Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

“I didn’t have aspirations,” he told her, “except to survive. I stole cars. I was good at it, but it was dangerous. You had to be careful of the territory you worked, the people you worked for. Cops almost caught me more times than I can remember. I never felt safe. And then. . not long after I got out, I heard that the crew I ran with had gotten in some dispute with a local gang. Most ended up dead, or in jail.”

“You seem so straightlaced.”

He looked away. “I was a thief. I could still be a thief if I had to be. I saw so many tourists this morning, and there was a part of me coming up with a plan for how to take each one of them. Pick pocket, or short con. Snatch and grab. I used to tell myself that taking personal property didn’t really matter. As long as I didn’t hurt anyone physically, all that stuff could be replaced.”

“But that’s not how it works,” she said softly.

“No,” he agreed. “When I was sixteen, I stole a car. . and at the shop, we found this box that was full of baby pictures and toys, and. . things you can’t replace. There was something about the way it had all been put together. . it made me wonder if maybe it was more than just someone’s cleaning out a closet. As if. . the baby was dead, or something bad had happened. Just a gut feeling.”

“What happened to the box?” Lyssa tilted her head, lips tugging into a faint smile. “Come on. I know you didn’t throw it out.”

Eddie shrugged, scuffing his foot on the floor. “I found the owner’s insurance card in the glove compartment and put it in the box, along with a note. Then I mailed it to the local police department.”

Lyssa laughed, quietly. “A note?”

He felt embarrassed. “Yes, a note. I included the make and license-plate number of the car, and said it had been stolen and. . and that I thought the owner might like those pictures back. I wore gloves when I handled everything,” he added, a little defensively.

She held up her hand. “I didn’t doubt it.”

“It made me rethink some things,” he said, then, wanting to change the subject, said, “You’re nowhere. Off the grid. Hasn’t that been a problem finding work?”

Lyssa tore off a piece of bread. “You can have a whole life now with nothing but an Internet connection. I only communicate with my editors and agent via e-mail. We’ve never met even though they all live in this city. I have a laptop, and there’s wireless everywhere. It’s easier than you think.”

“Did you use fake identification to open a bank account?”

“Yes. Dead person’s social security number, too. I also have reserve cash in post office boxes all over the country. Salt Lake City, Boston, Chicago. . all the big cities where I’ve been. I mailed some to each location, just in case.”

Just in case you have to run, he thought, noting how she tensed.

“Name a book you illustrated,” he said. “I’ll find it.”

She smiled. “Like you found me?”

“Come on.”

“ The Long Glow, ” she said, ducking her head as though embarrassed. “It’s about a firefly who wants to glow all the time. I wrote that one, actually.”

Eddie stared. “I know that book.”

“No.”

“I do.” He remembered the illustrations: watercolors and inks, flame-rich in reds and oranges. “I bought it last year for a friend’s daughter. But the name—”

“Kara Allan,” she spoke softly. “Kara was my mother’s name. Allan was my father.”

“It’s a good name.”

“They liked books,” she said, and sighed. “I don’t want to talk about them.”

For several minutes they ate in silence. Lyssa found a can of pineapple and some plastic spoons. They passed it back and forth. Eddie began to relax. He understood why she felt safe in this place, so deep underground. Out of sight, out of mind.

When the pineapple was gone, and most of the bread — and a couple apple cores had been tossed into the darkness of the tunnel for the rats to chew on — Lyssa began gathering together her watercolors and drawings, stacking them into a neat pile.

Eddie looked around as she worked. Cans of food lined the wall, and a black garbage bag slouched open near his feet. He saw clothing inside. His gaze slid past to the scorched, blackened walls.

“What precedes an outburst?” he asked.

“Like I said, it happens mostly when I’m asleep. I’m usually having a nightmare.”

“You weren’t asleep today.”

“On the street? No. . I was angry. When I touched you. .” Lyssa shook her head. “It hasn’t happened like that in a long time. It wasn’t even a matter of control. The fire was just. . there. It had to come out. Does that happen to you?”

“Used to. Now I usually have some warning.” Eddie wished he could make this easier for her. “Are you leaving this place for good?”

“I think I have to.”

“Where will you go?”

Lyssa gave him a tired smile. “Doesn’t matter, does it? I don’t think I can run anymore.”

“You want to fight.”

“I want to live,” she said, and sat on the edge of the table. “When did you start to live again, Eddie?”

The question made him pause. No one else could have understood, intuitively, that so much of his life had been spent just surviving.

“When I was found by the organization I work for,” he told her. “That was when I felt safe enough to live.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t alone.” He found himself rubbing his scars again, and stopped. “I was protected. It’s amazing how something that simple can change someone.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “So you really trust these people.”

Eddie thought about Roland. “Most of the time.”

“Do you think they could help me find the Cruor Venator ?”

He wanted to tell her no. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I have to confront her.”

“Lyssa—”

She held up her hand. “I want to run away, more than anything. I want to run so badly, I can’t think straight. This is my worst nightmare.”

“So let’s go. I told you, I can have us out of this city in hours.”

“And then what? I live for another ten years on the run, underground, in shit holes where the rats are my only friends?” Lyssa closed her eyes, jaw tight. “Maybe it’s enough to just survive. But I don’t want to die alone, Eddie. I don’t want to die without anyone knowing me, or caring who I am. Or. . missing me. I want something different than that. But I won’t have it, as long as the Cruor Venator wants me. ”

He thought about what Lannes had told him and let out his breath. “You’re not going to die, Lyssa.”

“We all die,” she replied. “I’d just prefer it to be of natural causes, and in the very, very, distant future.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” he shot back. “But I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

He half expected her to throw their stairwell conversation right back in his face, but instead she gripped the edge of the table, with smoke beginning to rise from beneath her hands, and said, “You’re going to stick with me twenty-four/seven? You’re going to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder with me? No, I don’t think so. Besides, if you got hurt. .”

She looked down, and the candle flames around her spat and flared, while a wave of heat slammed from her body into his. “I don’t want you hurt.”

God, you twist me up, he wanted to tell her. . maybe right after he explained that looking over his shoulder with her for the rest of his life didn’t sound so bad.

“At least tell me you have a plan,” he said. “It’s crazy to go after the Cruor Venator without one.”