Into the Fire (The Mieshka Files, Book One)

by K. Gorman

She had a feeling he wasn’t asking the man. She wondered if the guy was dead. He wasn’t moving.

  “Mieshka?”

  “No—well, yes—but,” she took a breath. Steadied herself. Her hands shook. “I fell on my face, then cut my hand on a window.”

  He pointed the flashlight at her. She squinted, raised her bleeding hand.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “I have a talent.”

  He walked over and gingerly examined her finger.

  “There’s a first-aid kit back at the office.”

  She nodded. The light made him ghostly. There were dark lines under his eyes. His coat looked like he’d borrowed it from Buck. It swished when he moved, the cuff hanging well below his wrist. Underneath, he wore the same clothes as yesterday.

  “I lost my flashlight,” she said.

  “You are talented. That’s okay. This guy isn’t using his.” Aiden moved away from her. “Try to keep that hand above your heart. I could cauterize it here, but it’s probably already healing on its own.”

  She glanced at the man as they went along. Was he dead?

  “You’re going to leave him without a light?”

  “He was going to leave you without a life.”

  She supposed he had a point.

  Aiden took her by the arm. “I’ll tell his mates when we get back. He’ll be fine.”

  Not dead, then.

  She followed Aiden out the door and heard: “So, about that apprenticeship—”

  ***

  Mieshka was in shock. Aiden saw it in the way she moved. She was slow to react, and didn’t seem to notice the blood she’d smeared on her chin and neck. A string of orange hair stuck in it. Like he’d told her, she held her hand up. Under the blood, the transfer mark blazed bright.

  Jesus. No wonder the kid had shot her. She was a nightmare.

  The cut looked half-healed already. How long had she been down here, running and hiding?

  He’d get an answer eventually. They had a long walk. The mark would keep her warm at least.

  Aiden made sure to lead. Once, she’d stumbled into him, sneakers tripping over the escalator steps. She hadn’t answered his question. He wondered if that was deliberate. At the next landing, he glanced back at her. She seemed pretty coherent, though she was late in meeting his eyes. The reaction time was still lacking. She seemed as preoccupied as he was.

  Ah, the drama of a teenage life. He could remember it.

  Granted, whatever drama it was had landed her down here. Maybe her life was more exciting than he’d thought.

  “What are you doing down here, anyway?”

  Her footsteps paused behind him for a moment. She was more coherent than he thought. Maybe he’d mistaken the symptoms of shock.

  “I met this boy—” That was her first mistake. Boys were trouble. “—and convinced him to take me here.”

  ‘Convinced him’? Huh. Maybe she was the trouble.

  “Does he live down here?”

  “Yeah…” Again with the preoccupation. She trailed behind him now. They went down another escalator. By the arrow they’d passed, this was the up escalator. That was the good thing about dead malls. No pussyfooting around with psychological design.

  His light caught a banner advertising a Valentine’s Day eighty years old.

  “Did I get shot?” she asked.

  “Technically, no. I put up a shield.” The bullet had been incinerated.

  “You can do that?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t point out the very large shield that surrounded the city. She’d probably figure it out.

  “Could I do that?”

  “If you became an apprentice.” He was not a subtle man.

  Silence again. They hit another landing. He pointed his flashlight over the rail. The bottom floor of the mall barely came into sight. A Tyrannosaurus rex looked up at him, frozen and dusty. Third floor, he counted. Almost there.

  Shouldn’t he be able to see the lights by now?

  “Why’s it so dark in here?”

  “Chris turned the circuit off.”

  “Chris being that boy?”

  “Yeah. Do you think he’s okay?”

  “He lives down here, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then he’s probably fine. Lots of hiding spots here. They weren’t looking for him.”

  If this Chris was smart enough to mess with the breakers this well, maybe Aiden would have to look him up.

  They reached the next landing, and Aiden turned back toward civilization.

  After a few minutes, she spoke again.

  “I think I will,” she said.

  He looked behind him. Definitely shock for a subject change like that.

  “Will what?”

  “Become an apprentice. Dad permitting.”

  “What’s wrong with your dad?”

  “He doesn’t like the Underground. Say’s there’s bad people down here. Gangs.”

  Aiden felt a grin crack his dry lips. “Can’t imagine what gave him that idea.”

  The mall passed by. Mannequins leered from within shop windows. Fucking dolls. They were the real gangs of the Underground.

  They turned into the tunnel and didn’t speak again until they ran into the mob.

  Aiden paused when he heard voices. Ahead, the tunnel turned sharply to the left. There, it intersected with another. Mieshka stopped beside him. She shook.

  He took a moment to cast a shield. They’d both found how trigger-happy people were when magic was around. A half-dozen symbols slid onto the back of his hand, jittering with energy. They faded as he released the spell, and warmth washed into the air around them.

  “Is that the shield?”

  Perceptive kid. Even with shock. Maybe she was starting to come out of it.

  “It is.”

  The voices hushed. Flashlight beams lit the corner ahead. Dead light bulbs glinted near the ceiling. Aiden stepped forward.

  As they turned the corner, flashlights blinded them. Aiden stopped quietly, wincing at the glare. No one spoke.

  The light lowered. Dots of retinal burn danced in his vision. Ten people crowded in the junction. At least two had guns pointed at him.

  He cleared his throat. “You are chasing a teenage girl with guns. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What have you done with Sophia?” A tall man shoved his way to the front of the crowd.

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No bullshit. Why would I hurt her?”

  Another flashlight bobbed into the tunnel behind the mob. Steady, it blinked once and disappeared.

  He tried not to smile.

  “You’re the only Mage left now.”

  He didn’t see who had said that. The voice sounded older.

  “What makes you think that’s a good thing?”

  “Fuck you, we know you did it.” The first man aimed a gun at Aiden. Mieshka shook beside him.

  Aiden glanced at her. Her eyes looked small, dark. and afraid. The lighting washed all the colour away. Her lip trembled. Even the link shook between them.

  Softly, he said, “Jo?”

  Jo’s voice drifted down the tunnel. “Permission to kick ass, sir?”

  Those in the back of the group swung around. Light flashed over her. She was not far from them, holding a thick rifle across her chest. He grinned. He knew he paid her for something.

  “Granted.”

  She sprang. The crowd flinched back, a few slipping off down the intersecting alley. A man’s cry cut off with a heavy thunk. Something cracked. The scattered lights caught Jo, strobe-like, with the butt of her gun against a man’s jaw. The man fell. Three were already down.

  Watching the fight, Aiden leaned down toward Mieshka. “This is why I keep her around. Saves me the trouble of ass-kicking.” Another flashlight bobbed down the tunnel. Footsteps ran. A moment later, Buck and Mo joined the fray.

  The rest of the mob fled down the intersecting tunnel. Soon, only the wo
unded remained. And one guy who decided to stay down. Jo stood among the fallen, her hunched figure tense. She clutched her right arm in front of her. Blood darkened the skin.

  “Fuck me,” Jo said. “Bugger had a knife.”

  He looked down at Mieshka’s hand. Looks like he had a matching set.

  ***

  When Mieshka arrived at Aiden’s office, Roger was waiting. The man sat, facing the door, on one of the couches. His legs crossed at the knee, and he held Buck’s paperback in one hand. Under the office lights, he should have been less scary. However, something about him made him the focus. Something predatory. His eyes, shadowed by the brim of his hat, looked up when they came in. Buck had taken Jo to the washroom to clean her wound. Apparently, he was the resident first-aid attendant.

  Her blood dried into a dark scarlet-brown. There was a lot of it. She’d managed to smear it across both hands. The cuff of her sweatshirt had left a bloody ring around her wrist. Trails ran down her hand where the blood had crawled. They were dark and dry now. Twice, she’d caught herself picking at them. Roger smiled. His stare lingered on the blood.

  “Where’s the boy?” he asked.

  “Don’t know,” she said.

  “He ditch you?”

  He held himself very still. Poised.

  “Not really.” None of his business.

  Aiden walked between them. “Meese, have a seat. We three need to talk. You can stay, Mo.”

  Did everyone know her nickname now? She sat opposite Roger, ignoring his continued stare. The back of her hand tingled hard, like it had fallen asleep. The transfer mark stayed orange. She was glad. She didn’t want to be linked with Roger. She glanced at it briefly before she examined her damaged finger.

  Blood caked where it had run down from her finger. It smeared over both hands. She caught herself picking at it.

  Mo sat down next to Roger. The pair made a contrast on the couch, Mo’s bulk versus Roger’s slimness. Mo’s white shirt versus Roger’s black. Roger’s crossed legs versus the way Mo spread himself out. Despite the differences, they looked like they’d done this before.

  Aiden sat in the armchair. He bowed his head forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, his hands laced together in front of him. He was quiet.

  Mo broke the silence. “Well, that ugliness is over.”

  “Yes, but there is new ugliness, isn’t there?” Roger turned his gaze on Aiden. “Two down, one to go.”

  After a moment, Aiden looked up. “Yes, it seems I’m on the endangered list.”

  Roger did not look away from Aiden. “Do you have a plan?”

  “Sort of. The crystals share a link, but neither Sophia nor I could track them. Since our engines run on Lost Tech, it’s possible that another Lost Tech object is blocking the link. If we use new world stuff, it could get around the block.”

  New world tech? Mieshka hadn’t heard of anything even remotely matching the capabilities of Lost Tech.

  Roger was the first to get it. His dark gaze fell on her.

  “You mean Mieshka.”

  “Yes,” Aiden said. “She can absorb a crystal. If she does, she might be able to track the others.”

  The Phoenix flashed back into her mind.

  I’ve been waiting for you.

  She shivered. Aware of the stares, she forced herself to relax.

  “That’s permanent, isn’t it?” It had already tried to force one transfer. It did not want to stay inside the ship. She remembered the hard isolation of the dark. Bodiless. Alone. Immortal. The Phoenix wouldn’t leave once it had transferred. She didn’t blame it.

  “Likely. It’s never been done.”

  A tiny lick of flame fluttered across her hand. She quenched it with a thought.

  “I thought you said I’d have too much power.”

  Aiden had seen the flame. He caught her eye. “We’ll have to deal with it.”

  “There’s a lot of ‘if’ and ‘maybe’ in this plan,” Mo commented. He leaned back in the couch, hands resting by his belt.

  “I also want to take that magic tracking device back to Michael’s place. Maybe sweep it over Sophia’s, too. See what we can find. I refuse to believe they were taken without magic.”

  “Big people have been taken down by small things before,” Mo said.

  “I’d rather not be, thanks.”

  Mieshka caught herself picking at the blood trails again. She forced herself to stop. “How would I know how to find the crystals?”

  Aiden looked back up at her. Mieshka met his gaze.

  “Ask the Phoenix,” he said. “We’ll transfer tomorrow afternoon. You can miss some school. Maybe the rest of the week if we can’t keep the fire down. Buck will take care of your finger and drive you home.”

  The couch dipped behind her. She jumped, and looked back to see Buck. God, he was quiet. Jo stood beside him, her right arm bandaged from her elbow down. Her hand was a white blob.

  Right. Mieshka stood up. It was her turn for bandages.

  Buck bandaged the entire finger. He also took a look at the still-red skin at the base of her hand that had caught her fall. It had ripped, but it healed well enough.

  Soon, Mieshka found herself in the passenger seat of an SUV, hands cradled on her lap. He’d held the door for her. When he sat in the driver’s seat, she felt the vehicle dip in his direction. He moved off the curb smoothly.

  Outside, tall buildings moved by, reflecting the lights and the darkness of the sky. A few stars twinkled through the light pollution. She hoped they weren’t planes.

  “What am I going to tell my dad?”

  It was a rhetorical question, but Buck glanced over anyway.

  “What kind of dad is he?”

  She tried to picture him in his room, stubble shadowing his chin and neck, and the pale glow of the computer reflecting on his glasses. He was improving. He’d done laundry. Made dinner, too, before she’d ruined that mood.

  “He’s… I dunno. He’ll get overprotective when he sees my hand.”

  “That could be problematic.”

  She glanced at the finger. Or rather, the white blob of her finger. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

  Hah.

  “I’ll just tell him I fell. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  Buck didn’t answer. He craned his neck over his shoulder, merging lanes with a burst of speed.

  She watched the buildings pass, thinking about older buildings down below, with a sky of rafters and concrete. She wondered what was under her feet. Was it the mall? They’d been driving for a bit—almost over to the hill that led to Lower Lyarne.

  They passed the station with the cenotaph in it. She saw a glimpse of light from the tunnel stair.

  “How’s Jo?”

  “Fine. It was just a surface wound.”

  He only spoke again once he’d pulled in front of her building and parked at the curb.

  “You’re a good person, Meese. And good luck with your Dad. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He waited until she had let herself into the lobby before he drove off.

  ***

  The lights were on when Mieshka got home. It was becoming a habit. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Was her Dad up and about? Had he gone out today?

  Her legs had stiffened in the car. She hobbled down the hallway, fumbling her keys back into her pocket. Hooked over her forearm, her backpack made it awkward to move. It swung against her leg with each step.

  Her dad came out of his room, the door dragging as it opened. His head popped around the corner as she shuffled toward the living room.

  “How was it?” Same shirt as yesterday. He hadn’t gone out.

  By the benign tone of his voice, he hadn’t noticed anything wrong yet. Maybe she should thank the dim light. She’d cleaned up at the office, but she felt her chin bruising where she’d whacked it on that counter.

  “It was interesting,” she said carefully. Where did he think she’d gone? What time was it, anyway? The sun had set long ago.

&
nbsp; How much should she tell him? He was frowning, eyes focused on the air between them. They did that whenever he was thinking. She kept her face passive. She didn’t want to ruin this thin father-daughter relationship they had been improving on.

  Which would be worse? Telling the truth and having him worry, or lying at the risk he’d discover it later?

  “I have to do something tomorrow. With Aiden.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, there’s a problem with the shield. Two crystals have gone missing, and I could help find them.”

  “Crystals?”

  “They power the shield.”

  He was quiet. He was still looking at the air between them. Mieshka stepped over and dumped her backpack on the sofa. Her laundry was still on it.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  “I fell. Cut it on something. Hit my knee, too. And my wrist. Buck fixed it up. He’s one of the former soldiers Aiden has.”

  “What did you cut it on?”

  “A broken window.”

  “A broken window?”

  “And I hit my chin on a counter-top.”

  His focus flicked to her face. “It looks swollen.”

  Probably. She resisted the urge to touch it. This wasn’t going nearly as well as she’d hoped.

  And now for the hard part.

  “Aiden said I’d need to miss school tomorrow afternoon. I’ve already planned for it. I’ll get all my homework in morning block, and deal with it later. Aiden said he’d write a note.” Okay, she lied about the note. She decided not to mention any more about the crystal. Or that she might miss the rest of the week if it all went wrong.

  She slowed at her dad’s stare. His hands gripped his arms; their tendons showed, stick-like, under his skin.

  “A broken window, right?”

  This really wasn’t going well.

  She nodded. He semi-turned, as if to go back to his room, but he didn’t move from the spot. His shoulders shook a little.

  “Not fighting, then?”

  “Why would I be fighting?”

  “You tell me, Mieshka. Grief can do a lot of things to a person. You’re angrier than before Mom died.”

  He thought this was about Mom? She was speechless for a moment.

  In the next, she made up for it.

  “This isn’t about Mom. This is about my future. Am I angry? Right now, no. I have been angry. I have been angry about a lot of things. I was angry when we moved here. I was angry that Mom died. I was angry that people looked down on me, and I was angry that I was an outsider. I was even angry at my friend.” She took a breath. Dad stared, unflinching. The tension was still in his arms. “I was angry about a lot of things, but I am not now. Now, I am tired. I have stuff to do tomorrow. And I’m not fighting.”