Flames to Free

Hank’s summoned Glock gleamed in the sunlight as we climbed down the spiraling steel staircase in the center of the Jet Star 2. It showered glimmering droplets on me and I cringed as I jumped down onto the cement foundation.

“Turn it off, please,” I said, feeling like I’d walked into some kind of otherworldly, magical fantasy. Not the innocent kind. 

He flicked his hand, spinning the gun on his finger as he stepped down to join me and it vanished in a splash of flickering light. As a runic mage, he wouldn’t be able to summon the weapon again for twenty minutes.

“That’s dangerous. Smooth, but dangerous.” I glared at his now empty hand.

“I know. But it must be done—it’s part of my act.”

“This isn’t the old west.” I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth against my will.

“Are you sure about that? Mildred is straight out of the old west.” His bourbon eyes regarded me steadily, mirth flickering in them vividly.

I straightened my linen tank around my concealed waistband holster, pulled chapstick out of my jeans pocket and pointedly traced the balm across my lips. I wouldn’t be baited. My real name was Mildred, but everyone called me Dred. At least, people who valued their life did.

His jacket flared open as he ran one hand through his wild black hair.

“Hot enough for you?” I asked, noticing a damp spot under his arm on his light blue T-shirt. I returned the chapstick to my pocket.

He smiled at me. “I can take the heat, Dred.”

“Good choice, Hank,” I said, referencing his return to my real name. The sun beat down on my skull. Sweat gathered at my hairline and on the back of my neck. “I need some water,” I announced.

“You want water, now, Dred? We’re in the middle of tracking down a demon. Let’s go after him.” He jerked his chin in the direction the demon had gone. “Why didn’t you use your magic on him?”

“You’re about to die from either heat exhaustion or at my hands for calling me my birth name. I’m doing you a favor. You need water.” While I bristled at his question about my magic, it deserved an answer. “About my magic—I still only know a few spells. Mostly destructive. Wind. Water. And a protection spell. We’ll get him. He’s not going anywhere.”

“He just went somewhere. Away. He might have even left the park.”

“Maybe, but I’m betting that his lair is somewhere in the park itself. This place is pretty old, by western standards. So, there’s likely a legion of them. But I wish he’d left,” I said with a sigh, starting to walk toward the ride exit, “then we could leave too. I hate this place.”

I shouted a goodbye to the ride operator and let her know that a clean up crew would be by soon to take care of the damage, and her mind—but I didn’t tell her that part. The Torchkeepers were the branch of the guild that handled exit interviews, helping people forget the supernatural weirdness they’d witnessed. Their job meant they followed in our tracks and it was always best to be far away when they showed up. 

Hank joined me as I vaulted the waist high divider between the ride and the exit area and emerged into a sea of people on the blacktop. 

“You hate it? I think I like it. Reminds me of Coney Island,” he said, falling in step beside me. “Yeah, I think I do. That’s the difference between you and me, Dred—my sunny disposition and your sour outlook.”

I barked a laugh, deciding to head the way the demon had gone. But we’d take our time. 

I actually didn’t know if there was a legion of demons living at the park, but I wasn’t in the mood to race through it. Nearly seeing Hank take a fireball in the face because I was trying to do what the Fates had asked still had my hands trembling. I hadn’t wanted a new partner, but here I was, pairing up with him. Mainly because it was this or not work the field, Captain’s orders.

Still, like hell was I going to lose my partner because of some outlandish commandment from meddling gods. I respected the Fabric concept. But I also respected saving Hank and other humans when necessary.

Soon, we’d located a vending machine full of bottles of water and soda.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Hank said, showing off that East Coast urgency of his as I paused to make a purchase.

“You’re out West now. That’s not our culture. We take our time.” I swiped my card.

That wasn’t entirely true, about us westerners. But we were pretty chill compared to New York City, where Hank used to live.

I got two bottles and handed one to Hank. “Drink up, broheim. That bomber jacket’s not ideal for the desert heat.”

He unscrewed the lid and took a long swallow. “Thanks. I think of it like a sauna suit. It’s how I watch my weight.”

I laughed. “OK, new plan, Hank. I think we should take the Sky Ride and get a view of the park. We might spot the demon from up there.”

He studied me. The fragrance of fried desserts wafted past us and my stomach growled. Hank sniffed the air, which was quite the sight in his cool-guy bomber jacket and aviator sunglasses.

“I’m getting a strong hit of Coney Island.”

I wiped sweat from my temple. “Carnival fare. They probably serve the same kind of terrible food.”

“I have an idea—let’s grab something to eat,” he urged, surveying the area as though searching for the source of the foul odor. Of course he was suddenly less interested in the demon now that his stomach was talking.

“Forget it. We might end up chasing the demon. The last thing we need is you throwing up your deep fried Snickers.”

He turned his sunglasses to me. “Do they sell those here?”

“Probably not,” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I never come here. Hate it. I worked here in high school. I have bad memories of this place.”

“Bad memories of the second happiest place on Earth? Impossible.”

“Let’s get moving. Follow me,” I said, starting toward the Sky Ride. I scanned the crowds, rides, and trees one more time, looking for the demon or anything out of the ordinary. “This place wishes it was anything close to Disneyland. It’s a gimmick. Not even remotely approaching the class of Disneyland. Although I hate that place too.”

“What don’t you hate?”

“My Colt 1911. Your summoned Glock. And sometimes I don’t hate my powers that showed up out of nowhere.” And surprised me and killed a legion of demons. I sighed.

I still hadn’t told Hank that story. I didn’t know when I’d trust him enough to share it. It wasn’t just the demons who died that day.

He fell silent, which told me that Helaman Fua, our captain, had told him at least a portion of the story.

At the Sky Ride loading area, we flashed our badges and went to the head of the line. The downtime would relax the adrenaline still doping my veins, and maybe we’d get lucky and spot the demon. 

“Here’s my newest question, Hank. Why didn’t the demon attack me when it had the chance?”

Being advised by the gods to lay off the killing of supernaturals bears repeating. Seems like an easy thing to follow. Just do what they say. But it wasn’t that easy. I was torn and there was no point in dancing around that. My job for a while had been to go in strong and decimate supernaturals who were toying with normals.

I guess it could be said that killing supernaturals was a hard habit to break.

Our shoes dangled twenty-five feet over the main drag in one of the Sky Ride’s blue and white gondolas, sailing over the park. Birds chirped in the canopy of trees surrounding us. The afternoon sun warmed the day into the low nineties, sucking any perspiration from our bodies before it had the chance to do any cooling action. Below us, fountains sprayed near the park entrance and shirtless children ran through the water like it was a splash pad. 

I continuously scanned the horizon, the crowd, the rides, looking for a red demon like some kind of real-life Where’s Waldo. One that featured a potentially blood-thirty monster. Kind of a macabre take on the franchise, but I went there anyway.

“I had the same thought, Dred. I thought for sure he was going to charge you and knock you off that track. That or gore you with its—”    

“If you say dick, I’ll never forgive you.”

He sighed, loudly. “I was going to say horns, but I agree, yours is funnier. Every woman’s dream.”

My cheeks went hot, which irritated me. “Look, just because men fantasize about dying in the arms of a cluster of succubi, all used up and depleted of their lifeforce, doesn’t mean I want that. Or that any woman wants it, either.”

“But you probably do,” he said, his face almost unreadable behind his pretentious aviator sunglasses.

“You hardly know me.”

“Two months? Feels like an eternity to me.”

The faintest hint of a dimple appearing on his cheek gave him away.

“Still haven’t answered my question,” I said. The banter was fun. He was almost as good at it as my former partner, Theo Scott, who I still referred to as Scott. Theo had never fit him.

Hank shifted on the gondola, causing it to sway. “Maybe the demon is protecting something?”

“But then why come out at all and make a stir? If it was protecting something, shouldn’t it just stay hidden and only come out at night?”

“He didn’t try to kill you—really. And that is, admittedly, a strange move. Unlike the demons I’m used to.”

So far during our fledgling partnership, it had been a series of East vs. West jabs with us. “Is there a trait the elite New York City demons share with the country-bumpkin demons here that you are used to?”

“Oh, sure. Definitely. How about, they like to kill and don’t hesitate?”

“Really? So,” I cleared my throat, “bloodthirsty?” 

“Oh, yeah. I broke up legions of demons all the time in New York. So many nests of them. So many. And we killed them. Often.”

I scoffed. “Maybe you guys killing ‘so many’ is why the Fabric is all out of balance.” This was our first demon case, so the two of us hadn’t ironed out any of the issues that were now slapping me in the face.

“Nah, Dred. I doubt that. I fail to see how demons are required for balancing anything.” His lips moved like he was about to smile. I wished he’d take off his sunglasses so I could see his eyes and read him better. He seemed to love the mystery and the distance the dark lenses afforded him. “But for the sake of discussion, what does it look like when your little pet Fabric is ‘disturbed’?” He turned to look at me.

Around us people screamed euphorically as rides flung them around. Parents shouted at kids. I squinted against the sunlight and searched the crowds. “Keep watch. No staring at me. We’re looking for a demon.” The gondola swayed when I waved my hand out at the park.

“Fine.” He turned away. “What do you mean, about the Fabric?”

“Was the first time you heard about it when you came here? Has no one in New York looked into the theories about balance and the Fabric?”

“Maybe. Maybe it was all the rage and I’ve been ignoring it. That is a talent of mine—ignoring things that don’t interest me.”

I swore under my breath. “Well, I think what it looks like, as far as I’ve seen, is bubbles of odd events elsewhere. So, you guys screw around, just willy nilly killing supernaturals, and out here we have an influx of super activity as though they’re running away from something. They come out of the woodwork and disturb normals. At least, that’s what I think it looks like. No one has really documented it.” I thought back to my recent encounter, where I’d had a momentary glimpse of the Fabric. But, I’d blocked out a lot of the stuff from that day. 

Hank laced his fingers together, rested them on the restraint bar, and stared down at the crowd, “Look, I had no idea we were supposed to be concerned about some metaphysical concept known as the Fabric. Sounds hokey.”

I’d need to work on this with him—at least educate him in what I knew of the Fabric, which still wasn’t much. But for now, I saw the demon below us, bouncing across the roof of a performance stage in the middle of the park.

“There it is,” I said, unlatching the lock on the safety bar of our gondola and pushing it open.

“What the hell, Dred? What are you doing?”

“Getting off,” I said.

“That’s what—” he began.

“Don’t finish that. And jump, now!”