Down in Flames

by P. W. Catanese

  They released all the souls still trapped in glass, the good and the bad. Then Angela went to the corpse of the ferryman.

  “I don’t get it,” Donny said. “How could something like this come and go without being seen?”

  “It’s like that whispering demon we captured back in Brooklyn. Remember that? There are some things the human mind doesn’t want to sense. As long as this guy kept quiet, avoided daylight, and stuck to the darkest shadows, people wouldn’t have noticed him. A few sensitive ones might have felt his presence, the way Carlos did. But they wouldn’t have seen him. The only reason you and Carlos did is because you used the demon drops.”

  Donny watched with a grimace as she pried the jawbone off the ferryman’s skull and set it aside. It resembled the jawbone of the Ferryman King, and perhaps all the ferrymen, with a distinctive point at the bottom, like a beard made of bone. She shoved all the bones and the scythe into a small pile, and took what looked like a flask from her pack.

  “What’s that?” Donny asked.

  “You sound so glum. Cheer up! This is a special blend of flame. Good for getting rid of evidence.” She opened the flask and gently tipped it over. Flames poured from the narrow spout like a living liquid, and devoured the skeleton and the garments. When she was done, there was barely a trace left behind, only a shallow crater in the cement floor. She capped the flask and stuffed it back into her satchel, along with the jawbone. Then she stood and walked to the end of the room where the jugs of fire were kept near the blackened wall. She puckered her scaly lips and tapped them with a finger. Then, to Donny’s alarm, she reached down, picked up a jug, and pulled out its stopper.

  Donny clasped his hands on top of his head. “What are you doing? Why would you do that?”

  She tipped the jug over and poured a bright orange liquid out in a line in front of the blackened wall. “Curiosity, mostly,” she replied. Then she stood back and watched.

  “This seems really dangerous,” Donny said. His legs were electrified, ready to send him out the door at the first sign of anything that came through the fire.

  “I just want to see if anyone opens it from the other side,” she said. She waited awhile, and then cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered into the flame.

  “What? What are you doing?”

  “I’m calling Porta, to see if she answers.”

  “Why wouldn’t she answer? She always does.”

  Angela looked at him over her shoulder. “Silly. It doesn’t happen with just any fire. The site has to be prepared.”

  “Prepared? Prepared how?”

  “When I set up a new portal, I mingle some special flames from our portal back in Sulfur. If I don’t do that, there’s no connection, and the gatekeepers can’t sense the fire.”

  Donny waved a finger at her. “Wait a minute. The first time we met, you rescued me from a regular fire.” It came out like an accusation.

  “You were a little overcome by smoke, my friend. You didn’t see me open a vial of flame. It only takes a second.” She stared at the fire. “Hang on. I’ll try some other portals.” She spoke softly into the fire again, but once more nothing happened. “Wherever this goes,” she said, “it’s not to any portal I know. Hmmm.”

  “But there has to be one of those gatekeepers on the other side, right?” Donny asked. He thought of Porta, and the creature like Porta in the Himalayan temple.

  “That’s right. There has to be,” Angela said. Her reptilian jaw slid from side to side as she pondered. “It’s always the same kind of demon. Female. Tiny. Foul temper. There aren’t many of them, but we’ve never done a head count or anything. You’ve got me thinking, Donny. Without a gatekeeper, a fire-portal is useless. So if we want to cut off the flow of lost souls, we really need to grab that gatekeeper.”

  She stood for a while, watching and waiting. “Anyhow. Let’s move on, I suppose. I’ll have Howard get a crew in here and tidy up the rest of this mess.”

  “You’re going to leave that fire burning?” he asked.

  “I only used a little. It’ll go out soon.” She clapped the bracelet back onto her wrist, and before long she was human again, at least in appearance. This time she was remade with straight black hair, her most common incarnation.

  Donny followed her back out of the old building. She tapped him on the shoulder. “Now that you’ve got the drops in your eyes, look at the roof.”

  “I don’t see anything,” he said. He stared at where the stained cement walls met the night sky.

  “Keep looking. It comes and goes.”

  “I still don’t— Oh.” Something flickered into view as he stared. It was easier to see if he didn’t look directly at it, and even then it faded in and out. A dark line rippled across the sky like a ribbon caught in a gentle breeze. Low clouds had gathered, reflecting the lights of the city, and the line curved up and vanished into the clouds in both directions. Donny only saw it because its waving course brought it close to the rooftop of the old hospital. Tiny lights, as dim as the faintest stars, drifted along that dark vein in the sky.

  “That’s the soulstream,” he said quietly.

  “Yes. You can see why the ferryman chose this spot. It doesn’t dip this low in many places. He could stand on the roof and grab the souls that drifted by.”

  Even as Donny looked, the soulstream dimmed and winked from sight. “It’s gone,” he said.

  “Still there, just hard to see. Like the northern lights. That was a pretty good look you got. You’re lucky. Now, ready to go?”

  They walked down the street, and Donny saw Fiasco’s scooter, still on its kickstand in the shadows. He gave some serious thought to walking back to Old San Juan instead of riding with Angela. But it was way too far, and he wasn’t sure of the direction. All he wanted was the comfortable bed in his hotel room. So he really didn’t have a choice.

  “You’ll drive carefully, right?” he asked.

  “Heck, yeah,” she replied.

  A light rain began to fall, hissing in the dark.

  CHAPTER 27

  They buzzed and weaved down the road like a drunken hornet. Wet pavement flashed under the wheels. The drops of rain felt like needles on Donny’s skin. He was behind Angela on the scooter, his arms wrapped around her slender waist. Holding her that close, his chest against her back, might have been a thrill on some other night, but something had snapped inside his heart. A plug had been pulled, a connection broken. He only worried that he might not survive this wild ride, and he shouted at her with real anger. “Turn on the headlight! Red means stop! Watch the curb! That’s the wrong side of the road again! Don’t let go of the handles!”

  Every shout was met with fizzy laughter. They didn’t pass many cars, but most of them blew their horns as they went by.

  Donny’s legs were wobbly tubes of yogurt by the time they arrived at the hotel.

  “What shall we do now?” Angela asked, still straddling the scooter as Donny hopped off and staggered toward the lobby door.

  “I just want to find out if Carlos is okay,” Donny said.

  “And how do you intend to do that?”

  “I don’t know. Call hospitals, starting with the one closest to that town.”

  “Oh, you speak Spanish now? You’d better let Howard’s people handle that,” Angela said. “I’ll text him.”

  “Howard will be asleep.”

  “So? This is why he makes the big bucks.”

  Donny watched her take her phone from a pocket and tap a message with her thumbs, humming all the while. “Good night,” he muttered without turning to be heard better. He pushed the door open and went into the lobby. He looked back once before he got onto the elevator. Through the glass in the door he saw her watching him, a mild look of shock on her pretty face.

  Once in his room, Donny pushed the door shut, bolted it, swung the second lock into place, and latched the chain. He yanked the bedcover down and flopped onto the sheets. Physically, he was wiped, but his nerves were an electrical stor
m that wouldn’t let him sleep. He sat up and put his head in his hands. There was a picture of a flamenco dancer on the wall, and he stared at it without really seeing it.

  Now how many times had this relationship almost killed him? He could add the rogue ferryman to the count. Since he’d met Angela, he’d been terrorized, clawed, beaten and tortured, and nearly shot, crushed, stabbed, and devoured.

  But somehow none of that was the worst of it. The worst was when he’d overheard that conversation. Angela’s words came back to him again, like a song he hated but couldn’t get out of his mind.

  I need to learn what I can from the boy while he still lives. It’s very likely that one of our adventures will get him killed. Then . . . I’ll find another.

  It’s easy enough to replace him. Just set a fire or something, put them in danger of their lives, and they’ll beg to come with me.

  I want Donny to think he’s important to me. How else will I get him to do what I want?

  It was a sick memory that infected everything. With his stomach churning, he took the phone from his pocket. He had a message for Howard too. It was just six words long, but he stared at it for an hour before his trembling thumb pressed send.

  CHAPTER 28

  Howard. It’s Donny. I want out.

  CHAPTER 29

  They met outside the hotel early the next morning. Without a word, Howard led him a few blocks away to another blue-cobblestoned street that Donny hadn’t been on yet. They went inside a tiny restaurant that was open for breakfast.

  “Café americano, por favor,” Howard told the server in awkward Spanish. “Anything for you, Donny?” Donny barely heard the question. He stared into space, his arms folded limply in front of him, and managed a weak shrug. “Huevos y tocineta. Oh, and, uh, jugo de naranja,” Howard said to the server, gesturing to Donny and himself.

  “Coming right up,” the server replied in perfect English.

  Howard waited for the server to walk away and then leaned toward Donny. “About your message. Are you absolutely sure?”

  Donny blinked his eyes back into focus and nodded. “Yes. I have to. You . . . you said you might find my mother soon.” His voice clogged with emotion.

  Howard’s coffee arrived, and he waited for the server to leave again. Then he leaned in even closer. “We were closer to finding her than I let on the last time we talked. I didn’t want to get your hopes up too high. But yes. We found her.”

  Without realizing what he was doing, Donny had plucked a sugar packet from the bowl and twisted it. It tore open, and crystals scattered across the table. “You . . . you found her?”

  “She’s in Colorado, as we thought. A town called Estes Park, right by the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains. She changed her name. It’s not Maria anymore. It’s Jessica now. Jessica Dunlap.”

  “Dunlap?” Donny asked.

  Howard nodded. The orange juice arrived, and Howard waited again until they were alone.

  “Dunlap is her married name. She got married five years ago.”

  “Married?” Donny couldn’t do much but repeat words back. It reminded him of Echo, a kindly creature who’d died saving Angela.

  Howard nodded. “He seems like a good man. Nothing criminal about him. He’s a builder who has done well for himself.” He paused until Donny looked at him. “She has a child now, Donny. You have a half brother.”

  Amid all the fear and dread, a strangely alien feeling of happiness washed over Donny. It caught him by surprise. A half brother! He’d always wondered what it would be like to have a brother.

  “We can take you there, but the rest will be up to you,” Howard said. “I don’t want my organization embroiled in this in any way. I’ll trust you to keep all this a secret. Every bit of it. We can’t have any rumors about Angela or Sulfur slipping out. And we’ll take action if it happens. Is that understood?”

  Donny nodded. He wasn’t sure how far Howard’s organization would go to keep their secrets, but he guessed the answer was pretty far. “Yes, sir. Definitely.”

  Howard didn’t reply, because their breakfast had arrived. Donny suddenly had an appetite, and he grabbed a fork and stabbed his bacon.

  “There’s one more complication,” Howard said as he shook pepper over his eggs. Donny looked up. “I believe I mentioned this already. You have to ask Angela’s permission to leave her service.”

  Donny’s appetite vanished, and the bacon turned to cardboard on his tongue. “Could you . . . ,” he began hopefully.

  Howard shook his head. “It has to come from you. There’s no other way. I can’t predict how she’ll react, but if the answer is yes, I’ll have you flown to Colorado. From there, someone from my organization will—”

  Howard stopped in midsentence, because Donny’s head had whipped sideways to look out the front window. A tall, broad form had passed by, eclipsing the morning sunlight, and then returned. It was Fiasco. The big fellow framed his hands around his eyes to peer through the window, and spotted Donny. A wide smile that looked bigger than ever, now that his beard was gone, spread across that jovial face. A moment later the door clattered open.

  “Fiasco!” cried the server, bouncing up to greet him. “What happened to your beard?”

  “Pablo!” Fiasco boomed back. He lifted the server into a crushing hug, his feet dangling off the ground. “Good to see you, amigo! Never mind my missing beard; I will grow another. You have special guests in your restaurant this morning. I hope you are treating them well!”

  “Of course,” Pablo said airlessly as Fiasco set him down.

  The silverware on the table bounced as Fiasco rumbled over. He gave a nod and a grin to Howard, and then clapped Donny on the back with brute force. “Donny, you look well this morning! And here is a fellow I have not seen for many years! The mysterious and talented Howard.”

  Howard stood to shake Fiasco’s hand. “A pleasure to see you again, sir. Would you like to join us?”

  “Of course!” Fiasco dragged a chair from another table and sat with them. He plucked a piece of bacon off Donny’s plate and popped it into his mouth. “So, Donny, you escaped our misadventure without injury?”

  “I’m okay,” Donny said. “But it’s only because you were there to save us.” He bit his bottom lip. “But what about Carlos?” He suddenly felt ashamed, because he’d forgotten to even ask Howard about their wounded friend.

  “I am happy to tell you that Carlos will recover. It will take some time, because the wound was deep and needed many stitches, or so the human doctors told me.” He gave Howard a sly sideways look. “But an interesting thing happened last night. At first the doctors and then the police demanded to know what had happened. They asked many questions, and they were not content with the story I made up for them about finding Carlos after he had been attacked by a crazed man with a knife. Then suddenly the questions stopped and the police left.” He put a meaty hand on Howard’s shoulder. “I wonder if our resourceful friend had something to do with that.”

  Howard took a sip of coffee. “I do what I can to help, Señor Fiasco.”

  A pat on the back sent Howard’s coffee sloshing over the rim. “Just Fiasco will do! Come by my gallery today, Howard, and I will gift you with a beautiful painting of our lovely city, one that you will treasure always.”

  Donny tried not to laugh. “Fiasco, do you miss your beard?”

  Fiasco looked like a wounded puppy. “Oh yes. Terribly so.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’d hoped I would not have to transform. But that ferryman was monstrously strong, as they all are, so there was no choice. I always return to human form without the beard.” He stroked the missing whiskers. “Alas, it will take many moons before such a lush forest can be regrown. Until then, some may not even recognize the great artist they have come to know.” Fiasco’s eyes widened as he noticed something on the counter beside the cash register. “Pablo!” he cried. He shot from his chair, sending it sliding backward, and ran to the counter, where he gathered a small vase of flower
s and a bowl of fruit in his arms. “Pablo! I have been seized with inspiration! May I steal these and paint them?”

  Pablo had been cleaning the counter, but he laughed and nodded. “Of course, Fiasco. Anything you want!” Fiasco had already burst out the door, and Donny saw him run down the cobblestoned street, looking as happy as any being he’d ever seen. It was almost impossible to believe that, just sixty years before, Fiasco would have been another terrible demon hunched over the Pit of Fire, tormenting human souls. The changes that had swept over Sulfur had freed him from that life. Just as they had freed Angela.

  Angela, he thought. It was time to talk to her.

  CHAPTER 30

  Angela slept late, as she often did. The DO NOT DISTURB sign, which also read POR FAVOR, NO MOLESTE, hung from her doorknob, and Donny didn’t hear any sounds coming from the room. She could snooze well past noon when the mood struck her. This might be that kind of morning, after the battle with the ferryman.

  It wasn’t too hot yet, so Donny took a walk. He wandered through the bumpy streets, past plazas, statues, and potted palms. At nearly eleven, he found himself close to the building where Fiasco and the other artists worked. It occurred to him that he hadn’t thanked Fiasco enough for saving Carlos, so he poked his head inside and looked down the length of the room.

  He smiled. Fiasco was at his easel, painting the flowers and fruit he’d borrowed from the restaurant. As Donny watched, a trio of people who looked like college students, two guys and a girl, approached Fiasco and began to look over his work. Donny’s smile deflated into a frown as he saw them nudge one another and point. Fiasco looked up from his work and popped off his stool, a warm grin on his face. He held his arms wide and greeted the trio, picked up samples of his paintings, and talked about each with great enthusiasm.