Rollie looked down, paralyzed.
“Rollickus, it is a four-foot drop. Let go of the damn bar.”
Elysia released a great sigh. Yeah, they would have escaped without a single problem. Exasperated, Topp gave a solid yank, ripping Rollie’s hands from the bar, and set him on the ground.
Both men shuffled over to her, looking slightly embarrassed. “You’re lucky I came. Gods know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t.” She chastised them while biting back a grin. This was better than yelling at Beatriz.
Topp glowered at her, knowing she was getting her rocks off. “Enough. How did you even find us?”
“That conversation will take far too long. What you need to know is that I amallcaught up on your latest escapades and I have additions to your plan. How’s your ass, by the way?” She held up a hand to the instant spluttering of both men. “I’ll explain later, and yes, you still get to blow the place up.”
Mollified, both Rollie and Topp shrugged.
Rubbing her hands together, she pulled them both in closer. “Listen up...”
By the end, there were no questions because both men were rendered speechless.
Rollie finally coughed awkwardly. “There’s one minor thing that may clear up your concerns about our end of the plan. I made the bombs for efficiency but lighting them and destroying the temple won’t be a problem. I’m a fire-worker.”
Both Topp and Elysia stared at him.
“You didn’t think to mention that? I asked you fifteen times how you planned to light these suckers,” Topp groused. “I thought your brain was your magic.”
Elysia smacked him on the arm. “You lived in atunnel. What if you had set an uncontrolled fire?”
He shrugged. “Kava’s dicey. But I usually can put them out.”
Shaking her head, Elysia danced lightly on her feet.
“Never by halves,” Topp muttered to himself.
Elysia repeated it back like a mantra for the night ahead.
It was justpast dusk when the receiving line began. Evening prayers had ended, and the petitioners were in a long linestreaking out of the temple and down the green-tiled path. The cool evening air scurried through the hopefuls, carrying sand and the faint lingering smells of early dinners. One by one and huddled in little groups, the line moved slowly.
Elysia wore a matching cobalt veil now. It wasn’t uncommon for the women of the temple to cover their hair or even their faces. Once again, she appeared to be one of the many acolytes assisting with the evening petitions. Starting from the very end of the line, she lazily tossed Maya’s glass igniters as she took slow, pious steps, her hands hidden in the folds of her robe and her gaze on the temple. She wasn’t aiming for the sachets she had placed earlier. Those would come later.
As the igniters hit the hard ground, they sparked brightly and popped loud enough to startle those who were close. Many didn’t go off until she had passed, and an unsuspecting patron stepped on the glass. She never once reacted. Acting as if nothing had occurred, she continued to glide and smile as she invoked the seeds of chaos into the crowd.
She wanted them uneasy. Spooked and wondering where the noise and sparks were coming from. Was it someone’s errant magic? Had the god of the undead gods stirred? By the time she reached the temple entrance, people were looking over their shoulders and jostling each other as they tried to find the source of the strange sparks and pops.
Bowing her head, she entered the temple. The high priest would be starting soon, and she didn’t want to miss it. Wooden benches had been brought into the main room of the temple. People squeezed in side by side and looked upon the priest on the dais as if he were a god himself. Dressed in pale gold robes, the gemstones that held the folds of his robe in place stood out magnificently, shining in the low dusk light. He stepped to the front of the dais, hands on the railing, and a hush fell over the crowd.
“It is good to gather, is it not?”
The crowd murmured their agreement.
“We gather today, as we do every week, to honor and beg the favor of the one true god, the god of the undead gods. And what better way to beg his golden light than to shower him with his own wealth? For as we know, the wealth belongs to him, does it not? And whatever we give is returned to us tenfold.”
Elysia noticed the person sitting next to her clutching a single coin to give in offering. Her leather sandals looked ready to disintegrate, and her eyes gleamed with a desperate unshed tear. Jaw set, Elysia adjusted the pearl pin for her veil and waited.
The smallest of flames soared, striking and sputtering out against the priest’s bare ankle. Giving an undignified yelp, the priest smacked at the burn with his opposite foot. Shaking it off, the priest opened his mouth to continue, but another fiery ember caught against his nape, scorching skin and leaving his hair smoking as it burned out. His hand hit against his neck, eyes wild as he searched the crowd.
“Who is doing this? Show yourself,” he demanded, leaning over the railing.
But the crowd was silent, nervously looking amongst each other and the silent golden statues.
His voice bounced within the shining domed temple. “Which of you can command fire? Speak now.” The priest loomed angrily from atop the dais, and the acolytes surged around the edges of the benches, hunting for the guilty party. Whispers ran through the people now, wary glances shooting left and right.
