Into the Fire (The Mieshka Files, Book One)

by K. Gorman

  He’d expected this. During Jo’s earlier soirée with Mieshka, Jo had made a point of running into Sophia’s right-hand man.

  “I do. Not elemental, though. Had to stick a transfer on her.” No need to admit Mieshka hadn’t actually agreed to apprenticeship yet. Not to Sophia, at least.

  “I heard. She used Roger’s water.”

  He smiled at the thought. Yep, Jo hadn’t kept things quiet. “I found her first. Hands off.”

  Sophia didn’t laugh. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d called to talk about Mieshka. Aiden tilted his chair back. The light bothered him, and his eyes were itchy. He hadn’t slept much lately. She had to be feeling similar. The shield was a headache for them both.

  “Why did you call?” Apprentices were exciting, but not priority. He listened to his voice echo. It made the darkness seem sentient. Behind the screen, his engine hummed. Power thrummed inside his chest. He felt the crystal as he felt the sun during daylight. A dragon lived inside this one. If he recalled correctly, Sophia’s had a different sort of dragon.

  “I can’t pick up the crystal’s location. It’s being blocked.”

  Due to their nature, the crystals were linked. They should have been able to track the missing earth crystal through that link, yet they both had failed. Blocking was an obvious conclusion. Why bring it up now?

  She was avoiding the heart of this little chat. He waited, listening to the sounds of falling water on her side. Unlike him, she’d furnished her engine room. She slept in it, too.

  When she reverted to their home language, he knew it was serious. “I don’t think Michael left. I think he was taken—”

  “—there was no sign of struggle.”

  His interruption was met with a brief silence.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said in a small voice.

  Aiden’s turn to be quiet. A draft blew across his arm. He had not considered that possibility very thoroughly. Michael was the oldest of them; arguably the strongest, with more than a few old-world tricks. His house had been pristine when they’d visited. Only a half-full cup of cold coffee had been out of place. The man had lived Underground—It wasn’t like he didn’t have access to his element. Not like Sophia, who kept a fountain in her room and water piped within the walls.

  “What do you think, then?”

  “I’m thinking that we’re next. Us and our crystals.”

  Well, yes, that had always been the fear. Even more than losing the shield, the Mages could not lose their crystals. They were too valuable. Aiden had his own contingency plan, which involved piling into his ship and flying off. A plan made complicated without an Earth Mage to open the hangar to the sky.

  “If his magic couldn’t beat it, how can we fight it?” she said.

  He almost laughed, but the thought of Michael’s abduction was sobering. Sophia had half the Underground working for her; a small army to protect her. Aiden was the most at-risk.

  Her raw voice put him on edge. She never showed weakness. Ever.

  “You’ll be fine, Soph.”

  “I’m afraid.” This was way too much emotion for the Sophia he knew.

  “Sleep in the bathtub.”

  The joke worked. She laughed. “Where will you sleep, the furnace? Goodnight, Aiden.”

  And with that, he was left staring at the shield’s graph again. The chair squeaked as he slumped down. Around him, the room subsided into the quiet click and whir of the engine. The darkness felt watchful. He should probably replace that light bulb.

  He sat there awhile longer, eyes closed, rocking the chair with his foot. The tracking quandary returned to his mind. Engines were made of Maanai, a material which could work magic—if treated properly. They were limited by their programming and composition. Another Maanai device could block the signal.

  What if he didn’t need a Maanai engine to track?

  He brought up Mieshka’s data, skimming until he found the portion he was looking for. Hers was a unique type of magic. His ship had proven how adept she was at absorbing crystals. Maybe they could track through her.

  He rubbed his eyes and swung around to face the dark. A rectangle of retinal burn danced in the air. After a minute, he got up.

  Tomorrow. He’d try that tomorrow.

  He locked the door behind him and made the pilgrimage back upstairs.

  ***

  Sophia sat upright in her chair, staring at the dead connection on the blue screen. The engine hummed behind it, its glassy black surface reflecting the room as in a tarnished mirror. Copper gleamed on parts of it, marking the hybridization of the old world and the new.

  A bathtub-sized fountain tinkled beside her. Two koi fish lounged within it, occasionally breaking the surface with their mouths. Their names were Teddy and Drake.

  Water piped through the walls, too, ready for her to command. Aiden might rely on concrete and steel, but she couldn’t summon water like he could fire.

  She’d also filled a bathtub on the other side of the room. She hadn’t told him that.

  Perhaps this worry dug too deep, but she was known for her paranoia. Rubbing the base of her ponytail, she mulled over the conversation. He hadn’t seemed worried. Maybe he was happy to find an apprentice. Something had gone right for him, at least.

  If only the girl could be useful.

  Whatever. That was his problem, not hers. Her apprentice was already trained. And very capable.

  The lock clicked on her door. She tensed, listening. The trickle of the fountain ceased as the water floated up to her call. She froze it into spikes.

  Slowly, she turned around.

  There was no one there.

  Was she just hearing things?

  She threw it anyway, spreading several spikes at chest-height across the wall.

  They vanished halfway across the room,

  There was no steam, no water. No snap of ice breaking. They simply vanished.

  Adrenaline drove her out of the chair. This is what she had been afraid of. Something she could not fight. Something unknown.

  She swallowed a lump of panic.

  A box flew out of nowhere, clattering across the floor toward her. Its indestructible black sides matched the Maanai of her engine. A single character glowed blue on each side. She recognized it.

  “Fuck,” she said. Pipes punched through drywall with a crack. Metal wrenched as water burst from broken joints. It sprayed everywhere. Except for the half of the room her ice spikes had vanished into. Whatever fell there met the same fate.

  The black box pulsed. Ice water soaked her shirt. Hair plastered her face. She stared at her room’s apparent Bermuda Triangle.

  The next time she used her element, the black box consumed her.

  Everything went black. She couldn’t feel anymore. There was no time. No space.

  She didn’t exist.

  ***

  Water beaded on the box. The glowing glyph pulsed once, and changed into a different character.

  A man stepped out of nowhere, unconcerned by the drizzle. He picked up the box and turned to survey the room. Water streamed down the broken walls. The floor was a lake. Torn pipes whined as they fountained into the air. Their wrenched metal was almost a piece of modern art. He wiped his hand on his jeans. The wet box almost slipped through his grip.

  Water was harder to cover up than earth. Too much movement for a long-term illusion.

  After a moment, he grinned. Why hide it?

  When he left, the room was black with soot. Patterns of fire warped metal shelves, a book-case had collapsed, half the books had disintegrated into soggy pulp and charcoal. It smelled like smoke and wet dog.

  The Water Mage’s engine was dead and dark in the corner, its crystal taken.

  Warm air rushed over her when Mieshka entered her apartment. Yellowish light tanned the off-white walls of the hallway. Farther down, more light came from the living room and kitchen. She shucked her shoes at the door, curled her cold toes into the carpet, and walked up the hall. Behi
nd the couch in the living room, the small dining table was set. She found her dad in the kitchen.

  “Is that spaghetti?”

  A pot boiled on the stove, froth bubbling under the lid. The oven ticked. She suspected they were having meatballs, too. He reached into the cupboard and retrieved a packet of sauce. As he read the label, he adjusted his glasses with an oven mitt.

  “I should have started with this first, shouldn’t I?”

  “Probably.” She shrugged her backpack onto the couch. The pile of laundry was gone, too. Except for her clothes.

  She’d take that hint later.

  “How was the job shadow?” he asked.

  Leaning her butt against the couch’s back, she smiled. The pot lid clattered as the froth spat over its brim. He swore, snatching the lid off. He fumbled the sauce packet to the floor.

  “Oh, I only got to do two types of magic today.”

  “Two? Is that even possible?”

  “Apparently. He drew this mark on me so that I could transfer magic from him. I made some fire.” She watched her dad bend in front of the oven, staring through the little window. His glasses slid down his face.

  Mieshka walked in, washed her hands in the sink—careful to wash around the transfer mark—and reached over her dad to stir the sauce. She held out her left hand so he could see the mark.

  Heat blasted her arm as he opened the oven door. “Has my daughter turned into a pyro?”

  “A what?”

  “Pyro. Greek for fire, short for pyromaniac.”

  “Oh. I don’t think so.”

  The baking tray hissed across the racks. He balanced it on the dormant left-hand burners. Meatballs sizzled on the tray, their outsides singed. Perfect.

  She caught the noodles as the pot over-boiled again. Steam rolled into her face.

  “Careful.” Dad took the spoon from her. “Here, you sit down. You said there were two types of magic?”

  She took position against the doorframe. “One of his former soldiers took me Underground. Did you know there’s a whole city under there, full of refugees? Anyway, it was nice. We had tea at a café, and that’s where I did the second type of magic. The Water Mage’s apprentice met us there, and I used his power through the mark.”

  Something had changed about him while she’d talked. He frowned at the stove.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He scraped the meatballs off the pan with a knife. “You went Underground?”

  “Yes. Under the city, there’s—”

  “I know, Mieshka. I—”

  “You know about the Underground?”

  “Yes. I do.” The knife screeched against the pan. He put it on the counter. His glasses flashed in the overhead light as he turned to her.

  By the wall, she tensed. “How do you know about the Underground?”

  “Heard all about it when I was looking for housing. We were lucky to get this place, Mieshka. Very lucky.”

  So that’s why Jo had been surprised she hadn’t known.

  “What’s wrong with the Underground?”

  “It’s not really…… a good place, Mieshka. Not a place for girls like you.”

  Anger came too easily, these days. She took a deep breath. “Seemed fine to me. Jo goes down there all the time.”

  “Joe’s a soldier, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, she is. So was Mom.”

  She immediately regretted the words. His grip on the spoon tightened. She knew that symptom well. Spaghetti hissed in the quiet, the metronomic kitchen clock ticking into the tension.

  “Watch the sauce,” she said.

  He turned away from her. His right hand held the edge of the counter for support.

  Mieshka felt sick. Turning back to the living room, she paused at the couch. Her hands fingered the strap of her backpack. The room blurred. She pulled a Kleenex out.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the Underground,” she said, holding it to the bridge of her nose.

  “There’s plenty wrong with the Underground. There are gangs, Mieshka. I won’t have you running around with gangs.”

  “There’s gangs above-ground, too.”

  “Can you learn magic without going Underground?”

  No. Aiden seemed pretty connected to the place. Her lip curled, teeth gritted together.

  Her silence was answer enough for him.

  “I don’t want you going Underground, Mieshka.”

  She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and headed for her room. Her face felt hot. The door clicked shut behind her, and she slumped her backpack against it.

  Her mother smiled up from a frame on her dresser. She kicked a shoe across the floor. It hit the wall with a thunk and landed out of sight.

  The anger didn’t go away so easily. It built on her like a swarm. Hot tears slid down. She sank to a squat and hugged her knees to her chest.

  The day had gone so well before this. It was Dad’s over-protectiveness again. She had come to hate it. Whatever shelter he could provide was long gone, but he still clung to the frame.

  Mieshka didn’t need shelter.

  She had made fire. She was not that little girl anymore. She wanted to be more than a bystander in her life.

  She wanted magic.

  A pot banged against the stove in the other room. The microwave beeped. She heard her dad shuffle from the kitchen into the living room. A plate clinked. A second later, a chair creaked. Her heart sank, and tears prickled her skin. The room turned blurry until she squeezed her eyes shut.

  Drying off her face, she came out of her room. The hall and kitchen lights were both off, leaving only a pot light over the dining table. Dad sat alone at the table set for two, rotating his fork in the spaghetti. He didn’t look up when she approached.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  He swallowed and didn’t look at her. When he spoke, his voice had that old hoarseness in it.

  “Dinner’s in the kitchen.”

  She fetched it in the dark. They ate in silence.

  CHAPTER 7

  The locker rattled with her every move. The school hallway was crowded, the air close with the muggy scent of the student body. Although the central heating was on, cold still clung to her jacket. Her skin was numb, and her fingers moved slowly.

  If she had fire, she would never be cold again. That was what the Phoenix had promised last night. She wasn’t going to let her dad ruin that promise.

  A pair of fluorescent bulbs shivered overhead, strobing light onto the worn, brown, patterned linoleum. It strained her eyes, but she kept scanning the hallway, waiting for Chris.

  He hadn’t said that he lived Underground, but he’d heavily implied it. If she’d known about it yesterday, she would have wondered.

  She knew now.

  Her eyes felt raw again. Last night had not been a good night. She intended to make up for it today.

  She spotted Chris walking up the hall. Alone.

  Maybe they had more in common than she’d thought. And they were due for a date. Butterflies rose in her chest.

  She ignored them. The locker rattled as she pushed off, taking a few steps forward to intercept his path. Headphones on, eyes down, he veered away before he recognized her.

  “So, about that date,” she said.

  He pulled his headphones off in a hurry. “If you don’t want to go, that’s fine. I know you were pressured. I—”

  “No, no, I want to go. Tonight. Think you could take me Underground?”

  He stopped dead. A couple of people pushed around him, jostling his backpack.

  “I thought you didn’t know about… that place.”

  “I was introduced yesterday. Met Roger, too. Funny, though—he seemed to already know about me being an apprentice.”

  She waited, watching his face. Under the shock, she thought she saw a bit of guilt.

  “I might have mentioned something to a few people,” he said. “I didn’t think it was a big secret.”

  “It wasn’t really. Anyway.
About that date. Underground, tonight?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

  “See you at the gate after school.”

  ***

  True to his word, he waited for her at the gate. As she approached, he gave her a small smile.

  “There’s a few things you should know. First, don’t tell anyone about the Underground. I could get expelled if people found out I lived there.”

  She nodded. “Unregistered housing, I guess?”

  “Something like that.”

  He led her away from the Uptown business center, toward a part of town she hadn’t been to before. As they walked, he filled her in on the Underground.

  Roger was the Water Mage’s right-hand man. He ran a policing arrangement with the people who lived there, based on a mix of governmental taxation and mafia business practice—over half the Underground worked for the Water Mage, after all. It kept the crime rate down, since no one wanted him chasing after them. Especially not when rumours of his water magic spread.

  Chris wasn’t sure Roger could actually move people like puppets. Rumours tended to grow larger than their source.

  If there were gangs, Chris had never crossed one. They might live in a sector he was not familiar with.

  The conversation halted as he stopped in front of an apartment. There was a rezoning permit sign outside, edged with graffiti. As they’d walked, the houses and apartments had grown less and less impressive. Now, they were completely surrounded by pre-Chromatix architecture. Mieshka thought back to Aiden’s shabby office. Maybe there was a connection with old buildings and Underground access.

  But then she remembered that most people down there were refugees. She and her dad were the lucky ones. Lucky enough to get housing. Lucky enough to get out of the fray. Lucky enough to get a dead soldier’s pension.

  It was a bitter trade. Money was no replacement for her mother. But Mieshka didn’t have any choice in the matter, did she? A bullet had taken care of that. One bullet in the billion that this war had shot. When you looked at the numbers, her mom had been cheating death, staying alive all those years.

  That was war. That was life. Sometimes a stray bullet just hit you in the head. No goodbye.

  Chris led them up the path, unlocked the front door with a key, and held it open for her. She was glad when the interior heat flooded over her. He led her down the short hall and to the stairwell. She glanced at him. Wondered what he’d lost.

  She wouldn’t ask. As she’d learned from Robin’s questions, it felt wrong. Everyone had lost something. Some things just left bigger holes.

  Losing her mom had meant losing her dad, too. But at least he was starting to come back.