Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

“Safe isn’t the same as giving in,” he said in a low, hard voice. “Safe is buying time, coming up with a plan.”

“The plan is now,” she said, but even as those words left her mouth, the sidewalk began spinning. Sweat broke out, and so did nausea. She tilted sideways, lights dancing in her eyes — and something wet bubbled inside her nostril.

She touched the spot. Her fingers came away red.

“Damn it,” Eddie muttered, covering the distance between them in moments. “Hold on to me.”

Lyssa closed her eyes, dizzy. “I’m not an invalid.”

“You’re an Amazon,” he replied. “Here’s a cab. Get in.”

She tried to pull away. “No, I don’t think so.”

He didn’t say a word — just grabbed the front of her jacket, holding her still. But he didn’t need to touch her to do that. All it took was the look in his eyes. All the gentleness gone, replaced by a cold that sank through her, into her heart. It bruised her feelings and frightened her.

She stared at him, knowing full well she could hide nothing of what she felt — and as he stared back, a terrible darkness entered his eyes.

With what seemed to be a great deal of effort, he let go of the jacket. Lyssa let out her breath. Stepped back, and climbed into the cab.

After a moment, Eddie followed.

“Bayard and Elizabeth Street,” he told the driver, then glanced sideways. “We’re meeting Lannes and Lethe in Chinatown.”

The cab accelerated into traffic. Lyssa leaned against the door, aching and tired. “Can I talk about this without you freaking out?”

“Yes,” he said tightly.

“I’ve been hunted for ten years,” she told him. “Since I was twelve years old. I always knew I would be found. And I knew when it happened, I’d have to make a choice. Run. . or stand my ground and fight.”

The cabbie glanced in his rearview mirror.

“World of Warcraft,” Lyssa told him. “It’s a gaming thing. We’re very melodramatic.”

She turned back to Eddie, expecting him to say something. . anything. . but it was as if he hadn’t heard a word. He remained silent, staring at his hands, which were resting flat on his thighs. Lyssa stared, too — at his scars.

The cab driver rolled down the window, fussing with his heater. “Turning into an oven in here.”

She hadn’t noticed the heat rising off Eddie, but when the cab driver spoke, she felt an invisible flame wrap around her, from head to toe. It felt good, and she didn’t like that. Right now, she wanted to feel cold, resolved.

She tried to move away from him, but came up against the door. Eddie turned his head, and watched her. She looked away from him, out the window.

The cab ride seemed to take forever. Traffic was bad. Lyssa heard sirens all around them, far away and close, wailing through her until the noise was in her spine, and her heart beat to the rise and fall of that ominous sound.

Chinatown was run-down and gritty. Even the cover of night and neon lights couldn’t hide the dirty awnings and sidewalks. Five-and six-story walk-ups lined Bayard Street, those brick faces crowded with fire escapes, and cheap, glowing signs covered in a funky mix of English names and Chinese characters. There was hardly enough room to drive. Everything from delivery trucks to minivans parked on both sides of the narrow one-way street.

The cab dropped them off at the intersection of Elizabeth and Bayard. Lyssa got out first and put her face to the cold wind, inhaling exhaust and grease scents, and an undercurrent of sewage, slime. She smelled blood, too, but realized — as she pushed back her hair — that it was from her hand.

Nauseating twirling sensations hit her, as though she were going to vomit and spin at the same time. Eyes closed, she breathed even deeper, ignoring the tingle of power that rode up her right arm.

Before today, she would never have contemplated casting a spell — let alone three. I knew the price, she thought, with dread.

“Lyssa,” Eddie said, and she made room for him to exit the cab.

It was difficult not to limp along as she walked, hunched over and nauseated. Even her heart pounded too hard. For some reason, that made her think of Mandy, dying alone in the park. She felt like the same thing was happening to her.

Eddie slid his arm through hers. She tried to pull away, but even with her inhuman edge of strength, he didn’t budge.

“Lean on me,” he said.

“I don’t want to.” I’m afraid to. You’ll let me down.

He didn’t say anything or let go. Lyssa had no choice but to keep up, but it was easier than she expected to fall in at his side. Natural, as though she’d been doing it all her life. Heat flowed between them. Her heart began to slow. Breathing was easier.

Don’t be tricked, she told herself. This doesn’t mean anything.

Of course it does, replied the dragon, as the muscles of her right arm twitched. What would you say? Oh, yes. Loosen up.

Loosen up. She hadn’t been loose in ten years. She hadn’t even been flexible. Her heart was so stiff and brittle, it would break if anyone touched it.

Especially him.

They stopped in front of a narrow metal door crammed beneath the awning of a magazine store. Teen girls filled the small, well-lit clothing shop next door. One of them looked up, saw Eddie, and began nudging the others. She didn’t think he noticed until he turned slightly to put his back to them.

Lyssa peered around his shoulder. The girls were giggling, biting their bottom lips as they checked out his ass.

“They think you’re cute,” she told him. “Not a criminal.”

“It’s amazing how fine a line that can be,” he replied, unlocking the door.

They entered a dark corridor. The cracks in the walls were wide enough to stick her fingers into, and the pea green linoleum on the floor had been spray-painted with obscenities — as well as one giant heart decorated with a skull and crossbones.

Mold tickled her nose, but so did the dry, salt-breeze scent of the gargoyle — accompanied by notes of jasmine, vanilla.

“Lannes and Lethe are here,” she said.

They began climbing a narrow staircase so steep it was almost a ladder. Lyssa had to stop halfway up, breathless. Worn-out.

For the briefest, most terrible moment — she thought about cutting herself again. Just a little cut, a little blood, to give herself energy. Enough to get through this day.

Or I could cut Eddie.

Revulsion filled her. Lyssa leaned hard on the cracked wall and pressed her fist against her mouth. Memories trickled — memories of power, and being inside the Cruor Venator ’s rotting mind.

Other memories strained: her mother’s smiling eyes, a splash of blood on snow. Her father’s scream of rage.

Both of them murdered. Estefan killed, and many others. All because power had become someone else’s addiction. Power and revenge. What had she said to those guys studying Macbeth ?

Once you decide to use violence to get power, it’s difficult to stop.

Eddie hung back, two steps down — and leaned on the wall opposite her.

Silence fell. Just their breathing and the creak of the building. Muffled voices from outside, and the honk of a car horn. Her heartbeat. Her terrible thoughts.

Lyssa closed her eyes. “Something you want to say to me?”

She heard him climb the steps separating them. The stairwell was barely wide enough for her shoulders, let alone two people. His leg touched hers, and his hand slid past her arm to rest against the wall. Heat poured off him. Fire. Fire in her own skin, licking down to bone, and blood.

“Is it easier not to look at me?” he asked, in a soft voice.