Desert Flame Read online

Running his hands over his face, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  Kyne frowned at him. “Hardy, mate… Did something happen in the city?”

  “No, I…” He didn’t know what to tell them. Truthfully, he couldn’t explain it. “If stopping it at the top was what we should’ve done,” he went on, “I should’ve gone undercover at EarthBore five years ago, but we didn’t know about them until five months ago. It’s impossible. It would’ve been a long shot, even back then.”

  “I’ll be the first to admit I’m in over my head on this one.” Eloise sighed and looked between the two men. “I doubt my power would be able to help, and I know nothing about mining.”

  “Just the basics,” Kyne said with a smile.

  “Even so, it’s not going to be as easy as it was making the Dust Dogs disappear,” she told them. “We need to tell the others what’s going on. We should figure this out together.”

  Kyne’s gaze returned to Hardy. “We’re stronger together.”

  “Yes,” Hardy said. “I’d like to speak to Finn, anyway.”

  “Finn?” Kyne asked. “Why?”

  “I have a theory I’d like to run by him,” the vampire replied. “Eloise, you can close up the shop if you like. It won’t hurt to miss a day or two. I gather we’re going to get more black opal in a few weeks.”

  “If there’s anyone left to dig it,” Kyne muttered.

  Eloise kicked him in the shin. “You can keep your defeatist attitude, Kyne Brady!” She smiled at Hardy. “I’ll go see Vera and Drew. Tell them what’s up.”

  Kyne snorted. “You really want to go see Vera?”

  Her cheeks turned red as the blood rushed to her face. “You want to tell Hardy all about it, too? He’s standing right there!”

  Hardy had a feeling he’d stepped into something, but he said nothing. Instead, he picked up his hat and made for the door.

  He did want to see Finn, but truthfully, he just wanted some peace and quiet. After suffering the roar of the city, and returning to an argument, he was on the edge of something he hadn’t felt in a century.

  Settlers had called this place Solace for a reason, and he was reminded of it every time he stepped outside. The stillness calmed the monster that slept inside him. The monster he hadn’t seen since… Well, it’d been a long time.

  “Hardy?” Eloise called after him.

  He turned to find Kyne had already disappeared out the front of the shop. Her sweet, innocent eyes stared at him, and he saw that her concern hadn’t abated.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked.

  Hardy put his hat on and tipped the brim with his finger. “See you at dinner tonight?”

  Her shoulders sagged as she realised he wasn’t going to open up to her. At least, not any more than he already had.

  “Yeah. See you then.”

  The outback stretched to the horizon, the red earth meeting the cloudless blue sky in a shimmering line. From where Finn sat on the top of the hill, he could almost believe the sunburnt land stretched into infinity. A never-ending circle like the ouroboros—the snake who ate its own tail.

  Today, his vision was too sharp for his liking. When he was drunk, his magical nerve endings dulled, and he couldn’t feel the ache of his short time as a battery anymore. Being connected to the seal to be able to exist day-to-day was one thing, but being plugged into it was another.

  The air stirred around him, kicking up a small cloud of ochre dust. He had a visitor, and it wasn’t fae. By the coldness, he knew it was Hardy.

  “I’m honoured,” Finn drawled, not looking up.

  Hardy sat beside him. “You’re not at the camp.”

  He waved his hand along the horizon. “What gave it away?”

  “I see the softening up towards us has more to do with the wine than Eloise saving your life.”

  Finn narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?” He wasn’t in the mood for hashing out his attitude problems today.

  “EarthBore are coming,” the vampire replied. “They’ve got their permits and will be making a move on that land just north of your camp.”

  “And?” Finn knew where this was headed already. Maybe Siora was right when she told him that the Exiles were taking advantage of the fae.

  “This effects us all, Finn. I don’t know what will happen to you and the other fae if they green-light an industrial mine. I don’t know what will happen to the seal.”

  “Then we will move someplace else.”

  “There won’t be anywhere else.” Hardy grimaced and shook his head as if he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with threats of an impending doomsday. “Whatever… Can you go someplace else?”

  The fae snorted. Places of power were few and far between, but they’d made the journey here without fading too much. They’d find another if they had to. The internet was brilliant for looking up those kinds of things.

  “Finn, Solace has been your home for a long time. I know you can’t go back to your world, but don’t you want to protect what you have here?”

  He sighed and wished he had another bottle of wine. He wanted to do something, but he was bound to his people, and this wasn’t their fight. It wasn’t their world. Even as he thought it, he knew Siora was wrong. This was all they had and they should be grateful. Still, he didn’t know what Hardy wanted him to do about EarthBore.

  “What would I know about mining and human paperwork, anyway?” he asked. “I know little about the politics of this world.”

  “It’s not about that,” Hardy told him. “You have a connection to the Earth that no one else has.”

  Finn shrugged. “I can see why you’d think that.”

  Hardy leaned back slightly, his brow creasing. “You don’t?”

  “It’s different here. Always has been.” He turned his gaze to the flat, red landscape. Finn was used to dense forests, soaking rain, and grass so thick it was like springy moss. At least, that’s how he remembered his homeland, but it’d been a long time since he’d been there. “Wherever I walk on this land, it feels dry.”

  “Dry? Of course, it’s dry.”

  “I’m talking about magic, old timer, not the desert. Where I come from, the entire world is steeped in the stuff. It’s the air, the water, the earth, the fire. It’s everything, even to the non-magic folk. If they came here, even they would feel the absence of it.” He returned his gaze to the vampire.

  “What is it called? Your world?”

  “Lor’Iyslar,” he replied. “In your language, it means something like mother.”

  The vampire drew in a deep breath. “Mother Earth…”

  “I can’t help you way the way you want.”

  Hardy said nothing, but his disappointment was as clear as the sapphire summer sky. The Exiles had no other leads and asking Finn was an act of desperation.

  “They’re not here yet,” Finn said.

  “If I’m not mistaken, I think you’re sobering up.”

  “What a shame.” Finn didn’t want to go into Solace, but maybe he ought to pay Blue a visit. “If you’re here asking me about your big bad mine business, then you lot are really scraping the bottom of the barrel. Why don’t you use your powers for a change? Erase some minds and be done with it.”

  Hardy’s lip curled. “I won’t exploit what I am.”

  “Exploit?” Finn snorted at the irony. “Do you think I’m exploiting the animals I charm with my magic? They haven’t got the brain capacity to fight back, is that it? Or is it because humans have worked out numbers and words and are more intelligent?”

  “No.” Hardy’s eyes narrowed and began to change colour. There were even little veins of pulsing blood that ran outwards from his perfect, predator-like bone structure.

  “Well, look at you going all angry vamp.” Finn reached out and grabbed Hardy’s arm. His magic coiled around the ancient power keeping Hardy alive, while the vampire’s flesh seeped ice into his own.

  Vampirism was a strange concept to the fae. A human body brought back to life by u
nknown powers. They felt witch-like to him, but not like the witches of this world. This power had the taste of starlight…like the kings and queens of his world.

  Wally was a werewolf and Drew was a shifter, both clearly had beasts living alongside their humanity, but so did Hardy. His just manifested differently… Though through his touch, Finn could sense it’d been a long time since Hardy had let it out of its cage, and the beast was restless.

  “What?” Hardy asked, pulling away.

  “You’re on edge.” Finn waved his hand at the vampire and pulled a face. “You better not go all Dracula on me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m a beast charmer, and you have a beast inside you, vampire,” he stated. “There’s a fine line between what you once were and what you are now.”

  “Could you charm me?”

  “No, you’ve still got too much human in you, but wouldn’t that be a sight?” Finn laughed, the sound carrying across the outback. This was the real reason the vampire had come looking for him, not this EarthBore business. The vampire was having an existential crisis.

  Hardy’s expression softened. “I still have humanity? It’s a comforting notion.”

  “Don’t get humanity and vampirism confused with good and evil, old timer.” He wove his fingers together. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

  “If that’s true, it sure doesn’t feel like it.”

  “From one old timer to another, believe me when I say this won’t be the first or last time you question your life and the meaning of it all. It will end for me one day, but for you…” He looked over the vampire and saw his turmoil. “You will go on until someone takes your life, or you end it. Sucks, eh?”

  Hardy lowered his gaze. “Everyone wants to live forever, but they rarely think of the consequences.”

  “C’mon, say it straight, vampire,” Finn drawled. “You never wanted this.”

  “How do you know?” he demanded.

  “I’m not stupid. That’s how I know.” He stood and dusted the dirt off the arse of his trousers. “I know a great deal about tragic backstories, vampire. Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not a unique soul.”

  “You’re so not sorry.”

  “What gave it away?” He rolled his eyes. “But this is what you are now and have been for ages. Get over it already.”

  Finn walked away, leaving Hardy sitting on the hillside. Whatever they were going to do about EarthBore, he didn’t know. What was certain was that the fae couldn’t do a single thing to stop it.

  Chapter 7

  London, England, 1831

  * * *

  Hardy sat beside the fireplace in his sister’s room, his brow creased. The orange glow was barely strong enough to light the dank corners, let alone stretch its warmth throughout the house.

  Mary lay in the small cot against the wall, her slight frame covered in all the blankets they owned. She coughed, her lungs crackling as her chest heaved.

  Winter had been harsh this year, and the spring had brought long days of rain and miserable drizzle—the weather barely broke long enough for the sun to shine. The streets had turned to mush and shite, and there was barely enough to eat, let alone burn for warmth.

  Hardy was twenty-one, and a man old enough to marry, but had his three siblings to care for—Mary, eighteen. Elizabeth, sixteen, and Thomas, thirteen. All of them brown-eyed, curly-haired, pale, and as thin as rakes for want of proper feeding.

  The four of them all slept in the same room, unable to keep fires burning in the rest of the house. They were all tired and hungry, but there was nothing they could do about it, other than for Hardy to keep trying to find work…but scraping together coins and scraps only went so far.

  Mary wheezed again, and this time tears sprung into her eyes as she descended into a fit of heaving coughs.

  Hardy gestured for Elizabeth, who scurried away from the fire to fetch some water for her sister. He helped Mary sit as he took a cup from Lizzy and pressed it to her lips.

  Hardy couldn’t bear seeing her suffer like this. She was choking; the sickness was wringing what little breath she had right out of her lungs, and the coughing sapped her strength.

  Consumption.

  She’d started bringing up spots of blood two days ago, and Hardy didn’t know what to do. He was the eldest, it was his responsibility. He should know what to do.

  “She’s getting sicker,” Elizabeth whispered, turning her large brown eyes onto her older brother.

  “We have to send for the doctor,” Tom said from the shadows by the fire.

  Hardy shook his head and helped Mary back into bed. He knew the doctor wouldn’t come. Not at this hour, and certainly not for their kind. They had no money or status, and their worth as people were only comparable to those two things.

  Mary coughed again, and he leaned over and dipped a cloth into the basin of stale water by his feet. Wringing out the material, he pressed it against his sister’s fevered forehead.

  He didn’t know what to do. Their parents had died some years ago, and with no family to care for them, the role had fallen upon Hardy’s shoulders. He was a full grown man, and that was the way things were. If he couldn’t find a way…

  “Lizzy,” he said, gesturing to the girl, “sit with your sister.”

  “Why? Where are you going?” Her eyes widened, and he flinched as he saw hope in them.

  He said nothing and went into the next room, closing the door quickly so the heat from the fire wouldn’t escape.

  Reaching up into the cold chimney stack, his fingers found the ledge and the small leather pouch hidden there. He took it out and emptied the contents into his hand. The coins glinted in the candlelight and he counted, even though he knew how much there was.

  There wasn’t enough. There was never enough.

  The sound of Mary’s heavy coughs echoed through the thin walls, and he closed his hand around the coins.

  “Freddy?”

  Hardy looked up as Tom edged into the room. “I have to go out for a while,” he told him. “You’re head of the family until I get back. Understand?”

  He nodded, his gaze falling to the pouch. A boy of thirteen, and he already understood the hand they’d been dealt. That meant there was a good chance he knew what his older brother was about to do.

  Hardy smiled down at the boy and pressed the pouch into his small hands. “You should know where I keep the money.”

  “I be beggin’ your pardon, brother,” Tom replied, “but I already know.”

  “Of course, you do.” He chuckled and roughed up his brother’s hair.

  “Do you have to go?”

  His smile faded. “I have to do something.”

  Tom said nothing for a moment, his pale fingers clutching the money against his chest. “Is…is she going to die?”

  Hardy glanced at the door, his heart twisting. “I’m going to get her some medicine to make her all better. You’ll see.”

  “Are you going to steal it?”

  “Ask no questions and you’ll get no lies.” He grimaced and pulled the boy into his arms. “Man of the house, remember?”

  Tom nodded and Hardy let him go.

  Reaching for his coat, he said, “I’ll be back before sunup.”

  Hardy paused by the door and gave Tom one last look. Mary coughed in the other room, the sound piercing his already battered heart.

  “Be strong,” he murmured before he left.

  Hardy pulled his flea-bitten coat closer, sinking into the threadbare material, trying his best to take comfort in the little warmth it provided.

  He watched the road, but the hour was late and there was little movement. Mist clung to the shadows, covering everything in a ghostly haze. The gas lamps had dimmed, their light doing little to cut through the haze.

  The apothecary was dark, the windows covered with blinds for the evening.

  Satisfied that no one was lingering, Hardy crossed the road and ducked under the eave. He assessed the door, lookin
g at the lock and window. He waited a moment longer, then cracked the small window above the lock with his elbow.

  Hardy listened, but nothing stirred. Satisfied the sound of shattering glass hadn’t woken the apothecary, he reached inside and rattled the latch. The door clicked open, and he slipped into the darkness.

  The shop smelled like oils and herbs. A long counter ran the length of the room, on which sat an enormous till made of metal and gold. Rows of shelving sat behind, each laden with bottles, boxes, cloth, and other assorted packages. Other goods were stacked in a glass-fronted display case at the far end, as well as little pyramids of colourful tins full of miracle ointments along the bench. Another door sat at the rear of the store, where a darkened staircase sat beyond.

  Hardy ducked behind the counter and ran his fingers over the contents of the shelves, reading labels and turning over packages.

  The words meant nothing to him but when he saw the small vials of laudanum, he shoved as many as he could into his pockets. The glass clinked together as he looked over his shoulder into the darkness. Moving down the row, he found some cod liver oil, and he took that, too.

  Something here had to help Mary. It had to. If not, then something to ease her suffering.

  The thought of helping her slip away terrified him, but she wasn’t getting any better, and mercy seemed better than allowing her to suffer. He wiped his eyes, knowing the laudanum ought to do it and do it gently.

  His heart stopped at sound of footsteps creaking on the staircase beyond, and he turned to see a man in a white nightshirt fly towards him, brandishing a wooden bat.

  “Thief!” the man shouted. “Thief!”

  Hardy stubbled backwards and collided with the shelves. They rattled, the force dislodging several boxes and bottles that crashed to the floor.

  He looked frantically towards the door and tried to leap over the counter, but the man swung the bat at him. Unfortunately, the apothecary was a big man, so his blow landed with enough force to knock Hardy onto his back.

  He crashed onto the floorboards with a cry and tried to scramble away, but he was caught behind the counter with nowhere to go.