Page 109 of Into Darkness (Night Prowler 6)
Screaming from the nurse’s station. The overhead fluorescents flickered off and on. The data screen wrenched from the wall opposite the bed, crashing to the floor and shattering. A flare of light from the window, searingly bright. Heavy blackout shades were drawn against the hellish heat of day, but one push on the proper button on the universal remote attached to the metal rail on his hospital bed remedied that, and the shades slid silently back.
The Grand Minister was on the sixth floor of the hospital, which provided him an unobstructed view of the surrounding city through the tinted glass. Dead center of the view was St. Stephen’s Cathedral, a kilometer away.
The flare of light wasn’t really light after all. It was fire. A churning, orange inferno had swallowed St. Stephen’s whole, leaving only the megascreen atop the highest tower visible. It still displayed the rotating picture of Lumina Bohn.
With his mouth hanging open, the Grand Minister watched as the megascreen listed sideways, then toppled, breaking away from the tower in a colossal spray of stone and glass, falling down to be consumed in an instant by the flames below. Then the tower itself disintegrated, and he was left staring at a writhing ball of flame, spreading out in the shape of a mushroom.
He’d seen that shape before. He’d seen that hellish mass of flame before. He’d felt the earth shake in just the same way, heard the same thundering boom of explosion.
He knew exactly what it all meant.
Magnus was in the central nave of St. Stephen’s when it erupted into flame. He knew what it meant, too, because he’d seen it all before, too.
“Lumina,” he whispered, sinking to his knees.
The flames swallowed him. Heat and smoke and howling wind, eddies of glowing ashes. He closed his eyes and let the fire test him, let it snap and bay at him like a pack of rabid dogs. It was hellishly hot and every breath singed his lungs, but it quickly turned cool and caressing, the flames gently licking his skin like a lover’s caress.
Lumina’s fire recognized him. It let him go.
He staggered to his feet. Surrounded by fire that didn’t burn, Magnus pushed through walls of flame, buffeted by the wind that fire produces but not harmed. At least not by that. He called out her name again, louder, certain she was here because he’d recognized the images she’d sent, but uncertain how to get below, where he’d find her.
It made sick sense to him now. The religious oppression. The ban on the word “God.” It was genius in its own way. When you wanted to establish yourself as the de facto ruler of the universe, you had to eliminate any and all competition. And if you could use the infrastructure of the enemy to your own advantage, so much the better. Almost all cathedrals had mazes of catacombs and crypts, tunnels and tombs, areas perfectly suited for hiding things. For keeping things away from the outside world.
Things like prisoners.
Thorne had constructed his headquarters and containment center for his enemies right under one of the most famous cathedrals in Europe. And Lumina had grown up within sight of the prison that held her mother.
The earth continuing to shake beneath his feet, Magnus called out to Lumina with his mind; he was answered with silence. Focused, fury pushing him forward, he didn’t notice the cadre of white-suited Peace Guards that had breached the rear doors of the cathedral, pouring into the nave like a swarm of locusts.
THIRTY-FOUR
The electricity was short-circuited by the fire. The lights were extinguished; everything was plunged into darkness. The backup generators, heated beyond operational capabilities, failed. The only system that worked was the sprinklers. Inside the prison, it began to rain.
Still holding hands, Lumina and Jenna stood in the melting doorway of the suite Thorne had built, watching the fire consume him, Three, and all the other guards he’d brought with him. They screamed and writhed, trying to run, but none of them got very far, in spite of the sprinklers.
Throughout the prison, cell doors popped open. Collars dropped from prisoner’s necks. The structure shook and rumbled. Cracks appeared in walls.
Humans died.
Not a single Ikati was harmed. Those that could Shift to Vapor did so, surging into air ducts and slipping through cracks, heading up. Those that couldn’t Shift used their legs to run, preternaturally fast, for exits. Without her collar, their Queen could See them all like stars against a midnight sky. Holding hands with her daughter, she could speak to them all, as well.
Wales! Ogof Ffynnon Ddu! Go!
There was one voice that answered, and that voice Jenna had heard only once in the past twenty-five years. She jerked her head up with a cry, then looked at her daughter with eyes full of love, victory, and anguish. “Your father’s waiting,” she whispered.
Above the howl of the firestorm, Lumina heard the words. But she heard something else, too. Another voice. The voice she loved more than anything else in the world, calling her name.
Weakly.
A rush of terror, sharp as knife blades scraped over her nerves. Her heart like a stone in her chest. Dread marrie
d reluctance, and Lumina found herself unable to move.
Magnus! Magnus, where are you?
There was no answer.
Jenna said, “The nave—he’s near St. Valentine’s Chapel! He’s directly above us! He’s . . . he’s . . .”
