Down in Flames

by P. W. Catanese

  Donny saw Ungo and Chimera in a duel, apart from the others. Ungo had lost his weapon, and they grappled for control of Chimera’s daggers. Then something else at the near edge of the pit caught Donny’s attention. He tapped Angela’s shoulder and pointed. “Look!”

  Human souls stumbled and crawled up the stone steps, out of the pit. Even when they emerged, the flames reached out like tentacles and wrapped around their ankles. When they finally broke free of the flames, the souls rolled on the ground and swatted at their bodies, as if the pain was still fresh, before looking around in a daze.

  “Get them all out of the pit and through the portal, before it goes out,” Angela said. She sat up and winced with pain, and then put the bracelet back on, to heal herself further with another transformation. “If we lose this fight, that’s our only chance to set them free.”

  Behind them there was a rough crash. Agony had finally pushed the rock off his body. He got to his feet, bent and limping, and groaned with pain and fury.

  Donny ran toward the growing crowd of souls. “This way!” he shouted. “You’ll be safe if you come with me!” None of them moved at first. Donny grabbed one man by the arm and screamed into his face. “You want to go back into the fire? You will if you don’t follow me!”

  The man’s face crumpled with fear. “Not the fire!”

  “Then run this way!” Donny shouted. Some of them came running, but the rest looked confused and dazed. “Come on!” Donny screamed.

  A long, bony hand rested on Donny’s shoulder. “Leave this to me,” Agony said. He stared at the lost souls and began to whisper and clack his teeth in that strange and ancient language of the ferrymen.

  The souls stood up, straight and stiff. Every head turned toward Agony in unison. And then the dead began to walk in almost perfect lockstep. Thousands more marched out of the pit. “Wow,” Donny said quietly. He remembered the way the souls stayed rooted in the barges, and how they walked to their fates in the Caverns of Woe, unable to do anything except what the ferrymen wished. That was the power the ferrymen held over the dead.

  Donny ran to the front of the line and waved them toward the fallen titan imp. “Right in there!” he shouted.

  The man who he’d spoken to was first in line. “This is madness,” he said as he approached the burning hole. His body was under the ferryman’s spell, but he was able to turn his head and speak.

  “It sure is,” Donny said, and he pushed the man gently through the portal and into the temple beyond. He reached out and tugged at the next soul, a wide-eyed woman. “Gracias,” she said hoarsely. Donny stepped back to let more souls through. He peered through the hole, into the temple on the other side, and saw what happened when they stepped into Tibet, into the mortal realm. The cold, waxy figures vanished within seconds. Only the twinkling lights of their souls were left behind.

  CHAPTER 50

  The fight was over. The last few hundred of the dead filed into the portal. Along the edge of the fiery pit, Donny saw the slain bodies of Chimera and most of his demons and archdemons, and a few of the chessmen, too. The rest of the chessmen came back toward him and Angela, helping their wounded along.

  “Oh no,” Angela said. Donny saw one of the largest chessmen with Ungo in his arms. Smoke billowed from wounds in Ungo’s chest and arms. Angela ran to meet them, still woozy and unsteady on her feet despite the second transformation. She was back in her human form, this time with pure white hair that brushed her shoulders.

  The chessman laid Ungo gently on the stony ground. “My dearest Ungo,” Angela said. She knelt by his side and clasped his hand.

  Ungo smiled. “So this is all it takes for you to speak with such affection and to hold my hand? I would have gotten a fatal wound much sooner.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” Angela said. There was a ring on Ungo’s longest finger. She tugged it off, and his metamorphosis began. It started with the hand and crept toward the wrist. The scales vanished inward and left human flesh behind.

  “Too late for that,” Ungo said, and wheezed. “I can feel the fire going out of me, Angela.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Angela said. “You feel no such thing.”

  Donny watched the transformation lose momentum as it moved up Ungo’s neck. By the time it made it to his chin, it stopped altogether. Donny gulped. He’s not going to make it, he thought. He looked at Ungo’s eyes and was shocked to see Ungo staring back at him.

  “Did you say that your human saved you?” Ungo asked Angela.

  Angela sniffed and nodded.

  Ungo smiled and winced at the same time. “Maybe . . . he’s not as worthless as I thought.” The steam that flowed from his wound grew weaker. He gripped Angela’s hand between both of his. “I slew Chimera for you,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “But it appears he slew me, too.” Ungo’s voice faltered. “Angela Obscura, I am the last child of the Cataracta line. I bequeath to you my pillar and my chess set. They are brave and loyal, and will serve you well.”

  Angela shook her head. “Stop this at once. Dying is the worst. I won’t allow it.”

  “I am sorry I will not join you on the council,” Ungo said as the last trickle of steam wafted from his wound. “I would have . . .”

  The cavern was suddenly almost silent, except for the snap and whistle of the Flames of Torment. Every lost soul had vanished into the portal. The chessmen gathered around them in a circle. They watched, as still as statues, as Angela folded Ungo’s hands across his chest and ran her palm across his still-craggy head.

  Ungo had treated him poorly, but now Donny felt like his heart was in a vise. Angela stood, cleared her throat, and looked at the chessmen. “Down that tunnel is a gatekeeper, fast asleep. She is a traitor. Bind her up and bring her to me.” One of the white pawns nodded and sprinted away.

  “Which of you is in charge?” Angela asked the chessmen. The tallest of the white and black pieces, emblems of kings on their chests, stepped forward. “You fought well. Did any of them get away?” she asked.

  “A few,” said the tall black chessman.

  “Some of you, track them down,” she told them. “Some of you, take proper care of Ungo’s body. The rest of you, seal the entrance to this pit and guard it until we can have it extinguished.”

  She turned to Donny and brushed her hand across his hair. “Let’s get out of here. The fastest way is through the fire escape, before it goes out.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  Agony still stood beside the portal. “Our work is done,” he said.

  “You coming with us?” Angela asked.

  Agony shook his head. “I will find my way out of here and to the river. That will take me home.”

  She stuck her hand out. “I enjoyed our collaboration.”

  His long, bony fingers could have wrapped twice around her hand. They shook, and Agony strode away, creaking and groaning, limping from his injuries.

  The white pawn returned with the gatekeeper, and Angela slung the unconscious imp across her shoulder.

  The ring of fire around the fire escape sputtered. “Quick, before it goes out,” Angela said. She and Donny hopped through. In a single bound, they traveled from a remote corner of Sulfur to the lost Himalayan temple.

  CHAPTER 51

  A hot-fudge sundae was normally the finest thing Donny could imagine eating. Cookie had even slathered it with melted marshmallow and a mountain of real whipped cream. But Donny’s stomach was too sour, and he just pushed the toppings around with his spoon.

  “I’m sad about Ungo,” he said. Arglbrgl was beside him on the seat. The imp whined a little, said, “GRBLRGL,” and then leaned over and gave Donny a sympathetic nudge.

  “Even after he was so mean to you?” Angela asked. She stared off at nothing, dipping her tea bag up and down in a steaming cup of water.

  “Yeah, even after that.” He shoved the spoon deep into the ice cream so it stood up, and sat back in the booth. Ungo’s death wasn’t th
e only thing that bothered him. It was the discovery that Chimera was behind the missing souls all along. Chimera had seemed so reasonable, despite their disagreements. And yet he overlooked the loss of innocent souls and was ready to kill to protect his secret.

  “It’s a bummer, all right,” Angela said. She dropped the tea bag onto the saucer and then sipped her tea. Neither of them said anything for a while, until she set the cup down and spoke again. “And it creates a brand-new problem.”

  There was a smear of hot fudge on the back of Donny’s thumb. He licked the chocolate and then wiped off the rest with a napkin. “Are you talking about the council?”

  “Yeah. Ungo was on my side. Now I’ve lost him, and I’m not sure who I can get to replace him.”

  “Right, but you don’t have to worry about Chimera, either,” Donny said. “And he was against you.”

  “I know. But if I don’t fill at least one of those seats with an ally, we’ll be worse off than where we started.” She put her elbow on the table and rested her cheek on her fist.

  Donny was wondering how to reassure her when he heard a booming voice in the street outside the diner. Whoever was out there was attempting, and failing badly, to sing in operatic style.

  Cookie was behind the counter, reading a paperback book. She scrunched her face. “Sounds like a moose going under a steamroller,” she said. Arglbrgl slid out from the booth and puffed himself up, his spikes jutting. He bared his teeth and growled.

  Angela and Donny looked at each other. “Is that who I think—” Angela started to say as the door to the diner burst open. Fiasco stood there and vomited his last note, his arms flung wide. Arglbrgl yelped, deflated, and hid under the table.

  “Fiasco!” Angela cried. She ran to the door and leaped into his arms. Fiasco laughed and whirled her around.

  “Angela Obscura! That charming two-headed fellow told me I’d find you here.”

  Donny walked to the door to greet him. “Hi, Fiasco.”

  Fiasco lifted Donny by the armpits and kissed him on both cheeks. “Donny Taylor! How good to see you again!”

  Donny didn’t feel at all like smiling a minute before, but now he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “You too! But I thought you said you’d never come back to Sulfur.”

  Fiasco put one hand on Donny’s shoulder, another on Angela’s. “Let me explain. But first . . .” He looked at Cookie, who watched warily from behind the counter. “Madame,” Fiasco said. “What masterpiece of the culinary arts can you produce on a few minute’s notice?”

  Cookie puckered her lips and thought for a moment. “Grilled cheese?”

  “Perfecto! Let there be grilled cheese!” Fiasco boomed. He looked from Donny to Angela and lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret. “My friends, something wonderful has happened. I knew the day would come, and at last it did.”

  “Tell us already,” Angela said.

  Fiasco’s grin was as big as a keyboard. “My art has finally been recognized for its greatness.”

  Donny’s eyes widened. Was Fiasco talking about what he thought Fiasco was talking about?

  “The day you left Old San Juan,” Fiasco began with a chuckle, “two special visitors came to my gallery.” He strode back and forth and waved a finger dramatically. “They were being coy, but I knew who they really were. Obviously they were curators from some great museum, such as the Louvre or the Prado. Or perhaps the Metropolitan, now that I think about it. They were American women, and so astute in their appreciation that there can be no other explanation than an American museum.”

  Holy moley, Donny thought. He glanced at Angela, who wasn’t completely buying what Fiasco was peddling.

  “Very tricky of them, I must admit,” Fiasco said. He scratched at the half inch of beard that had grown back. “Of course their plan was to acquire the art at a reasonable price, before my mastery became known to the world. I played along, because money means nothing to a true artist. Although,” he added with another chuckle, “it must be said that I have bested the great Van Gogh in this regard, who barely sold any of his paintings while he lived, and died a pauper, miserable and somewhat depressed.”

  Donny figured he knew what had really happened, but he had to be sure. “How many paintings did they buy?”

  “A few small, and a few large,” Fiasco said. “As many as they could carry. But I have a surprise for them when they return home. I cleverly coaxed an address from one of the women, and I packaged up all my works and sent them to her!”

  “All of them?” Donny asked. He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his grin. Angela looked at him sideways. One of her elastic eyebrows arched high.

  “Yes! Many hundreds! I imagine this museum will devote an entire wing to my works,” Fiasco mused. He closed his eyes and rubbed his palms together.

  “That’s completely plausible,” Angela said. “But, Fiasco, what will you do now?”

  “Now that I have achieved my dream, I will vanish suddenly and leave behind nothing but an air of mystery! My disappearance will only enhance my fame,” the big fellow said. Donny thought he heard a sigh of relief from Angela.

  Fiasco clasped his hands behind his back. “And so you wonder, my friends, what comes next, now that I leave the brush and palette behind? What other form of human artistry shall I master? I must ponder this deeply. Poetry calls to my heart, and music beckons to my mind.”

  “I vote for poetry,” Angela said. “Nobody can really tell if it’s any good.”

  “I second that!” Cookie shouted from behind the counter.

  Donny nodded. The horrible song still echoed in his mind.

  Fiasco nodded sagely. “It will take some time to decide, of course. In the meantime, Angela Obscura, perhaps you could use a friend on the council?”

  Angela’s knowing grin expanded into a wide-open mouth. “Are you serious? Fiasco, I love you so!” She leaped into his embrace, and they laughed and hugged each other in a grip that would have crushed Donny like a bag of potato chips.

  CHAPTER 52

  I’m going to sleep for a day,” Angela said as she shut the front door to her pillar home.

  “Me too,” Donny said. “I need a quick favor from you first, though.” He held his hand out and showed his palm, where Angela’s symbol was just a ghost of its former self. “Can you freshen this up for me?”

  She stared at his hand, and then at Donny’s eyes. “Of course I can.” She held his wrist and pressed her ring against his palm, careful to position it over the same spot. There was the slightest tingle of pain, like a mild electrical charge. When she pulled the ring away, the symbol was crisp and white. Donny brought the hand to his face and inspected the fancy letter O. The curved shapes that extended from either side might have been the leathery wings of a bat or the feathery wings of an angel.

  “In case I haven’t said it already, I officially unrenounce you,” she said.

  Donny smiled and brushed his thumb over the symbol. “This mark . . . does it mean you own me?”

  “It means I protect you,” she answered. “You can leave anytime you want. I really mean that. But I hope you stay.” She put her hands on both of his shoulders. “You mean the underworld to me.”

  “Thanks,” he said. He knew his face was turning red, but he was fine with that. “You mean the underworld to me, too.”

  “Oh no,” the person said. And then the whole earth exploded into a zillion pieces, and everybody screamed and flew into space and died. Including all your favorite characters.

  Ha! Just kidding. That was my little joke for you rascals who like to turn to the last page of a book before you read it.

  Got you real good just now, didn’t I?

  All joking aside, this is your last warning, smarty-pants. Close this book immediately, open it from the proper end this time, and start reading. No fair peeking ahead to see how it turns out. And I’m certainly not going to tell you. If you ask me, there’s a special place in Sulfur for people who spoil endings.

  G
ravely,

  A. O.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  P. W. CATANESE is the author of ten fantasy-adventure novels. His books have been received with critical acclaim and have been translated into five foreign languages. His Books of Umber trilogy has been nominated for six regional book awards, including the Texas Bluebonnet Award, the Florida Sunshine State Young Readers Award, and the Pacific Northwest Library Association’s Young Reader’s Choice Award. He lives in Connecticut. When he’s not writing books, Catanese draws cartoons, works for an advertising agency, and tries very hard to respond to every message from his readers. Meet him at pwcatanese.com, and on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

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  ALSO BY P. W. CATANESE

  Donny’s Inferno

  The Books of Umber Trilogy

  Happenstance Found

  Dragon Games

  The End of Time

  The Further Tales Adventures Series

  The Thief and the Beanstalk

  The Brave Apprentice

  The Eye of the Warlock

  The Mirror’s Tale

  The Riddle of the Gnome

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.