by K. Gorman
“She’s coming with me to Mersetzdeitz, but don’t envy her. It’s a lot safer in Ryarne than it is in Mersetzdeitz, especially for new Elementals like you. Meese can’t stay, she’s too well-known, but you should be fine. The government here doesn’t know about you.”
He paused. The end of his words repeated in a slight, raspy echo throughout the tunnel, as quiet as moving water.
Then, the Mage froze. Cocked his head.
“Do you hear that?”
Something else echoed up the tunnel, barely more than a whisper. Ketan took a step forward, held his breath, and strained to hear.
For a second, the tunnel was quiet. So quiet, he could hear the sound of his heart, the rasp of his breath, the slick sound as he swallowed. He steeled himself, straining.
No one breathed.
Then, it came again, a staccato whisper so soft, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it right.
But years of living in a war zone had attuned him to the sound.
His heart shrank, breath catching in his throat.
“Guns,” he breathed.
Aiden caught his eye. Understanding flashed between them.
Magic flared. A rune sparked off Aiden’s hand like a thought, and the air warped as a bulge of orange slid into place around him, followed by a second around Ketan.
“Shields,” he explained.
Then, without another word, he ran toward the sound.
Chapter 46
“Motherfucker.” Jo peeked around the corner. “They’re everywhere.”
That was the understatement of the year. They’d barely left the Society’s headquarters when they’d run into what appeared to be one of possibly twelve front lines of the Underground battle.
That was what it sounded like, anyway. Bursts of gunfire echoed everywhere. People ran, keeping to the edges of streets, disappearing into the mouths of alleys. The air was a haze of smoke and shadow.
Mieshka clung to her uncle’s back, wide awake. Robin stood by her side, laden down with bags that she suspected included more guns than clothes. If she knew anything about Jo, she knew the soldier’s priorities.
Jo liked her firepower.
They kept to the shadows as a troop of soldiers attacked the next street over, ducking their group into a nearby alley. The air rang with the sound of enemy boots and short, rapid bursts of fire.
“What do we do?”
From her view, well inside the alley, she could see storefronts facing the street. The café had shut its doors and turned off its lights, but she knew someone was in there. They’d moved past one of the upstairs windows, a blurred silhouette on the yellow curtain.
Then that, too, had gone dark.
Hiding out. That was a smart idea.
Too bad it didn’t seem to be an option for them.
If the soldiers had come underground looking for the Mages, she doubted they would leave until they found what they were looking for.
Or until they were driven out. She’d seen the Underground in action. Over half the people down here had military training, and they’d stockpiled more than enough weapons to feed the ragtag militia. And after the incident a few months back…
Well, the Society had had plenty of time to plan. Plus, they had, what, two Mages? Four?
Surrender seemed ludicrous. In theory, at least.
The practical aspect was what worried Mieshka. The gunshots were really loud, and the smoke was very real. The streets seemed to be in enemy hands. Mages might be able to cope with such mundane things as bullets, but she was no Mage.
She knew nothing about shielding. And she had a feeling that she’d scraped the bottom of her magic for the day. The nap might’ve helped her ability to function, but the pathway to her magic felt raw and overdrawn. Whatever spell she’d attempted in front of Michael had drained her far more than her regular Elemental practice had.
Gazing onto the street, Jo mirrored her thoughts. “Motherfucker.”
The mercenary crouched down at the corner, keeping a low profile as she studied the street. Gritty yellow light jaundiced the ground around her, but Jo sat in the only patch of shadow at the alley’s mouth. It covered her like a cloak. “They’re standing at the intersection. Just standing there.”
Dad shifted beside Mieshka, his sleep-worn eyes gaunt and shadowed in the dimness. “Could we get out through the restaurant?”
The building next to them, as advertised by a sign that hung from the alley’s end, housed the Core’s only Turkish restaurant. A small side door, framed in forest-green wood, stood near the tail of the group where McKay held their bags.
Jo shook her head. “No. Won’t work. Only other exit is the street.”
“You’ve been through there before?”
“Long story. Good food.” Jo leaned forward, the muscles in her back tensing under her shirt as she craned her neck around the corner. Light dipped on the rifle slung across her shoulder. “If they’d move just a little farther away…”
“Could we get farther down the street, maybe cross later…?”
Even to Mieshka’s ears, her dad’s voice lacked confidence.
Jo didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her hand, fingers splayed. Her eyes were intent on the road.
A haze of smoke drifted by the alley’s mouth, trailing thicker strands across the street like tattered wisps of fog. It moved in one piece, like a curtain.
Something thumped against the building close to them, sounding like a baseball. They heard a hiss.
Jo launched from her crouch. She sprinted up the alley, boots pounding the concrete. The rifle swung from her shoulder. Smoke clouded the entrance.
“Go, go, go!”
She grabbed Alexei’s shoulders as he lurched back. Her uncle dug into the ground, bumping into Robin and her dad as they backtracked. A ribbon of fog spread toward them, bringing a tangy smell with it. She tasted pepper in her mouth—and copper, like she’d sucked on a penny.
“Run!”
Jo waved them through. Alexei stumbled. Mieshka bit back a swear as the motion ripped against her wounds. Her dad fell behind, dragged down by the two suitcases. Robin wasn’t doing much better. The smoke moved to the alley behind them, tangy and acrid. They began to cough.
Boots rang in the alleyway. Shouts echoed, punctuated by the click of rifles. A burst of gunfire lit up the smoke. Bullets kicked into the brickwork near the rafters.
Robin, little more than a ghost in the gray smoke, stumbled.
Then, Jo was there, helping her up.
They left the bags in a lump and took Mieshka’s dad with them as they ran.
The top handles of the suitcases stuck up in the fog like spindly arms, standing freely as they abandoned them.
Another gas canister hissed behind them. More smoke spewed into the air, thickening the cloud. The peppery taste in her mouth thickened like syrup. She gagged and squinted her eyes closed.
For two long minutes, her world was a soundtrack of pounding boots and ragged breaths. They navigated the alleys in a dim haze, Jo turning them with quick, succinct words. The walls grew dimmer, darker. The smell grew fainter. The sound of the soldiers’ boots grew quieter and more muddled behind them, lost in the fog.
Jo stopped them at the far end of one alley and quieted them with another word. They breathed heavily, listening for the stamp of soldiers’ boots, the burst of gunfire, the hiss of gas.
They didn’t expect the thunder.
Blinding light smashed up the alley, coating every inch of stone and crack of brick in a blaze of static light. Sound raged through them, vibrating every bone. Her heart shivered, shuddered. Energy poured over her like a blanket, raising all of the hairs on her arms. Someone screamed. For a second, she thought it was her. Blue dots blotted out her vision. The alley turned into an unreadable mass.
Slowly, things began to settle. To make sense.
Fog lingered at the end of the building, its gray mass diffusing details. Now that the first, largest flash of lightning had gone, she c
ould make out smaller, sharper flashes of light. They snapped to and fro, accompanied by zaps and crackles.
On the wall, through the fog, shadows danced and stretched like some bad, strobe-lit horror movie.
Someone got off a shot.
The electric light stuttered. Darkened.
Silence stretched into the alley. Smoke drifted like grim cloud, tendrils reaching forward like fat, wispy fingers.
Then, they heard footsteps.
A lone figure turned the corner, her form lithe and agile, except for an oddly lopsided head. A burning smell followed her up the alley, smelling more like electric circuits than campfire smoke. Her shoes slapped with confidence against the pavement, as if she knew they wouldn’t shoot her. When Jo shone the flashlight on her, the eyes of her gas mask reflected back like a crooked insect.
With a deft tug, Kitty pulled it off. She grinned. “What’s up?”
Jo shifted by the wall, relaxing the finger near the trigger. “Hiding and running. You?”
Kitty’s eyes drifted to the group, then fixed on Mieshka. Her grin grew. “I smelled the fire-starter.”
Smelled? Mieshka didn’t think it had been that long since she’d showered. But then, Kitty had always been a little bit odd. She decided to let it go and lifted a hand in a half-hearted greeting. “Hi, Kitty.”
“What’s up?” Kitty repeated. She surveyed the group, taking in their haggard appearance. “I saw some luggage back there, but I wouldn’t recommend going for it.” She jerked her thumb toward the last alley, where the fog had thickened. “That shit is nasty.”
Jo wrinkled her nose at the smoke. “I got nothing I need in there. Roger can mail it to me later.”
But Mieshka’s dad had other plans. Everyone’s attention shifted as he stepped forward. He held out his hand. “May I borrow that mask, please?”
Mieshka’s jaw dropped. Her hands clawed into Alexei’s shoulder as she stiffened. “Dad?”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled the mask on, adjusted the straps, and waded into the fog.
She watched him go.
Her uncle patted her arm. “Some of Ira’s things are in those bags.”
Ira. Irina. Mieshka shivered at the sound of her mother’s name. It had been a long time since she’d heard it. It felt like they were calling ghosts.
He’d pitched his voice low, but the alley was quiet. Everyone had heard. Jo met her eyes. The former soldier stood against the opposite wall, underlit by the flashlight’s backsplash. Sharp, weathered creases folded her baggy pants, and a thick ring of dust encircled the toes of her boots. Her skin gleamed. Hard muscle rippled as she shifted her rifle.
She and Mom shared many qualities—a sharp eye, a preference toward guns, a substantial ability to kick ass. Mieshka could picture her mother here, right now, responding to the situation in the same way.
But Jo was among the living, not the dead. Even if her clothes blended in with the shadows and made her seem more demon than human.
Suitcase rollers scraped against the ground around the corner, rattling in echoes off the walls. Dad appeared out of the fog like a monster, a dark, half-formed shape that wheezed through his gas mask’s filters like the walking dead.
When he came into the light, they saw why.
He’d retrieved all of the bags.
Jo descended as he dropped them, fingers flying to the zipper of her duffel. She slipped her rifle inside, pulled out a smaller piece, and switched a cartridge. The barrels of other guns gleamed briefly in the flashlight before she re-zipped it.
She gaped. Robin had been carrying all that? No wonder she’d fallen behind.
Jo straightened, slipping the heavy bag over her shoulder as if it weighed no more than Mieshka’s school bag. She adjusted the strap, pulled it flush to her back, and fixed Mieshka’s dad with a stare.
“Good man,” she said.
Her dad breathed easier without the mask. Sweat glistened on his brow, and shadows dipped into the deep groove the mask had cut into his skin. His cheeks had a flushed, rosy tone.
“Anything in there for me?” he asked.
Jo eyed him. “Can you shoot?”
“On a range.”
She unbuckled a holster and flipped a handgun to him, handle first. “Aim to maim, not kill. Unless we’re absolutely fucked. Kitty?”
“Yes, ma’am?” Kitty loitered by the wall, admiring a swath of recent graffiti. Blue and green clashed on the grimy wall, forming a pair of demons who danced across the brickwork.
“You with us?”
“Yessum.” A flash of silver darted up Kitty’s sleeves. She palmed a knife that looked agonizingly similar to the ones Roger wielded. Her grin spread wide as Jo turned to her, black eyes glittering in the light like a crow’s. “Where we going?”
“To Aiden’s ship.”
Kitty thought for a second. “Isn’t that on the other side of the soldiers? And… that… stuff?” She glanced back down the aisle where the fog still lingered, brackish in the light.
“Yes,” Jo said. “Any ideas?”
Kitty pocketed the knife. Her hands fluttered and twitched in the air. The ragtag bundle of bandannas darkening her wrist looked lumpy and frayed.
Then, distinctly, she lifted her nose to the air, closed her eyes, and sniffed.
Sniffed.
“We should find Gobardon.” She pushed her way past Mieshka’s dad, lifting the gas mask from his hands as she went. “Come on. He’s this way.”
Chapter 47
If Mieshka had thought Jo knew the Underground, Kitty knew it a thousand times better. The Electric Elemental darted ahead of them like a new puppy, skipping back to check on them every few minutes. They barely saw her, only the grin of her teeth, the snap of her Element, or the flash of the neon paint on her clothes. She was like a crow, flitting just out of reach.
The fourth or fifth time she did this, Robin spoke up.
“Who is she, anyway?”
The irritation in her voice made Mieshka look up. She’d told Robin about Kitty on numerous occasions, so the question struck as a little odd. Her friend walked ahead of her, her face a grim, annoyed mask, shoulders bowed under the weight of the bag she carried. She walked with slow, heavy steps. Her eyes stared dead ahead, but her lip curled.
“She’s Kitty. You’ve met her.”
Robin spared her a flat, withering glare. “Yes. We’ve met. But I don’t know her. Can she really smell Elementals?”
Her tone made Mieshka grit her teeth.
How the hell should I know?
A ripple of pain cut her shrug short. She bit back her comment with a hiss. Luckily, no one heard except Alexei.
He raised his voice, masking her pain.
“They say a lot of weird shit about her in Terremain.” He had a steady amble that Mieshka had gotten used to, and his shrug slipped under her grip easily. “Based on the stories I’ve heard, smelling Elementals is the least of her abilities. I heard she can manipulate shadows, summon demons. Fly. Shit like that.”
“I killed a demon with her,” Mieshka said. “He was real enough.”
Robin only shrugged. “I don’t see what demons have to do with smell. Besides, how do we know it was even a demon? What is a demon, anyway? I mean, wasn’t there something in the crystal you swallowed that could be classified as one?”
If the Phoenix heard that, it didn’t react. Mieshka’s Element stayed as steady as a burnt-out candle, its wick short and black. The raw, over-extended feeling was starting to fade, though.
“The Phoenix isn’t a demon,” she said.
“Then what is it? It possessed you, didn’t it?”
“No.” She rubbed her forehead against the back of her hand. A low throbbing had built, as if all the pain she couldn’t feel had manifested in pressure instead. Robin’s voice narrowed in her head, turned canny. “Well, sort of.”
“Sounds like a demon to me,” Robin said.
“If it were a demon, wouldn’t it be making me do bad things?”
she asked. “Demons are evil, aren’t they?”
Robin glanced over her shoulder, the whites of her eyes just visible in the dim. The tunnel ended up ahead, with a spike of light intruding from the intersecting alleyway. An old bike leaned against the corner, its tires long flattened, its frame a dusty color of rust. The light was bright enough to come from one of the streetlights, meaning they’d closed the distance between them and the main road.
The Underground had no strict grid system. The old city had the same urban planning instincts as a flock of starlings.
Mieshka was glad for the light. Maybe she’d finally be able to get her bearings in this place. She wasn’t Kitty. The backs of the buildings were as foreign to her as the Mages’ language. She needed a solid street to reorient herself.
When Robin glanced back, her face was in near silhouette. Mieshka saw the straight line of her nose, the rounded curve of her chin.
“Didn’t it, though?”
She frowned. “Didn’t it what?”
“What about that troop of soldiers you sent to the hospital? That doesn’t seem like such a nice thing.”
She froze. Air caught in her throat. Memories of fire snapped awake. She heard the hiss and bloom of flame as clearly as she heard Jo’s boots on the ground. Old smoke tinged the air in her nose. She forced the thoughts back as they surfaced, pushed back the raw emotion. Her fingers dug into Alexei’s shoulders like claws.
She took a steadying breath to clear her head.
“I had to do that. If I hadn’t…”
Robin shrugged. “Whatever. Just sayin’.”
By the way she turned toward the light, it seemed that she was done with the subject.
But someone else wasn’t.
“That wasn’t a very nice thing to just say.” Jo slipped out of the darkness, the hard edges of her rifle catching the light.
Silence took the alley. No one spoke. They didn’t need to—the disgust in Jo’s tone said enough. The group stopped.
Robin trailed ahead before she realized what had happened.
She turned back. When she saw the looks on their faces, an eyebrow rose. “What?”
