Page 3 of Red Demon
Iden paced the room. “The Asri don’t use our tech. They wouldn’t want our mine. They’d just want to kill us.”
“The Chaeten-sa had blood on her sword. That’s no accident, and she’s no Asri rebel.”
Iden massaged his forehead. “She didn’t attack us, though. Maybe she killed off the people who did it.”
“Then where are their bodies?”
Iden turned to the bodies of the children in bed, his eyes unfocused. “So, the kids, that bloody baby—” He shuddered. “You’re right. It has to be her.” It still didn’t explain the ones with no wounds. Squatting beside the bed, I held Bella’s cold hand, too exhausted to speculate further. I pushed blond, curly hair from both our faces.
“Mr. Gell was lying by the temple. I saw him.” Iden gripped the door frame so tight I wondered if it would splinter.
“I liked him,” I said. Mr. Gell was the only Asri in town, a bearded man with a bright smile and hazel-ringed eyes that came alive when he taught his classes on history or the Asri language. He left out the parts my mother taught me—things Asri called us in the war—things that rebels still called us in secret, but he meant well. If the killers didn’t check Mr. Gell’s irises for those two shades of color, I suppose they wouldn’t have noticed which kind of human he was.
The embers in the kitchen provided little warmth through the open doorway. I’d have to see my mother’s body again to stoke the fire. I wanted to sink into the chilled wood floor, numb and cold as the dead. Iden had the same glazed-over look as I must have. Seeing him snapped me out of it.
“Iden, we should go.”
Iden nodded, pursing his lips. “Go-bags. Mines.”
Dad had made sure we were prepared for emergencies. I was grateful for a routine that took little thought. I packed food and water, wrapped in the best blankets. Iden took our best hunting gear, our warmest clothes. I picked up a bracelet from Mom’s jewelry box, the only memento I allowed myself that didn’t serve a practical purpose. Not everything in our house would fit in our packs. I took the rest in my memory, vowing to never forget the walls painted in a rainbow of little hand prints, the smell of spices in the pantry, the feeling of being in a room worn down with love and laughter.
Because I knew this house would never be home again.
Chapter 2
The Mine
As a young kid, the colossal mining trucks fascinated me. I’d stop whatever I was doing to watch them lumber past, kicking up dust on the road as the ground vibrated under me. That day, twin headlights stared at me across the falling snow in the dying light, chilling in a way the wind could never be. Behind the truck, the mine lay dark and quiet, with metal doors stretched open like a wild dog’s yawn.
Inside, our steps echoed between stone walls. Slanting beams from ventilation shafts speared the gloom, painting vague figures on the walls. I took the lack of bodies as a good sign, but Iden frowned, his eyes fixed forward, adjusting to the dark. Both of us had inherited the vision our parents and grandparents had modded for their work. We waited a moment until we could see the fuzzy shapes of a world in black and white.
The drill rigs should have been running. I should have felt that vibration to my bones, a low roar audible from a kilometer away. Those rigs self-piloted most of their work, sensing seams of the right densities to explore, knowing the path of stone and earth to tunnel to avoid other machines or structural failures. They’d return to the maintenance level only when they were full, low on fuel, or when a human told them to stop.
“Someone stopped the rigs,” I said.
Iden looked through me, his gaze falling hard down the entrance hall toward the office wing.
“Did you hear me? Mal said it takes hours for a rig to get back.”
“So?” Iden kept walking.
“So, if they died like the others, the machines would still be going. They had the time to stop them. Our people must be hiding, planning something.”
Iden flicked his gaze to me, then away. Silence never bothered me when the two of us were hunting, but it felt as heavy as my pack just then.
“You’re too optimistic. Asri magic could kill them and stop the machines too, as far as we know.” Iden twitched his fingers across the hilt of the knife at his hip.
We opened the door to the admin suite; the shadows held tight to corners, but the shafts’ faint glow traced edges of desks and chairs. I tried the light panel, heard the click, and still saw darkness. I went for my pack to dig out a lantern.
“Not yet,” Iden whispered, gesturing to sunroofs at the far end of the office. “If anyone is here, we need to see them first.”
We reached the door of the main office without seeing a soul. Dust danced in the thin light, motes swirling like tiny stars in a galaxy between desks and strewn chairs. Coffee mugs sat full and abandoned on desks—each a disquieting testament. Iden trembled, staring into nowhere. I poured a mug from the sideboard that he refused to take.
“It’s just going to waste.” I took a swig of the cold brew.
His fingers drummed the surface of a dead monitor. He didn’t look up at my forced smile.
“Iden. Take a moment, think. No one’s here. Let’s work through what’s next.” I drained the mug to make my point when he kept staring out into the dark. Despite my cool bravado, I was just as freaked out as he was, with my heart thumping to keep time with the tremor in Iden’s hand. I knew if I surrendered to that feeling, it would pull me under. I needed to keep his head above water too.
