STEPPING INTO THE SWIRLING FLAMES OF Dev’s elemental portal was unsettling. Cassidy hadn’t thought about what choosing him would mean in terms of transportation until she stood before the hot door and he took her hand. He said it would take them to the center of the living room in his condo and from there they could get anywhere else.
“Ready?” Dev asked and squeezed her hand.
“Suuuurrrre.” She eyed the portal nervously. No way, she thought, but closed her eyes and followed the tug on her hand into the heat anyway. It was over in an instant and wasn’t nearly as bad she thought it would be. She expected to feel like a baked potato, and she did, but only for a second, then it was the normal moist heat of a Tampa night.
Something crackled under Cassidy’s foot as she stepped down in the condo.
“Careful there.” He rescued the DVD boxed set of Red Dwarf. Other DVDs and video games lay strewn about—on the floor, over the couch and loveseat, across the ottoman and coffee table. Clothes, Cassidy didn’t know if they were clean or dirty, littered the floor alongside empty pizza boxes. She picked up one of the boxes and scattered a nest of roaches. The potent aroma of cheap cigar and urine clung to everything.
He’s a pig. How could Wren live like this?
“Was it the cleaning lady’s day off?” Cassidy asked as she pinched her nose.
Dev frowned. “No. Wren kept it spotless.” Eyes roving, he motioned for her to stay put and stalked down the hall toward three other doors. Quietly and carefully, he twisted the knob on the closest door and pushed it open, then did the same for the other two. “They’re gone,” he called from the other room. “Whoever they were, they had bad aim.”
Cassidy followed his voice into what she presumed was his bedroom. The sharp scent of urine smacked her in the face when she stepped through the doorway past what was left of a full-sized bed. It jutted out from the sidewall covered in dark stains. Springs and bits of soggy yellow foam poked through ragged gashes.
Across from the bed, next to a smashed combo TV/DVD player, sat a small dresser. The drawers had been torn out and splintered against the floor, their contents slashed and tossed in the corner.
“They didn’t miss a trick, did they?” Cassidy looked around at the mess. “Is anything missing?”
“Nothing a quick trip to Wal-Mart won’t fix.” He eyed the door across the hall. The fingers on his right hand flicked against his thumb.
“Wren’s room?” Cassidy asked.
“Yeah.”
“Come on. We’ll go in together.”
“No. I got this.” Dev strode across the hall with Cassidy right behind. A similar mess greeted them in Wren’s room, only the smell wasn’t as bad.
“Looks like they only whizzed in your room.”
He grunted and surveyed the minimal damage. Pink frilly pillows and comforter covered the twin bed as if it had been made that morning, though the open dresser drawers left her wares on display. She guessed the perfume bottles and lip-gloss on the floor by the window had been on the top of the dresser.
Assholes.
She’d reported on crime scenes before, gleaned facts and procedure from the detectives, but nothing this close to home, this personal. While she tucked Wren’s workaday cotton panties and bras back in the drawer and shut it—No sense leaving them out on display—she sneaked a few covert glances at Dev. Since the barge, he seemed quiet, reserved. Understandably so, but still…
Dev drew his finger along the dresser and ran his hand through the pink fringe around one of the pillows.
“Anything missing in here?” Cassidy asked.
He stood still as a gravestone at the foot of the bed and stared at its emptiness.
“Dev,” she placed her hand on his arm, “Is anything missing?”
“Huh? Oh. Just Wren. But in terms of stuff, no. We didn’t keep anything valuable, in case something went wrong.”
This is really tough for him. “Good call.”
In the kitchen, a second colony of roaches feasted on the dried milk, baby gherkins and clumps of rancid cottage cheese spilled across the linoleum.
Yuck. The reports of all these bugs must be true. Dev has only been gone a few days and already the creepy crawlies have moved in.
Cassidy picked up an ID badge on the counter. She cringed at an awful picture of Dev sneering for the camera. The name read “Stanley Rock.”
Dev crunched his way across the bugs like Godzilla and grabbed a Cream of Mushroom soup can from the top shelf.
“Stanley. Seriously?”
“Nothing wrong with Stanley.” He twisted the false top and shook out two sets of keys. “We got wheels. Where we going?”
“Didn’t say there was.” Stan. Stan the Man. The Stan-meister.
“Stanley’s a good American name.”
“Do you have a computer…Stan?” she teased lightly, hoping to evoke a smile
Dev raised one eyebrow. “Over there.”
How could I miss that beast?
On the desk in the corner perched one of those sleek super-gamer models with the neon bulbs plugged into the motherboard that glowed through the clear plastic tower. The flat-screen monitors were cracked, their cut cables dangled like dried eels off the edge of the table. The keyboard had been snapped in half and a piece of pizza jammed into the DVD drive.
“You a gamer?” Cassidy asked as she examined several resin statues of fantasy creatures.
“Sometimes. I run a guild in one of those online fantasy games, but you probably never heard of it. While Wren watched TV, I fought in the virtual world.” He twirled the key ring on his finger. “Funny. In the game, I always keep it together. Never lose control. Focus on duty and honor, make sure my guild members do the same. We are the leading guild on the server. Shame I didn’t bring that over into real life.”
Cassidy checked the CPU. “This is toast. Got a phone book?”
Dev tossed her the phone book that sat on top of the fridge. Cassidy found the address for the former Seagren Chemical Company and ripped out the page with several locations listed.
“We are going to Apollo Beach.” She waved the page at Dev and shivered as a giant palmetto bug crawled up the fridge. “Ugh, I’m outta here.”
“Hold on.” He grabbed the boxed set of Hogan’s Heroes and two Benny Hill DVDs. “These belong to Magnus.”
Sure they do.
* * *
Aside from an elderly woman shuffling along the sidewalk next to a decrepit poodle, and a few cars parked in the lot, the condo complex appeared deserted. Shimmering waves of heat rose from the blacktop, pasting Cassidy’s shirt to her skin within her first few steps while Dev remained impervious.
Some things just don’t seem fair.
The Knight of Flame led her down the steps in the front of his building and out into the parking lot.
What does an elemental warrior drive? Ooh, there’s a nice Escalade near the back, or maybe the Explorer. I picture a big vehicle with lots of power. Past the big trucks and cars, he led her toward the back corner and a classic pink Chevy Caprice alongside something covered in a tarp.
No way. Cassidy fought a smile as she rounded the car to the passenger door, but Dev heaved the tarp to uncover a new Harley.
Oh hell no. “You’re not really thinking about the bike, are you?” I’ve scraped too many bikers off the street.
“Why not?” Dev straddled the hog and winked.
She jiggled the door handle. “I’m not much of a cycle girl.”
“The car was Wren’s.”
“So? It runs doesn’t it?” Please. Not the bike.
Dev cranked it up. The beefy engine growled and spit before it settled into a solid throaty roar. He waved her over, patted the seat behind him, and offered her a matte black helmet.
I don’t do bikes. She clung to the princess car, afraid to get close to Dev and his testosterone.
“You’re burning daylight, Caz.”
So now it’s Caz, is it? Caz…I like it, sounds cool and hip. Listen to me…cool and hip. What the hell? I sound like my mother. If I say groovy I’ll shoot myself.
He revved the engine. The sound thrummed against the car door.
After all the stuff I’ve been through with him, I’m scared of a little motorcycle ride?
Uh, yeah. The normal voice in her head sounded worthless and weak, but she hopped onto the back of the bike and wrapped her arms around the Knight of Flame.
Her thighs rattled and her ass vibrated as Dev threw it into gear and launched them across the lot. Not ready for the quick acceleration, Cassidy slipped back in the seat. She hauled herself forward and grabbed on tighter, feeling the hard contours of Dev’s back pressed against her chest.
Maybe motorcycles don’t suck.
“Huh?” Lost in the moment, Cassidy didn’t hear Dev’s first words, but she saw him look back.
“I said, where in Apollo Beach?”
“Near the power plant.”
“Hold on.”
Count on it.
* * *
Traffic inched along, too slow for Dev. He wove in and out and between the barely moving cars. Cassidy should have been all over him, telling him to slow down or to be careful. But that’s not how Caz rolled. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the wind in her face. Even contemplated yanking the helmet off and letting the wind whip through her hair, but a shade of her old self popped up just in time to keep it firmly strapped.
The exhilarating ride, unlike any she’d been on before, ended too soon and when Dev roared into the parking lot, she felt disappointed. Dev held her hand as her rubbery legs adjusted to being on firm ground again. And not just her legs, but her whole body tingled.
Never got that feeling from a car.
The big sign at the entrance still read Seagren Chemical, but an added placard announced the Daegon Gray buy-out. The building had been stamped from the usual mid-size Florida company mold—four stories, tinted blue glass and steel façade, small man-made pond out front with a spitting fountain in the center.
Cassidy eyed the fine-dressed folks coming and going. Damn, forgot to dress for success. Jeans and a t-shirt were fine in most places, but the business world still liked its button downs and pressed khakis.
“What’s your plan?” Dev asked, ignoring the wary looks from the suits in the parking lot. She couldn’t blame them. Bald head, stern, chiseled face, leather vest that bared his well-developed bi’s and tri’s, leather pants, black boots. Add a couple of screaming eagle tattoos and Dev embodied the biker from hell who had just rumbled into their lives.
Plan? Uh… “Get the information.”
He gave her a look that said, “No, really?”
“I’ll work the girl at the front desk.” Cassidy brushed the road dust off her jeans. “Follow my lead and keep quiet.” She sauntered through the main door like she paid the rent and smacked her hands down on the reception counter.
“I’m here to see the office manager.” Cassidy glared at the receptionist hunkered down behind a black marble desk.
“I’m sorry, Ms….?” Black hair with streaks of blue, tight white blouse, phone jacked into her ear along with several studs and dangling earrings, the receptionist cocked an eyebrow.
“Drymold.”
“Ms. Drymold, who are you here to see?”
Affronted, Cassidy leaned forward. “Who is in charge here?”
“Mr. Greenway. He’s Senior Vice President and Int—”
“I’m here to see Mr. Greenway.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I’m here on the order of Mr. Gray. Shall I tell your new owner that his personal assistant had to wait in the lobby?”
The receptionist’s eyes flashed. Cassidy thought she pushed her luck too far, that the girl would see through the ruse and kick her out, but Cassidy held her ground and the receptionist blinked first.
“I’ll call him now, Ms. Drymold. One moment please.”
Cassidy turned to Dev who had come in during the exchange and rolled her eyes. He crossed his arms.
The man could turn looming menace into an art form.
The receptionist turned back and did a double take at the hired muscle over Cassidy’s left shoulder. She couldn’t take her eyes from Dev as she relayed that Mr. Greenway would be down in a moment.
“Good. Thank you.”
Flushed and puffing hard, Mr. Greenway hustled into the foyer. The open panels of his navy blue suit jacket flapped against his ample belly in time with the jiggle of his second chin. His smile seemed genuine, though, as he swooped down on Cassidy and extended his hand.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” Mr. Greenway pumped her hand eagerly then did the same with Dev’s. “Let’s talk in my office. Would you like something to drink?”
“No. Thank you. We only have a few minutes,” Cassidy said.
Greenway’s office turned out to be right around the corner from the lobby. Evidently word had spread of the visitors because the halls were deserted.
“Please, have a seat.” Greenway sat behind his desk and rolled in until his belly bumped the edge. “What can I do for you?”
Cassidy sat demurely, while Dev guarded the door—a silent, menacing presence at her back.
“I’m here about the perlite shipping manifests. Mr. Gray was expecting them yesterday, but they never arrived. He sent me to pick them up.”
Greenway looked puzzled as he tapped a few keys on his computer keyboard.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Drymold, but there must be some misunderstanding. I don’t have any perlite shipping manifests.”
Crap.
“What about other big shipments? Perhaps someone in your organization mislabeled them.”
“Ms. Drymold,” his voice rose an octave with his condescension, “We have one of the largest shipping infrastructures in the world. We ship by truck, train, plane, and boat every single day. We do not make mistakes when it comes to freight.”
Cassidy felt her window of opportunity shrinking.
“Your boss knew this when he bought our company.” A greasy smile spread across his chubby cheeks and he lowered his brow. He tapped away at his keyboard. “Who do you really work for, Ms. Drymold? One of Daegon Gray’s competitors?”
Dev strode across the office, rolled Greenway into the corner and pushed him down the few times he tried to stand up.
“I will not be manhandled like this,” Greenway huffed until Dev ignited one fingertip and placed it in front of the self-important man’s right eye.
“Shut it,” Dev said.
Greenway shrank away from the glowing finger.
“Caz.”
Oh yeah. I like the new name.
“How are you with computers?” Dev asked without taking his eyes from the nervous executive.
“Pretty good.”
“Saddle up and get the info we need.”
Cassidy jumped out of her seat and examined the screen. Rows of data listed hundreds of shipments, but nothing showed in plain English.
I thought computers were supposed to make things easier.
“It’s all in code. The products and destinations are all numbered and I don’t have the translation matrix.”
“Yeah, but we know someone who does.” Dev waved his lit finger.
“I’m not telling you anything and I texted my receptionist to call the authorities.” Greenway tried to act smug, but the tremor in his voice and the fact that he couldn’t take his eyes from Dev’s finger ruined the image. “I’m sure they are already on their way.”
“Can you make any sense of it?” Dev asked.
“Well,” Cassidy scrolled down. “It looks like about a hundred shipments of the same thing, number eighty six, were sent out yesterday from code zero one.”
“Translate,” Dev nudged Greenway.
“Bite me.”
“Ehhh. Thanks for playing.” Dev swiped the end of Greenway’s bulbous nose with his fiery fingertip. The sweating man screamed as the tip of his nose sizzled and the sickly sweet scent of burning flesh filled the room.
Cassidy’s stomach heaved. She understood why Dev did it, but she didn’t have to like it.
“Next time I’ll shove it up your left nostril. Now, spill. What do the numbers mean?”
Greenway’s hands cupped his smoking nose. He whimpered and rocked in place.
“Zero one…stands for…Port of Tampa,” he blurted through his clenched hands. “I, I don’t know what the eighty six is.”
“Bullshit.” Dev brandished his finger, made the flame shoot out two inches like one of those tricked out Zippo lighters.
“Dev.” Cassidy stopped him with a word. “Mr. Greenway…eighty six?”
His eyes darted from Cassidy to Dev and back. He licked his lips. “Eighty six is the code for insulation.”
Sirens blared in the distance. They were out of time.
“Insulation…like perlite?” Cassidy asked.
Greenway’s glance shifted to Dev’s glowing brand. “Yes, I suppose it could be.”
“Got it. Let’s go.”
Trailing his finger across the man’s range of vision, Dev ordered him to be quiet before he followed Cassidy out the door. They were on the bike and burning rubber before the front door closed completely. Two police cars with full on noise and cherries whipped by in the opposite direction. Cassidy held her breath, glanced over her shoulder and hoped neither car turned around.
We got the info, but what does it really mean?
Three miles onto the interstate, Dev took the exit and pulled into the Mucho Taco parking lot.
“Why are we stopping? Shouldn’t we keep moving?” She’d always thought that if you were trying to escape Johnny Law, you kept moving, put as much distance between you and the cops as you could. Stopping for a taco was not part of the plan.
“Where are we going now?” Dev asked. “We never talked about that and I’m really hungry.” Dev patted his belly to emphasize his point. “Do you like Mexican?”
Cassidy pursed her lips and nodded slowly.
“Want a taco or burrito or quesadilla?” Dev asked as he calmly walked to the entrance of the fast food joint.
“Shouldn’t we, like, go? Hit the road?”
“I’ll just be a minute.” Dev paused with his hand on the door. “So, no, on the taco?”
“No, thank you.”
When Dev disappeared inside, Cassidy scanned the road for the cops, expecting to hear sirens closing in on them. She tapped her foot, shifted her weight and glanced back to the restaurant door.
“Come on. Come on.”
Still no sign of pursuit, but her heart continued racing as she watched the road.
Is this what everyday life with Dev and the Knights is like? Living in fear, constant danger, always on the run? I don’t know if I can take this.
She jumped at the slurp behind her, but it was only Dev. He held out his drink.
“Soda?”
She shook her head, short rapid movements that mirrored her frayed nerves. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t in a hurry.
Dev leaned against the bike, crossed his legs at the ankle and took a long pull on his straw. “So, where we headin’?”
She wanted to scream, then throttle him. No, throttle him first and then scream.
“This is dangerous. We should be across town by now, shouldn’t we?” She spoke through clenched teeth. His nonchalance stomped on every nerve in her already tense body.
“No, why?”
“Why?” Her question exploded from her incredulous face. A couple looked in her direction so she lowered her voice. “Does it mean anything to you that we might get caught?”
“We won’t get caught. We’re the good guys. The good guys always get away with this kind of stuff.”
Does he think this is some kind of movie?
“So what do you think of the bike?” Dev asked.
“Huh? Oh. I like it—wish I had tried it years ago.” I bet it wouldn’t have been the same without him.
“What’s your favorite type of food?” Dev smiled. “Mine is American. Give me a steak and potatoes or a hamburger any day. I don’t go for that gourmet, fancy stuff. Keep it simple.”
“I guess mine is Italian, love pasta.”
“Pasta’s good, but makes me sleepy,” Dev said.
“Me too,” Cassidy said.
“How do you feel now?”
“What?” Cassidy shook her head at the abrupt change in topic.
“You were going a bit schizo there. Better now?”
As conversations go, this one topped her chart as one of the strangest. But she had to admit, she did feel better. The panic was gone and her heart no longer tried to beat through her chest.
“Pretty slick.” She nodded in appreciation.
“Stillman taught me that trick a long time ago, not long after we first met. He said I kept blabbering on about being some kind of monster, but I don’t remember any of it. He told me he used it to calm me down so I could eat, drink and stay alive. You good now?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” Oh my god, I really am. “Can we stop at the paper for a minute? I need to check in. My editor probably thinks I’m dead.”
“Sure. Point me in the right direction.”
A local branch of her bank next to the restaurant reminded her that she didn’t have any money and her father always told her to have something secreted away just in case. He was right. That twenty she used to carry in her shoe had saved her ass on more than one occasion.
“Hey, before we go, let me pop into the bank.”
“You don’t need money. Stanley Rock has access to many accounts.”
“Thanks, Stan, but I’d feel better with something in my pocket.”
Dev waved her on, leaned back and sucked down his soda.
What I wouldn’t give to be half that confident.
As soon as Cassidy walked into the bank, the lone teller behind the counter jumped to assist her. After five minutes of not being able to track down Cassidy’s accounts or any record that Cassidy Sinclair ever banked with them, the stymied teller called the manager over. He went through the same routine, even offered to call her home branch to check for a signature card.
Frustrated, Cassidy waved him off and left empty handed.
How does something like this happen? My family has held accounts here for my whole life. They can’t just disappear.
“Is something wrong?” Dev asked as Cassidy made her way back to the bike.
“My accounts don’t exist.” Cassidy climbed up behind Dev. “They didn’t even have my name on record. Why do you think that is?”
Dev had no idea and kicked the motorized beast to life. The trip across town didn’t compare to her first ride, with her mind all knotted up over the lost accounts, and before she knew it, Dev turned into the lot.
The Tampa Weekly office was located on the outskirts of the city in a former cigar factory. The paper’s owner wanted to be close to the action without having to pay downtown rent. At three in the afternoon, there wasn’t a parking spot to be had, so Dev made his own on the sidewalk near the front door.
“Wait for me. I’ll be out in a minute,” Cassidy said.
“Again?” Dev protested, but Cassidy stalled him with a hand on his arm. From the contact, she felt his concern and something else.
What? Affection, maybe?
“I’ll be back.” She smiled and filed away her secret knowledge.
As the door swung inward, Cassidy expected chirpy Rose to greet her like she did every morning with a bright, “Heya, Cassidy.” But there was no Rose. The lobby was empty. An unstaffed reception area was a cardinal sin in her business. People came and went all the time. Their editor’s policy was always to have a smiling face up front.
The receptionist also acted as the front line of defense and held her finger on the buzzer that allowed visitors through the security door. With no one up front, no one could get back.
I’m sure Rose’ll be back in a minute.
The minute came and went. With a last glance out to Dev, she found the button under the desk and buzzed herself back.
The newsroom was always crazy in the afternoon. People screamed across the cube walls, conducted phone interviews, and checked last minute facts at the top of their lungs. Today, all was silent. Rows of people-less cubes clustered in orderly quad formations. The place should be humming, a giant beehive of activity focused on delivering for the King, Eric Rancor, Editor-in-Chief.
“Hello? Jim? Nancy?” There should be over a hundred people.
Cassidy had never been in the facility alone before. Even on the major holidays, someone always worked on the next big story. This eerie emptiness unsettled her.
I’m sure there’s a reason. Maybe there’s a big staff meeting or it’s someone’s birthday.
The editor had called all-employee meetings before, pulled everyone away from their pressing assignments to talk about the status of the paper. They’d cluster around the tables, munch on cake, and wonder if he would notice if they slipped out early.
Her steps faltered. Yeah. I’m sure it’s something like that. But her gut told her different. Her gut said something was very wrong. Her gut told her to run.
The door to the editor’s office looked to be shut up tight. Her cube sat right outside his door. She’d get her few personal items—pictures of Amy and the Montblanc pen she’d bought herself when she got the job at the paper—and get the hell out. It all felt too freaky. She’d call Eric from a pay phone down the street.
Palms sweaty, she slinked down the row to her cube. Only, it wasn’t her cube any longer. Sally Crosstock’s nameplate had been velcroed to the fabric wall.
Who the hell is Sally Crosstock? And where is all my stuff?
The cube she’d lived in was gone, replaced by the accumulated crap of this Sally person. And it didn’t look like this woman had just moved in, but had been settled there for a while. It had that lived-in feel, like a worn, comfy shoe, only fit for someone else’s foot.
Cassidy prairie-dogged to verify her bearings. Yep. This is my cube.
A low moan escaped from Eric’s office. Her creep factor jumped up a few notches. It wasn’t a sexy kind of moan. She’d walked in on Ed and Violet in the copy room a couple of months ago. Now that had been some sexy moaning. But this…this was anguish.
She tried to open the door, but after only six inches hit an obstruction on the other side. Though not wide enough to enter through, she could stick her head in and take a peek.
Am I really going to do this?
With the door partially open, the moaning sounded louder. Definitely someone in pain. And what is that odd smell? Warning bells gonged in her head like at a Greek wedding, but she couldn’t ignore the person inside.
Cassidy pressed her forehead to the frosted window of her Editor’s door, gathering her strength, but the cool glass did little to soothe the fear-induced pounding. Right. Let’s do this. Holding her breath, she slid her head through the opening, pushing harder when her ears stopped her progress.
Oh my god. Cassidy yanked her head out, tearing skin off her ears, staggered back and puked all over Sally Crosstock’s chair.
“Dev.” Her voice lacked strength so she mustered her wind and threw it into her next shout, “Dev!” He’s outside. There’s no way he can hear me.
A loud crunch echoed through the room followed by Dev’s strong voice.
“Caz?” he yelled.
“Back here.”
Fast, heavy footfalls echoed through the cube labyrinth. Dev passed her aisle once, then doubled back and jogged to her, Cinder held tight in his murderous grip. He crouched by her side, concern obvious in the tight lines of his face and his pinched eyes.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. No. I’m fine.” Cassidy looked back at the office door. “They’re all dead. In there. I heard moaning, looked inside.”
Dev helped her to her feet and pushed on the door. It didn’t give the first time, but he put more muscle into it and forced it open. Gray-skinned corpses had been piled in the office. From the number of bodies, most of the staff had been killed. Atop the heap Eric Rancor presided in the chair he used to call his throne.
Eyelids pinned open, streaks of blood wept from his red, raw sockets into which black orbs had been inserted. Something blinked across their glossy surface. He moaned again.
“He’s still alive.” Cassidy covered her mouth with her hands.
Dev nodded. “Wait. What is that blinking?” Dev picked his way among Cassidy’s dead co-workers. Her stomach heaved as he started to climb.
Scanning gray faces locked in horror and surprise, she found her friends—Rita, Carl, Jasmine, Hecter, and little Bob over there under sleazy Ron, all gone.
Dev called down from the top of the heap. “Flashing numbers. Seven. Six. Five.” He bounded down the pile, threw her over his shoulder and bolted through the doorway. Halfway down the aisle, he shifted her position, crushed her face against his chest and dropped to his knees. His body shielded her as a blinding white flash slammed her eyes closed and an ear-drum bursting concussion blew out the windows, leaving her deaf and dazed.
Dev rocked, holding her tight, while the explosion raped the office space. A wave of searing heat flashed around her before disappearing in a whoosh. Cassidy opened her eyes. Flames whipped around them, incinerating everything in their path. When Dev lifted his face and opened his eyes, the flames caressed his bald head and licked his shoulders before flowing into his body.
Cassidy gasped at the beauty and raw power behind those crimson streaked orbs of the Knight of Flame. He looked like a god of fire in the center of a maelstrom. Her gift painted his emotional landscape as calm with an overpowering need to keep her safe. Again, she sensed a hint of something more, stronger than the last time.
The blast ended in seconds, redecorating the office in post-apocalyptic warzone. Dust, debris, and gray-skinned body parts lay everywhere. The cube walls had either been blown out the window or disintegrated on the spot. The entire outer wall was gone, exposing jagged hunks of cement and rusted rebar. Ragged ends of live electrical wires cavorted in their sudden freedom. Ominous creeks sounded from the ceiling.
“We need to get out of here,” Dev said.
The sirens bayed in the distance like a pack of wolves. With the cube farm gone, it was a straight walk to the door. Dev shielded Cassidy from the worst of the carnage, but he couldn’t block it all. A large number of blackened skulls, some intact, others cracked or missing large sections of bone, massed before the dented outer wall. The explosion had torn through the softer tissue of all those bodies, but turned the heads into projectiles.
Cassidy should have been horrified, but the absurdity of the situation made her feel like she toured a set from one of those cheesy slasher flicks. The lobby remained relatively untouched except for a few heads that made it through the door Dev kicked down earlier. She recognized the hank of red hair on the skull in the corner. The irony unleashed what the terror and disgust could not. Fat round tears rolled down her cheeks. She bid farewell to Rose as Dev led her out the door, onto the bike, and away from the approaching authorities.
I really need a swim.