Feline the Flames (The Firehouse Feline Book 2)

by L. A. Boruff

  Good people.

  “Callie?” I glance up into Fran’s face, and she looks tired as she says, “I am sorry. You’ve already lost so much.”

  Hank wraps an arm around me and squeezes. "Just keep in mind, we don’t know anything for sure.”

  I nod my head and wish there was a way for me to say goodbye to my cat. To explain to her why I have to do this. Or at least give her a bowl of milk and a can of tuna before we do a spell that could destroy her. Hell, maybe give her a whole salmon.

  We both know she deserves it.

  "I’m okay." I tell them both, then gently pull out of Hank’s arms and shove my pain away. “Let’s focus on what we have to do.”

  Hank nods.

  I draw myself up taller and walk into the living room, then look at the crowd.

  My guys sit on the couch, crammed close together, with Sugar and Hank's mom on the arms. Theresa sits in one of the armchairs with her guys behind her leaning against the wall. Will's mom is in the other armchair and Hank's dad is near the bookshelves. It looks like he'd been studying my few volumes. Most of my books are in my room, but I unpacked some that I thought I might need down here.

  Will gives me an assessing glance. “Ready?”

  I turn in a slow circle and look around the room at my new friends and allies. "Let's do this." I nod and take in a deep breath.

  "Okay. I'm going to focus." James steps forward. "I'm not the most powerful witch here, but I can feel the crack in the protection spell. If anyone feels an opportunity to do more during the spell, feel free to take over. I'll be flexible."

  Wait. Shouldn’t the most powerful do this? James winks at me, which really doesn’t calm my nerves.

  "That sounds agreeable," Fran said.

  Everyone nods and stands. The furniture is still against the walls from earlier, so they form a tight circle around me. Hank, James, and Will stand directly in front of me. This is it. Oh geez. Oh, fuck.

  "Would it help if everyone touched her?” Will’s mom asks.

  Touches me? Why would that help?

  James looks at Fran, who nods and explains. "I think it might, actually. We're not completely sure how this will go, so any connection to you might assist."

  “Is that okay with you?” Will asks, a protective note to his voice.

  I release a breath, remembering that these guys would never do anything to hurt me. “Yes, if it could help the spell.”

  I hold both my hands straight out to my sides. The circle tightens around me, but still, the three men that I've become so attached to are the ones that I see, the ones I focus on.

  The magic swirls again, around me, but not touching me. This time, there's so much more of it, I can see it, feel it, and even smell it. The scents of the magic are potent, like someone has knocked over their spice cabinet. I fight the urge to sneeze away the smells of cinnamon, pepper, and cilantro. A whiff of mint whirls around my head, and I can't help but wonder what my guys’ magic smells like. I can't wait to find out. If everyone’s magic has a distinctive smell, then each of their magics should have a specific scent mingling into the comforting aromas swirling around me.

  All the hands touching me feel warm and give me a sense of family, of belonging. It's nice to feel that way after so long being excluded. I've always been the one on the outside. The one longing for acceptance and inclusion. The one crying alone.

  It's just been me and my cat.

  Closing my eyes, I think about her, about how it feels to be in her head, to ride around while she controls everything. We aren't the same, not at all. It's like we share bodies at all times, but we are never as one. I assume that when we're in my body, she rides around with no control. There have been times she has given me control in her body, so I'm almost certain she knows I'm in there. I can't feel her, though. I don't know why. I probably never will since grandmother is gone.

  James sighs. "Don't stop the process," he says in a soothing and even voice. "But would anyone else like to try?"

  Fran pipes up. "I will."

  I have no clue what they're doing. What it means to lead or focus or whatever it is. James squeezes my hand. "Try to think about opening yourself up. Imagine yourself absorbing the magic swirling around you."

  I look from Hank to James to Will, noticing huge scratches in Will’s arm. I gasp and break everyone’s focus by grabbing his arm. “Did I do this?”

  He cups my face and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “It’s okay. I’d do it again, and they’ll heal quickly.”

  I nod, feeling like a big jerk, and take a deep breath. They focus again and magic fills the air, swirling around me like a calm tornado of beautiful sparkles and energy. I imagine myself sucking in the magic I see and feel. I breathe in the smells and pretend they're swirling around inside me instead of outside.

  Then I realize I forgot to grab the paper that has the spell written on it. Mother fucker.

  When I'm about to tell them to stop everything and let me go get it, the words pop into my mind. I speak them, and the same weight and power fills them, making me feel like I'm proclaiming a truth to the world.

  "One life has been taken,

  For one life to return.

  A price will be paid by someone dear

  Willingly.

  Holding nothing back.

  And then the crime that was done,

  Will be undone."

  When I'm finished, nothing is different. Nothing changes. "Repeat it, child," Fran whispers.

  I repeat the words, focusing on the magic, the smells, on my grandmother's memory, both the fleeting one I have of her casting the very spell we're trying to undo, and the one I have of my brief meeting with her.

  When I'm finished, I stand there with my chin up and eyes closed, thinking all the absorbing thoughts I can. When nothing changes and several minutes pass, I open my eyes.

  The guys are staring at me, dismayed. Fran sighs, and all the magic and smells disappear at once. "We don't have the strength," she declares. "Phoebe was the best of us, and she had the ability to channel magic from the very earth. The only people with that kind of power are her descendants. The king, and this poor child right here."

  I turn and look at Fran. "I'm sorry."

  "Oh, honey. It's not your fault. None of this is. Phoebe, she had the best of intentions. All she wanted was to keep you safe. If your uncle had found you when you were a child, you wouldn't have stood a chance." She heaves a huge sigh. "I just wish she'd given us more instructions or... something."

  "Well, we're in for the long haul now," Hank's mom says. "We have to stay together from this point on. Until the solstice."

  I look at them all with wide eyes. "What?"

  "He's going to be coming after us all, dear." Will's mom stands up and walks out of the room. "I'll make dinner… and drinks."

  "But, how will we all stay here?" I ask. "I have one bed."

  "Darling," Hank's mom croons. "We're witches." She laughs and follows Will's mom to the kitchen.

  Hank’s dad gives a nervous smile. “We’ll figure everything out. Don’t worry,” then follows his wife into the kitchen.

  Theresa sinks into the armchair, her men flanking her. One of them—I honestly can’t remember which is which at the moment—runs his hand down her long dark hair. Then he twirls her white streak between his fingers absently, as if it’s something he does often. "Dear girl," she says, eyeing my guys. "While I have you without everyone else, you should know. I see what's going on here. I noticed at the beach. And if you have any questions or need advice, all you need to do is ask."

  My face flushes bright red. "It's new and strange," I whisper.

  James coughs and Will snorts. Hank is silent. I look at him out of the corner of my eyes. He's as red as I feel.

  "It'll feel that way for a while," Theresa's mate, I think Ian, says with a grin. "And at times, even we have moments of what the fuck. And we've been together for, what, almost twenty-eight years now?"

  Theresa looks up at him w
ith an eyebrow raised. "You aren't sure?"

  Whoops. He's in trouble.

  "Anyway, dear, you four keep your bedroom. We'll take the spare and set up the study for your parents, Hank. Will, your mom will be fine in here with Fran." Theresa stands up. "I'm going to go help them with dinner."

  Her men file out after as if they can't stand the thought of being here without her.

  “Well, I’m taking off. Call if you need anything!” Sugar says, and my gaze snaps to her.

  “Thanks for trying,” I say, feeling uncertain.

  Her smile is confident. “Don’t give it another thought!”

  Sugar leaves with a wave.

  No one else has come for her, maybe she doesn’t have anyone? I should make more of an effort to become her friend.

  Hank, James, and Will look at me.

  "Are you okay?" James asks, his accent thick.

  I've come to notice it usually thickens when he's upset. I smile at the thought that I've learned something about them. Something special and private.

  "I"m not sure. I'm not sure where to go from here or what to do. If we can't unlock my powers?" I shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. "What's the point of all this? We might as well tell my uncle, hey! No worries. We're not a threat." My words come out more hurt than I’d hoped.

  Will pulls me into his strong arms, a cocoon of strength surrounding me. "It’s going to be okay.” Then, his entire body tenses. “Actually... if we can find an object of great power, that might be enough. It could amplify our magic.”

  An object of power? I pull back from him, staring at my guys, trying not to get my hopes up. Is that really possible?

  “It’d have to be pretty powerful,” Hank muses, but I can hear excitement in his voice.

  “As a matter of fact,” Will continues, “there might be one in Phoebe's old house.”

  James's eyes light up. "Actually, that’s a really great idea! We can sneak over there tonight and take a look."

  "Yeah?" I ask, still feeling like a big sack of vulnerability.

  "Oh yeah," Hank says. "We got this."

  I'm glad somebody does, cause goodness knows I don't have anything but nervous energy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  James

  Night draws in, darkening the house and letting the shadows dance anywhere that doesn't have enough lighting. Which, turns out to be a lot of the rooms. Callie's only used a couple of them for herself, and the house is large, meaning there's a lot of empty nooks and crannies. It's good considering we have a lot of people here, but not so good in that some of the rooms aren't set up for habitation.

  I slip out of the back door, relieved to find Callie sitting on the steps and staring out into the back garden. A moment of quiet in a chaotic time.

  "Is it safe for you to be out here?" I ask.

  She jumps and twists around so she can see me. "Why wouldn't it be, you said the wards are strong and the others reinforced them a little while ago."

  I sit down beside her and place my hands on my knees. "I meant because if you turned into a cat again, we might lose you."

  She shrugs. "I wasn’t thinking about that. If I turn, you're just going to have to grab me and get me back in the house."

  A deep chuckle rises within me. "And end up with war wounds? I may have to pass on that one."

  She grimaces. "I should apologize to him for that."

  "There's no need. He's been through worse."

  "And what about you?" Her eyes bore into me, like she knows all of my secrets already.

  "What about me?" I ask. My nerves run like electricity within me. The moment she asks, I know I'll tell her the truth. But is she ready for that? I'm not so sure.

  "Have you seen worse?"

  "Many times," I mutter darkly, half-hoping she let this go, and half-hoping she’ll push me for answers.

  Her eyes brim with curiosity. “Like what?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I add too quickly, then silently curse my response.

  “In Britain?”

  I shrug, responding automatically.

  Damn it. Just speak. Just tell her. Something. Anything.

  "I understand why you might not tell me. We haven’t known each other long, but why haven't you told the guys about your past?" She's not accusing me of anything, but there's certainly an awareness in her words that I should be careful of.

  Tread lightly, James. Choose the right moment and right words with care.

  "How do you know I haven't?" Has one of them told her that they don't know it, and it bothers them? I thought they'd outright ask me if they had questions.

  "It's easy to work out. You leave the room, change the subject, or otherwise avoid talking about it. You think no one notices, but in reality, we all do. I think Will and Hank don't ask because they don't want you to feel uncomfortable. Because they care about you."

  "And you don't share their sentiments?" I raise an eyebrow.

  Callie laughs lightly, the sound filling me with a joy I've never truly felt before. "Not exactly. I'm just starting to think your past is relevant."

  I sigh. This day had been building up, the day I'd have to come clean about who and what I am. "There's a lot of things the guys don't know about me. It's not that I want to keep secrets from them exactly. I suppose in some ways it's like I'm running from the truth about myself. It’s easier to process if I don’t talk about it."

  She nods. "I get that. If I hadn't met people here I've come to care about already, then I'd be running right now."

  It's a lie, and we both know it. Her heart is too good to ever abandon anyone to the fate they may face here.

  "I don't know where to start," I admit, taking a slow, deep breath. "I've never told anyone any of this."

  About me. About my mistakes.

  "Maybe just start at the beginning?" she prompts.

  "Well, about nine months before I was born—"

  "James!" she scolds, pushing on my arm.

  My lips lift into a knowing smile. "You may think I'm joking, but it is partly relevant," I promise.

  Intrigue flutters over her face.

  "I'm not a full witch," I admit. "At least, not in the sense that Hank and Will are. It's a complicated system, but normally witches have children with the same or a similar type of witch."

  "So, witch is a general term?" she asks.

  I nod. "It's mostly used to describe anyone who can produce magic." I click my fingers and a small ember appears in the palm of my hand. It's not as impressive as anything Will or Hank can do, but it's enough to get my point across.

  "You know, I've wanted to know the answer to that since I found out about this world."

  "I get that. It's a strange world sometimes, I can't imagine what it must be like discovering it as an outsider," I admit. I don't envy her that. It's hard enough from the inside. "Anyway, that's not the point. My father isn't the most upstanding of men, and the woman I used to think of as a mother was barren. He had a son with someone else, a surrogate of sorts. I assume he thought she was a witch at first, but it turns out she wasn't as pure as he was led to believe."

  "Pure?" Her brows knit together.

  I grimace. Not my best word choice, but one born out of my upbringing. "Sorry, not quite what I meant. The woman who bore me was a salamander."

  "A big lizard?" Surprise echoes through every word.

  I chuckle. "Kind of. It's a magical giant lizard. I suppose it works a bit like shifting between your human form and your cat."

  "Wait, you can become a giant magical lizard?" Her eyes go as round and wide as saucers.

  "I wish. I'm only half salamander. My other half is fire witch. Thankfully, my father is strong, so I still have some magic. But I'm stuck between the two. I can't create roaring flames like Hank or Will can, nor can I shift like my birth mother. But it's almost impossible for me to burn, and I can do some limited fire magic."

  "I felt your magic, though."

  I nod. "I do have some. And I learned to control i
t as well as I could to make up for the lack of strength. In some ways, my magic is more refined than a lot of other witches, but I don't have the strength to put behind it."

  Understanding dawned on her. "That's what you meant when we were in the other room and you were saying that someone else could take over, that you weren’t the strongest.”

  "Yes. I don't know how many of them have figured out the truth, or even who suspects it. Witches come with all kinds of power levels, so it's not that unusual for someone to be a bit weaker or stronger." Thankfully, it's something I long ago came to terms with.

  "There's something I don't understand," she says, scooting closer toward me.

  I want to reach out and put an arm around her, but she's set us down a path that'll reveal more about me, and now she needs to know the rest before I show more affection. It's only fair.

  "What don't you understand?" I ask, thinking back through what I've told her in case any of it doesn't make sense.

  "None of this is particularly dark."

  "True."

  "But something about your past haunts you."

  Ah. She's perceptive. That shouldn't be a surprise considering what she's uncovered about the paranormal world. This woman isn't a fool, that's for certain.

  "My father doesn't like the fact that I'm not a full witch. He… my childhood wasn't a good one. I escaped to boarding school as soon as I could, and the first time I returned..." A lump forms in my throat at the memory, but I push it away. I can't break down now. People are relying on me, and I'm not going to let this be the reason I let them down. "The woman I called mother was dead."

  "What happened?" She reaches out and puts her hand over mine.

  "I still don't know for sure. I'm certain it was Father. He did something to her, and she paid the price."

  "I'm so sorry." She looks horrified.

  "You shouldn't be," I point out. "It's even less your fault that she's dead than it is mine. I miss her, but the pain has faded over the years."

  "How did you cope with it?" She's not just asking for me. She wants to know if there's a way she can move past the pain of her own parents deaths.

  "I fell down a dark path. A friend I'd made at boarding school took me under his wing. I ended up running with a bad crowd." I shudder at the thought of some things we ended up doing.