Chapter Thirteen
Glowing white crystals cast their light across the smooth stone walls and rounded ceiling of the hallway outside the Cradle’s forge. They lined the natural corridor beyond the limits of Wren’s vision. She shuddered and listened for the inevitable creak and scrabble of loose rock that signaled the cave-in she believed was only minutes away.
What was that? She paced, rubbed her arms, flicked another glance to the ceiling.
“When will you accept the Cradle as your home, my little bird?” The gentle tone belonged to Stillman, Precept of the Knights Elementalis. Ruffled white shirt tucked smartly into slim gray pants, which, in turn, were tucked into calf-high leather boots, he could have stepped off the movie set of one of those old black and white swashbucklers.
Alchemist by calling, he’d taken up fencing to keep in shape. She had no idea how old he really was since he refused to come clean with the digits, but he was up there … way, way up there.
He gazed into the dim interior of the forge.
“When it’s not three miles underground,” Wren answered with another look to the ceiling.
Back straight, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back, Stillman waited for Magnus. Straight, salt and pepper hair brushed the tops of his shoulders. His sharp brown eyes never strayed from the forge doorway, but the old man noticed everything.
“He’ll be fine in short order,” Stillman said. “The Knight of Flame is as tough as they come. Give him enough fire and a little time, and your Knight could probably grow back a limb.” He rocked back on his heels. “Or, if he didn’t grow one, he’d make one out of that alloy he perfected.” Stillman chuckled to himself. “Marvelous invention that Quinsteele.”
Wren sighed. He’ll be fine. The sound of Stillman’s voice always made her feel better, made her want to curl into his lap and let him stroke her hair, like he did when she was twelve and afraid of dark places.
Magnus shuffled out of Dev’s room. “By Odin, it’s hot in there.” Sweat streamed down his forehead, plastered his long hair to his face and stuck his shirt to his thin frame. “I thought I would pass out.”
“How is he?” Stillman asked.
“Sir.” Magnus snapped to attention.
“Relax, my boy. Relax.”
“Almost lost him.” Magnus stood down, hands clasped in front. “But he’ll be fine after baking in that oven for a few days.”
“I see.” Stillman eyed Wren. “What happened?”
“We went to a club.” Nerves bubbled up, made her voice quiver like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Why?”
“It was my idea. Dev didn’t really want—”
“That was not my question.” Stillman spoke his rebuke quietly with an awareness toward Wren’s growing distress.
“Yes, sir. We went there to, uh, celebrate. Yeah.”
“I see.”
“Dev was attacked at the club by some chick wielding magic.”
“Did you see the attack?” Stillman’s faced showed no distress at the mention of a magical confrontation.
“Ye—”
“Were you in his presence when the attack started?”
“No, but …”
The Precept nodded. “I knew this day would come. Saw it in a vision. He’s becoming the danger I feared he would.”
Danger? Dev?
“I must consider the next steps carefully.” Stillman turned away and walked down the hall. “Maybe it’s time.”
Time? Time for what?
“Sir?” Wren asked, but Stillman didn’t respond. “Sir?” She spoke a little louder this time, following him down the hallway. Still no response. “Father.” She grabbed his arm when the switch in tactic failed to get his attention. “What danger?”
Magnus pulled her back with a cautionary, “Wren.”
Stillman shook his head. “The Knight of Flame may be lost to us.”
“What does that mean?” A sense of doom weighed her down as Magnus gripped her arm in support.
“Fire is the most volatile and corrupting of all the elements.” Stillman lectured, his features softened as he looked at Wren. “Sometimes, its influence is too great for the Knight to control and leads down a violent path. With Dev, I believe that is only part of the issue, a very small part in fact. There is something else that drives his self-destructive actions. From what you have reported—”
“From what I reported?” Wren blurted.
Magnus’s grip tightened around her arm.
Stillman continued. “Dev’s actions and attitude have taken a more lethal turn.”
“But the fights at the club and on the bridge weren’t his fault.” Wren pleaded.
“According to the news, more than eighty people died at that club because of the fighting. I deem that unacceptable.”
“That’s just one incident, though.” Wren felt the bedrock of her argument crack.
“You have brought many others to our attention, no?”
This can’t be happening.
Her personal reports to Stillman were matter of fact and honest. They weren’t supposed to be used against her Knight, but as a means to chronicle events.
She couldn’t breathe. The walls shifted in on her and the ceiling loomed closer.
“Some of the other Knights agree that Dev has strayed from the path.” Stillman said.
“By some, you mean Dronor.” Magnus spat out the Water Knight’s name. “Sir. The Knight of Water has never liked the Knight of Fire. Ever. Dronor would do or say anything if there was some negative consequence for Dev. You know that.”
“I have seen the enmity between the two. It pains me that our own team cannot get along as they should.” Stillman addressed Magnus. “But that does not negate Quinteele’s violent behavior. He craves it, needs it like we need food and drink. Can you refute this statement?”
Thoughts of Dev’s black eye and the joy on his face when he ordered her out of the tent flittered through Wren’s mind. He loved every minute of it. She thought he’d wanted her out for her own safety, but maybe there was another reason. Maybe he wanted her out so she wouldn’t see what really happened.
No, that’s wrong. Don’t think like that.
Wren looked to Magnus for support, but he refused to meet her gaze. He probably had similar thoughts running through his head. Could there be some truth to this whole out of control thing? Sure, the fight started when I was in the bathroom, but Dev was on the defensive when I got out. He didn’t start the fight … did he?
She looked up to the man in front of her, the man she called father when they were alone, and searched his lined face for the answer. She didn’t like what she saw in those compassionate eyes.
If Dev is out of control, what happens to him?
Stillman responded as if she had spoken her thoughts aloud. “One more chance. If the forces of Shadow have truly returned, we need to be at full strength. We need our strongest fighter to lead the charge.”
Yes!
“But,” Stillman’s tone hardened. “I will brook no other lapse. If Develor Quinteele loses control again, I will be forced to confine him. Shadow or no Shadow. I will not risk the safety of those our Order was founded to protect by allowing this volatile element to roam free.” He leaned in close. “Need I remind you of your assignment, Wren Peterlin, or of your duty to this Order?”
Wren snapped to attention. Her body wanted to wilt, but she would not allow it. Duty, honor, loyalty—tenets drilled into every molecule of her being from birth, living off-base with her parents then with the street gangs, to joining the Order—trumped all.
Stillman had promised her a life of purpose and challenge. In return, he’d asked only that she remain true to herself and to her heritage. He knew her hot buttons and played them like a master. As a member of the Order, she would carry out her assignments without regard to the personal cost.
Dev, please, find the control. Don’t make me do this.
With the eyes of Stillman upon her, Wren clasped her hands in front of her chest and bowed low, partly in acceptance of her fate, but mostly to hide the tears.
“Magnus,” Stillman said.
“Sir.”
“We need more information. If Shadow has returned, they do so with a plan. We need to know that plan.”
“Agreed.”
“Go to the club and snoop around, but be careful. Do not engage, if possible. We do not need escalation.”
Magnus nodded, turned to leave.
“Sir? Might I go as well?” Wren needed to get out of the Cradle, needed to escape. “I know the layout and may be able to help the search.”
“Are you sure you are up to this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So be it.” He looked into the darkened forge doorway as if he could see the Knight of Flame from his position. “Quinteele is down for a time. Make sure you get some rest before he is ready to move again.”
Stillman disappeared down the hall.
“Sparky will keep it together.” Magnus smiled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and dragged her toward the portal room. “So he gets a little crazy once in a while. We all do. We’ll just sit on him until we need that crazy bastard to go all fire and brimstone.” He tugged on her earlobe and jogged ahead.
Magnus was being Magnus. He tried to lighten the mood, but she could not shake the sense of gloom. She wanted to believe him, wanted to smile and share in his well-meant optimism, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she had to choose between her duty and her heart.
She faked a smile and laced her arm around his. “Let’s go, you big goofball.”
O O O
A quick step through the portal to Dev’s condo and cab ride through the early morning St. Petersburg streets brought Wren and Magnus to the Waffle House a mile away from the club. Magnus tossed the driver a fifty and waited until he pulled out of sight before jogging down the road. Wren followed close behind, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone followed. At two in the morning, she thought it unlikely, but didn’t want to take any chances.
A quarter of the way there, they ducked behind a parked car to avoid a patrolling police cruiser.
Police had cordoned off the area with crime scene tape strung between the trees and portable barricades across the entrance to the driveway. The wrecked Jag sat off to the side of the gravel path, its hulk stripped of anything valuable. The scent of smoke hung in the air.
“Wren,” Magnus called from the tree line. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Yeah. Why?” she asked.
“Look for yourself.” Magnus raised his hand toward the field as Wren trotted over.
“It’s all gone.” Wren surveyed the lot. The tent, parking markers, power poles, and everything. Gone.
“This may be a little harder than we thought,” Magnus said.
“How could they move everything so quickly? It’s like it was never here.”
“Money, bird brain. Money makes things happen and by the looks of it, our friends have plenty of that to throw around.”
The moon shone bright on the empty field. As they moved, Magnus and Wren stayed low so their silhouettes would not give them away. When a police car pulled up, they dropped to the ground and waited.
Wren, cheek in the dirt, felt the minutes drag by. Come on. They should be gone by now.
“Can we—”
Magnus shushed her with a raised finger as voices drifted closer and stopped at the trees. A beam of light from a high-powered flash light lit the ground to her left, on the other side of the Earth Knight.
“Don’t move,” Magnus whispered and dug his fingers into the ground.
Wren lay as motionless as she could and held her breath. Her heart thumped, the effect magnified by the hard ground beneath her chest. She stared at the stone-still form of Magnus. Eyes closed, he looked like he could be sleeping. The ground hummed beneath her seconds before a comforting warmth covered her body. Her vision grew fuzzy, as though looking through gauze, and where Magnus lay, a mound of dirt now showed.
The light swung toward them, shining over Magnus then directly over her own hiding place without slowing. At the end of its arc it winked out and she allowed herself to breathe.
Nestled in the cozy embrace of the earthen disguise, Wren didn’t mind that Magnus played it safe and hunkered down for long minutes after the voices retreated and the car doors slammed. Despite the fact that she lay on the very ground where she almost died not too long ago, she felt … safe.
“They’re gone,” Magnus said, his voice at a more normal volume. “We have to make this quick.”
“Man. That took forever,” Wren said.
“I had to be sure they were gone. Waited until I could no longer feel the vibration of their passage.” He jumped to his feet and followed the drive.
The earth magic retreated, leaving her chilled and with a strange sense of vulnerability—an entirely different feeling than the energy and aggression she got when touched by Dev’s element.
Dev. Her mind never strayed far from her favorite topic. Is he going to be alright?
“Is he lost, Magnus?” Wren’s worried question sounded loud in the early morning air as she kept pace.
“Don’t be silly.”
“No, Magnus, I mean it.” She spared a glance in his direction. “He’s done some … questionable things lately.”
Magnus snorted. “I know. I’ve heard your reports.”
My reports. My observations. If Dev gets in trouble it’s because of me …
“What can I do?” Wren felt the tremor in her words, but couldn’t help it. “I love him.”
“I know.” Magnus pressed his hands to his waist and shook his head. “Dum flicka.”
“What does that mean?” Wren asked, but could guess the meaning from the aggravation in his face.
“It means stupid girl.”
Yep. That’s what I thought.
“Spirits help me,” he muttered. “You know there can be no relationship with Dev.”
“Why?” Wren needed to know once and for all. The other Knights alluded to the fact that the Knight of Flame was alone for a reason, but they refused to tell her. She saw Dev’s loneliness every day. It was right there, in every move he made and every word he said. He tried to hide it behind his gruff demeanor and sarcasm, but it was there if you knew what to look for.
And I know what to look for. Been there. Done that. Got the scars to prove it.
“I don’t know.” Magnus blew out a deep breath. “For as long as I’ve known him, say five hundred years or so, I’ve never seen him with a woman. I’ve asked him about it, usually after too many tankards of ale, but he never answered.” He lifted his chin and looked toward the moon. “After I’d ask, Dev’s mood would change, grow sullen. I know there is a story there; but, after a while, I stopped asking, left the man to his peace.”
The distant wail of a police siren grew louder and they dropped again, but this one didn’t stop.
“We need to move,” Magnus said.
Lost in speculation of Dev’s possible past, Wren stumbled from the grass into a large barren circle of dirt and sand.
“Magnus,” Wren whispered, “The main club was here.” Using both arms, she traced an expansive gesture in front of her, delineating the location of the primary tent.
Magnus stepped close and tugged at his blond beard.
She pointed to another section off to her left. “The valets parked cars over there, and a small tent sat in the back, but I don’t know what they used it for.”
Magnus walked out onto the bare earth. “Keep watch. I want to try something.” He began to take off his shoes.
“You should just wear flip flops or Crocs or something easier than those punk-rocker kicks.”
He pulled off his boot with a grunt and threw it at her.
“Okay. Okay. Be quiet. I get it.” She checked the drive and field. All clear.
Magnus buried his toes in the dirt and raised his tranquil face to the sky.
“Why do you do that?” She hoped that the questions would ease her back into his good graces.
“Shh.”
Maybe not.
He sank into the ground to his knees.
“Are you alright?”
“Shh.”
“Fine. Be th—”
“Shh.” He raised his palm to her. “I feel something wrong … tainted.” He slogged through the ground like he was wading through the surf. “It’s coming from over here.”
Wren followed after, sparing quick glances over her shoulder.
Magnus stopped near where the back section of the tent used to be.
“Something is out of place.” He put his hands together, palms up, and muttered a string of noises that sounded like boulders tumbling down a mountainside.
Wren didn’t understand the language, but felt the soil tremble in response.
The ground shook and the packed sand around the Knight of Earth’s legs churned. Dark, moist soil rose to the surface, changing places with the dry surface crust. Along with the deeper layers of the earth, a foreign substance appeared. In minute amounts at first, the small white crystals soon covered the ground in a snow-like blanket.
The earth stilled. Magnus lowered his arms and stepped back.
“What is that stuff?” Wren asked.
Magnus scooped up a handful. “Perlite. A form of volcanic glass.”
“What?”
“It’s an insulating agent used in the phosphate and agricultural industries.”
“What’s it doing here?”
“That, my dear, is the question du jour.” Magnus crouched, grabbed another hand full only to let it sift through his fingers. “It could be a coincidence, is all. And have nothing do with the club.”
“But you don’t believe that, do you?”
“No. Something doesn’t feel right.” Magnus walked to the other side of the white patch. He pushed his hand under the surface then jerked it away as if stung. “What the …?”
“What?”
“I found the taint.” He patted his pockets and frowned. “We need to take back a sample, but … guess I need to do this another way.” Careful not to touch the crystals again, he held his palm over the corrupted surface. Within seconds a ring formed, emerging from the ground to capture the sample in a natural limestone container. “Something is definitely wrong here. I can’t tell you what it is, but I know the feel of Shadow.”
Tucking the box under one arm, he picked up his shoes. “Here. Hold this.” Magnus tried to hand Wren the sample, but she backed away. “It won’t bite you. Please. I have to put my shoes on.”
Wren took the container and held it at arm’s length.
“Let’s go.” Magnus said. “I’ll open a gateway. Any ideas on where to set it up?”
“How about the Jag?”
“That’ll work.” Magnus headed for the car, setting a much quicker pace than when they first set out. “I hope Stillman or Cyndralla can make some sense out of this stuff.”
Wren’s back stiffened.
Oh man, not her.