“But if you have to defend yourself, defend yourself,” Maribelle says. “If it’s kill or be killed, light him up.”
“Do everything you can to avoid killing,” Iris adds. But she doesn’t disagree with Maribelle either. This is not the thing I wanted to see them bond over.
I get out of the car, and my legs are trembling as I follow them into an empty warehouse for Eternal Lerna Footwear, this company I hate since they produce shoes made of hydra leather. The lights must be busted, and the sun setting isn’t helping us at all. I’m about to try and conjure a quick flick of fire when shards of glass from broken windows crunch under my boots. I freeze, terrified that Orton is about to pounce out of the shadows and strike me down before I can defend myself with a single lesson I’ve learned. I’d make history as a so-called chosen one who was taken down his first week on the job. But all is okay as Brighton turns on his camera’s light, helping us guide the way. The smell of fresh kicks, rubber, and glue grows stronger as we pass waist-high tables where the factory workers handled business.
Maribelle hovers to a balcony while the rest of us creep up these steel steps, and we all freeze when we hear voices in the room ahead. I make out Orton’s cruel laugh, and it sends shivers down my spine. I want to hit a one-eighty and hide in the car, but we’re in too deep already. It sounds like a group of people in there, and I wish I could see through these walls so I would know how outnumbered we’re about to be.
We press ourselves against the wall outside the door, and Iris gestures to Brighton and Prudencia to get some distance. Brighton is hesitant, but Prudencia drags him back by his vest.
“If she can’t help me, then I’m done helping her!” Orton shouts from inside the room.
Iris counts down from three and punches the door off its hinges. I follow her and Maribelle in.
The office is cramped enough without the six people in dirty gray jumpsuits and crimson belts staring us down—acolytes who have sworn their lives to the Blood Casters. Orton hobbles around the table, and when he grins, I zero in on his red-stained teeth. Dark veins pop against his sickly white skin, like shadows coursing through snow. His eyes glow like burning coal as he shoots bright, screeching fire at us. I freeze, and Maribelle is quick to yank me out of the way; Iris would’ve ripped my arm out if Maribelle hadn’t beat her to it. The fire explodes behind us, and I’m relieved that Brighton and Prudencia aren’t in here.
“Get them!” Orton shouts.
The acolytes charge. Three have switchblades, two have wands, and another has a battle-ax. One foolishly throws a punch at Iris, who catches his fist and swings him into another acolyte. Maribelle glides, careful not to bang into the low ceiling lights as she dodges spellwork. Two acolytes are closing in on me, and I back up, ready to run out that door, but I can’t do Maribelle and Iris dirty. There’s no shortage of fear to tap into as I hurl fire-darts into the acolytes. I hit shoulders and sides, doing my best not to kill anyone, even people who are trying to stab me. The woman with the battle-ax is screaming as she corners me, and as she raises it overhead, Maribelle pops up and snatches the weapon. Maribelle floats into a backflip kick, knocking the acolyte in her chin, and lands beside me.
“Show no mercy,” Maribelle says as she hurls the battle-ax across the room, the blade digging into the leg of an acolyte who was sneaking up on Iris.
An acolyte aims his wand at Iris, and I catch him with a fire-dart from across the room.
“Nice, Emil!” Brighton shouts from the doorway with the biggest grin on his face.
Maribelle and Iris are so in sync as they knock out the remaining acolytes left and right.
The corner of the room glows with white fire as Orton casts an attack the size of a boulder. He hurls the blast and catches Iris by surprise. She’s thrown across the room and crashes through the desk.
She doesn’t get up. I rush over to her as Maribelle pursues Orton. I’m relieved to feel Iris’s pulse, no matter how faint. I call her name over and over and beg her to stay with us. Suddenly Prudencia is by my side.
“Help Maribelle,” Prudencia says. I nod, but I don’t get up. “Emil, go! I’ll watch Iris.”
I’m shaking as I rise. I’m nervous about everything—the stirring acolytes, my brother and best friend’s safety, Iris’s condition, how Maribelle and I will hold up against Orton.
We were idiots to come here without the full squad. Orton looks weak, but he’s stronger than when we battled on the train. Maribelle is swinging nonstop, but Orton is legit untouchable. He surprises her with punch-kick combos, phasing again whenever she counters. I study his pattern, like when Wesley was running circles around me during training, and the next time Orton lunges, I catch him with a fire-dart to the back and blast him straight into Maribelle. I would’ve been in shock and tensed up, but Maribelle is quick, and she chokes Orton from behind. I can’t tell by the look in her eyes if she’s trying to knock him out or take him down for good. Orton is struggling, but he’s not slipping away like air.
“Don’t let go!” I shout. “I don’t think he can use his power when you’re holding him.”
Orton’s face is turning blue the harder Maribelle squeezes, and then his eyes go dark. White fire ignites around his hands, and Maribelle screams as he burns her. Her grip is broken, and she’s shaking on the floor. Orton’s arms are glowing with flames, and he touches a desk, setting it ablaze. Black smoke begins to fill the room, and one acolyte picks himself up and runs away. The others probably won’t be so lucky if they don’t recover soon.
Brighton is continuing to film while checking on Iris with Prudencia.
“Get out of here!” I shout.
I have to try and take down Orton alone. Brighton and Prudencia don’t have to die with me.
Orton stares me down, and I feel like we’re about to have a shoot-out. We cast fire at the same time and our attacks explode against each other in dying screeches that chill my bones. I’m sweating as I unleash fire-dart after fire-dart, but the attacks phase through him. The sooner I handle him, the sooner we can focus on rescuing Iris and Maribelle. I’m catching my breath when Orton hits me with a fire-orb in the center of my chest. I’m thrown backward and slam face-first into the wall. The power-proof vest saved my life, no doubt, but my forehead is busted open and I can taste blood on my lips.
“You’re okay,” Brighton says as he appears beside me and studies my wound.
I cry out because the cut stings and stings, like whenever I would get sunburnt from the beach and Brighton would smack my back as a joke.
“Whoa,” Brighton says. “It’s closing. You’re healing!”
Another phoenix power.
He reaches for his camera, and that’s when we see Orton glowing in white flames against the growing smoke. The fire has traveled from Orton’s arms to his back and is trailing down his legs. Someone might say he looks powerful, but there’s nothing but anguish on his face.
“Move him!” Prudencia shouts at Brighton.
Brighton tries helping me up, but Orton is closing in on us. He grabs his dagger. My brother won’t stab some dude—I know him. I’m about to raise my hand and try to blast Orton, but he stops. He continues taking slow steps, but he’s not progressing, like he’s stuck on some invisible treadmill. The white fire spreads throughout the rest of Orton’s body, consuming him from head to toe. Brighton is quick to aim his camera as the flames work against Orton. His howling dies before his body can slam across the floor.