Trio Of Flames
The crowd can’t decide what to do, which only adds to the mayhem.
A few bold individuals rush to the windows to see what’s happening. A small number are frozen in indecision. A much larger portion of the guests run for the main exit at the opposite end of the ballroom, which puts Claude and me in the path of the stampede.
“You should find Starla and take cover,” Claude tells me, running to the window.
“I demand to know what is going on here!” Councilman Taylor is stomping across his ballroom floor, blond hair askew for the first time since we’ve met.
A crash sounds, and one of the floor-to-ceiling windows splinters inward as a fireball hits it.
More screams fill the ballroom.
Councilman Taylor ducks, and one of the men who was near the window begins hopping from foot to foot, patting out flames on his suit.
“This was French couture!” he shouts.
I will never understand these people.
The councilman collects himself, continuing on his path to the garden doors and remaining windows, but comes to a stop again when a disembodied voice booms above us.
“My, my, my. Quite the festivities. Or should I say, quite the felonies?”
I freeze again, a chill running down my spine. I know this voice.
Did they call Never? The Were is chaos incarnate. Now that we’re deep into the plan, I can’t imagine she won’t throw things for a loop.
“Several of you have been very, very naughty. And the price for your actions has come due.” The second voice is new, and whoever it is, she giggles. “Oh, this is fun. I mean, I know we thought it would be, but—”
“Hell’s bells. What did we say about keeping it short? Listen up! If you’ve done nothing wrong you have nothing to fear. Not very reassuring, is it? But in this case, it’s true. We’re only here to burn away the rot.”
Another arc of fire shines through the windows, lighting up several shrubs. The flames creep in, igniting some of the garlands. At least one guest must be a water witch, because she shoots a spray up toward the garlands, where the flames go out with a sizzle.
I’m spinning, looking around the room to see if the Were and her accomplice are anywhere to be seen. Not only do I not spot her, but I can’t see Ji-hwan, Starla, or Exos. I do see Jackal sliding out a door that leads to the foyer. He makes eye contact with me, mouthing a word.
“Okay.”
Then this is, indeed, all part of the plan. That means I’m wasting valuable time.
While the Were continues to intimidate the guests, confusing them as to exactly who or what her target is, I sprint for one of the doors. I spot one that I’m pretty sure the staff have been taking to grab food trays.
I knock into the grey-eyed woman I saw earlier. The only one who hadn’t been glaring when she watched Feral and me in the entrance hall. She’s looking up at the ceiling, listening to the voices with a faint smile on her face. She’s stunning up close, and yet somehow terrifying.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter. “I didn’t mean to hit you. I just, I have somewhere to be.”
She looks at me, the smile falling off her face, but she doesn’t appear angry. If anything, her downturned brows make her look sad.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m not here for you,” she says.
Her accent marks her as American, another thing that sets her apart from most of the guests.
Is she here for Starla? Could she be working for Leon’s accomplice?
“It’s nice when certain people get what’s coming to them,” she continues. “And when I don’t have to be the one to ensure that happens. Then again, I do have work to do.”
She lets out a sigh so deep, I envision the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“Are you okay? Do you need help?” I find myself asking. Maybe I’m wrong, but something tells me she’s not a bad person. Even if her appearance is mysterious.
She raises a hand like she might place it on my shoulder but pauses first.
“May I?”
I nod.
She pats my shoulder.
“Thank you for asking. Carolina, was it? I heard some of the men here talking. You should be careful, by the way. There aren’t many real gentlemen here.”
“Leena, and thank you as well. But don’t worry. I’m aware.”
Her eyes go from cold steel to glinting metal as I offer her my preferred name, and I notice she doesn’t give me one in return.
“Pleased to meet you, Leena. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She runs toward the door I had been aiming for, and I stare after her.
She didn’t even make a sound when she ran.
I can’t help wondering what she is. But I have enough mysteries.
You’re wasting time.
And for once, the thoughts are correct, although the panic they induce isn’t helpful.
I run for a different door along the side of the room. The manor staff are in chaos, some running back into the ballroom and others crowding the front entrance, making their way to the gardens.
“Nobody better get hurt,” I murmur to myself. At least not the staff, whose only crime is working at the site of all the answers we seek.
I’m running down the first hall I see, forcing myself to slow down when it’s clear that the area is empty. If anyone finds me now, I’ll say I got lost trying to flee.
This could be my best and only shot to explore without someone getting suspicious. I’m tired of digging for answers in the pile of men thrown at me. I can find some on my own.
There’s nothing of interest at first. I find a room with a bed and note the windows aren’t as grand as ours. Maybe the guest isn’t as important? Also a separate door next to it, a room with a tub and toilet. No en suite bath, then.
I do an incredibly quick toss of the room’s contents, in case the guest comes back, but find nothing more than a few magazines. Two on cricket, and one that, upon flipping it open, I snap shut immediately.
“And Starla thought there was a lot of nudity on Spelled By You,” I mutter, cheeks heating.
I make my way upstairs, choosing another hall. There’s a few doors on this one. The first opens to nothing more than a broom closet, with a few cleaning items and spare linens tucked inside. I close it and stare at the others, trying to choose.
The din following Never’s disembodied announcement and subsequent panic has decreased downstairs.
I could be running out of time. I’m looking at the doors, weighing my options, when I notice one of them has extra wood trim around it.
Dead center at the top of that door is a small, carved symbol inlaid into the trim.
It’s very familiar and, given the information I learned tonight, makes no sense at all.
My breath hitches, air refusing to make its way into my lungs. My gills even start to transform, sensing I need oxygen and I’m not getting it.
“Not suffocating. Just … feel like I’m being buried under things I don’t understand,” I whisper, willing myself to calm down. The gills disappear.
The symbol over the door, however, remains. A crest, with a dragon wrapping its claw around a shield, and a pen.
I hear steps, and my decision is made. I press against the door, but it holds. There’s no lock, though. The thing keeping me out is magic.
Voices reach me.
“Starla, this had better be good. If you haven’t noticed, we are in a crisis, and I do not have time—”
“It is, Father. That’s exactly why I need to discuss this now.” Starla is doing an excellent job. Her voice is just shaky enough to suggest she might cry, but no one could accuse her of being overly emotional.
My throat burns with a surge of heat.
If they see me, there’s no way he won’t be suspicious. That will also ruin Starla’s chance to look for anything as well.
I only have a split-second to make the decision.
“Please, open.”
The door gives, and I nearly fall into the office, dizzy and staggering. There’s a loud boom from somewhere in the hall.
“What in the sam hell!” Starla shouts, her accent breaking for a moment.
“They’ve made it upstairs. Quick, this way!”
Councilman Taylor.
I don’t think Never caused that noise. I think my magic did. My head throbs, and I rub a hand against my nose that comes away bloody. Just great. Even this one small command has me ready to flop over.
There’s no time to worry about that, though. I have to hide, but I see only shelves, more shelves, and a desk. Along with a few windows and a balcony.
A balcony! With stairs. The councilman has his own private entrance out to the west gardens—the opposite side from the fire.
Thank the tides.
While the office door might be magicked to keep people out, the window has no issues letting me leave. Only realizing how odd that is after exiting, I reach out to the handle and see why almost immediately. It only opens from the inside.
Guess I’m committed now.
I’m descending the stairs, my eyes level with the windowsill, when I see the office hall door begin to open.
I fling myself down the remaining stairs, practically flying to the entrance of the gardens. I don’t stop to breathe again until I’m safely hidden behind a row of hedges. Scales dust my arms, and my gills have made a reappearance as the edges of my vision go black.
We do not have time to faint, I urge myself.
I hear a yip followed by two voices.
My claws lengthen, but I know good and well that I don’t have enough energy to fight someone off in this state.
“What is it, boy?”
“He’s just so cute! You did tell me, but you really didn’t do it justice. Imagine if I made him his own little puppy portals. Pickles portals! It sounds like a brand, don’t you think?”
“Well, well, well, what have we here?"
Two women and a basset hound round the corner, and I nearly drop in relief.
Never stares down at me where I’ve half-collapsed against a hedge. The second woman, who has impossibly magenta eyes, throws a hand over her mouth when she sees me.
Pickles runs at me, jumping up to lick my face.
“I missed you, too.”
Something in him breaks the hold I have over my anxiety, and tears begin to fall.