by L. A. Boruff
All sex appeal I held for either of them disappears as they throw elbows in each other's throats, try to trip each other, body bump, and generally do everything they can to injure the other, or at least knock each other back down.
Stepping back a few paces, I give them room to land at the top of the stairs.
Hank crows in triumph when he makes it first. "Beatcha!"
Will gives him a dark look. "Once. I usually win."
"Are you two quite done?" James asks as he circles them and joins me at the bathroom door. "You're offending our host."
He puts one finger under my jaw and pushes it closed. "It's not that they're immature," he explains. "I've studied their behavior for several years now, and they're quite good men. Honorable and loyal."
I glance at Will and Hank to see them staring at James in shock. He's thrown them for a loop.
My gaze returns to James as he continues. "They've been friends for so long, I don't believe they'll ever outgrow..." He trails off as he waves his arms at them. "That. Whatever it is that makes them fight their way up the stairs, time themselves on drills, and generally be in deep, annoying, constant competition."
Will huffs while Hank cocks his head at James. "I never knew you thought so highly of us," Hank says.
"He just insulted us totally and your take away is how highly he thinks of us?" Will asked, giving Hank a look of consternation.
"Okay," I say.
Turning on my heel, I enter my bathroom and shut the door almost all the way. Grabbing my toothbrush, I begin vigorously cleaning my teeth as I turn on the water. "As soon as I get in and close the curtain you can open the door so we can talk."
I want to hear about the old woman.
Hurrying, I strip off Will’s shirt and stand naked by the shower as I finish brushing my teeth and wait for the water to warm. As soon as it's not offensively cold, I rinse my toothbrush and put it in the holder, then hop under the stream of water to rinse out my mouth. "Okay," I call. "Come in."
The creak of the door is the only indication they've listened. "So tell me about the old woman," I say as I wet my hair.
James clears his throat. "She's the mother of the King of the witches."
"All the witches?" I ask. Surely there are multiple sects like multiple countries have their own governments.
"All of this coven, which is considerably huge. It’s the largest in the States," Hank replies. “And I think second or third largest in the world.”
James sighs. "It’s both as simple as that, and more complicated. All witches can do magic, and all people who can do magic are witches, but that doesn’t make them all the same. Sort of like a toad is always a frog, but a frog is not always a toad.”
I snort and peek at him around the shower curtain. I’ve never heard that analogy before.
He just nods and smiles before continuing. “In general, magical people find themselves in covens—large ones. It’s easier to live a magical life in a world full of non-magical humans when you’re not trying to hide who you are.” There’s something in his voice that I can’t put a name to, but now isn’t the time to ask. “Sometimes, there are people like us who live outside the covens. Normally for a very good reason.”
"Okay, so that explains you guys. What about the old lady?"
"She's the Dowager Queen of all the witches and wizards in this coven. She was married to the King, but since she wasn't born to the throne, she didn't inherit it."
"That's how they roll in England, isn't it?" I ask.
"Why, yes it is," James says, his British accent thickening slightly. "The current government and line of succession that witches use around the world originated in England."
"Okay, so the King was the oldest kid? That's why he's King?"
"No, actually," Will clears his throat. "There was an older sister. But she disappeared without a trace when she was nineteen."
"Ohh, intriguing," I say as I lather up my hair. "So the brother took the throne."
"Yes," Hank says. "And he's horrible. He oppresses his people and rules with an iron fist."
My slight levity vanishes. "Oh. That's terrible."
"It is." James's voice is soft. "Not much any of us can do about it unless the rightful Queen shows up. That’s the main reason we don’t live inside the coven." That thing in his voice is back. I hope he explains it at some point.
"Any idea where she went?" I ask.
Hank's deep voice continues the conversation over the sound of the water hitting the shower floor as I rinse the soap from my hair. "No, but the speculation is she fell in love with a human."
My hands freeze in my hair. "Really?"
"Yeah, and of course, back then especially, witches and humans couldn't mingle. There are a fair amount of humans in this town. They're watched carefully for signs that they've figured things out. For the most part, the magic in the area repels humans. We think the ones that are happy and comfortable here probably have magic in their blood, but it's diluted or dormant."
"So she couldn't be free with her relationship," I whisper. "And she ran away." It sounds too familiar. "What was her name?"
"Regina Kranton," James answers me.
Alarm bells go off in my head. "That name is so familiar," I whisper. I need a moment to compose myself. The sound of the former princess's story and her name is throwing me for a loop. "I'm almost done," I say as I lather up my washcloth. "I'll meet you downstairs in a minute." I'd intended to let them hang out while I dressed, on the other side of my door. If they plan to take me to the Queen Mother, or whoever she is, I need to hear more about her.
As I finish washing and rinsing, I search my memories, wading through foster family after foster family. Maybe I was connected to the old woman that way somehow. I can't bring much to mind, but the name Kranton rings in my mind like a church bell.
As I pull on my underwear, I hear the sound of alarm bells coming from next door. "Callie, meet us at the truck," James calls upstairs. "We have to go!"
I guess that means I'm going on their fire call with them. Better than being left alone, I guess, but it seems like an awfully big coincidence that there's a fire now when we're supposed to be hiding.
I yank on my clothes before jerking a brush through my hair and snagging a hair tie to put on my wrist. After slipping my spare pair of sneakers on my feet, I sprint down the stairs and out the front door.
Even as fast as I moved, they were already in their gear. Damn. These hot firemen are well-trained.
Sugar waves me over to the rescue truck. "Not enough seats in the rig," she says as she jumps in the front. "We usually take this on fire calls anyway. Never know when you'll need the emergency supplies."
I hop in the passenger seat as she pulls out ahead of the fire truck, her sirens flashing and alarm horns blaring.
Well, whether this is a real call or not, here we go.
Chapter Five
James
Is it wrong to be thankful for a fire?
Well, not thankful. But I came so close to spilling my secrets to Callie, closer than I've ever come to spilling them to anyone else. Neither Hank or Will are aware of the truth about me, and I plan to keep it that way. I know they'll claim to still look at me the same, but I've seen the anger in their eyes when they talk about the King and his coven. They won't forgive me if they find out I used to be part of that.
Not for the first time, guilt over my past floods through me.
"We're here," Hank says, an uneasy tinge to the words.
One look out of the window at the blaze and I understand completely.
Fuck. Something in my stomach twists. This not good. Not good at all.
"Is it wrong to think this is going to save us time?" Will quips as he eyes the fire in horror. It’s a harsh attempt to lighten the dread we’re all feeling, and it falls flat as I’m sure Will already knows it will.
I look at the burning house of the mother of the King. The Dowager Queen, Her Royal Highness. I hope she isn’t in there, but
know it’s a possibility.
"I don't think it is," I mutter, a bad feeling spreading in my gut. "This feels magical."
Neither of them answer me. There's no real need for them to. If one of us says we sense magic, the others believe him. We don't say things like that without it being true.
We jump out of the truck, pulling on our helmets and going through the motions of getting the truck ready to extinguish the fire. We've practiced this enough times to be able to do it without communicating.
I glance over to Sugar, relieved to find she's put a jacket and helmet on Callie too. She looks adorable. The sleeves are too big for her, and they trail past her fingers.
Pulling my attention back to the job at hand, I check on Will and Hank, seeing if they need my assistance yet. Assured they don't, I stride over to Callie and slip an arm around her.
She jumps before recognizing me and relaxing into my arms.
Fool. I chide myself on taking her by surprise. That's not a nice thing for me to have done.
"It'll be alright," I assure her. “Stay back, and we'll have it out in a moment." I don't tell her where we are. It won't help the situation if she's stressed about whether or not we'll get the answers we need.
If I'm honest, I'm trying not to think about why that might be. I’ve been at this long enough to know the only way to get this job done is to compartmentalize until it’s over. Worrying about the people inside comes after the fire is out, especially in one as advanced as this one.
"James, you ready?" Will calls over.
I nod and pull away from Callie, regretting the helmets that stop me from kissing the concerned look from her face.
"Be safe," she squeaks.
"It'll take more than a fire to hurt me," I retort, before realizing how arrogant that makes me sound. But my salamander side protects me from flames, they can't be used against me. To be honest, it's a more useful trick than shifting.
I pull on one of the hoses, aiming it at the house and waiting for Sugar to turn on the water. The heat from the fire bounces off my skin. It's wrong, given the disaster happening in front of us, but the heat helps refill my bank of power. Part and parcel of being a salamander. A part of the disaster gives me strength and energy.
And guilt.
Well. Technically, I’m half salamander. I can't claim the full status of most of my kind. One of the many reasons I don't spend any time with other salamanders. They wouldn't accept me even if I did want to claim my heritage.
It only takes an hour for us to get the blaze under control, but with the magic lacing the flames, I don’t think that it would have gone out without our help. From the size of the flames and the way they only attacked certain parts of the house, there’s even less doubt in my mind that this blaze was magical.
I wiped the sweat off my brow, only to hit the hard plastic of my helmet instead of my forehead. It was too easy to forget we’re wearing them at times.
The house still stands in front of us, though some of the rooms appear to be reduced to nothing more than ash. I have a bad feeling about this. The Dowager isn’t outside, and the most likely place she’d be is in front of me. I don’t know who’d dare attack her so blatantly. Alright, I do.
I exchange glances with Will and Hank, making sure they’re as confident that the fire is out as I am. Both are covered in black streaks of soot from head to toe, no doubt I am too. The part of firefighting we’ve just done is always the most exhilarating, but now it’s over, the reality of the next bit sinks back in. I’ve been lucky enough that most of the fires I’ve attended weren’t fatal, but enough of them have been to prepare me for what we may find inside. Except that this time is different.
"What now?" Sugar asks as the five of us converge in a circle next to the truck.
"We need to go in and check for survivors," Hank says, not mentioning that we need to look for the Dowager's remains. We're all conscious of Callie standing by us and don't want to disturb her.
With some of the house still intact, I suppose there is some small chance of survivors, but with the magical nature of it, I’m doubtful. Dread sits in the pit of my stomach, but I push it away. Emotions can get in the way of what we have to do.
"It seems unlikely anyone survived that," Will whispers, echoing my thoughts.
"Will and I will go in," I say, making the decision none of us wants to. If any hotspots flare up, we wouldn't be injured. "Hank and Sugar can stay with Callie." As much as I want to be the one to stay and comfort Callie, I can't put the others in danger when as far as I know, I'm the only one who can be completely unaffected by fire. Even though Will is a fire mage, I don't know the limits of his power. I don't think he does either.
No one argues, which doesn't surprise me. No one wants to face what's inside the house, but we know we have to.
The stench of wet ash intensifies in the air the closer we walk.
"This isn't good," Will says, all of his normal levity completely disappearing.
"I don't know if that even covers it." I kick a fallen timber out of the way. "How could this happen?"
The look he shoots me says it all. I sigh.
"That's not what I meant," I correct myself. "The Dowager would've had protection spells on the place. It seems unlikely that the King managed to break through all her defenses now. The timing is too circumspect." If they already knew where she lived, then they must have been trying to get through her protective spells for years, there's no other explanation for it.
"It does seem odd. Maybe she wanted them to come?"
"Hmm." If she's in here, then the answer to that is no. But if she isn't, then perhaps it's all part of her plan.
"You don't think she let down the guard spells so we could find her, do you?" Will asks.
"It's a possibility." But it doesn't seem likely. We already knew where she was, like a lot of the other rogue witches around here. We just never had a use for the information. We never would've given it to the King.
The doorframe is still smoking when we pass through, but I pay it no mind. There are no flames, and that's what we're here for.
"I'll take the left, you take the right?" Will suggests.
I nod. Splitting up may not be the wisest thing to do given that the witches are hunting us, but the less time we spend in a compromised building, the better. "Yell if you need me."
The hall I turn down has barely been touched by the fire. Photographs line the wall. I glance at each of them as I pass, the curiosity about who the Dowager is getting the better of me.
Something catches my eye in one of the photos, and I stop, even taking it off the wall. It's clearly old, like the photos my mom has of my childhood. In it, a young Dowager stares at the camera with a wide smile on her face. But it isn't her I'm interested in. It's the woman next to her who looks like Callie with darker hair.
What's going on? Why does the Dowager have this hanging in the hall of her home?
I consider taking it from the wall, but it belongs to the Dowager, and I don't want to annoy her if she turns up and realizes I've touched her possessions any more than necessary
"James!" Will's voice echoes through the house, the tone revealing what he's found, even if I can't see it yet.
I backtrack through the house and into the back room. One glance is all I need to know this is where the fire started. Heat and magic lingers in the air, and embers glow from the remains of an armchair. One that was occupied when the flames started.
"I think we have a problem," Will says. His voice is sad as he looks at the chair.
"Just a small one." The dread returns. Or uncovers itself, I’m not sure which. But with a potentially unstable house around us, I need to focus. I'm about to ask what we do next when a scream sounds from outside.
We exchange a worried glance as flames leap to Will's hand, ready to help Hank and defend Callie and Sugar, who are no doubt outside with the witches converging on them.
Our footsteps thud against the charred floor as we rush out into the nigh
t.
"How dare you?" a woman yells as she rushes at Callie.
Callie throws up her hands, but the woman, curvy with long dark hair, grabs her. "I didn't do anything," Callie insists. She's struggling against the woman's grasp on her arm.
They swing around so we can see the mysterious woman's face and my heart sinks as she continues yelling at Callie. "She came to help you, of course, you did something."
"I don't know what you’re talking about," Callie insists, shooting a pained look at Hank, who is trying to get to her, but an invisible barrier rebuffs him.
There's only one person this woman can be. "Step away from her, Fran," I warn. I've never met her, but whispers of her relationship with the Dowager have floated through the town for years.
She lets go of Callie's arm and relief floods through me. Maybe there's a chance we can get out of this without her causing more of a scene or hurting anyone.
"What are you doing here?" Fran demands. "You know this wasn't a natural fire. No amount of water in the world would put it out."
Well, that confirms my thoughts that it went out when it was supposed to and no sooner.
"Our jobs," Will mutters under his breath.
Sugar snorts, but I ignore her.
"We're doing what we can," I tell her evenly. "We got here as soon as we could. I'm sorry, but—"
"Phoebe's dead," she blurts. "I know."
I swallow down the lump in my throat. Of course, she does. They had bonded, as the rumors said. I've heard stories of how painful it is when a bond-mate dies.
Without meaning to, I glance at Callie.
No. I can't think like that. Especially not with the looks she keeps throwing at Will. "Tell us what happened, Fran?" I whisper.
She sighs and runs a hand over her face. "I wasn't here. She sent me out to get cookies to go with her tea." Fat tears roll down the woman's face. My heart breaks for her, but this isn't the time to deal with her grief. We all need answers and fast. "She must have known this would happen."
"I don't think she did," I assure her. "She wanted us to bring Callie by as soon as we found her."
Fran swings around so she's focused on Callie again.