Into the Fire (The Mieshka Files, Book One) (26 page)

“I’ll send it back up when I’m done. Ambulance ought to have come by now, with all the fire alarms we’ve set off.” Redenbacher was still doubled over by his desk, staring up at the sky. Water darkened his slate-grey suit. “Try not to bring your boss.”

“Thanks,” said Gerard, whose wound had a tougher time with the water.

“Don’t thank me. Thank the kid. She’d hate herself if I let someone die.”

They exchanged a long look. The door rumbled shut. She tapped the button.

“LEVEL 1, MAIN LOBBY.”

Meese was still out. Jo began to worry. Hopefully this was some sort of magical side-effect and not brain damage. Something that ended with her alive and well.

Jo looked away, finding an engraved warning in the control panel.

IN CASE OF FIRE, USE STAIRS.

Her laugh was a single, savage vowel.

CHAPTER 17

Aiden was no longer tired. Buck’s driving had seen to that.

He punched the hatchback to speeds inadvisable in traffic, its little engine whining. It was not a smooth ride, but it was quick. Within five minutes, Buck sped into the roundabout that marked the turn-off for Aiden’s neighbourhood. Loose change rattled in the cup-holder as the car cranked through traffic. A chorus of horns followed them.

Aiden braced himself against the door, knees knocking the glovebox. He clutched the flaring Fire Crystal to the seatbelt across his chest, watching the road blur.

It still wasn’t fast enough.

“Whose car is this?”

“Mo’s.”

“Nice of him to lend it.”

Aiden itched to use his magic. Unfortunately, the laws of teleportation specified an ‘only teleport yourself’ rule. There were nasty consequences if he brought a friend.

The crystal had enough energy for two people. Maybe more.

Hence Buck’s manic driving.

He glanced over. Buck’s face had dropped its usual Zen. His forehead furrowed as the Little Engine That Could got boxed in. A traffic light turned red. Buck stared at it, focused. His arms were tense on the wheel.

Aiden didn’t blame him. He felt antsy without the shield.

“Will Meese be okay?”

Aiden leaned his head back, closing his eyes. It seemed his apprentice had grown on them.

“Yeah, she’ll be fine. Give it time.”

A lot of time. More time than he’d estimated. She’d been dumped with a lot of power. By her experience leeching power through the transfer, it was like going from a straw to a fire-hose.

“What’s that?”

The crystal pulsed in his hand. Through his eyelids, the light changed. Aiden frowned. Opening them, he glanced through the windshield.

Above—high above—a silent curtain of fire spread over the sky.

That wasn’t an enemy attack. Aiden swore.

“It’s Meese. Keep going. I’ll meet you at the engine.”

Aiden left the Fire Crystal in the cup-holder, pulled his element, and teleported.

This was exciting.

Robin caught her breath on the stairs, pausing to poke her head over the guard rail. Not the wisest move, considering the raid was still on, but she did it anyway.

Shadows moved on the railings below her. Friendly shadows. They’d already cleared the first five floors. She’d been through them herself. It was impressive: enemy soldiers had been bound against a wall, their weapons piled next to three guards. The Underground must have some badass veterans. The bound men had glared when she’d walked by. One of their guards had offered a piece of gum, which she now chewed.

It was around then that her fear had vanished.

On the fifth floor, she’d helped someone relieve another enemy of his weapons. All she had to do was stand and point a gun. That had been the most exciting part.

That, and the sprinklers.

Some say it was Meese who’d set them off. Robin wasn’t so sure—in her experience, it didn’t take much to set an alarm off.

Either way, she was soaked.

It still rained, of course. It felt like ice, and it crept down her shirt. Her hair was plastered to her skin. Her jeans itched as if they thought about drying.

Where was Chris? She hadn’t seen him since the tunnel. He’d looked scared. Then again, so had she. She remembered being scared. In the tunnel, she couldn’t move. Cornered. Choked.

No longer.

Adrenaline poured through her blood. She took the stairs two at a time, sneakers kicking up spray. The landing was a lake. Her shoes squished with every step.

Focused on her feet, she nearly ran into someone.

“The army’s here,” they said.

“Which army?” Robin glanced up. The man was large—maybe thrice her size—and wore a wife-beater, jeans, and three guns.

“Lyarne’s,” he answered, continuing past her with surprising speed.

Huh
, she thought, looking up. She’d never seen the army in action before.

Two flights later, she flattened to the wall as a line of soldiers filed past. Few gave her a second look. By their patches, all were Lyarnese.

She relaxed her grip on the gun and turned through the doorway.

The fire alarm hadn’t reached the Skytower’s lobby. Except for the slick path trailing out of the stairwell, the black marble floor was bone-dry. Robin slipped past a frosted glass barrier and stepped aside, taking it in.

It was big. Very big. The ceiling was at least three storeys high, with bright lights hanging from its black background like stars. Five chandeliers hung closer to the floor. The hall was longer than it was wide, and the high ceiling gave it an unwarranted sense of narrowness.

Soldiers formed small clusters around the hall. Robin recognized some Underground people relaxing on benches to the sides. A medical team laid someone on a stretcher by the front windows. The white sheets stood out in front of the black windows.

A shadow caught her eye. She turned.

“Did you lose the boy?”

Roger leaned against the frosted glass, watching her from under the brim of his hat. Water darkened his clothes, and his sweatshirt stuck to his skin. In addition to the knives at his belt, six bumps on his arm suggested hidden weaponry.

As before, his stare had weight.

She shrugged. “Seems that way.”

Movement turned her attention back to the front. The stretcher wheeled toward the door, a dark-skinned, well-armed woman striding next to it. A blob of orange hair spilled over the white sheets.

Meese?

The stretcher clattered out the door and out of sight.

“The Fire Mage says she will be okay.”

So it
was
Meese. Robin stared after her. Too late to do anything now.

“You are her friend, aren’t you?”

Robin turned back to him. He seemed relaxed, weight on one leg. His arms crossed in front of him.

“Yes. We go to school together. What happened to her?”

“You haven’t seen yet?”

“Seen what?”

“You will see it eventually. There is no rush.” His stare dropped to her gun. “What will you do with that?”

She looked down at it. The silver metal gleamed in her grip.

“Isn’t it yours?”

Roger’s eyes glittered. “It could be yours, if you like.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that, should you wish, you could own that gun and learn how to use it.”

Her parents would kill her. It was perfect.

“Keep it for now,” he said. “If you are interested, come to the Underground. If I don’t hear from you for a month, I expect the gun to be returned. Both Chris and Mieshka can find me.”

Nodding, she stared at the gun. It felt heavy in her hand. Powerful.

She slipped it into her hoodie’s pouch.

Somehow, she didn’t think she needed a month.

CHAPTER 18

Mieshka heard a steady, constant beep. It seemed to come from everywhere. She felt heavy. She didn’t want to move.

It smelled cold. The air hissed. What happened?

A draft blew across her neck. She shivered. That was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be cold.

Gradually, the room focused. Baby blue curtains half-furled around her bed. Where they parted, she saw worn pale walls. They wore soft black scud-marks, waist-high. Light filtered in through a window on her right, making her father’s hair a dead orange.

He sat with his head bowed, elbows resting on his knees. A plastic cup of water, half-empty, stood on the table beside him. He looked worse than she remembered.

Her body felt like lead. Her dad looked up.

“Mieshka?” His voice was a croak. His eyes were red and raw. He looked ready to cry.

“Hi, Dad.”

He swallowed. Emotion strangled her throat.

“How you feeling?”

She tried to move her leg. It hurt.

“Like shit. What happened?”

What happened was more complicated than she thought it’d be. As he explained, in a rough and raw voice, she began to remember. Redenbacher’s office. The plane. Fire. Endless fire.

She’d set the sky on fire. It had burned for five days.

Grey clouds filled the sky. Nothing burned now. Seeing her gaze, her dad reached over and squeezed her knee.

“The normal shield is back. The enemy broke the engines. It took time to fix.”

“What’s the news saying?”

“Trust the shield, of course.”

Of course. She closed her eyes, pushing her head straight on the pillow.

“I think my magic is gone.”

“Aiden said it might be.” She looked back over at her dad. He met her eyes. “Sorry. I think you used it all up when you made the shield.”

Her laugh was weak.

“Does that count as using my powers for good?”

“I think so. But don’t do that again.”

She raised an eyebrow. His eyes were sad.

“Your comas are bad for my health.” He looked away; his throat quivered.

Hers choked, too. She burrowed into the bed, wincing at the pain. Blankets kept her warm now. The Phoenix was gone. Its absence pulled at her.

She felt like cold ash on the inside.

On the outside, everything hurt. Every muscle, every bone, every joint. Hell, her
lungs
hurt. Fog filled her head. Fog and smoke.

“How long have I been out?”

“Seven days.”

She swallowed. Her arms trembled with her weight. The IV was a dead ache in her wrist. The heart monitor beeped beside her. Tubes forced cool air up her nose. She took a shallow breath. It hurt to breath any deeper. Wound around the guard rail beside her pillow was a white, plastic switch.

“You call the nurse. I’ll get you some food.”

“Chocolate pudding,” she said automatically. “Smuggle it in.”

He stood and saluted. His back was hunched and stiff as he left. How long had he been in the chair?

Three days later, Mieshka poked her head into the office.

“Meese!”

Buck sat on the couch, a book spread on his lap. Behind his chair, black mechanical parts littered the floor. More were stacked on Aiden’s desk, along with hastily-folded papers. The computer monitor glowed on Aiden’s empty chair.

Jo leaned against the window. She’d probably seen Mieshka walk up.

“How are you feeling?”

Sore. She’d had to stop for breath on the stairs. It felt like the IV was still in her wrist. Without her backpack, she felt skinny.

“I’m all right,” she said. “Give it a week. What about you two?”

They’d left flowers and a card by her hospital bed. Beyond that, she’d heard nothing. They didn’t seem surprised to see her. Obviously, someone had told them she’d woken up.

Jo folded her arms across her chest. The bandage on her hand was gone.

“Aiden’s still fucking with the shield. It’s working, but the engine looks like shit.”

“It’s always looked like shit.”

“True. But now he can’t make all the parts fit.”

Awesome. Mieshka leaned against the doorframe, eyeing Aiden’s empty chair.

“He in the engine room?”

He was.

Mieshka stepped through the hole in the wall. Chunks of concrete lay scattered across the floor. Her shoes slipped on a layer of dust. Aiden still hadn’t replaced the light. Worklights glared around the machine’s black, boxy bulk. Data streamed on the orange screen. It was colder down here. With her body still recovering, she felt it more. Aiden sat under a worklight, tipping his chair as he read a paper. His hair stuck up, the soft orange glowing white in the light. His blue shirt had black, tar-like smudges. Curling her fists into her sleeves, she picked her way across the room.