Into the Fire
Page 64
“What’s going on?” I shouted when I saw Mencheres, Ian, Maximus, and Marty about a block away from the warehouse. They had all shed their glamour, so they were easy to pick out.
“Stay back,” Mencheres called out in reply.
His hands were outstretched, and as I watched, a metal Dumpster flew down the next street and landed on the side of the warehouse, joining the other various pieces of urban debris that were stuck to the side of it as if welded there by a giant. Then screams and repeated pounding noises reached me even though I was still a street length away.
“What are you doing? Where’s Vlad?” I said, running over and ignoring Mencheres’s demand to stay back.
“Inside,” Maximus said, his expression very grim.
I was aghast. “You left him alone in there with the two necromancers?” The fire couldn’t hurt him, but they could—
“All of you, leave now,” Mencheres said, stunning me. “I will ensure that the necromancers do not escape.”
So that’s who was screaming inside. Guess it also explained why Mencheres kept telekinetically transporting more and more heavy objects onto the exterior of the building. He might not be able to use his powers on the necromancers directly, but Mencheres could use it to keep them from tearing a path to freedom through the building’s walls and windows.
Now this scene made sense. Being semi-fire-resistant due to grave magic was one thing. Surviving a blazing inferno was another. “So when Vlad’s spell broke, he stayed inside to burn one of them to death while you’re making sure that the other doesn’t get out until Vlad nabs him?”
No one said anything for a loaded moment. Then Marty came over and put his arm around my waist.
“Kid,” he said, his voice cracking. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but . . .”
“The spell didn’t break,” Ian supplied bluntly. “And he’s so barmy from being trapped inside his worst memory that he’s burning everything and everyone near him, including us.”
I was so shocked, I began to argue. “That can’t be. I killed the necromancer who hexed him, so he should be fine now!”
“He’s not,” Mencheres said with such pity that I felt the cold touch of despair despite the heat pouring off the nearby warehouse. “This necromancer knew the curse of endless regret. It is steeped in grave magic, and grave magic curses do not end with the death of the caster like regular magic or even necromancy. They only end with the destruction of the cursed object.”
“But the cursed object is Vlad!” I all but shouted.
Mencheres’s features twisted with grief. “Yes.”
Chapter 37
Mencheres could not mean what he seemed to mean. He just couldn’t. And even if he did, I refused to accept it.
“This is all wrong,” I snapped. “I know Vlad’s worst memory because I saw it the first time I touched him. It’s of him screaming by a river while holding his dead first wife, not of him burning everything down around him!”
“That might have been his worst memory back when you two met,” Mencheres said in a painfully gentle tone, “but since then, it has been superseded. Before things became too dangerous to stay near him, I watched Vlad repeatedly hold out his hand and say, ‘Give it to me’ before mimicking the appearance of putting an object into a slot. He stares silently for several minutes, then erupts into rage and manifests ever-more-powerful bursts of fire.”
Why did that sound familiar? When Maximus looked away, his face crumpling, I understood.
“He’s reliving the memory of when he received Szilagyi’s video of my supposed rape,” I said, anguish gripping me.
I wanted to kill that bitch a thousand times more for trapping Vlad inside this spell, and I also wanted to weep. I knew the agony Vlad had felt centuries ago when he’d found his wife’s broken body because I’d relieved it when I first touched him with my right hand. To know that his soul had been scarred even deeper by the brutal videos Szilagyi had sent him . . .
Mencheres let out a sigh that sounded as if it were a choked sob. “The memory keeps repeating, stalling Vlad from accessing his full strength, yet eventually, he will do more than burn down this warehouse. He will destroy this entire block by morning, and left unchecked, the destruction will continue.”
“He’ll tire out eventually,” I said, grasping at straws. “He has to. He can’t flame everything down forever!”
Mencheres gave me another pitying look. “Yes, but with his strength, by then it will be too late. Such a public display of superhuman power will draw the attention of every Law Guardian. Whether Vlad was magically compelled or not, he will surely be executed for endangering the secrecy of our entire race.”
“Then you have to stop him!” Rage and grief made my demand a scream. “He’s not coated in grave magic, so do something!”
“I can’t,” Mencheres said with such fervent frustration; his power flared and the words hit me like a literal slap. “Fire is a natural element. It does not obey my telekinesis any more than air or water do. His powers have also grown to where I cannot smother his flames with exterior objects, either. He would merely melt them down in the same way that he melted his castle the day he received that video.”
“There must be something else,” I snarled. “Ian,” I said, abruptly turning to him. “What about that reality spell you hit me with the other day? Wouldn’t that work to snap him out of this memory?”
“Stay back,” Mencheres called out in reply.
His hands were outstretched, and as I watched, a metal Dumpster flew down the next street and landed on the side of the warehouse, joining the other various pieces of urban debris that were stuck to the side of it as if welded there by a giant. Then screams and repeated pounding noises reached me even though I was still a street length away.
“What are you doing? Where’s Vlad?” I said, running over and ignoring Mencheres’s demand to stay back.
“Inside,” Maximus said, his expression very grim.
I was aghast. “You left him alone in there with the two necromancers?” The fire couldn’t hurt him, but they could—
“All of you, leave now,” Mencheres said, stunning me. “I will ensure that the necromancers do not escape.”
So that’s who was screaming inside. Guess it also explained why Mencheres kept telekinetically transporting more and more heavy objects onto the exterior of the building. He might not be able to use his powers on the necromancers directly, but Mencheres could use it to keep them from tearing a path to freedom through the building’s walls and windows.
Now this scene made sense. Being semi-fire-resistant due to grave magic was one thing. Surviving a blazing inferno was another. “So when Vlad’s spell broke, he stayed inside to burn one of them to death while you’re making sure that the other doesn’t get out until Vlad nabs him?”
No one said anything for a loaded moment. Then Marty came over and put his arm around my waist.
“Kid,” he said, his voice cracking. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but . . .”
“The spell didn’t break,” Ian supplied bluntly. “And he’s so barmy from being trapped inside his worst memory that he’s burning everything and everyone near him, including us.”
I was so shocked, I began to argue. “That can’t be. I killed the necromancer who hexed him, so he should be fine now!”
“He’s not,” Mencheres said with such pity that I felt the cold touch of despair despite the heat pouring off the nearby warehouse. “This necromancer knew the curse of endless regret. It is steeped in grave magic, and grave magic curses do not end with the death of the caster like regular magic or even necromancy. They only end with the destruction of the cursed object.”
“But the cursed object is Vlad!” I all but shouted.
Mencheres’s features twisted with grief. “Yes.”
Chapter 37
Mencheres could not mean what he seemed to mean. He just couldn’t. And even if he did, I refused to accept it.
“This is all wrong,” I snapped. “I know Vlad’s worst memory because I saw it the first time I touched him. It’s of him screaming by a river while holding his dead first wife, not of him burning everything down around him!”
“That might have been his worst memory back when you two met,” Mencheres said in a painfully gentle tone, “but since then, it has been superseded. Before things became too dangerous to stay near him, I watched Vlad repeatedly hold out his hand and say, ‘Give it to me’ before mimicking the appearance of putting an object into a slot. He stares silently for several minutes, then erupts into rage and manifests ever-more-powerful bursts of fire.”
Why did that sound familiar? When Maximus looked away, his face crumpling, I understood.
“He’s reliving the memory of when he received Szilagyi’s video of my supposed rape,” I said, anguish gripping me.
I wanted to kill that bitch a thousand times more for trapping Vlad inside this spell, and I also wanted to weep. I knew the agony Vlad had felt centuries ago when he’d found his wife’s broken body because I’d relieved it when I first touched him with my right hand. To know that his soul had been scarred even deeper by the brutal videos Szilagyi had sent him . . .
Mencheres let out a sigh that sounded as if it were a choked sob. “The memory keeps repeating, stalling Vlad from accessing his full strength, yet eventually, he will do more than burn down this warehouse. He will destroy this entire block by morning, and left unchecked, the destruction will continue.”
“He’ll tire out eventually,” I said, grasping at straws. “He has to. He can’t flame everything down forever!”
Mencheres gave me another pitying look. “Yes, but with his strength, by then it will be too late. Such a public display of superhuman power will draw the attention of every Law Guardian. Whether Vlad was magically compelled or not, he will surely be executed for endangering the secrecy of our entire race.”
“Then you have to stop him!” Rage and grief made my demand a scream. “He’s not coated in grave magic, so do something!”
“I can’t,” Mencheres said with such fervent frustration; his power flared and the words hit me like a literal slap. “Fire is a natural element. It does not obey my telekinesis any more than air or water do. His powers have also grown to where I cannot smother his flames with exterior objects, either. He would merely melt them down in the same way that he melted his castle the day he received that video.”
“There must be something else,” I snarled. “Ian,” I said, abruptly turning to him. “What about that reality spell you hit me with the other day? Wouldn’t that work to snap him out of this memory?”
