Vengeance

28

Ashley peers up at the drab concrete structure, streaming out from the top floor is a glittering gold thread. Invisible and intangible it remains unswayed by the gentle breeze. "This is where the tendril leads," she states.

"I don't see anything." Alan narrows his eyes, surveying the abandoned lot.

"You wouldn't, you possess no magic," Ashley replies, her tone bordering on haughty. Alan called her a few hours ago in a panic, begging for her help in finding Seraphim. The only spell she knows capable of tracking another person requires a personal token. In response, he produced a scrap of fabric he saved from Firebird's suit. The emotion tethered to it is strong enough to produce a clear thread to her.

"You should stay here," Alan says as they tread over the overturned dirt.

"I'm not a kid," Ashley protests. Alan steps ahead of her, rolls his eyes. "I've been training. I can fight as good as anyone," she declares.

Alan stops and looks over his shoulder, a brow raised. "Almost anyone," she amends feebly, with a terrified smile.

He grunts and shifts his stare back to the ground, not far from the door are tire tracks, fresh. "It's not..." He sighs, a hand reaching up to massage his forehead. "Forget it. Come if you want." He's too old to be arguing with teenagers. It's enough that he's still arguing with adults.

Alan grasps the rusted handle and tugs open the heavy door. The ancient hinges herald their arrival. "Well, subtly is dead anyway," he mutters under his breath. He crosses the threshold, holding the door open for Ashley with one hand.

Anything of value, from the copper piping to the wood floors has been stripped, leaving behind cracked concrete walls and moldy plywood floors. The air is stale and damp. It's dark, but the light streaming in from the street is enough for them to discern their surroundings.

In the settled dust, Alan spots footsteps. They're not from work boots, the treads are finer like those of dress shoes. They lead up the stairs. "This way," Alan tells her.

They ascend the first of the stairs connecting the second and third floors when they are overcome by a horrible stench. Ashley gags, shielding her nose with her hand. Alan scowls, he knows that smell. He knows it well. God, Seraphim what have you done? He bounds up the stairs, abandoning Ashley. She calls to him before charging after him. Their staccato footfalls ricochets through the concrete structure.

At the top of the stairs, Alan finds the source of the stench, remains, charred beyond recognition, smoke still wafting off the body. He can feel the heat several feet away.

Ashley's horrified scream draws his attention away from the remains to a form lying on the ground, half shrouded in shadow. "Seraphim!" Alan screams. He bolts for the body and throws himself on the ground beside her, ignoring the pain in his knees.

"Seraphim!" Ashley gasps. The horror of the burnt body is seemingly forgotten as she rushes to Seraphim's side.

Alan readjusts his position so the shaft of halogen light strikes her at just the right angle. His knee slips into the pool of blood that has gathered beneath her. He unzips the top of her suit enough to reveal the hole in her chest above her breasts. Alan leans back on his knees, tears gathering in his eyes. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to see this. The tears spill over onto his cheeks in rivers.

"What is it? Why aren't you doing anything?" Ashley shouts.

"There's nothing I can do, but the time I get her to a hospital," he pauses, his voice reeks of defeat. "It will be too late." He lays a hand on her forehead. Her skin is cold to the touch.