Read Online Within the Flames by Marjorie M. Liu - Free Book Online

know.
     
    She almost ignored her editor’s e-mail, but there was no way to know how long she’d be off-line. The man was already prickly about only being able to contact her via the Internet.
    Even if her world was going to hell, she still needed work.
    In front of her, one of the guys slammed Macbeth on the table. “Unchecked ambition. I say we write the paper on that.”
    “Bullshit.y">“Bull We need something better.”
    “Better? This is due tomorrow.”
    His friend got the middle finger in response.
    Lyssa muttered, “Ambition and violence. Focus on that.”
    Both men stared at her. One of them might have said, “What?” but she was distracted by her editor’s e-mail. A note about cropping and deadlines, and an inquiry about the possibility of taking on another illustrating job—this time for a friend who worked at a children’s magazine. He wanted some dreamy, surreal image for an upcoming short story. Not a bad gig.
    One of the guys rapped his knuckles on the table. Lyssa tore her gaze from the computer screen, annoyed.
    “What do you mean, ambition and violence?” he asked.
    “Read the play,” she told him, looking back at her e-mail—telling her editor that, yes, she was interested in the job—adding that she’d be on the road for a week, away from her computer. She cc’d her agent.
    Lyssa began packing up. The guys bounced in their seats.
    “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to help us right now,” said the one on the right, stabbing his finger at her. Like that would seal the deal.
    “Ha,” she replied.
    “We’re desperate,” added the other. “We’ll love you forever. Just give us something more.”
    Grow a pair, she wanted to tell them, and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Fine. Think about this. Once you decide to use violence to get power, it’s difficult to stop.”
    The young men gave her blank looks. She shook her head and left.
    A cold wind blew down Lexington, sweeping bits of loose trash against her boots. She walked fast, hat pulled low over her brow. Her right arm was better. When she flexed her fingers, they worked. Not well enough to hold anything, but at least they weren’t cramping. She dug her thumb into her palm, massaging her hand.
    Not Boston, she thought, considering where to go next. Philadelphia?
    The idea of leaving made her ill. For better or worse, she felt comfortable in New York. Giving that up, just because Estefan had reached out to find her help . . .
    Help for what? Lyssa thought again. A home I can’t use? Money I don’t need? Estefan knows all that. So why now? Why after all these years would he suddenly become so protective?
    Lyssa thought again about the gargoyle—but also the man with him. A shudder raced through her, but not one of disgust. Just warmth. So much heat, in fact, that she stopped walking and looked down at her feet and legs to make sure she was not shedding sparks.
    A month ago, she had started dreaming of his eyes. Always, during her nightmares. Her mind, wrapped in fire—screaming, terrified—so very alone—until, like a ghost, she would see someone watching her. A male presence, within the inferno. Just standing there: intense and dangerous, and more real than the flames.
    Focusing on him always made the nightmare go away. Usually. Sometimes, she just needed to burn.
    Seeing those eyes today, recognizing them—was like being hit by lightning.
    Now, though, with some distance, the memory of that moment inspired a different feeling.
    Homesickness.
    Fear, she understood. But homesickness was inexplicable, and specific: She felt sick for the old days, when she was safe and loved. It hit her hard, with a fresh, raw tenderness that made her want to press her clawed hand over her heart and dig in.
    It’s him, she thought, suffering deep unease. He makes me feel this way.
    No way Estefan could have known. But if that was help . . .
    If that’s help, I can’t take it. . . . no matter how curious I am. Besides,