Burn for Me

The world swayed. I was about to pass out. I clung onto consciousness, desperately struggling to stay upright.

“Frederick Rome,” one of the computer techs reported. “His daughter’s ex-husband, from her first marriage, used to own a building on Caroline Street. It was lost in a divorce settlement and awarded to his second ex-wife.”

Augustine spun to me. “Ask if it was lost in a legal action.”

“Was the property lost as a result of a legal action or awarded as a settlement?”

“No.”

Tiny red circles swam in my eyes. My magic was ebbing. I was barely holding on. I forced my brain to work through the haze of pain and fatigue. It was downtown. There was nothing downtown but big businesses owned by Houses, government buildings, and . . .

Government buildings.

“Is it on municipal land?”

“Yes.” Mr. Emmens came to life.

“Was the property donated to the city?”

“Yes.” Mr. Emmens nodded.

The techs typed so fast that the clicking of their keys blended into a hum.

“Patricia Bridges,” the middle technician called. “Married to William Bridges, maiden name Emmens.”

Mr. Emmens smiled.

“William and Patricia Bridges jointly donated a parcel of land to the city of Houston, provided that the land may never be sold or built upon but used instead as a place for the free people of Texas to gather as they see fit.”

The Bridge Park. Directly across from the justice center. My magic was quaking under pressure. I had just enough time left for one last question.

“Is it in a monument that includes a horse?”

“Yes,” Mr. Emmens said.

The shell snapped closed, crushing my magic.

Mad Rogan grabbed me and pulled me out of the circle. The pressure and pain vanished. I felt light-headed again.

His gaze searched my eyes. “Speak to me.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay.” Mad Rogan let go of me. “You’re fine.”

He handed me the phone. I grabbed it. “Bernard, get out of there! You don’t understand, Pierce is about to burn down downtown!”

“I know. I volunteered,” he said. “Did you do it?”

Oh you idiot. “Yes! Get out of there. Don’t bother with the van, go down into the tunnels.”

On the screen my cousin ran down the street.

I turned to Rogan. “Don’t ever ask my family to volunteer for anything.”

“Don’t you want to know what it is?” Mr. Emmens asked.

We gaped at him.

“The hex covers what it does and where it is, but not what it is,” he explained. “It’s a forty carat green flawless diamond. The color is the result of natural irradiation.”

“I have to go,” Rogan told me.

“I’m coming with you.” I would see this to the end. I would get through this and punch Adam Pierce in the face while Rogan dug the last piece of the artifact out of that horse.

“Fine. Keep up.” He turned and ran. I spun to Augustine. “I need handcuffs.”

One of the computer techs opened a drawer and tossed a pair to me, together with keys.

“Thanks!” I caught them and chased Rogan down the hallway.

“Stop,” Augustine yelled.

I turned.

“You’re a drained battery. You have no magic left. What could you possibly do to Pierce?”

“She can shoot him in the face.” Rogan mashed the elevator arrow.

“If Rogan fails to stop him, you’ll die,” Augustine called out.

The doors swung open.

“If he fails, we’re all dead anyway,” I told him and ducked into the elevator with Mad Rogan.

Two lanes of traffic filled Caroline Street. The cars in both lanes faced south, away from downtown. Nothing moved. The cars were abandoned. Their owners must’ve gone into the tunnels.

Mad Rogan took the corner too sharp. I grabbed onto the door handle to steady myself. The Audi jumped the curb and landed on the sidewalk. The side of the vehicle scraped against the building. Mad Rogan stepped on the gas. We barreled down the sidewalk, the Audi screeching in protest as the stone scraped the driver’s side. Ahead a lamppost loomed. I braced myself. The post snapped off and flew aside.

“Try not to kill us,” I squeezed through my teeth.

“Don’t worry. Wouldn’t want to disappoint Adam.”

Before us Congress Avenue was completely clogged with cars. The green trees of the Bridge Park shivered in the breeze just beyond the traffic.

The Audi slid to a screeching stop. I jumped out, my Baby Desert Eagle in my hand, and ran ahead, between the cars. The park occupied a single city block. I saw the bronze statue of the Riding Cowboy through the trees. The horse’s head was gone, melted into a puddle of cooling metal goo. Next to the horse stood Adam Pierce. The third eye of Shiva sat on his forehead: three rows of uncut diamonds crossed by a vertical eye shape studded with bloodred rubies. In the middle of the eye shape, where the iris would be, an enormous pale green diamond shone in the sun, like a drop of pure light somehow captured and faceted and set among the lesser stones.

I sighted Adam Pierce, aimed for the center mass, and fired. The bullets punched the space near Adam and fell harmlessly to the grass. I kept firing, walking straight at him. My gun spat the bullets, the sound too loud in my ears.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Click.

I was out.

I lowered the gun. We stood face-to-face, Adam and I. Directly around him, the grass lay flat. He was in a magic circle, not one drawn with chalk but one made by the third eye of Shiva.

“Null space,” Adam said, his voice quiet. “You’re too late.”

“Why? Why, Adam? Thousands of people will die. Don’t you care? Don’t you care even a little bit?”

“Look around you,” he said. “You see all this? It looks good, but once you look deeper, you’ll see the rot. All of it is rotten to the core.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The establishment,” he said. “Their so-called justice system. Justice. What a joke. It’s not justice; it’s oppression. It’s a system designed to shackle those who can to those who can’t. The rot is everywhere. It’s in the politicians, in the businessmen, and in the courts. There is no repairing it. There is only one way to get rid of it. I am going to purify the downtown.”

“There are people down in the tunnels, normal ordinary people, Adam. They have nothing to do with your rebellion.”