Wildfire

  He gave me a solemn nod.

  I left the kitchen and crept up the stairs. Cornelius followed me.

  “Any luck with making friends?” I whispered.

  “No. Their minds are very primitive. It’s like trying to bond with an insect. All I feel is hunger.”

  Ahead, the staircase turned in a grand sweep. A low eerie growl came from deeper within the house. All of the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck rose. A voice floated back, urgent, female, but too low to make out the words. Rynda.

  We rounded the bend and I moved deeper into the house toward the sound. I glanced at Cornelius. He held up four fingers. Four creatures. I only had four bullets left in this magazine. I’d need a lot of firepower in a hurry. I ejected the magazine, slid it into my pocket, and put my spare in. Thirteen shots, twelve in the magazine and one in the chamber. I’d have to make them count.

  A short hallway turned to the left, bringing me into the second living room.

  “. . . bleeding out. There is no need for violence,” Rynda said. Her voice trembled.

  “Give me the file and all your problems go away.” Male voice.

  “How do I know that you won’t kill us?”

  “You’re playing for time, thinking that whoever fired that gun downstairs is going to rescue you.”

  I pressed my back against the wall by the doorway. I couldn’t see into the room, and once I got in there, I’d have to act fast.

  “I’ve been doing this a very long time. Nobody is coming to save you, Rynda.”

  Cornelius closed his eyes and opened them slowly. They were very blue and luminescent, almost catlike.

  “Your knight in shining armor is clutching at his guts on your floor. Apparently, you don’t care.”

  A man moaned.

  “Stop it!” Rynda yelled.

  “Keep going the way you’re going and I’ll make you watch as they eat him alive.”

  “Leave him alone!”

  “Fine. Pick a kid. I’ll do one of them instead.”

  “You wouldn’t dare, Vincent.”

  “You know perfectly well that I would. Just give me the fucking file. This mother’s last stand is getting tiresome. Here, I’ll pick for you. That one.”

  “Mom!” a little girl screamed.

  I lunged into the room. Someone pressed pause on the world, the room crystal clear in a split second. On the left, a dark-haired man in black clothes with his arms crossed on his chest. The summoner Prime. Vincent.

  A creature waited next to him, indigo blue, with a spray of ghostly black and paler blue rosettes and spots across its fur. At least two and a half feet tall at the shoulder, six feet long, with a thick neck crowned with a fringe of tendrils, a short wide muzzle with dagger teeth, and wide paws as big as my hand. It reminded me of a tiger.

  Two bat-apes crouched by Vincent, one by his feet and the other on the table behind him. On the right, fifteen feet away, the third bat-ape sat over Edward’s body. Edward lay on his back on the blue rug. A wet wound gaped in his stomach. The third bat-ape was digging in it with its claws. Edward’s eyes were open and filled with pain.

  Rynda stood behind Edward, her arms around her two children, her face a bloodless mask.

  If I killed Vincent, it would cure everything that was wrong with this picture.

  “Run!” I barked, and fired.

  The world snapped back to its normal speed in a roar of gunfire. The bat-ape by Vincent’s feet jerked upright, throwing itself into the path of the bullet meant for the summoner. I’d missed by a tiny fraction of a second.

  I pumped three bullets into the bat-ape. Its head jerked with each impact, but it still stayed upright.

  Four.

  Five.

  Rynda didn’t move. She just stood in the same spot like a deer in headlights. Damn it.

  The creature by Edward leaped over his body and charged me. I pivoted and put six bullets into its skull. It toppled over. I spun back. The first bat-ape sprawled on the floor, dead. The last bat-ape had taken its place, blocking Vincent.

  Only one shot left. I put it into the bat-ape’s left lower eye, ejected the magazine, brought the other out . . .

  “I wouldn’t,” Vincent said.

  The feline beast snarled, a strange sound that was half pissed-off tiger and half the deep bellow of a sea lion. The fringe of bright blue tendrils, six inches long, rose in a collar around its throat, the thickened ends glowing with bright blue. His huge maw gaped open, his dagger teeth an inch from Rynda’s daughter.

  “This was fun,” Vincent said. “Drop the magazine.”

  I opened my hand and let it fall to the floor.

  “Put the gun down.”

  I crouched and lowered the weapon to the floor.

  “Kick it.”

  I gave the Baby Desert Eagle a nudge with my foot. The gun slid across the floor to the left side. If I threw myself down, I’d be able to grab it. If I could get close enough to Vincent, I could shock him.

  The last bat-ape, Vincent’s new meat shield, crouched, revealing the summoner. Vincent was about Rogan’s age, handsome, dark brown hair, a square jaw, dark eyes, and the perfect amount of scruff on a dimpled chin—generations of all the right genes in all the right places.

  If I lunged at him, the bat-ape would tear me apart.

  Vincent rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I have to say this. You there, dashing male secretary! Drop the frying pan.”

  The pan clattered to the floor behind me.

  Vincent smiled.

  That languid, assured smile told me everything I needed to know: none of us would walk out of here alive. He would kill me and Cornelius, then he would finish off Edward, Rynda, and the kids. Vincent was one of those people who derived pleasure from wielding power over others, and there was no greater power than life or death. He would toy with us, like a cat with an injured bird, then he would kill us.

  “The next time someone tells you to run, Rynda, you should take their advice,” he said.

  I should’ve been terrified, but instead I was angry. “Takes a lot of balls to terrorize two children.”

  He glanced at me. “Another idiot with moral scruples. What is it today? Would you like to volunteer instead?”

  “Yes.” I had only one shot at this. I pushed my magic out and gripped him in its fist.

  Shock slapped Vincent’s face. He tried to move and couldn’t. His mind writhed in the grip of my will. Holy shit, he was strong.

  I shook, straining to hold him, trying to claw at his mind. His will clashed with mine. It was like trying to hold a fire hose with the full blast of water jettisoning out of it. He was a Prime and his power was off the charts. It took all of my willpower to contain him. I couldn’t even move.

  I had to ask questions. If I didn’t, he would overpower me. Questions would force him to conceal the truth and drain some of his power.

  My voice came out deep, every sound dripping with magic. “What’s your name?”

  Damn it. Should’ve asked something more useful.

  His face shook with the effort of trying to break free.

  The two summoned animals stared at him, confused.

  My hold was slipping.

  Now, Cornelius. Now. Do something. Rynda, run. Save yourself. Come on.

  He bared his teeth. He let his creatures feed on people. He was going to murder Rynda’s children, who had no say in any of this. Rage erupted in me, boosting my magic. My will crushed Vincent’s.

  A raw, guttural snarl tore out of him. “Vincent Harcourt.”

  Pain blossomed at the base of my neck and rolled down in a heavy wave, like molten lead. My teeth rattled. The strain ground down my bones, as if someone took a cheese grater and drew it across my spine.

  “What do you want from Rynda?”

  The world wavered. Blackness swirled in the corners of the room, threatening to expand and swallow me. I couldn’t pass out. I had to hold on to consciousness.

  Beads of sweat dotted Vincent’s hairline. A
tremor shook him. His mind opened slightly, and within its depth, I sensed the solid wall of a hex. I had done something like that before, but I had created the illusion of it. This was the real thing, a trap saturated with magic.

  “Her . . .”

  My power brushed against the hex, and I almost recoiled. It felt familiar. It was set by a truthseeker.

  “. . . mother . . .”

  My grip slipped. Agony exploded in my brain, and I stumbled back from the impact.

  “You fucking bitch,” Vincent snarled.

  The bat-ape charged me, swiping with its hand. I jerked back, but its claws grazed my leg, painting a red-hot line of pain across my left thigh.

  The massive cat-thing jumped in front of me, shockingly fast, knocking the bat-ape aside. The smaller creature flew from the impact, landing on my gun. It tried to rise, but the cat-monster pounced. A massive paw rose, claws flashed, and the cat-monster ripped the bat-ape apart with a single swipe. Thick red blood poured on the floor.

  “What the fuck!” Vincent snarled.

  “The pact is made,” Cornelius said, his voice distant and otherworldly.

  “The hell it is. It’s mine!”

  Magic snapped out of Vincent, gripping the cat.

  I dove left, trying to push the bat-ape off my gun. The heavy body refused to move. My hands slid in the blood.

  Cornelius and Vincent stood face-to-face, the cat creature crouching by Cornelius. Magic churned between the two men. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it.

  I put my legs into it, heaved the beast aside, grabbed my blood-soaked Baby Desert Eagle, and spun around, scrambling to grab my magazine.

  Cornelius opened his mouth and sang out a long note that sounded like the howl of a cat.

  Vincent clawed the air with his hands. The magic swirled away from Cornelius, sparking in the empty air. A dark knot of smoke formed above the floor, shot through with lightning. He was about to open another portal.

  I slapped the magazine into the gun. Got you, you bastard.

  Rynda screamed. Power erupted from her in a torrent and slammed against Vincent.

  I fired. The gun roared twice.

  He jerked a fraction of a second before I squeezed the trigger, his face contorted with raw panic, and went through the window in an explosion of glass shards.

  No.

  I jumped to my feet and ran to the window. A well-lit backyard stretched into the night, the pool perfectly still. My first shot had grazed his shoulder. My second had gone wide. I was aiming for his head. If Rynda hadn’t done whatever she did . . . It didn’t matter. Vincent was gone.

  Rynda collapsed on her knees in front of Edward’s body. The kids wailed. Edward raised his head and tried to say something.

  Rynda grabbed his hand. “Don’t speak. It will be okay.”

  The blue cat creature rubbed its head against Cornelius’ hand.

  Vincent got away. I wanted to throw my gun against the wall. I didn’t, but I really wanted to. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.

  Rogan’s people beat the paramedics by four minutes and they brought Dr. Daniela Arias with them. When they found us, I was pressing Cornelius’ bundled jacket against Edward’s wound, the kids were wailing despite Rynda’s best efforts to calm them down, and the monster cat was making demonic noises Cornelius claimed was a form of a purr. Cat wasn’t an accurate description. There was something feline about it, something reminiscent of the broad powerful tiger, but its nose was a complicated thing of four nostrils, and the fringe of tentacles that ringed its neck moved on its own. The beast looked at me with an understanding, as if it was a lot smarter than any Earth animal. It was just odd. Really odd and unsettling.

  Rogan’s people stabilized Edward, moved all of us into the upstairs living room, which was free of the nasty-smelling corpses, assigned a man with a Beretta tactical shotgun to guard us, established a perimeter, and began a systematic sweep of the house and the grounds. Cornelius and his new pet went to help.

  While they did that, I called home, told Bern what happened, and then did a quick search on Vincent Harcourt. Vincent, the only son and heir apparent of House Harcourt, Prime, Summonitor, which was the official term for summoner mages. No convictions, no criminal records, worth around fifty million dollars. Summoning didn’t have great applications in the real world, but the Harcourts clearly had done well for themselves.

  Rynda held Edward’s hand until the paramedics took him away.

  “He’ll make it,” Daniela said. “The damage wasn’t significant. The main danger is infection.”

  “Thank you,” I told her.

  She squinted at me.

  Dr. Arias and I didn’t see eye to eye. She’d tried to warn me that my relationship with Rogan was a very bad idea, and I didn’t listen to her advice. I’d also threatened her. Considering that Daniela was at least eight inches taller than me and built like a woman who could stop a horse in full gallop by grabbing it, in retrospect, threatening her wasn’t one of my wiser decisions. But I wanted to be with Rogan and I wouldn’t let anybody stop me.

  And he was still missing in action. Worry gnawed at me.

  “Is any of that blood yours?” Daniela asked.

  “Some.”

  “So you have an open wound and you’re covered in blood from the arcane realm.”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you planning on letting me know about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Right now.” She would kill me for sure.

  “How is it that nobody else has any blood on them?”

  “Uh . . .”

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a giant bottle of water and another of alcohol sanitizer. “Let’s see it.”

  I hiked up my dress. Three bright scratches tore across my left thigh. “Just scratches. Also shoulders.” I was pretty sure the claws had punctured me.

  Daniela sighed and got out a syringe sealed in plastic and a vial.

  “What is that?”

  “Antivenin. The creatures secrete venom on their claws. Does it hurt?”

  “No.”

  “It should.” She tore the plastic off the syringe and stabbed it into the vial through the seal on top. “It will hurt in about ten minutes if the venom is neutralized.”

  It hurt like someone stabbed me with a hot poker. My thigh was on fire. My shoulders burned. It took her about fifteen minutes to thoroughly sanitize my wounds and seal them with a skin adhesive. None of it was deep, but it hurt like hell.

  Then she started cleaning my hands and legs. By the time I was released, I felt like I was scrubbed with one of those green scouring pads used to get dried-on crust out of pans. My skin was clean. My dress was another story. There was no way to expose the shoulders without taking it off completely. We had to cut it. That hurt almost as much as the antivenin.

  “Done,” Daniela said.

  “Thank you.”

  She squinted at me again.

  I got up and moved to where Rynda and the children sat on the love seat. The kids were curled up around her. Kyle had finally fallen asleep. She’d covered him with a blanket. Jessica was almost there too, her face sleepy, her eyes closing, tucked into the corner of the couch.

  I sat across from them on a footstool, trying not to wince. Rynda glanced at me. She looked like she’d been through hell and back.

  “Walk me through it,” I told her.

  “Right now?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “We were getting ready for bed. I went to use the bathroom and while I was in there, Jessica came and told me that Kyle ran away. We started looking for him. That was when Edward arrived.”

  Her voice broke. She sniffled.

  “He wanted to apologize. He felt bad, because he thought Brian was just off on one of his hiding sprees. He helped me look for Kyle. We found him in Brian’s office. He refused to go to bed, because he wanted to wait until his daddy got home. I heard gunfire downstairs, so I locked the d
oor. Then one of those things went through the window. Edward grabbed a chair and hit it. It ripped into him and then he collapsed on the floor. Then Vincent came.”

  Truth. “Who is Vincent?” I already knew, but it didn’t hurt to have her take on it.

  “Vincent Harcourt of House Harcourt. We went to school together. He was a bully and he grew up into a despicable bastard.”

  “That’s a bad word,” Jessica said, her voice sleepy.

  Rynda kissed her hair. “He is a very bad man.”

  “What did he want?”

  “A file. He wanted one of my mother’s files. I told him I don’t have any of her files. The estate is still in probate. I don’t even have access to her house. He didn’t believe me. He said he knew for sure I had the file.”

  “Do you have any idea what he might be talking about?”

  She shook her head. “No. He had one of those things snap its teeth an inch from my children’s necks. I would’ve given him everything.”

  “Did your mother interact with Harcourt?”

  “I don’t know, okay!” Rynda’s voice rose. “I don’t know what my mother was involved in. Everyone assumes I do, but I don’t know anything! She didn’t share. She didn’t ask for my advice. Will you just leave me alone? Just for a few minutes, for the love of God!”

  Truth.

  “She saved your life,” Daniela said over my shoulder. “She’s trying to find your husband. Maybe you could stop being uncooperative for a few minutes and make an effort?”

  Rynda opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

  I could’ve hugged Daniela. She’d break me in half, but it would be worth it.

  “I thought we were going to die,” Rynda said in a small voice. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “What happened at the end?”

  “I emanated. He felt everything he made me feel. All my fear. All of my desperation. I don’t do it often. It’s a very violent thing to impose your emotions on others. I just couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

  “Thank you.”

  I stood up.

  The guard at the door stood straighter. Rogan walked into the room.

  Rynda ran past me and threw her arms around his neck.