by Zoe Chant
Callum, who’d been silent and motionless for over three hours, abruptly leaned out the window. Edith tried to see what he was looking at, but all she could make out was a distant dot, keeping pace with the truck.
“Is that an eagle?” she asked him.
“No.” His intent focus never wavered. “Hawk.”
Something changed inside the truck, in a way Edith couldn’t quite put her finger on. As one, the hotshots stared at the sky. Even Fenrir’s nose tilted upward. His fur bristled under her palm, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
“Easy, big guy,” she murmured, rubbing his neck. “Rory? What’s wrong?”
The squad boss didn’t answer for a moment, still watching the hawk. Then he shook himself a little, turning to offer her another of those easy smiles.
“Probably nothing,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. Look, we’re here.”
The truck rolled through an open gate, past a weathered wooden sign proudly proclaiming THUNDER MOUNTAIN HOTSHOTS. Edith’s puzzlement over the squad’s odd behavior drowned in a flood of anxiety. She swallowed hard, hands fluttering against her knees.
Fenrir’s ear swiveled. His weight pressed against her, warm and reassuring. All will be well, the dog seemed to be saying.
The road opened out into a broad area rutted with tire tracks. Three rustic log buildings stood in a wide clearing, one large, two smaller. A number of tiny cabins were scattered haphazardly behind them, closer to the tree line.
“Mess hall and kitchen,” Rory said, pointing out the biggest building. “Fortunately the chief hires in a cook, otherwise you’d be periodically subjected to Joe’s unique interpretation of breakfast.”
Joe folded his arms. “Everything is better with chili, bro.”
“Not porridge,” Blaise informed him.
Rory swung his finger further down the line of buildings. “Superintendent’s office and the gym are over there. You’ll spend a lot of time in the latter, and hopefully none in the former. The two-story one is tool storage—that’s where all the gear is kept. Crew quarters in the little cabins behind. They’re basic, I’m afraid, but no worse than your lookout tower. And I guarantee they’ll seem positively luxurious after you’ve experienced the joys of fire camp.”
Blaise parked the crew truck at the end of a line of identical vehicles. Half a dozen men were lounging on picnic tables outside the mess hall, drinking sodas. Nearby, another group were playing some approximation of basketball. A large, shirtless man barged into another, knocking him to the ground as he snatched the ball. Noticing their arrival, he held up a hand, pausing the game.
“Oh look,” he said as Rory opened the side door. “A-hole squad is back.”
“We missed you too, Seth,” Rory said, jumping down. “Did it take you all week to think of that nickname?”
Seth’s mouth twisted. Without warning, he hurled the ball at Rory’s head. Rory caught it easily, spinning it on his finger before whipping it back at twice the speed. Seth staggered as it hit his chest.
“Hope you can catch fires better than that,” Rory said, as sniggers rose from the watching crowd. He hauled open the side door of the truck. “Now try to remember some manners. Got someone for you all to meet.”
Edith shrank back as the rest of the crew piled out. She jumped as Fenrir’s cold wet nose poked the side of her neck.
Courage, Stone Bitch.
Edith blinked. While she was still working out where that thought had come from, a shadow fell across her. She looked up at Rory’s broad-shouldered form, silhouetted against the brightness outside. Sunlight caught in his amber hair like a halo.
“It’s all right, Edith,” he said, his voice pitched low and gentle. “Seth is a bag of dicks, but the rest of the guys are solid. Come meet them.”
She would much rather have taken up permanent residence in the truck, like a hermit crab in a shell. But Fenrir prodded her again, rumbling encouragement. Reluctantly, she climbed out.
Stares stabbed through her like knives. Her legs locked solid, refusing to carry her any further. The world spun around her in a dizzying swirl of yellow uniform pants and black tees. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her mind seemed to disassociate from her body, looking down dispassionately at the scared, awkward woman cringing at the center of a crowd.
Rory’s hand cupped her elbow. It was the barest contact, but it grounded her. Warmth spread through her as if she’d swallowed a shot of whiskey. The threatening roar of impending meltdown receded.
Someone wolf-whistled. Abruptly, she was trying to look through six foot two of firefighter. Rory’s black crew T-shirt clung to the tense muscles of his back. The rest of the squad closed ranks around her as well—Blaise and Cal to the left, Joe and Wystan to the right. Behind her, Fenrir snarled.
At her side, Joe drew himself up to his full, impressive height. He glared down at the man who’d whistled, who shrank back. “Not cool, bro.”
“You bringing your girlfriends back to base now, Joe?” someone else called. “Chief’s going to shit a brick when he finds out.”
“She’s no one’s girlfriend,” Rory growled. “She’s one of us.”
He turned a little, exposing her once again to the barrage of curious eyes. Edith flinched, but let him draw her forward, his solid presence giving her the courage to face the gathered crowd.
“This is Edith Stone,” Rory said to the crew. “I’ve invited her to join A-squad.”
Seth spat to one side. “That little girl?”
“You’re begging me to put you on your ass, Seth,” Blaise said. “Again.”
“That woman,” Rory stressed the word, locking eyes with Seth, “happens to be able to cut line like demons are on her tail. She’s done all the training, and is just one fire away from completing her work book and being fully Type 1 certified.”
“Watch out, Seth,” someone commented from the back of the crowd. “Sounds like she could steal C-squad out from under your nose.”
“I know who’s ass I’d rather follow,” another man put in. Seth scowled as laughter rose around him.
Most of the rest of the hotshots were exchanging glances. There were too many faces for Edith to even begin to try to work out all the various expressions. She couldn’t tell how many of them shared Seth’s hostility. She clenched her fists, forcing her hands to stay still.
A wiry man with shaggy brown hair and a beard that could swallow a mouse stepped forward. “Edith, was it?” he asked in a soft backcountry drawl.
She couldn’t speak with so many people looking at her, but she managed to jerk her chin down in a nod. The man subjected her to a long, considering look before holding out his hand.
“Tanner Brock, B-squad boss.” His palm was rough as granite against her own, but what little she could see of his face was kind. “How’d you impress our boy?”
“Now that,” Joe said, grinning, “is a story that needs a lot of time. And beer. You could say it’s a hare-raising tale.”
“Joe,” Rory said under his breath. “I will pay you to shut up.”
“Words spoken by many.” Wystan sighed. “And as yet, never with any effect.”
“A good story has to run free, Rory.” Blaise’s wicked grin matched Joe’s. “Like a rabbit.”
Tanner’s shaggy head tilted. “I’m sensing this story has something to do with bunnies, and now I’m doubly curious.”
“Hey!” Seth said loudly, drawing attention back to himself. “Tanner, you can’t seriously approve of this. Bad enough he’s pulled in all his rookie English engine buddies. Now he’s hiring some random chick off the street?”
Callum treated Seth to the flattest of stares. “I’m Irish.”
“And I was ambulance crew, not fire service,” Wystan said mildly. “Anyway, we found Edith in the forest.”
Seth brushed the corrections away. “Come on, Tanner. This stinks. You gonna let Rory get away with ignoring all the rules yet again?”
Tanner shrugged. “Rory says a body can fight fire,
I believe him. Not me he has to convince, anyway.”
“No,” said a new voice. “That would be me.”
There was a sudden mass shuffling, hotshots hastily drawing aside. A man strode through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea. He was a good bit older than anyone else, with iron-grey hair and weathered skin, but his shoulders were as broad as any man there. A hawk’s beak of a nose gave him a brooding, predatory look.
Rory held his ground as the man’s glare fell on him. “Chief. You gave me permission to hire whoever I wanted.”
“So I did.” The man folded his muscled arms. “Words which I intended you to take as a mission statement. Not a damn blank check.”
Rory glanced at the fascinated circle of onlookers. He dropped his voice, to the point where Edith was sure only she and the chief could hear him.
“You told me to find who I needed.” Rory’s hand tightened on her elbow. “I need Edith.”
Edith flinched as the man switched his fierce black stare to her. He looked her up and down without speaking for a long, long moment.
The man muttered a profanity, rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache. “At least tell me she’s qualified.”
“Chief!” Seth spluttered. “You can’t-!”
“Edith’s got her Red Card, sir,” Blaise said loudly, drowning out Seth’s protest. “And we’ve all seen her work. We can vouch for her.”
The man’s shoulders fell in a sigh. “Then she’s in.”
“Chief!”
“Take a hike, Seth,” the chief snapped without looking round.
From the chorus of groans that went up, he hadn’t meant it metaphorically. The crowd broke up, hotshots pulling on discarded shirts and boots. Seth threw Edith a poisonous glance over his shoulder as he led his squad off in the direction of the woods.
“Am I paying the rest of you to catch fires or flies?” Buck swept the remaining hotshots with an impartial glare. “B-squad, those tools aren’t going to sharpen themselves. A-squad, why is your truck still loaded up? Are you waiting for valet service, perhaps?”
“Let’s go, boys,” Tanner told his squad. “Nice to meet you, Edith.”
Rory hesitated as Blaise and the others headed back to the vehicle. “Ah, chief? A word?”
“No,” the hawk-faced man said flatly. “You do not want me to have words with you right now, Rory. Does this look like a happy, smiling face? Go and get your tools unloaded and out of my reach before I succumb to the urge to beat you over the head with your own Pulaski.”
Rory exchanged a glance with Fenrir. The big dog came forward, shoving his head under Edith’s hand. She wound her fingers into his fur, grateful for his silent presence as Rory trailed reluctantly after the rest of the squad.
The man waited until Rory had disappeared behind the truck before turning back to her. He didn’t offer his hand. “I’m Superintendent Buck Frazer. Crew call me chief to my face, and names I pretend not to know behind my back. You used to hard work?”
Edith nodded mutely.
“No you aren’t,” Buck said, matter-of-fact. “Not like this. But you will be. I’ll be straight with you—this won’t be an easy ride. I’ll push you to your limits, not anyone else’s. Don’t expect to be able to coast on your abilities.”
Her abilities? What abilities? Edith stared at him, wondering if she’d somehow misheard.
Buck glanced around, as though checking for eavesdroppers. His gravelly voice lowered even further. “So…what are you, exactly?”
Her breath froze in her throat. He knew, somehow he knew, he could tell she wasn’t like other people…but in that case, why had he agreed to hire her?
Buck’s ferocious eyebrows bristled at her. “Spit it out, woman. Whatever it is, it can’t be weirder than the rest of them. Though from what I overheard, I have a terrible suspicion that you’re about to tell me you’re a damn rabbit. If that’s the case, I really am going to whack Rory with a blunt instrument.”
Fenrir barked, sharp and urgent. Rory appeared at her side so fast, she hadn’t had time to even begin to formulate a reply. He gripped Buck’s arm, which seemed to Edith like a good way to lose a hand.
“Chief.” Rory’s chest heaved for breath. “We need to talk. In private. Right now.”
Chapter 10
“She’s not a shifter?!”
Rory winced. He could only pray that the thick log walls of the office had muffled the chief’s explosion. The last thing he needed was for Edith—or any of the other normal humans on the crew—to overhear any of this.
“Chief, I can explain,” he started.
“I’m sure you can,” Buck cut him off. “But what you are going to do is shut up.”
Rory had worked for Buck for three years. He recognized that tone of voice. Usually when Buck spoke like that, he was saying things like “fire on the ridge” or “deploy emergency shelters, now.”
Rory shut up.
Buck let out his breath. Deliberately, he placed his large, scarred hands flat on his desk, palm down. Rory had the distinct impression that the chief would much rather be wrapping them around his neck.
“Rory,” the superintendent said, still in that frighteningly calm tone. “When I found out you were a shifter, what did I say?”
Rory hesitated, trying to judge if it was a rhetorical question. From the way Buck’s eyes narrowed, it wasn’t. “That you needed more people like me. Sir.”
“And why do you think I want shifters on my crew?”
“Because our powers enable us to fight fire more effectively than normal humans. Chief, I know Edith isn’t as strong or tough as a shifter. But she really is a damn good firefighter, and the rest of us can work harder to compensate—“
“I don’t need a good firefighter,” Buck cut in. “I have good firefighters lining up to spit-polish my boots at the start of every season. I have so many applications from good firefighters, I could wipe my ass all year with resumes. What I need are shifters.”
“She won’t slow us down. We’ll cut line at the same rate, I promise.”
Buck shook his head. “This isn’t about fighting fire. Damn it, boy. It never was about fighting fire.”
Rory furrowed his brow. “Chief?”
Buck let out a heavy sigh. “The fire yesterday, the one at the lookout tower. You said on the phone you needed to talk to me about it in person.”
“Uh,” Rory said, thrown by the abrupt change of topic. “Yeah. There were things that I couldn’t put in the official report.”
Buck gave him a level look. “Like the fact that it was started by an invisible lightning-throwing monster?”
Rory stared at him.
“Thought so.” Buck pushed his chair back. “Guess it’s time we had a little chat about the real reason you’re here.”
He unlocked a desk drawer, extracting a thick manila folder. He flipped it open, paging through. Rory caught brief glimpses of printed-out news stories—MYSTERY FIRE CLAIMS THREE LIVES and INFERNO STILL RAGES—before Buck pulled out a map from amongst the clippings.
Buck unfolded the large sheet, spreading it across the desk. Upside-down, it took Rory a moment to recognize it as a detailed topology map of Montana, showing terrain and elevation. Colored blobs had been hand-drawn across the soft, well-worn paper.
Buck put a square, blunt finger on a blue splotch. “Ridge Fire, five years ago. Lightning strike. Jumped four attempts to contain it thanks to repeated thunderstorms.” His finger moved across a few inches, to a green blob. “Hook End Fire, following year. Blamed on dumb kids horsing around a campfire, but they swore on the witness stand that lightning came out of nowhere and hit their tents. No one believed them, of course. Blue Mile Fire, lightning. June Bug Fire, a damn nightmare of a blaze, same cause.”
“I remember it,” Rory said, staring down at the map. “That was my first year. We came in late on that one.”
“And I wish we hadn’t already been deployed in California when the call went out, because I would give my left
nut to have had you on the scene at the start. Might have saved a hell of a lot of acres.” Buck leaned back, looking grim. “And lives.”
Rory counted blobs. “These are all lightning fires?”
“Yep.” Buck waved a hand across the map. “Either Montana has personally pissed off Thor… or something paranormal likes to keep its territory nice and toasty. Now, here’s the interesting bit. Red, yellow, and purple are the fires from the past three years. What do you notice?”
“There are fewer of them. They’re smaller.” Something else hit him as he studied the scrawled lines. “And most of them are well away from our base. You think that’s because I was here?”
“Exactly. Our firebug is scared of shifters. I’ve been tracking this creature for a decade, Rory. I was going motherloving bananas trying to work out why it had suddenly started tiptoeing around when it usually rampages across the state every summer. Once I found out what you were, it all clicked into place. And I realized that I finally had a way to put a stop to all this.”
Rory had been standing to attention for his dressing-down. Now he sank into a chair opposite Buck. The chief didn’t object, simply watching him without expression.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Rory asked.
“Because you’re pathologically protective with a hero complex,” Buck said calmly. “If I’d told you why I actually needed a shifter-only squad, you would never have recruited your friends for me.”
Rory clenched his hands on the edge of the desk. “You realize I’m going to tell them the truth.”
“Go ahead. Even if you use your power to force them to go home, they’re only going to turn around and come straight back the moment it wears off.” Buck shrugged. “After all, are you going to turn tail and run now that you know the real problem?”
Rory let out his breath, slowly. “No.”
“Exactly. You’re a firefighter. So are they. Nobody comes into this line of work unless they’re willing to lay down their life for the greater good.” Buck sighed, suddenly looking every one of his forty-five years. “Look, I’m not going to apologize for manipulating you. I’ll do what I have to do to get the job done. But I also won’t risk lives unnecessarily. A-squad is my secret weapon. Whenever I get even a sniff of this monster, I’m going to send you out, right into the heat. I need you to kill this thing. That’s why I can’t put an ordinary human on your squad.”