by K. Gorman
“We need to warn the Mages.”
And without looking to see if she followed, he turned around, reoriented himself with his inner map, and plotted a course back to the Water Mage’s headquarters.
Chapter 37
The Water Mage had a small clinic area not far from the rec room. It was more closet than clinic, really—roughly half the size of Mieshka’s bedroom. A large cupboard took up one half of the room, brought down from one of Ryarne’s more inexpensive aboveground furniture stores. A counter took the right wall, with more cupboards mounted above. Bottles, bandages, packets of pills, and syringes glittered through the dusty glass, their labels just visible.
The examination table sat in the middle of the room—taken from the Underground’s excavated hospital, by the look of its antiquated chrome and plastic structure. Someone had smuggled down a modern pillow for the top of it, at least.
Mieshka leaned heavily on Jo for support as she walked in, gritting her teeth against the pain. She’d taken another painkiller, but she had a feeling that there was more damage underneath the bandages than she’d started with.
No news about her dad yet. Worry gnawed at her stomach. He was probably in some cold cell, wondering what the hell had happened. Probably wondering about her, too. She tried not to think of it. Thinking wouldn’t help. She could do nothing for him.
All she could do was wait. Someone would find him, eventually. The Underground was good like that.
Roger followed them in, his good arm bracing his bad. He took point by the sink, then bowed his head and closed his eyes. Jo sat Mieshka onto the bed. A sheet of paper crinkled under her butt.
The room smelled like antiseptic and cleaners.
They settled in to wait.
A few minutes later, footsteps sounded outside. Someone swore in French.
Dr. Deforet walked in, a heavy-looking medical bag slung over his shoulder. His gaze landed on Mieshka first, and he gave her a quick, round appraisal.
“You just don’t stay out of trouble, do you?”
Jo’s eyes flicked up at his tone, her mouth a flat line.
The doctor didn’t care. He set down his bag and picked up her bandaged hand. “I assume the burn marks are your doing?”
She nodded.
When he unwrapped the bandage, the tip of her finger was black with soot. “Did you burn yourself, or are you immune?”
“Immune.”
“Must be nice.” He set her hand down and turned to Roger. “You, on the other hand, are not so lucky. Bad shoulder. Anything else?”
“I caught a bit of her fire, too.” He grimaced and raised his hand.
For the first time, Mieshka noticed the burn. The skin was black, red, and angry.
“Sorry,” she said.
But Deforet only laughed. “Looks like you’ll be left-handed for a while. It’ll be good practice. Now,” he said, turning back to her. “You and the mercenaire can take some bandages into the next room. I assume she knows how to change them. If you find anything interesting, like ripped stitches or other flesh wounds, please let me know.”
Jo slid her phone back into her pocket, took several rolls of what looked like a mix of medical bandages and vet wrap, and helped Mieshka slide down from the table.
As they left, the doctor addressed Roger.
“This will hurt like a bitch. How badly do you want to keep that shirt?”
*
Robin met them outside, her phone in her hand and a worried expression on her face. Her eyes darted over Mieshka as they emerged.
“Well? Are you okay?”
Mieshka shrugged, then grimaced as the movement tugged at her wounds. “Well enough.”
“Just needs a change of bandages,” Jo said, lifting the vet-wrap-pharmaceutical mix for Robin to see. “Wanna help?”
Robin clutched her phone closer to herself and took a half-step forward. “I don’t know much about medical stuff. My mom’s the nurse.”
“Then you can learn something.”
Jo steered them down the hallway. She didn’t hesitate. Clearly, she’d been here before. Considering how long Jo had worked for Aiden and had, for all intents and purposes, been ‘running errands’ in the Underground, it shouldn’t have surprised Mieshka. Plus there was the number of fights she and Roger had.
They were probably the sole reason the Water Mage had a well-stocked clinic.
Jo pulled her into a small side room, flicked the light on, and dropped her into a chair. Robin shut the door behind them, then hovered by Jo’s elbow.
Jo folded her arms as she looked down at Meese.
“Well, you know the drill. Which first, top or bottom?”
“What?” Robin asked.
“Naked time.” Mieshka grimaced, remembering her last bandage-application episode. They’d had to cut her clothes away then, and the fabric had still stuck to her wounds.
“What can I do?” Robin asked.
“Get a bowl and put water in it.” Jo gestured to the sink in the corner. “We’ll need it to soften the blood.”
She then eyed Mieshka, an eyebrow raising in a silent question.
“Let’s go top.” Then, she braced herself, lifted her arms over her head, and let Jo pull the clothes off.
It took only five minutes this time. As it turned out, the bandages had shielded most of the wounds from the fabric, and the only blood—a much smaller amount than what she had expected there to be, given the amount of pain—had stuck to them. Robin dutifully softened them, dropping water on with a spare eyedropper they’d filched from a first-aid kit under the sink.
A soft knock interrupted their work.
Mieshka sat straighter, eyeing the door. There wasn’t much else she could do—she held a spare roll of bandages in one hand, and Robin was busy unwrapping the burnt remains of the other. The air smelled like they’d lit a campfire with a bottle of antiseptic.
Jo, busy cleaning the stitches on Mieshka’s thigh, didn’t look up. “Yes?”
Something soft scraped the door, as if the person on the other side were unsure what to do. There was a mumbled conversation.
Then, “Is my daughter in there?”
Mieshka stiffened. “Dad?”
“Easy,” Jo scowled, frowning as the leg she was working on moved. Then, she turned her head and addressed the door. “She’ll be out in ten minutes.”
Another pause.
“Is she okay?”
“Fine. Just having her bandages changed. We’ll be out in a bit. Aiden should be around somewhere.”
Her father paused, as if considering that.
“Okay.”
His footsteps shuffled down the hallway as he left.
Mieshka sank back in the chair, relieved. As Jo bent back over her leg, an alcohol wipe at the ready, she closed her eyes, listened to the quiet of the room, and felt some small, tightly coiled part of her unwind with the knowledge that her dad was safe.
*
He was waiting in the rec room when she hobbled back in, the only person on the couch. She had a new crutch—aluminum, this time—wedged solidly into her armpit for support. She hadn’t torn her stitches—only pulled, which hurt just as much. After a cursory inspection and a word with Jo, the doctor had left her with another medley of pain meds.
Her father wasn’t the only one waiting for her. There were three new people in the room.
“Heyyyy, Meese, how come you don’t come around anymore?”
Maury ‘Mo’ Sarka was a large man who owned a large number of guns—and the local gun shop. He had the same redwood-thick build as Buck, but none of the quiet. And he’d kind-of-sort-of adopted her as his niece.
Which was why it was so odd to see him next to her real uncle, sharing a sandwich.
“Mo? Uncle Alex?”
She paused, her fingers slipping on the metal grip of her crutch. Somehow, it was even harder to get a grip on the metal, especially with the new bandages. She winced, glancing between the two.
“Found them w
andering the Underground outside my shop.” Mo nodded in her father’s direction. “Knew they had to be lost.”
He had a toothpick sticking out the side of his mouth. She suspected it had been in the sandwich
“We weren’t lost. We were going to Aiden’s office. How was I supposed to know it had burned down?”
“Maybe if you’d read the news feeds every so often, you’d know.” Mo gave her a toothy smile. “Did you know that Alexei and I are good friends?”
“I didn’t know.”
Her eyes wandered over to her dad, who watched her from the other couch. She noticed that her suitcase, the one she’d packed before she’d left for Robin’s, sat by the side, tucked out of the way.
“Dad?”
He looked tired—even more than normal—and his face had an edge to it that she wasn’t used to. Like something had run him ragged over the past few hours. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she’d entered the room, and he didn’t stop now. He watched as she hobbled over.
It felt awkward to sit next to him, but her legs were screaming for rest. The couch sagged between them, making her lean closer to him than she’d planned. His skin looked greasy. There was a smear of dirt over his wrist, and another on his cheek.
Slowly—very slowly—he put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“I thought they’d caught you,” she said.
It took a moment for him to reply. He pulled her even closer. One hand stroked her head, like he used to do when she was younger. Before Mom had died.
“Me, too,” he said.
“How?” she asked.
“Alexei saw the warrant on his feed. He came before the rest of the Army. Got me out.” She felt more than saw his shrug. “Then, we got lost.”
“We weren’t lost! I knew where I was.”
Mieshka relaxed and closed her eyes. Breathed in the scent of her father. He smelled like sweat and fabric softener.
Then, slowly, she withdrew from his grip. Her eyes found Aiden, standing alone and quiet across the room.
“So,” she said. “Now what?”
As if on cue, Ketan reappeared in the doorway.
Chapter 38
Leloni looked small, fragile, and out of place under the lights of the Society’s headquarters. Her gaze darted around them, moving from one thing to the next with barely a moment’s scrutiny—like a prey animal that didn’t quite know what danger to focus on.
He got it. She hadn’t had the greatest of childhoods, and her earlier run-ins with authorities had soured her attitude toward them quite a bit. And Carson hadn’t helped with all his talk of corruption among the Society’s people.
Just one guard stood watch over the entrance, and barely even that. The kid reached Ketan’s chest—five-foot-five, if he had to guess—and had all the ballistic threat of a rubber band.
He hadn’t been there when Ketan had left the place, but he was here now. And his prepubescent voice grated on Ketan’s nerves.
“No one goes in,” the kid said. “I don’t care who you and your girlfriend are.”
Ketan fought the urge to blast him. Fire didn’t solve problems—generally, it only created more. He’d found that out the hard way.
So, instead, he took a deep breath, calmed himself, and tried again. “I have important information for the Mages. I have to see them.”
“That’s what they all say,” came the reply.
Leloni raised an eyebrow. Suddenly, she was no longer shy.
“Really?” she asked. “People come here, all the time, saying they have important information for the Mages?”
He wasn’t sure if it was her attitude, her piercings, or her tone of voice, but the kid quailed. Ketan stayed quiet, letting her work her magic.
Then, in the shadows behind the kid, Roger appeared like fresh smoke.
A new sling hung around his shoulder, fixing his right arm into place. His shirt—as black as the one Ketan had last seen him in—had lost the dust and grime of the fight.
Maybe he had a wardrobe full of them.
The two Elementals regarded each other silently. Roger’s stare felt like ice.
“You came back.” His eyes flicked over to Leloni. The man was keen, efficient, his gaze sharp.
Ketan had no doubt he recognized her.
But, for now, Roger didn’t seem to care.
“The Earth Mage is dead.”
Roger’s eyebrows rose. “Did you kill him?”
“No… something weird happened. There was some sort of black crystal. It—”
“Black crystal?” Roger’s eyes sharpened. His lazy regard from earlier was gone, replaced by an intense, vivid focus. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “It…” He thought back to the scene, trying to think of the right verb. “It ate him.”
Roger stepped to the side, back into the shadows of the doorway. A second door, just outside of Ketan’s sight, creaked open at his touch. Faint light slanted across the broken concrete as it opened. “You’d better come in. They will want to hear exactly what you saw.”
And without checking to see if he followed, Roger slipped back into the building and out of sight. The door closed behind him.
As Ketan stepped forward, he felt a small tug on his shoulder.
A twisted set of white wires wound around Leloni’s outstretched hand. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a cell phone charger. She pressed it into his arm as he turned.
“I’m going to a friend’s place. Message me when you’re done.” Her eyes skittered back to the door that Roger had gone through, lingering on the shadows. “Be careful with that one.”
Then, just like Roger, she turned and stepped into the shadows. She didn’t look back.
He watched her go, studying the way the streetlights fell on her bleached dreadlocks, how the dulled points of her spiked jacket glittered when she moved.
Then, he pocketed the charger, walked past the silent guard, and followed Roger into the building.
*
It was like a combination of someone’s house and a rec center. A long hallway led to the first stairwell, with old, weathered nameplates alluding to the building’s previous existence: C.O.; First Officer; Mess; Ammunition Depot.
Someone had said this place had been an armory at one time.
But armories didn’t have stenciled decorations on the walls, and they sure as hell didn’t have the smell of popcorn wafting through the corridor.
He found Roger waiting for him at the bottom of the stairwell, his head bowed, back leaning against a wall. He looked up as Ketan approached.
“They are a little on edge up there. But they will want to know exactly what happened.”
The man made little sound as he ghosted up the stairs, faster than an injured man had any right to.
Ketan followed at a somewhat slower pace. The night’s earlier excitement had burnt him out. The adrenaline crash weighed on his limbs, making each step drag. He heard the sound of voices from above.
Roger waited beside a door farther up the next hallway. When Ketan caught up, they walked into the room.
He knew the two Mages by photos from news sites. Aiden was the most recognizable with his red hair. Sophia, Ryarne's Water Mage, had seldom appeared in news reports—for obvious reasons, now that he thought about it. She was far too busy running the Underground to grant interviews.
Meese sat by the couch, surrounded by Robin, Jo, and three men that he assumed were her family. Two of them bore familial resemblance, at least. The Earth Mage who’d helped them earlier sat to the side.
She spotted him first. “Ketan?”
She seemed more alert now. Healthier. The bandage around her hand was clean, new.
If the room hadn’t been so quiet, the small sound of her voice would’ve gone unnoticed. But in the silence, it was deafening.
All eyes turned toward him.
“Who are you?”
It was the Water Mage. Her voice was sharp, direct, and her eyes even more s
o. She’d stiffened at his appearance, and the stance reminded him of Leloni, except the woman looked completely different—smooth black hair instead of rough, bleached dreads. Dark brown skin instead of the excessive paleness of Leloni’s.
A photo negative.
She lifted an eyebrow.
“Ketan,” he said.
The eyebrow lifted further, as if she wasn’t impressed.
“The new Fire Elemental,” Roger added.
Aiden woke up. Blue eyes flashed toward him. “Oh, really?”
Sophia's smile bared teeth. “The one who attacked the café?”
He swallowed. Perhaps Leloni had had the right idea. This wasn’t going well.
“And the one who just saw the Earth Mage get eaten by a mysterious black crystal,” Roger said smoothly.
The room went dead quiet. No one moved.
“What?” Aiden said.
For the first time, Ketan detected a foreign touch to his accent. The color drained from the Fire Mage's face, turning it a sickly, grim pallor—and even Sophia's brown tone had lost some of its richness.
Given his brief history with the crystal, he could understand their reaction. He wanted nothing more to do with it. If he never saw it again, it would be too soon.
Unfortunately, they had other plans for him.
“You’ll have to show us where. We’ll need to contain it. Fast. Before anyone else gets close.” Aiden shifted his weight. He made an odd gesture with his hands, as if his fingers wanted to grasp something. “They used to drop rock on it. Bury it before it could spread. Keep people away.” His eyes landed on Gobardon. “Can you do that?”
Gobardon, the Earth Mage who had helped them in the fight, gave a single short nod from where he sat to the side. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Wait—” Sophia’s voice cut through Gobardon’s answer. “We don’t even know if it’s real. He could be lying. Hell, he hasn’t even said anything—”
“Will you be the one to risk that?” The Fire Mage’s voice burned through hers, an intense, stone-serious tone that quieted the room.
