Into the Fire (The Mieshka Files, Book One) (19 page)

Robin gaped at the city.

Under the awning of the old hospital, lighted streets stretched out on either side. People walked on patched sidewalks. Normal people, doing normal things. Cafés crowded the street.

Chris was quiet. He hadn’t said anything since the school. The streetlight angled under the awning, putting a line of light on his bruised skin.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t mention it.”

He moved and she followed, gawking at the city as they passed. Heavy beams held up the roof. They answered her structural questions. She snapped her head back down as the cracked concrete tripped her feet. No good seeing stars in this place.

Eventually, they ended up at a café.

“Roger’s gathered people in that gym.” Mo leaned over, elbows propped on the glass counter. The display cast a diffuse pallor on his face and arms. It was the only light in the store. The shadows discomfited Buck, though he’d never admit it. Jo stood beside him, inspecting Mo’s latest arrival in her arms. She’d switched the white bandages on her hand to an adhesive plastic wrap that crinkled when she moved.

The light stretched their shadows over the ceiling, making her hunched figure the most monstrous.

The assault rifle gleamed.

“They storming something?” Buck thought of the old gymnasium. It was an old, high school gym that sat on the border between Westside and the Core. The go-to place for gatherings.

“Nowhere to storm. Roger’s organizing a search. Thinks the enemy has an Underground place.”

It was plausible. Both Sophia and Michael were attacked Underground. Stands to reason there’d be an unknown entrance.

Of course, the illusionist could have walked by any of the checkpoints unseen.

“They just want to hit something,” Jo commented, eyes never leaving the gun.

Buck looked to the front windows. Black as the Mages’ Lost Technology, they reflected the ghostly store. Racks of guns stood as silent sentinels. Underlit by the display, the three of them looked like campfire ghosts.

They’d make good targets for anyone looking in.

“What will you do?” Mo asked.

Buck stared at the windows.

“Go to the ship. Guard the last crystal.” Aiden had programmed the memorial’s black wall to let them through. If the enemy found his way down, Buck and Jo would give them a nasty surprise. The elevator made a good choke point. Only so many could come down at a time, and they’d all be in the light.

They’d use the ship as cover.

He turned back to the counter, feeling the store’s space at his back. It was too quiet. Maybe the normal lighting added background noise. Now, every sound seemed louder.

“Tell you what,” said Mo. “You take that puppy now, test it on Meese’s kidnappers, and get back to me on it.”

“It’s been a while since Christmas,” Jo mused. Contrasting the dark skin, her teeth gleamed in the light.

Buck watched as Mo passed ammunition to Jo. The edge of the counter dug into his elbow.

“Where’s my Christmas?”

Mo’s bushy eyebrows scowled. Buck saw through it. They were old friends. “You aren’t cute enough. What do you want? Grenades? Flamethrower? Bazooka?”

“Your car keys.”

They left a few minutes later. Jo’s new ‘trial’ gun clicked as she walked. In the dark, her grin radiated.

The elevator opened with a distinguished whir. Outside, clean white walls met with even cleaner white tiles on the floor. Black baseboards separated the two, repeated on every doorframe.

According to the elevator, this was Basement Level Three.

Gerard pushed a finger into Mieshka’s shoulder. She limped forward, her handcuffs clicking with each step.

Her anger subsided to cold fear.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Thought I’d toss you with the other three. Any more of you magic freaks running around?”

Freaks. Nice.

“Oh, tons,” she lied, hoping Gerard would run into Roger. Or Roger’s knife. Mieshka wasn’t doing a good job of representing the ‘magic freaks’.

She felt that sneer looking down at her.

“I suppose they’re going to bomb us, too?”

“Of course.”

The mark on her hand prickled. Was the illusionist close? If she’d heard right, he had taken the prison box to a holding cell.

Roger could kill him, too.

Repressing a shudder, she glanced over her shoulder. Gerard wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, he’d pulled out his phone.

Guess the army had a very loose social media policy.

At the end of the hall, they turned a corner. The hallway stretched in front of her.

A shadow moved to the left. Mieshka gulped a quick breath.

Speak of the devil, and he shalt come.

Roger’s clothes had somehow blended with the black trim on the corner. A knife flashed in his hand. He caught her eye, and jerked his head. His arm blurred.

She leapt to the right. The blade hissed past.

Krsch!

Warmth sprayed onto her cheek as she flinched away. She closed her eyes, closed her mouth. Her shoes scuffed on the tile as she staggered away.

Gerard’s phone clattered to the ground. She held her breath as the body fell. There was a wet-sounding grunt. He smacked against the tile for a minute before he quieted into a dying gurgle.

Inside her head, she counted to ten. Her breath trembled out of her.

“Roger?” Her hand tingled.

“Hello, Mieshka.”

She didn’t open her eyes. “There’s blood on my face, isn’t there?”

“It is mostly on your hair.” She felt him walk by. Goosebumps trailed in his wake. Yep, that was definitely Roger.

She opened her eyes. Alabaster tile gleamed around him. Despite it, Roger had brought his own shadows. Drawn to the dark of his jacket, she watched as he squatted by the body and pulled the knife from Gerard’s neck. A dart of blood shot after it.

Her hands shook. Roger picked up Gerard’s phone.

“How did you find me?”

“Luck,” Roger said. He put the phone down and searched Gerard’s pockets. “Underground people work in this building. They suspected it could be connected to the Underground.”

That made sense.

Blood pooled beneath Gerard, seeping into the black grout between tiles. Gerard’s hand twitched once. He had fallen sideways, resting on his arm. Gravity slumped his shoulders.

His eyes, paler now, focused on the air by Mieshka’s shins.

No way. This did not just happen.

This time, she counted to twenty. The psychiatrist had not prepared her for this.

Forcing herself to take slow breaths, she smelled copper in the air.

Blood.

Forcing down hysteria, she focused on the main problem.

“The shield’s down,” she said. Leaning her head against the wall, she recalled the prison box. “Aiden was taken. They were taking me to the prison cell.”

“I know,” said Roger.

A draft cooled the drops on her face. Her mind veered dangerously back to red.

“Does he have handcuff keys?”

“No. However, I have a spare set.”

Why was she not surprised?

She jumped as his hand brushed hers. He held the cuffs—and her hands—away from her. A second later, they clicked free.

“Do you know who runs this building?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who would have a fancy office on the top floor?”

“Roger was quiet for a moment.”

“James Redenbacher is the CEO. I have lists of the managerial and supporting staff.”

Redenbacher. So that was who The Boss was. Maybe. Mieshka thought on it.

“Your boyfriend is here,” he said.

“Chris? Why?”

“We could not let you storm the place alone.” He stepped away. Aware of the growing red puddle in her peripheral vision, she followed.

“Where?”

“He was a few minutes behind me. We have this covered, Mieshka. We will find them.”

Doors marked the left side of the hallway. A fan rattled in a vent. The hallway continued straight before, like the last, it turned left. Footsteps echoed from that direction. She focused on the corner.

She felt exposed.

“You came from that way?”

“Correct.”

The bloodied knife back in his hand, he stood behind her elbow. His voice was quiet and close.

As Chris jogged into sight, she relaxed. There, at least, was something normal. Or, as normal as it could get in this situation.

“What will you do now?” Roger asked.

Anger returned. She reflected back to her encounter with Redenbacher. A grim grin tightened her mouth.

“Bomb this place.” Her mom taught her to keep promises.

Roger studied her a moment, flipping the knife.

“There is a gas station down the block. They will sell matches as well. You could—”

“No. There’s one crystal left. I intend to use it.”

Roger matched her grin.

Chris jogged down the hallway.

What was he doing here, anyway? He hadn’t mentioned he worked for the water people. You’d think it would have come up.

Well, whatever. His arrival was convenient for her. Almost too convenient. She glanced back at Roger.

“Don’t suppose I could walk out the lobby?” This was a big building. It must have a lobby.

Roger smiled. “In my experience, very few people stop someone covered in blood. I think he’s got a crush on you, way he’s looking.”

Chris stared at her, eyes wide. She thought it had more to do with the red in her hair.

“You using him right now?” she asked.

“Boys aren’t my style.”

“I’m borrowing him.” She stepped forward, ignoring Roger’s soft chuckle.

Chris paused. He looked mildly concerned. She took him by the arm.

“Time for a second date,” she said.

Her hand continued to tingle as they walked away.

Prison boxes were not fun. Specifically made to capture powerful, rogue Mages—such as himself—they were something Aiden had hoped had been left with his old world.

Who the fuck brought one over?

That was easy: anyone wanting power. He should have thought of it himself. But then, there hadn’t been much time to prepare, back then. A side-trip to prison had not popped into his mind.

It had occurred to someone else, obviously.

He didn’t feel. He didn’t see, didn’t smell, didn’t hear. The darkness came, he remembered, from the colour of the box’s casing. The same depthless black of his ship and every piece of Lost Technology.

He was ash and air. The box had taken his element and consumed him with it. Then it had condensed him into the spatial paradox inside the box and closed the lid.

It was very neat.

It was a nightmare.

How long had he been here? Time was impossible to tell in this place. Time consumed itself in this place, and yet it was infinite. An Ouroboros Construct, they’d called it, after the snake that ate its own tail. Constantly creating and devouring itself.

Aiden felt sick.

Clunk
.

The sound came from everywhere. He heard it as through water.

Had someone dropped the thing? Even then, he shouldn’t have felt—

Everything tipped. Light and fire blazed around him. Briefly.

He glimpsed the small, black room before falling gracelessly to the hard stone floor. The fire guttered out beside him. He looked up in time to see a square-shaped hole hiss closed in the wall.