Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

“Lyssa,” said Eddie, but she stepped out in the street in front of an oncoming cab. The driver barely stopped in time and leaned on his horn. Lyssa ignored his ire, slid around to the side, and got in. So did Eddie before she could shut the door.

“What are you doing?” he said to her, angry. “Running again?”

“Screw you,” she replied, even though he was right. “Get out of this cab.”

“No,” he snapped. “Forget about that. And next time, try not to get yourself run over.”

“Hey,” said the driver, flicking his fingers at them. “Take it outside or give me a place to drive. I don’t got all day.”

Neither did she, unfortunately. Eddie stared at her challengingly, and she shook her head, heart aching as she gave the cab driver the address. He accelerated so hard she slammed backward.

“Women,” he muttered, and turned up the volume on his radio — and kept turning it up — until reggae music seemed to flood every molecule of her body with the not-so-relaxing urge to claw through the divider and rip apart that radio. Her eardrums vibrated. So did her teeth.

Eddie grimaced. Moments later, she heard a loud click, and the radio quit.

The driver said, “Shit, man.”

“Check your wiring,” he told him. “Sometimes it burns.”

Lyssa stared, and he gave her a disarming smile that made all her anger at him feel petty and misplaced.

“Well, it does,” he said.

She shook her head, planting her feet on the floor, so they wouldn’t start bouncing nervously. “I need your phone.”

“You’re using it now, but not earlier?”

“Circumstances have changed. I don’t have time for pay phones, and it’s clear I’m not protecting anyone by trying.”

“So who are you calling?” Eddie gave her a surprisingly wary look as he placed the phone in her hand.

“Jimmy,” she said, wondering why he seemed relieved by her answer. “The little boy.”

She dialed his number, but the phone rang and rang. He didn’t pick up.

Icky probably needed a walk.

Maybe he went back to school.

He’s in the bathroom.

Taking a nap.

“If that kid’s not hurt, I’m killing him,” she muttered, trying again — still receiving no answer. There was no machine to leave a message. The phone rang twenty times before the call was disconnected.

“Jimmy seemed like a good kid,” Eddie said. “What little I saw of him.”

“The best. I’ve known him and his mother for about a year.” A year too long if this ended badly.

But what was I going to do? Turn my back on them? Pretend they didn’t need my help and protection in that underground hellhole? I couldn’t do that.

There are some things you can’t run from, she thought.

I wouldn’t want to, she realized.

Lyssa made another call and suffered another endless round of rings, each one driving into her skull with the same hammering force of that reggae music — only much worse. Eddie watched her with concern but kept silent. Just there. Strong, and there. Which she appreciated more than she cared to admit.

She tried Jimmy’s mother, who worked at an upscale deli in Midtown.

“Tina’s not back from her lunch break,” said the girl who answered. “Our boss is pissed. ”

“How long has she been gone?”

“An hour. Bitch,” she murmured, and then, louder: “If you get hold of her, tell her she better get her ass back, like now. Dishes are piling up, and the bathroom needs new toilet paper.”

Lyssa hung up, her head pounding. “Dammit.”

“Talk to me,” Eddie said.

She glanced at the cab driver, but he was on his cell phone, making an angry speech about his radio.

“Jimmy’s mother isn’t back from lunch. That’s not like her. She takes her job too seriously. Something’s wrong. If the Cruor Venator got them. .”

Her voice choked off, her throat closing up as if actual fingers were squeezing the life out of her. Lyssa clawed at her scarf, uncaring if anyone saw her dragon scales. She couldn’t breathe.

Eddie reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, stilling her. No words. Just his touch. Heat seeped through her skin, deeper into muscle, bone — soothing, embracing, a sweet fire that once again made her think of kinder days, softer memories.

The knot in her throat loosened. Lyssa drew in a deep breath.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Of course,” he murmured. “We’ll find them, Lyssa. That’s what we do.”

She took another breath. “I’m afraid that knowing me is going to ruin their lives.”

He squeezed her wrist, very gently. But there was nothing gentle about the way he looked at her.

“I’ve seen lives ruined,” he said in a too-soft voice. “I’ve seen people hurt in unspeakable ways. I know what that looks like. I know what it feels like. So when I tell you, Lyssa, that you’ve ruined nothing. . I know what I’m talking about.”

He let go of her. “Don’t blame yourself for things that are out of your control. The world is unforgiving enough.”

It was still hard to breathe, but for a different reason. “Jimmy and his mother are beneath the contempt of women like the Cruor Venator. If those witches have hurt them. . it’s because of me. To hurt me. ”

“Sounds like it would be easier to kill you.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

But “easy” wasn’t the point. Death would be the last on a very long list of things that the Cruor Venator would do to her.

If you let her, murmured the dragon. You have a choice.

My mother had no choice, replied Lyssa.

You are wrong. She chose your father. She chose you. Your survival. That was a good choice. What you choose is cowardice. Because you do not trust yourself.

So true. How come, then, she was finding it easier to trust a stranger than her own heart? Why did she want to trust him. . even more then she wanted to trust herself?

It made no sense. It felt crazy.

Crazy and right.

If I could tell you my secrets, she thought at Eddie, but there was no way to explain just one part of the story without spilling the whole thing. . and that was something she could not do. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Eddie filled up his side of the backseat, exuding calm and strength, and resolve — though the hard light in his eyes made all of that seem dangerous. “Is this another trap?”

“I don’t know.” When Lyssa dialed the phone again, her hands shook. Only this time, she got a busy signal.

“Someone’s there,” she said.

Fifteen agonizing minutes later, she was racing up three flights of stairs — oozing sweat, sick to her stomach. The elevator was too slow coming to the lobby, and she didn’t fancy the idea of being stuck in a metal box.

Eddie was right behind her, moving just as quick and silent. Waves of heat pulsed off his body — or maybe that was her, suffering the wild rise of fire in her blood. Her mouth tasted sour. Her head hurt. So did her right arm, muscles burning from her fingers to her neck.

When they reached the fourth-floor landing, Eddie grabbed her shoulder.

“Slow,” he whispered. “Don’t lose your head.”

Too late, she thought, hearing a muffled, distant scream. It sounded like Tina.

Lyssa did not run, though — not when Eddie opened the landing door and entered the corridor, not when she followed him — staring past his shoulder at the apartment door. No more screams, but she heard Tina sobbing.

Another door cracked open. A middle-aged black woman peered out, holding a cigarette between her fingers. A phone was in her other hand.