used, and she’d needed to strengthen it with training.
Absorbing the Phoenix had over-exercised that part of her. By a lot. She needed time to recover.
“How’s her dad?”
Jean Renaud hadn’t left his daughter’s side since she’d been hospitalized. A quiet man, he had seemed somewhat disoriented when he’d first arrived. They’d set up a cot for him beside Meese’s bed.
“You bought him lunch and dinner today.”
So that was where the company credit card had vanished to.
“Good. I should keep doing that.”
“I’ll see to it that you do. And ice cream for Meese when she wakes up.” Jo shifted, glancing around the room. “Boss?”
“Yes?”
“You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly.
“How long since you ate?”
Aiden reached for his cell phone, but cut the movement short. The battery had run out a few hours ago.
“What time is it?”
Jo checked her watch. “Around one.”
“P.M.?”
“No.”
Ah. Maybe that explained why his head felt so heavy. He gave the undercarriage a wistful look.
“Maybe it’s time for me to go.” He lifted a hand to her. “Pull me out?”
Jo hauled. The wheels of his mechanic’s creeper rattled and bumped across the rough floor. New air hit his face. Even by the loosest sense of the word, it wasn’t fresh—but it was open, and it didn’t smell like hot wires.
Aiden slowly climbed to his feet, leaning heavily on Jo’s arm as his muscles got used to working again. He kicked the feeling back into his legs, swaying on an unsteady balance. Stars blotted out his vision for a few seconds.
When they cleared, he straightened his back and headed for the door. “Let’s go. I’m done for tonight.”
Chapter 42
Four Days Later
Mieshka heard a steady, constant beep. It seemed to come from everywhere. She felt heavy, cold, and she didn’t want to move.
When she drew in a breath, the smell of bleached laundry and antiseptic came to her. A gravelly feeling turned at the back of her mind as she shifted.
Where am I?
All she remembered was fire. Lots of it. An entire world of it.
To go from that, to… this?
A draft blew across her neck, making her shiver.
That was wrong.
She wasn’t supposed to be cold.
Gradually, the room focused. Baby-blue curtains half furled around her bed. Where they parted, she saw worn, pale walls—a hospital, she guessed, when she caught sight of the I.V. set up on her right. Light filtered in through a window beyond it, making the bag glow and turning the person next to her into a hunched shadow with a dead-orange blob for hair.
Her eyes widened.
Dad?
He sat with his head bowed, elbows resting on his knees. A plastic cup of water, half empty, stood on the table beside him.
He looked worse than she remembered.
When he looked up, she froze.
“Mieshka?” His voice croaked. By the blotchy redness around his eyes, he looked like he’d been crying.
“Hi, Dad.”
He swallowed. Emotion strangled her throat.
“How are you feeling?”
She tried to move her leg, but stopped when a numbing pain slipped up her nerves. “Like shit. What happened?”
He took a breath, then paused. When a frown came onto his face, and he pulled his phone out, she surmised that what had happened was a lot more complicated than she’d thought it’d be. As he explained, in a voice that was rough and raw, she began to remember.
Kauffmann’s office. The plane. Heat. Endless flame.
She’d set the sky on fire. It had burned for five days.
Gray clouds filled the window outside. Nothing burned now. Seeing her gaze, her dad reached over and squeezed her knee.
“The normal shield is back. The enemy broke the engines. It took time to fix.”
“What’s the news saying?”
“Trust the shield, of course.”
Of course. She closed her eyes, pushing her head straight on the pillow.
“I think my magic is gone.”
“Aiden said it might be.” She looked back over at her dad, and he met her eyes. “Sorry. I think you used it all up when you made the shield.”
Her laugh was weak. “Does that count as using my powers for good?”
“I think so. But don’t do that again.”
She raised an eyebrow. His eyes were sad.
“Your comas are bad for my health.”
He looked away, his throat quivering.
Hers closed in, too. She burrowed into the bed, wincing at the pain. Blankets kept her warm now. The Phoenix was gone, and its absence pulled at her.
Every time she reached for it, all she felt was cold ash. And parts of that ash worked their way inside every part of her, from her heart to her mind. Even the joints in her fingers held a dull, chalky feel.
And on the outside, everything hurt. Every muscle, every bone, every joint. Hell, her lungs hurt. Fog filled her head. Fog and smoke.
“How long have I been out?” she asked.
“Seven days.”
She swallowed, feeling her arms tremble with her weight. The I.V. was a dead ache in her wrist, and the heart monitor beeped beside her, steady and strong. Tubes forced cool air up her nose. She forced herself to take a shallow breath, wincing as she came to her limit. It hurt to breathe any deeper.
She glanced to the side, where a white plastic switch had
been wound around the bed’s guard rail.
Her dad followed her gaze.
“You call the nurse,” he said. “I’ll get you some food.”
“Chocolate pudding,” she said automatically. “Smuggle it in.”
He stood and saluted, then shuffled out the door, leaving her alone.
She didn’t call the nurse. After a minute, she closed her eyes and settled back into the pillow. Using her inner senses, she felt along the areas the Phoenix had occupied—searching, pulling, calling. Looking for any sign of life.
There was none.
Chapter 43
October 3rd, 2002 — Transition Year Twenty
Mieshka poked her head into the office.
Buck sat on the couch, a book spread on his lap. Behind his chair, black mechanical parts littered the floor. More were stacked on Aiden’s desk, along with hastily folded papers. The computer monitor glowed on Aiden’s empty chair.
“Meese!”
She gave a small wave. “Hey, everyone.”
Jo smiled as she leaned against the window. She’d probably seen Mieshka walk up. “How are you feeling?”
Sore. Bruised. Always exhausted. It felt like the I.V. was still in her wrist, and she’d had to stop for breath on the stairs twice. When she looked down, she swore she looked skinnier than normal.
Which wasn’t a good thing. She’d been skinny before.
“I’m all right,” she said. “Give it a week. What about you two?”
They’d left flowers and a card by her hospital bed. Beyond that, she’d heard nothing, but they didn’t seem surprised to see her.
Obviously, someone had told them she’d woken up.
“Aiden’s still fucking with the shield. It’s working, but the engine looks like shit.” Jo folded her arms across her chest. The bandage on her hand was gone.
“It’s always looked like shit,” she said.
“True. But now, he can’t make all the parts fit.”
Awesome. Mieshka leaned against the doorframe, eyeing Aiden’s empty chair.
