Into the Fire (The Mieshka Files, Book One) (13 page)

Ah. It probably looked worse than it was. There weren’t any major arteries in fingers, were there?

She squinted at it. There was a lot of blood. All her Kleenexes were in her backpack. At school. Next time, she’d be prepared.

Next time? Was she really considering a
next time
?

It must have been the endorphines.

After thirty seconds, the cell phone display timed out. She should have tried to find the light she’d lost. It probably hadn’t been too far from where she’d hid.

Then again, those men had also not been far from where she’d hidden.

She shivered again—not because of the cold—and looked into the dark around her, seeing nothing but blackness and retinal burn.

Fuck it. She’d use the light.

The cell phone was no replacement for the flashlight she’d lost. Its light was anaemic. Rubble-strewn linoleum spread around her. A quick look at the glass told her she’d gotten off easy. And, as she looked around, she realized just how lucky she’d been. Not ten feet ahead, shining in the wan light, two hypodermic needles lay on the floor. There was a dark stain near them.

She cringed from the sight and wandered away from the wall. The escalators had been in the middle, right? She listened carefully. It was too quiet down here.

A support beam ghosted out of the dark, decorated with a thin red ribbon. Behind it, a mannequin’s head lay on its side. Someone had drawn a moustache on its upper lip.

She followed a line of benches, sales stands, and children’s rides, swiping a finger across her phone whenever the screen dimmed.

After a few minutes, the escalator sloped down out of the gloom. She stepped up it, cringing quietly when her sneakers clanged against the metal. Halfway up, she let the phone time out. As she emerged on the second floor, she looked for lights in the dark.

None. Excellent. Although slightly less excellent since she didn’t know exactly where they were. Far away, she hoped. She turned left and considered the next escalator.

How far did this mall go up, anyway?

She swung up it. The cut stung as she bumped her bad hand against the rail. Blood smeared on the vinyl. Her sneakers tapped her way up. Her thighs were weak. They’d started to burn on the first flight. A sense of height grew, the darkness deepening the space around her. She held her phone to her chest. She could not afford to lose that over the side.

Another escalator sat, unmoving, at the top. She climbed that one, too

Two storeys later, there were no more escalators. The ceiling curved overhead in a slow arch. Strong enough to stand, even with a city on top of it. Plywood covered what might have been skylights. The sky here wasn’t much to look at, she supposed.

Just as she looked for a table to stand on, with the thought that maybe another metre would matter to her reception, her phone
blooped
.

She cringed again. It was loud. She even thought she heard it echo.

It continued to bloop as several text messages came in, all at once. She smothered it against her shirt.

Which was silly. She’d be talking on it next.

After several tense moments of silence, she un-smothered it, searched her contacts, considered who to call. Mo’s card was in her pocket. Could he get there faster?

No, the mob had probably swamped his place by now.

Aiden answered on the third ring.

“Hello.”

“It’s Mieshka.”

There was a pause. She thought she could hear something in the background. People, perhaps?

“Oh good, I’ve been hoping to talk to you. Something’s come up. Can I convince you to come in? There’s something I think you can help with.”

Hysteria bubbled up. She almost giggled. The conversation sounded so normal.

“Mieshka?”

She swallowed. Her voice sounded thin. “I’m Underground, hiding in a dark shopping mall with a mob of angry people after me.”

He was quiet. She snapped her head toward the escalator. Had she heard something?

“Your people skills are astounding. Where did you say you were?”

“Shopping mall. I’m on the top floor.”

She was fixed on the dark. She had started to shake again. She couldn’t see anything.

“Good thing I put a tracking spell on you. I’ll be right there. Are you safe?”

She strained to hear. There was definitely something moving. Footsteps. In the dark.

“Someone’s coming.” It felt good to tell someone. He would take care of it. No more bumbling blindly.

Metaphorically, anyway.

“What kind of someone? Have they seen you?”

“I’m the only one talking in this place. They’ll find me.”

“Right. Well, hide. I’ll be there soon.”

Just before he hung up, she heard him say, “Right, you two—”

Click
.

And then she was back to the darkness again. Not quite alone. Over the lip of the railing, she saw a flash of light.

CHAPTER 9

The flashlight illuminated the dirty, streaked Plexiglas. By its steep angle, it must have been fairly far down. The second floor, probably. It seemed to see the most action. Mieshka was on the fifth. A distant tapping filled the distance. Footsteps.

She sucked in a breath of dusty air and forced herself to turn away. Using the thin light of her phone, she skulked closer to the storefronts. Shadows bent away from her light. Other things moved in her peripheral vision. She ignored them. Where could she hide? All the stores had windows. Granted, the grime on the glass might be enough to hide her. She considered one with a large banner draped over the front. That would be too obvious a hiding spot, wouldn’t it? They’d probably look there, first.

The footsteps came closer. One floor down, she guessed. She jogged a little way up the hallway, picked a store, and darted in among the rubble. Old sales signs and discounts were flattened to the ground. Vacant racks lay on their sides, crowded near the front. Toward the back, a group of naked mannequins huddled in the feeble glow of her phone.

She eyed the sales counter. It was sturdy—it had to be, or it would have been on the floor with the sales racks. An open beer bottle stood on the counter. There was a dark liquid at the bottom.

Light outside quickened her pulse. She hurried around the counter, dodging a misplaced mannequin’s arm. Fuck, this place was creepy.

More bottles filled the cubby-holes under the counter. She squatted, smelling alcohol and cigarette smoke. Great. She’d picked the hangout spot. As she sank down, her phone caught a small white button under the till. It was labelled ‘panic’.

She resisted the urge to push it. In fact, she tried not to touch anything. Her finger still hurt. She thought she felt blood crawl down her wrist.

She waited. The tap of boots on the escalator sounded as alone as hers had.

It stopped. The light swung around, indirectly illuminating her store. As the shadows returned, she had a moment of pure flashlight envy. Why did she have to go and
lose
hers?

The store darkened again. Her knees ached from squatting. Tight denim cut into her circulation.

She listened. The person had three choices: they could go across the bridge to the other side of the mall, turn right away from her and follow this side of the mall back the way he came, or he could come toward her.

The footsteps started again, softer on the linoleum. They came closer.

Joy.

A door creaked open. The store with the banner? Glad she hadn’t hid in there. A few seconds later, it creaked again. The footsteps continued.

She ducked down as light flashed her way, lingering on the store’s contents. It limned the counter’s edge.

It left. The store dimmed. Not quite the full dark she’d experienced earlier in the mall. Their flashlight splashed some light back to her. She had a dim view of the mannequin arm and beer bottles. She breathed again. Beer bottles were fine company, she decided.

She risked a look over the counter. The light was on the hallway. It back-lit them enough to give her a profile.

Her phone received another text message.

The ponderous bloop was deafening in the quiet. The light swung back. She hit her chin on the counter as she ducked out of sight. Too late. She’d been seen.

Broken glass crunched as they entered the store.

“Come out. I know you’re there.” A male voice.

She hid a groan, rested her forehead against a cupboard. Well, at least she’d gotten the call off.

Her knees cracked as she stood, leaning on the counter with the heel of her hand.

He had a gun. She froze when she saw it, tensed her hand into a fist. Her injured finger drove a nail of pain up her nerves.

She just couldn’t win today.

The flashlight was next to the gun, and they were both pointed at her. She squinted into the light. Darkness behind hid his features.

“Come out from behind there. Slowly. No magic.”

She did so, carefully picking around the bottles. The injured finger had become numb. She felt warmer than before.

Weird. Didn’t shock made people cold?

“I said no magic!”

“I’m not, I—” A flash caught her eye. Her hand was glowing. Lines moved up from the transfer mark, following her arm.

The tracking spell.

“It’s not me!” He wouldn’t believe her. “Don’t shoot!”

The gun went off. Heat flashed over her. She flinched back, stumbled over the mannequin’s arm and careened into the rest of the doll family. They made hollow sounds when they fell over. She landed on top of them, scrambling back to her feet.

She wasn’t hit. The glow faded from her skin. Only the transfer mark stayed lit. Behind the flashlight, she saw another glow. Orange, just like hers had been. She stared at it.

“You just
shot
an unarmed girl.” Aiden spat out of the darkness. The boy spun around, gun and flashlight going with him. Meese considered hiding back behind the counter.

“S-she was doing magic.”

“No she wasn’t. I was.”

Fire erupted out of the dark. The gun went off again, although Mieshka suspected that the bullet hit the ceiling rather than anything important. The fire knocked the gunslinger off his feet. Gun and light went flying. She saw them clatter under a sales rack.

The fire vanished. The room went dark again, except where the flashlight’s beam sliced across the floor. She saw a limp hand at the edge of its beam, just where the light blurred into the dark. In the umbra. The transfer mark still glowed. The smell of smoke lingered.

Glass crunched. Aiden’s foot stepped into the light. He picked the flashlight up and pointed it at the man who lay prone on the floor. The man wasn’t moving.

“Are you hurt?”

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?”