The Mark of Fallen Flame (Weapon of Fire and Ash) Read online

  “Get to the point Berak,” Levaroth sighed as he pulled bits of flesh and gore from his front.

  The creature hissed angrily. “One of the girlssss turned Reck and Abad into dusssst.”

  Levaroth stilled. Slowly, his head lifted as he stared at his subordinate. “Into dust,” he repeated. “How did you get away? The short version if you please; you take entirely too long to string a sentence together.”

  The creature let out another hiss at the insult, but it spoke before its leader could react, “The other girl disssstracted her whilsssst I hid.”

  Levaroth gave the creature a skeptical look. The loss of Reck and Abad brought forth no emotion in Levaroth. Curiosity, yes, but remorse was as unreachable as the furthest star. “Did you see where she went after?” The thrill of another potential kill made his blood simmer with excitement.

  “I followed her to a hossspital,” the creature hissed, seemingly proud of its forethought. As if recalling its experience with the girl, it shuddered, dropping its rotting, stinking flesh to the concrete floor with a splat.

  “I see,” Levaroth said eyeing the floor with disdain. “And using as few syllables as possible, how exactly did she turn them to dust?”

  The creature pondered for a moment, opening its large mouth and then shutting it again. The corners of Levaroth’s lips twitched as he suppressed a smirk. “I haven’t got all night, Berak.”

  “Touched them,” it replied at last, its words harsh and clipped to appease its master. Levaroth’s eyes widened. A human girl with supernatural powers? Things are getting more and more interesting, he thought to himself.

  He stalked across the room and carefully laid his sticky tool among the clean ones. “And did you get a name for this girl?”

  The creature straightened up, pride lighting its eerie eyes.

  “Emma Duvall.”

  4

  Emma

  The bone in Adrianna’s ankle was reset, and her arm, which hadn’t needed stitches, was bandaged. After a few hours, she left with her mother, grumbling about crutches and her neon pink cast, shooting Emma a sympathetic look over her shoulder before the double doors slid shut.

  Emma’s mother drove her home in silence. She slouched down in her seat as if trying to become a part of it. Her mother shot occasional glances toward Emma, and she wondered if the truth was somehow visible on her body, even though she had scrubbed off what she could in the bathroom.

  The night replaying itself in her mind. She could still smell the putrid stench of the creatures’ skin lingered on her. Her skin crawled, and it was a constant battle to fight the urge to scratch it.

  At last the car came to a stop and Emma risked a look next to her. Her mother’s intense, expectant stare made her stomach clench. Had she been speaking?

  “Sorry, did you say something?” Emma rasped. Her throat was dry and scratchy. She tried to swallow, but her tongue was pasted to the roof of her mouth.

  Her mother’s expression softened. “I asked what you had left to get tomorrow, for Monday.”

  Oh, right. School. Emma loved school; she was the type that got giddier during back-to-school shopping than when stores went into Christmas mode. School seemed like such a mundane thing after what had happened earlier that evening. To even think about carrying on with life as if everything were normal—as if she were normal—seemed wrong. Impossible.

  “Just some binders and small stuff,” Emma replied wearily.

  “Okay, well, I’ll go with you. We can make a day of it…Get lunch.”

  Emma attempted a smile, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate. “Sounds like fun.”

  Her mother reached out and tucked a stray curl behind Emma’s ear. “Get some sleep,” she said. Emma nodded and pushed the door open. Her limbs were heavier than they had been an hour ago. She turned to look back at her mother, wanting to beg her to come in but she didn’t want to worry her.

  Her mother opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. Then opened it again. “Lock all the doors and windows,” she said with a strange strain in her voice. Emma gave a stiff nod, finding it hard to draw a breath. She knows. Emma closed the door and practically sprinted up the paved walkway, which was visible in the glow of the street lamps and the solar-lights that lined the path.

  The car idled in the street while Emma grabbed the hide-a-key from under a large stone by the weed-filled flower bed near the front porch and opened the door. She cast a final look toward her mother as the car began to pull away.

  Once inside, she bolted the door and checked every window to be sure they were latched. She flicked on every light in the house as she went, ending with her bedroom upstairs. She still felt spooked and couldn’t shake the heavy feeling of eyes watching her. The clock on her side table said it was just after one in the morning. Both mentally and physically exhausted, she dropped like a stone into the chair at her desk and opened her laptop. Sleep would have to wait. She needed answers.

  Her fingers hovered over the keys as she stared at the empty search bar. What was she even looking for? She typed: life-suction powers. She gave a dry laugh at the results. Superheroes, fan-fiction, comics. There was nothing about real life. Not even from the wacky conspiracy theory nut-jobs. In her frustration, she typed: four-armed death stick creatures. Her head dropped into her hands as she gave a long sigh. The images didn’t even come close to matching what she had seen.

  Defeat, and a growing inability to hold her eyes open any longer won out. She shut her laptop and changed for bed. She wanted to wash her face and take a shower, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave her room again. Her throat was raw, her eyes prickling with tears as she struggled to come to terms with tonight’s events. It could have been worse. They could have died. Adrianna was injured and would need crutches for several weeks. She shoved away the pang of guilt and shame that rose up like a cobra ready to strike. They were alive. That was all that mattered.

  She plugged in her phone, which had died at some point while at the hospital. She picked up the book she had been reading, planning to stay awake until her mother got home. But her eyelids were too heavy, and by the second sentence, sleep had pulled her under.

  At some point during the night, she became vaguely aware of a comforting and gentle presence moving something from her lap and draping a blanket over her; a few whispered words and a soft kiss on her head.

  The dull roar of a lawnmower made Emma jerk awake. Bright morning sun poured into her room from around the edges of her thin curtains. Her neck was stiff and sore from resting against her shoulder all night. She rubbed it gingerly as she scooted to the side of her bed and tried to stretch. A hot shower was definitely in order.

  Her door cracked open as she rose to her feet, her mother’s face peering in. Dark circles lined her bloodshot eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked with a tired smile.

  “Great,” Emma replied with forced enthusiasm.

  Her mother opened the door further and leaned in the doorway wearing dark denim jeans and a navy-blue cardigan that hugged her tall, trim frame. As a medical professional, she rarely had time to don regular clothing. When she did, Emma always thought she looked like an entirely different person. One she could laugh with, and see the creases that lined her face from concentration and a stressful job, soften.

  “You look tired,” Emma said.

  “Long night,” she sighed. “I made breakfast.”

  The faint scent of buttery biscuits and sausage gravy wafted into her bedroom, making Emma’s mouth water.

  Grinning she said, “Be right there.” Her mother gave a smile and turned to go back downstairs. The shower could wait until after breakfast, she decided.

  Emma sent a text to Adrianna asking how she was feeling. In less than a minute, she got a response that made her lift a brow in question. 1m soar theez drgs r Uhm@zng

  After studying it for s
everal moments, Emma managed to glean that she was sore, but the pain meds she had were amazing. Emma laughed, shooting back a quick reply: Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.

  She padded into the bathroom to splash water on her face. As her head lifted and her vibrant emerald-colored eyes met those of her reflection, she paused. Her eyes shone brighter. Your eyes, they were glowing. Emma’s breath caught in her throat.

  She felt like a walking hazard to everyone around her. Ripping her gaze away, she dried her face, then tossed the cloth back onto the edge of the sink. With a deep, cleansing breath, Emma schooled her features as she exited the bathroom and descended the stairs.

  The aroma in the kitchen was heavenly. Classical music played softly in the living room as Emma, and her mother piled their plates with freshly cut fruit and warm, flaky biscuits that they drenched in sausage gravy.

  They ate in satisfied silence for several minutes before her mother spoke, “Well, you can take a shower,” her eyes flicked to Emma’s hair, and Emma had to force herself not to recoil, “while I do some cleaning up around the house, and then we’ll go shopping. Sound good?”

  Emma nodded. Her appetite had vanished. She pushed herself up from the table and cleared her plate. Without a backward glance, she trudged up the stairs, eager to shower.

  She hadn’t realized how dirty she had been. The water running off her, swirling at her feet was a murky gray. She scrubbed her body more forcefully than was necessary, her nails scraping her skin. The steaming water pelted against her back long after the water went clear. When she stepped out, her skin was an angry red.

  She made quick work of drying and straightening her wild, auburn waves, then brushed some mascara over her long lashes. After assessing her reflection for a moment, she stalked out of the bathroom.

  A faint garbled sound drifted up to Emma as she reached the top of the stairs, and it took her a moment to realize it was the TV. Emma frowned. Her mother rarely watched television. As she neared the bottom, she began to make out snippets:

  “—global bombings—”

  “—thousands dead—”

  “—no known person or group—”

  Emma hurried into the living room to find her mother leaning against the armrest of the cream-colored loveseat, her shoulders hunched, a shaking hand covering her mouth.

  “Mom?” Her mother’s head swiveled in Emma’s direction, her eyes wide and cheeks wet with tears. “What happened?” she asked.

  Her mother’s hand slowly fell to her side, brows drawn. “All over the world, bombs have been going off,” her mother replied in a crackly voice. “So many people…dead.”

  Emma’s gaze flicked to the TV screen as she came to stand beside her mother. Bile rose up in her throat, her eyes stinging. It seemed like only a handful of countries were left untouched. Los Angeles, London, Paris, Moscow, New York, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Beijing, and many others all targeted. Major landmarks and buildings with a significant number of people inside were blown up. Footage of injured people being loaded into ambulances, tearful children wrapped in their family’s arms as they wept, played over and over. Devastation everywhere.

  Emma let out a choked sob. Her mother wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. “Who would do something like this?” Emma asked when her mother switched the TV off.

  Her mother gave a shaky breath then shook her head. “I think we should stay home. It’s not safe out there.”

  “It’s not safe here either,” Emma challenged, “Washington hasn’t been hit yet. It doesn’t really matter where we are if we’re targeted. I doubt they are going to cancel school tomorrow, and they sure as heck won’t cancel work for you.”

  Her mother looked as though she wanted to argue but seemed to ponder her words.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” she replied at last. “It’ll be a good distraction, so we aren’t sitting around here feeling twitchy.”

  Emma nodded, wiping the streaks of wetness away.

  The sun hid behind dark, ominous clouds and by the time they parked, a torrential downpour had begun. Steeling themselves, they ran through the icy rain. Once inside the dry safety of the building, they grabbed two hot lattes to warm themselves back up.

  It was quiet, somber, as Emma and her mother grabbed far more than just school supplies. In the clothing section, her mother pointed out the necessity for a new outfit.

  Her mother had frequently voiced her opinion about Emma’s wardrobe choices and stressed the importance of dressing up. Emma preferred the comfort of jeans and a t-shirt to skirts and dresses, though she agreed to wear something new on her first day of senior year.

  Her mother held up a pin-striped pencil skirt and a lacey, black, short-sleeve shirt that Emma turned her nose up at. They bickered loudly outside the dressing rooms until Emma agreed on the top but convinced her mother to compromise with a pair of black skinny jeans with no holes. The finished look was very chic. Emma couldn’t suppress her smile when she saw her reflection, but it vanished when a sudden chill snaked up her spine, and a punch of cold hit her chest.

  She mentally shook herself, reasoning that it was just a lingering effect from her terrifying ordeal in the alley, coupled with her damp hair brushing against the back of her neck.

  As she placed the items into the overflowing cart, her gaze pulled away, toward movement behind a clothing rack. It was a man with eyes of swirling molten gold—beautiful and unnerving. She glanced at her mother to see if she had noticed the onlooker, but she was busy contemplating aloud if they really needed four types of peanut butter. Emma spun back to where the man had been, but he was gone. Emma dashed to the center aisle, claiming to need the restroom as her mother called after her. She scanned the aisle, but other than a slender, black-haired woman who was chasing after her babbling toddler, it was empty.

  Emma walked to the front of the store where the restrooms were, scanning for the unnatural golden eyes. Her brow furrowed as she looked around. Several of the workers had begun to look at her suspiciously. She gave one a tight smile, before heading for the restroom, hoping she could simply look lost.

  Her eyes caught on her reflection and she let out a gasp. Her irises were like vibrant, glowing emeralds. The light emanating from them didn’t seem real—as if they were somehow lit from within. She shook her head. It’s just the lighting.

  Stumbling out of the bathroom, her heart hammered. She gulped in a steadying breath, spying her mother at a checkout, loading up the belt. A bored-looking female cashier listened as her mother made excuses for the four different flavors of peanut butter.

  “Are you hungry?” her mother asked while Emma composed herself and began loading full bags back into the shopping cart. Her stomach churned, but Emma nodded anyway. Tacos were the Saturday tradition. Despite Emma’s mother being a cardiac surgeon, they ate out at least once a week, mostly due to their busy schedules.

  The restaurant was unusually empty. Emma exchanged a look of understanding with her mother. People were shaken up by the recent events. Suddenly their boldness to venture out and enjoy themselves felt disrespectful. They sat at their usual table in silence, waiting for the waiter to take their order. Ice shot through her abdomen, wrapping cold fingers around her lungs and squeezing, halting her breath.

  A man in a black suit entered the restaurant, his golden eyes drawing Emma’s stare away from her menu. His face was seductively handsome for what looked like a man in his mid-to-late thirties. Dark stubble decorated his chin, but his eyes—living, swirling molten gold—were the same ones she had seen in the store. He was too masculine, too otherworldly. A powerful air radiated from him. He stared at her a moment, his expression one of curiosity, punctuated by the way he cocked his head to the side, as if trying to figure her out. Then he turned and exited again as if deciding he had gotten what he came for. The menu fell from Emma’s shaking hands and clattered noisily to the tabletop.

  It’s
not the same guy, Emma told herself. He was probably just some businessman who had come to the wrong restaurant...with the same eyes as the ones she had seen hiding among the clothing racks. Besides, why would he have followed them there?

  Her mother raised a brow at her when a muffled vibration sounded against the leather booth. Emma instinctively reached into her pocket for her phone at the same time her mother went for hers. No new notifications. Emma looked up at her mother’s face just in time to see the color drain from it. She hastily shoved it back inside her purse.

  “Come on, we’ll get our food to go,” she ordered, sliding from the booth.

  “Why?” Emma’s heart began to race.

  “It’s nothing to worry you with, but we need to go right now.” Her tone brooked no room for argument.

  Emma slid out from behind her side of the booth while her mother tried to wave over the waiter who appeared to be deep in conversation with a tall, beautiful, olive-skinned waitress.

  “It’s okay if you just want to go, I’m not that hungry.” Emma looked over her shoulder at the door, half expecting the man to walk back through it.

  “Don’t be silly, we still have to eat. It’s just best if we head straight home.” Her mother attempted a reassuring smile that was more of a grimace.

  They had their meals boxed up and were back in the car racing home within fifteen minutes. The worry in her mother’s eyes and the way they kept flicking left to right as if trying to spot some potential threat kept Emma on edge.

  “What’s going on?” Emma tried again after her mother practically ran a red light.

  “Nothing is going on, Emma; you saw that restaurant. Everyone but us had the sense to stay home in case Seattle was targeted,” her mother said defensively, shifting in her seat—a dead giveaway to the lie.

  “If Seattle were to be bombed, we’d likely be dead no matter where we were. What’s really going on mom?”

  “Nothing, Emma. Drop it!” Her voice carried a fearful edge that made Emma’s breath hitch in her throat.