Marjorie Liu: Within the Flames

It began as a game. Death was always a game, under civilized circumstances.

Tea was served. Tea and sandwiches, accompanied by glistening cakes and sugared cookies. The guests fidgeted inside the small room with its stone floor and hard wooden chairs: rare antiques made for kings and queens, in older, darker, years.

In all, six women were present. Three were in their early twenties. Strong girls, with clear skin, bright eyes, and rosy cheeks. Good girls, chosen for their good hearts.

The two women who had lured them here were older, though only just. The woman in charge had chosen them, years ago, for reasons that had nothing to do with goodness.

Which was why they were still alive. Whether or not they stayed that way would depend on how the wind blew. The woman in charge had trained them. She knew what they were capable of. She knew the precautions necessary when dealing with them.

“So,” said one of the newcomers, a lanky brunette with an unseemly penchant for gum chewing. “This is just like a sorority, right?”

The woman in charge set down her tea. “It has been called such, though I prefer to think of our organization as somewhat more. . mature.”

“I’m a Kappa Kappa Gamma,” replied the girl, smacking her gum. “We’re very mature.”

“Indeed.” The woman smiled. “I think you will be happy with us.”

“And the networking opportunities are good?” asked another girl, a blonde, as blithely oblivious as the rest but with a great deal more intelligence in her eyes. “I suppose you’ve seen my résumé. A computer science degree was supposed to be a sure thing, but no one seems to be hiring. At least, not people they don’t already know.”

“Or who don’t have experience,” added the last of the new girls, also fair-haired, though certainly from a bottle. “It’s worse in the legal field. They’re telling me they need at least two years of prior work at a firm. Christ. Where am I going to get that if no one will even talk to me?”

“That is why we are here,” said the woman in charge. “Bright Futures is an organization dedicated to promoting the advancement of promising young women such as you three. Think of us as. . headhunters.”

“Yeah,” said the sorority girl, giving one of the older women a cheerful look. “That’s what Betty said.”

Betty wore jeans and a velvet blazer, and lounged like a cat with her arm thrown casually over the back of her chair. Her hair was black, and so were her eyes.

“I told Hillary that we have contacts in the fashion industry,” she said crisply. “Here in the city.”

“Not just New York. Paris, too,” added Nikola, the other girl whom the woman in charge had trained. Dark-skinned, with lush copper-toned hair, and a sensual mouth that always distracted men. She wore a long red dress that clung to her curves, and her golden earrings fanned downward against her throat.

“Cool,” said the sorority girl, though her companions seemed less impressed. Not that it mattered. The woman in charge thought their color was growing worse, and she had to hide a smile when the young lawyer swayed, blinking hard.

“Is there a bathroom?” she asked, with a touch of embarrassment.

“We’re almost done here,” said the woman in charge. “Can it wait?”

She kept her tone polite but with an edge, a hint of disdain.

The young lawyer stayed seated but gave her a defiant look that under other circumstances might have made the woman in charge think twice about using her as a candidate.

“You don’t look so good,” said Hillary, who had eaten less than the others and had hardly touched her tea.

“I don’t feel well,” said the young lawyer, swaying again, her hands white-knuckled as she gripped the edge of her chair.

“Neither do I,” said the computer science major, who was having trouble keeping her eyes open. “Oh, wow.”

“Wow,” echoed Hillary, her own eyes getting big. “Yeah, maybe you should both find that bathroom.”

“Air. Air would be. . better,” said the young lawyer, trying to stand. “I think we. . we should get out of here.”

“Mmm,” said the other girl, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. “Mmm. . God.”

She pitched forward, landing hard on her knees. She tried to hold herself up, hands braced on the floor, but her elbows quivered so violently it was only seconds before she lost the fight and was curled on her side, panting. The young lawyer fell beside her moments later.

Hillary shot off her chair, gasping when her knees almost buckled. Swaying, swallowing hard, she managed to straighten and shot a concerned look at Betty, who hadn’t moved and was watching the two fallen girls with a faint smile.

“I think they need help,” Hillary said.

“Do you?” replied Betty, glancing at her with that same sharp amusement. “You should be more concerned about yourself, sweetheart.”

Hillary frowned. “Why?”

Nikola sighed, examining her nails. “Well, you’re going to feel everything, for starters.”

“What does that mean?” Hillary asked, but the woman in charge had risen while the others were speaking, and unsheathed the obsidian blade hidden inside her leather jacket.

She stood behind Hillary. Betty and Nikola smiled.

“Answer me,” said the girl.

“As you wish,” murmured the woman in charge, and stabbed the dagger into the girl’s side, in the kidney. It was a soft spot, easier than trying to cut her throat — or wound her in the back and risk the blade bouncing off bone.

Hillary shrieked, twisting. The woman muttered a sharp word, power tingling over her skin — and the sorority girl froze, her voice choking in her throat.

Betty and Nikola moved in like vipers. But not toward Hillary.

Betty rolled the lawyer over, and knelt hard on her chest. The girl tried to struggle, but it was a feeble effort that bordered on dreamlike. The computer science major wasn’t moving at all. She barely breathed. Nikola crouched beside her and removed a dagger from within a slit in her long red skirt. Betty held her own weapon. Both she and Nikola looked at the woman in charge.

“Begin,” she said softly.

And so they did.

Later, after the power had been drained from the blood, and all were full and sated — sprawled upon the sticky floor beside three cold corpses — the woman smiled to herself.

“Now we’re ready for her,” she said, closing her eyes and seeing fire. Old fire, old screams.

She would find the dragon. Finally.

Betty and Nikola laughed.

A dragon slept beneath New York City.

Her dreams were fitful. Her dreams always were. She had been hiding a long time and had run a great distance with no home, no place to rest her head.

Her home now was humble and small, but it was hers. Filled with light and color, and glass. Small jars of paint, and a canvas to stretch her wings upon.

Others shared her underworld. Men and women, and children. The dragon protected them, when she could. Some, she considered friends. But always from a distance, where it was safe. Safe, for them.

Safe meant being alone.

The dragon had been alone a long time.

But sometimes, like tonight, she dreamed of a man.

And he was made of fire.

More than twenty-five hundred miles away, Eddie knelt on the polished concrete floor of a glass-walled cage, trying very hard not to catch fire.

The cage was an eight-by-eleven block of concrete and fire-resistant glass, and the door was made of thick steel, framed in that same concrete. No furniture. No blankets. The space had once been part of the dining room, and the double-paned glass wall usually offered Eddie an unobstructed view of the kitchen. There was, however, a privacy curtain that he could draw over the exterior of the cage.