Born of Fire (Elemental Origins, #2)
A.L. Knorr
Prologue
Nicodemo steadied the tripod and made a few last adjustments to the sound on the cameraphone. He pressed play and walked to the chair sitting in the line of focus. He sat down and scratched his head, ruffling his thin blond hair. Age had thinned his hair, thinned his power. But it hadn’t thinned his determination or the strength of his love.
He still wasn't used to being on camera and felt self-conscious. He mused at the irony that he had committed many dangerous acts of questionable morality and a few for which he deserved eternal damnation, but stick him in front of a camera and his palms went all sweaty.
He cleared his throat and began to speak in Italian, his voice calm and warm. He reminded himself that more than likely, this video would never need to surface. It was a safeguard, a just in case... He pushed the rest of the thought aside. He didn't want to think of the 'in case.'
It took less than three minutes to record the final clip of the series. He watched the clip and gave a satisfied smile. It was a first take but it was good enough. It didn't need to be perfect.
He took a deep breath and hung his head. He closed his eyes and the movie screen of his mind filled with her loving face. His heart thudded painfully. He shook the vision off.
He booted up his laptop and downloaded the video clip. He encrypted it and put it into a zip file with all the rest. He sent the file off to his lawyer with the simple subject line: Last one. Thank you, again. Nic.
A knock on the door of the small stone cell made him turn. The smooth, beardless face of Dante poked in. Nic remembered being Dante’s age. The world had been full of possibilities, ripe for the taking. Now Nic knew better.
"There you are," Dante said, speaking in Italian, their mother tongue. "You haven't chickened out, have you?"
Nicodemo allowed the teenager a smile. "No. Have you?"
Dante opened the door all the way and stepped in, excitement visible in his face and body. "No way." His eyes fell to the tripod and then to the laptop. "What are you doing? Recording your memoirs? You're going to be fine. I won't let anything happen to you."
Nicodemo ignored the question and powered down his computer. "You know your father would probably fire me, no pun intended, and lock you in your room forever if he knew what we were up to."
"By the time he finds out, it'll all be over and he'll be grateful. You'll be stronger than ever and you won't have to feel the pain ever again."
Nicodemo sighed. That was the theory of it. The risk he was taking would be worthwhile. But the pain... Would he be able to stand the pain? He turned his eyes on the boy. He was trusting his life to Dante. There was no one else he could ask, no one else who would let him risk his life like this.
Dante was very nearly dancing from foot to foot in anticipation. Nicodemo tried not to hold it against the kid that he was so excited to watch Nic endure hours of agony. Once it was all over, he was going to owe Dante big time for pulling him back from the fires of hell.
"Should we go over it one more time?" Nicodemo asked as he took the tripod apart and tucked it and the laptop into its leather case.
"Nic, we've been over it a dozen times already," Dante replied. "No one is home today, the villa is empty. It's the perfect time. Everything will be all right."
Nicodemo nodded and put the chair against the wall. He handed the laptop bag to Dante. "Put this in my suite, would you?"
"Of course," Dante said, taking the case.
The two left the cell together, heading down the long dark hallway. The stone floor turned to earth and the ceilings lowered. They took three steps down into a cold, dank hallway which brought them to another darker, much more medieval cell. The wall outside the cell was lined with buckets of water. Nicodemo eyed them grimly.
The entry to the cell was so low they had to crouch to go through it. The metal door gave a grating scream as Nicodemo pushed it open and stepped through. He stood up inside the dark cell. It smelled like old urine and mouldy earth. He looked at the tempered steel door.
Dante set the case against the wall outside the door, came through behind him and noticed him eyeballing the metal. "What? You don't think it will hold you?"
"Doesn't matter. I don't plan on fighting it."
He scanned the dingy cell. His eyes fell on a fluffy white pillow lying on the wooden platform which served as a bed. He picked it up and sniffed it. Lavender. He raised his eyebrows at Dante.
"What? I'm only thinking of you. It stinks in here," Dante said.
Dante took Nicodemo by the shoulders, startling the older man. Dante fiercely kissed first his right cheek, then his left. "I'm proud of you." He took a stopwatch out of his pocket and showed it to Nic. “Twelve hours, on the mark. I'll be back to check on you."
Nicodemo nodded. "Let's just get this over with."
One
I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the plane window, and let out a big sigh. We were airborne. It was the end of a week of hell and I couldn't be happier to leave my life behind.
"That sounded awfully serious coming from someone so young," said the lady beside me. "First time on a plane?"
I turned to look at my seat mate. The woman had super short grey hair and was peering at me from over her glasses. She had a book open on her lap. Her expression exuded maternal warmth.
"First time going trans-Atlantic. It's not the flight, though."
"No?"
"Careful, if you get me talking, I might not shut up." I turned back to the window, my warped reflection mirrored my movement. "I talk too much. Or so I'm told."
The lady was silent for a moment. "We've got a long flight ahead of us. Why are you headed to Venice?"
"I got an au pair position. Two little boys. I'll be there all summer."
"Well," she said, her eyebrows lifting. "That sounds like the perfect experience for someone your age."
"Yeah, I'm super excited about it."
"Then why so glum?"
I chewed my lip. Shame heated my cheeks and to my dismay, tears pricked behind my eyelids. What was it about a kind stranger that made me want to dump out all my problems?
"I screwed up."
"How very human of you."
"But, I hate being a stereotype," I blurted.
"You're a stereotype?"
I tugged on the end of my fiery red ponytail. "I'm a redhead."
"And?"
"And, I have a temper. I'm a redhead, with a temper. Do you think it’s true? That red hair comes with a temper?"
"Well, they say stereotypes exist for a reason, that there's always a thread of truth in them. A hair, if you will." She waggled her eyebrows.
"Very punny."
"Thank you. But no, I think we've all got a temper somewhere under the surface. Maybe it’s harder for some of us to control, but that just comes with practice. And breathing." She held up a manicured finger. "Breathing helps a lot." She closed her book and tucked it into the seat pocket in front of her. "What was this horrifying screw-up?"
I twisted my headphone cord around my thumb. "I have two brothers. R.J. and Jack. Normally, we get along pretty good. But Jack - the younger one - he was pushing my buttons all week. He broke the clasp on my luggage, dropped chocolate on the couch which I then sat in and stained my favourite jeans, and then he hid my passport and laughed while I tore my hair out looking for it for three days."
"How frustrating."
I nodded. "Seriously. So three nights ago, after dinner, Dad told Jack it was his turn to do the dishes, but he went to play video games instead. I didn't notice at first because I went to pack. But then I came into the kitchen and everything was still a disaster. My mom had gone to bed with a headache and Dad was in the garage with R.J. I lost it. I was already so fed up that I just blew up." I paused, and my heart pounded as I relived the moment.