Nite Fire: Flash Point

by C. L. Schneider

  I enjoyed watching her legs dangle.

  “Ella. Scott. Carly…Liza.” I raised her higher. “You burned all those people. You took me and you took Ronan, and now I know. I’m not different. I’m still a killer. I just do it by choice now, not by order. And I don’t give a shit what you went through or how much you feel wronged. I just want you dead.”

  She tried to push words from her constricted throat, and I strengthened my hold. I placed my other, smoldering hand on her chest. Her uniform sizzled at my touch. As the leather curled and burned, flesh seared, and Brynne cried out. She clamped her own hand on top of mine and water fled her scales to douse my flames. Turning her hand toward my face, she expelled an icy stream that stole my sight—and my breath.

  Half-blind and choking, I turned and flung Brynne as she had Sal; into the remaining picture window bordering the office door. Her floundering body smashed through the glass, pulling the blinds from their frame as she dropped to the floor on the other side.

  Drenched, her water flooding my airway, I stumbled after her. I reached the office, and Brynne was untangling herself from the twisted white metal slats. Glass shards had penetrated the compromised plates of her scales. As she plucked them out, I raised my fire. But my eyes were still aching, and she easily rolled clear. My next strike brushed the back of her legs. She hissed an unintelligible curse, and the flow swelled in my mouth.

  Gagging, my chest heaving, I fell to my knees. Brynne shoved me over, and I landed in a mess of papers, upside down bins, and scattered desk supplies. I heard her leave, then. I tried to get up, to follow her out of the office, but it was all I could do to battle the river running down my throat.

  An odd scraping noise penetrated my strangled sounds. I turned my head, and Brynne was dragging Sal back into the office. Awake and struggling, he managed to pull her down on one knee and land a punch. Without her scales, it would have made some impact. Instead, Brynne laughed and caught his face in her hand. Slowly applying pressure, she smiled, watching Sal ineffectively beat his fists against her body. As Brynne released him and stood, one of his fingers hooked in the chain around her neck. The old latch, having already broken in the hospital stairwell, couldn’t take the strain. It snapped without a sound, and Ella’s necklace slid unnoticed to the floor. As Sal fell back on top of it, Brynne stomped with force on his chest.

  Crying out in triumph, she kicked him again.

  I knew he couldn’t take much more.

  Striving to think past the instinctual need to breathe, I lifted my face from the sodden pages of an open Sentinel City phone book. I pushed up further, onto my knees, and paused at the dark object sticking out from underneath the book’s edge: the barrel of my gun.

  Grabbing the weapon, I twisted onto my back and fired. The bullet scraped Brynne’s side, barely scratching her scales. I tried to stop gagging and steady my aim, but my second shot was no better as it skimmed her plated shoulder. My third didn’t even come close.

  Brynne stepped in and knocked my shaking arm aside. She wrenched the weapon from my grip. “I’ve always thought human munitions were so gaudy,” she said, waving the gun around. Brynne’s expression sobered as she pointed the barrel at me. Her clawed finger found the trigger. “But I do like this one.”

  Consumed by my slow drowning, I sat waiting for the bullet—and Sal threw himself on Brynne. As they reeled into the desk, grappling for the gun, it went off. Another shot fired, and the weapon dropped to the floor. Both Sal and Brynne staggered back. One point blank shot penetrated her stomach. The other: his leg.

  As Brynne stared in shock at her injury, Sal slumped to the floor. Red darkened his gray sweatpants, fleeing the wound in his left thigh.

  Flooded with far more anger now than water, I grabbed a silver trophy on the floor and came up swinging. The marble base struck Brynne in the shoulder. Another swing to the jaw drove her into the wall. Before she’d even hit the floor, the water dried in my mouth. It vanished from my lungs and throat. I drew a shuddering, wet breath and spewed out the last of it as I collapsed at Sal’s side.

  I pressed down on the wound. His blood flowed over my hands, and I scolded him. “What were you thinking? You know I’ll heal.”

  “I always wanted…to be the hero,” he panted, “to save the pretty damsel in distress.”

  “Damn you, Sal. I’m far from that.”

  His smile trembled. “Not to me.”

  My eyes stung as they swept over his body. His breath was wet and strained. Blood trickled from his mouth as he wheezed. Things were broken. I was sure of it. The bullet had gone straight through and missed the artery. Otherwise, the bleeding would have been more than it was. It was still too much.

  I stripped off my belt and wrapped it around his leg. Reaching into the overturned box beside me, I pulled out a blue Sal’s Gym t-shirt and pushed it against the hole. As the material soaked and darkened, I thought about the wounds Evans suffered on Drimera, and what I’d done to save him. But sharing the ‘magic’ of my genetic material with a strong man in his prime was one thing. Sal’s body was much older. It would have to work harder than it had in a long time to process the foreign material. Any underlying health concerns would put more stress on his system, and if his body rejected what I gave him, he’d die even faster.

  “Hold still,” I said. “I’m going to try something.”

  Sal shook his head. “No. No. I don’t want to be like that, Dahl. I don’t want you to change me.”

  “It’s okay,” I soothed. “I’m not what you think.”

  Scales swept my hand. I heated my palm and placed it against the hole in his thigh. Skin sizzled and Sal screamed as the wound seared shut. I started to turn him over, to cauterize the other side, and hands latched onto me from behind. With a grunt of exertion, Brynne dragged me back and hurled me into the edge of Sal’s desk. The wooden legs slid on impact. The desk slammed into the wall, and I slid off onto the floor.

  Brynne loomed above me. Fireballs blazed in her hands. Scooting back, I jumped up and fashioned a pair of my own. They were raging with heat. If I released them, there was a good chance the building was done for.

  A breath from letting go, the blurred form of a bulky man charged into the room and crashed into Brynne. Grabbing her by the hair, he pushed her against the desk and slammed her face down. Lifting her head, he slammed it, over and over. Pain overrode her last shift, shattering mental pathways, and the scales fled her crumbled body.

  Watching the desktop cave as he continued his assault, the man’s features hit me. Reech? What the hell?

  Gripping her flaccid body, Reech picked Brynne up and threw her over onto her back. She didn’t move. Her face was nearly unrecognizable. Blood poured from the splits in her head as she lay, unconscious and broken, sprawled out across the top of Sal’s desk.

  I grabbed my discarded gun as Reech turned around. In dark jeans and a black pullover, with his hair neatly combed, the man looked nothing like the predator he was.

  “We both know this won’t kill you,” I said, aiming at his chest. “But it’ll do for now.”

  His eyes darted to Sal. Crinkles formed around them as he assessed the older man’s injuries. “Don’t do it,” he warned, looking back to me with disapproval. “I know what you’re thinking. But you aren’t a mage. You’re fortunate it worked so well on your cop friend.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Human technology,” he shrugged. “Their intelligence gathering is remarkable.”

  “You bugged Ella Chandler’s house?”

  “Only the basement. But you’re missing the point. If you try to heal this one on your own, with his advanced age and those wounds, you could make his suffering worse.”

  I stared down at Sal. He was unconscious. His body was riddled with cuts, bruises, and a partially cauterized bullet wound. I had no way to measure the internal damage he’d suffered.

  Reech took another, more tentative step. “How far is their nearest hospital?”

&n
bsp; I glared at him. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t. But I don’t need you here. How far is it?”

  “Three blocks.”

  “Then take him. It’s his only chance.”

  I looked at Brynne, lying on the table, teal hair matted with blood.

  Reech read my hesitation. “I’ll deal with her. Naalish has given me leave.”

  “Good for you. But I don’t need permission.” I swung my arm in Brynne’s direction, pointed the muzzle at her head, and fired.

  All I got was a dead click.

  I dropped my head. “Shit.”

  “Brynne’s misbehavior is Guild business, Dahlia,” Reech said, “Not yours. She will be dealt with.”

  I holstered my weapon. As I wandered over to stare at Brynne’s broken human form, Reech brought scales and a tongue of yellow fire to his right hand. He held it there, not releasing it, just quietly letting me know that he would.

  I lifted my gaze from his flame to his eyes. “And you, Reech? Who deals with you? Who punishes your crimes? Ella—

  “Needed to die. As will others.”

  “Including Aidric?”

  Flashing an angry smile, he shook his head. “You’re on the wrong side of this, Dahlia.”

  I thought of Ronan and his proclamation of the same thing. “I’m not on anyone’s side. Whatever troubles Naalish and Aidric have in the bedroom, I don’t want to know. And I don’t give a damn what Daddy did to piss you off. Maybe you have the hots for the Queen and want her all for yourself. I don’t care. I’ve seen her human skin so I wouldn’t blame you. Just get your damn family troubles out of my city.”

  “You think that’s what this is? Do you honestly believe human follies could have any bearing on my actions? That it matters in the least what elder spawned me? This is about what our King has done, what his actions have cost Drimera…how they ripple out. If nothing changes, if something isn’t done, not even your precious humans will be safe.”

  “They’ll be safe if I kill you.”

  “You might,” Reech laughed. “You might kill me and save any number of nameless, faceless lives from my flame. But I won’t make it easy. And the life you care about, the life in your hands right now,” he glanced at Sal, “will be over.” Reech paused, letting his words simmer. “He won’t live long enough for you to kill me. You know this. Go and leave the wayward child to me. She won’t bother you anymore.”

  “You’re right. She won’t.” Pivoting, scales and an explosion of flame enveloped my palm as I shoved my right hand into Brynne’s chest. My claws embraced her heart. I yanked, and veins ruptured. Blood sprayed, but only for a moment. The organ in my grip was a smoldering black pile by the time I ripped it out.

  I let the pieces fall, decorating the mangled cavity of her chest.

  Without even a glance at Reech, I released scales and fire and knelt beside Sal. As I slid my hands under him, I noticed Ella’s necklace on the floor. I closed my palm over it and picked Sal up. Cradling him to my chest as I stood, I threw one last glance—and a promise—at Reech. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Watching me with a list of unsavory things reflected in his dark amber eyes, he smiled. “I certainly hope so.”

  Thirty-Nine

  I took a sip from the paper cup in my hand, wincing as the cold coffee slid down my throat. It was steaming hot when I bought it. I couldn’t remember when that was.

  I’d been sitting, watching the black ghosts drift and the multitude of feet scurry up and down the polished hospital floor so long, I’d lost track of everything—including time.

  A nurse had given me a towel to wipe off some of the blood, but more was under my fingernails and in my hair. My clothes were covered in disturbing dark blotches that brought a cringe to anyone’s face that glanced my way. I hadn’t replied much to their questions, only to insist I wasn’t hurt. Sal’s wife had glanced at me in the hall when she arrived. I’d recognized her from the pictures in his office. Accusation had sharpened the creases in her tear-stained face before the nurse ushered her into Sal’s room. Security was hovering, keeping an eye on me. I debated whose call to the cops would be answered first; theirs or mine.

  Sitting the cup on the floor beside my chair, I stretched out the twinge in my back. Feeling a weight in my pocket, I reached my hand in and ran a finger over the smooth curves of Ella’s necklace. Reech must have been pissed when he didn’t find it on Brynne. Whatever his interest was in the preserved eye, keeping it away from him was a victory I was happy to take.

  I looked up as hard soled shoes struck the floor. Leaving the necklace in my pocket, I watched Detective Creed making fast work of the long hall between us. We’d been at odds almost from the start, but after two days, it was good to see him. Creed’s feelings on the matter were probably more mixed, considering how things had gone down on his end when I disappeared. He was at least trying to look like he’d handled it well. His midnight blue suit and white shirt were fresh. The fitted, crisp clothes were nice on his tall frame, but they couldn’t mask the fatigue in his shoulders.

  Creed stopped in front of me. His smile, genuine but brief, momentarily eased the austerity of a five-o’clock shadow that was beginning to look more by design than I’d first thought. “Miss Nite,” he said, cool but pleasant.

  I mimicked his tone. “Detective.”

  “You should have called me sooner.”

  “Probably.”

  He leaned back slightly, as if surprised by my admission. “So she took you? Brynne? And you got away?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And instead of calling the police, you went to the gym.”

  “No, I went home and took a shower. I slept, ate. Then I went to the gym.”

  “Why?”

  “Sal was texting me, asking me to stop by. I knew he was worried, so I took the bait.”

  His sigh was too tired to be angry as Creed took off his glasses and sat in the chair beside me. He rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t stop to think that by escaping you’d only made her more determined? That she might come after you again or try to lure you out? That maybe the police station was a safer choice?”

  Openly, I stared at his face, eyeing the evidence of Creed’s recent run-in with Brynne at the station. “No.”

  He glanced away. “So how is he, your friend?”

  “Sal didn’t make it.”

  Creed’s back straightened. His tone turned uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “You should have told me when you called. If I’d known…”

  “What? You would have waited to give me a hard time?”

  “I would have tried,” he admitted.

  I managed a grin. “It’s okay.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was alive when we got here. They took him away, and ten minutes later, he went into cardiac arrest. Apparently, it wasn’t his first heart attack, and with the strain of his injuries… There was nothing they could do.” But I could have done something. I could have tried.

  I should have at least tried.

  “Do you need some time alone? Would you like to stay with him and his family?”

  A pretty raven haired nurse walked by. Watching the black trauma trailing off her shoes, I moved my own back out of the way. “No.”

  “Then…” Subtle tension stiffened his voice. “If there’s nothing more you can do here…”

  “I know. I owe you a statement.”

  “More than one. But that can wait. There’s something you need to see.”

  It was a typical crime scene, colored with the usual array of yellow tape, blue uniforms, and white coveralls. A decent crowd had gathered outside on the street. Geronimo was doing her best to hold back the influx of gym rats and neighbors; all of which were angry over the loss of one of their own. I didn’t blame them. I was angry, too.

  Inside was more of the norm. Cameras flashed. Men and women, some in uniform, some not, scuttled about, collecting evidence.
Barnes was on the phone in a black plaid shirt, his SCPD jacket, and cowboy boots, barking at someone.

  I could have painted the whole damn thing with my eyes closed. I could have assessed it the same way. Except, my objectivity was fading with every step I took across the gym floor. No matter what nonsense I’d repeated in my head on the way over, this wasn’t just any crime scene. It was a neighborhood cornerstone. The building and the atmosphere inside had changed so little in the years I’d been gone. Now, the familiar underlying odor of old sweat and bleach was masked by the stench of blood and burnt flesh. The power was back on, and the glaring lights hid nothing. Glass littered the floor like bits of confetti, spreading out in wide arcs from the broken windows. Dents and scorch marks marred the walls. Equipment was scattered.

  So easily, we could have brought the whole place down.

  We might as well have. It was nothing without Sal.

  I peered in through the open door to his office, picturing the moment, weeks ago, when I’d first come in; curious to see who owned the place now. I hadn’t checked up on Sal in years. I hadn’t expected to see him sitting behind the desk, looking so much like his father. I’d almost left. If I had, he’d be alive. But the way his eyes had lit up at seeing me, I’d known he’d been waiting a damn long time for me to walk in that door.

  Scanning the cluttered floor, imagining his ire at the mess I’d made, something near the wall beside his desk caught my eye. The lights were on, yet a stubborn patch of darkness persisted. Within its center was a tiny glimmer of pale yellow.

  I watched it spin and shine in the dark. Goddammit.

  It wouldn’t happen overnight. There was no way to know how long until it would be usable. It could take days, weeks, even years for the exit to fully develop. But now that the ‘skin’ had been ruptured, it couldn’t be stopped. Trauma had left a scar beyond repair. Time would widen it, and the exit would form.