Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

Sam couldn’t help but notice the lime green Mustang, because it raced down Sloane’s driveway as if it was on the freeway. It stopped in a cloud of dust and two people got out in a hurry, as if they were racing to put out a fire.

  She watched, wondering whether something was wrong. The guy, who had been driving, was tall with long blond hair. He looked like a body builder. The woman was almost as tall as him and had long ebony hair. She moved with such speed that Sam was surprised to see that she was visibly pregnant.

  A navy sedan came down the driveway almost immediately after that, and the newly arrived pair glanced back when they were almost at the door. This car was driven more sedately, and a woman got out of it alone. She was dressed more conservatively, and her appearance contrasted with that of the other two. She was in a hurry, too, though. The three embraced warmly, evidence that they knew each other, then walked straight into Sloane’s house.

  Without even knocking.

  Sam had to guess that they were Sloane’s friends.

  While she, evidently, was not. That burned after the intimacy they’d shared, but she had to hope that Sloane would have been more welcoming if she’d gone to his door now. She was giving the idea serious consideration, even though he had company and she might be interrupting, when her phone rang.

  To Sam’s relief, she saw that it was Jac. She answered immediately, Sloane’s guests forgotten. “Where are you?” she demanded by way of greeting. “And where exactly is this retreat? I’ve left you a hundred messages!”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” Jac said. “I’m not at a retreat.”

  “No kidding.” Sam saw no reason to beat around the bush. “Was that really your voice on the news video from Easter Island? Are you really in Chile?”

  “You heard me?” Jac sounded ridiculously pleased by this, which only made Sam angrier.

  Her sister was in the middle of the Pacific and had never told anyone where she was going! It was classic Jac—impulsive and irresponsible.

  “You recognized my voice?”

  “That was you! You’re the one who shot that dragon shifter!”

  “Yes! Wasn’t it cool?” Jac was clearly proud of herself. “I don’t know if he died or not, but…”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Sam demanded. “What were you even doing there? And what makes you imagine that hurting someone else changes anything?” She took a deep breath. “Nathaniel is dead. He’s going to stay dead, no matter how you try to avenge him.”

  “Well, at least you finally said his name,” Jac replied. “I was starting to feel as if you’d forgotten you ever had a son.”

  Sam bristled at her sister’s unexpected censure. “It’s not up to you to tell me how to mourn…”

  “And it’s not up to you to tell me how to deal with my grief, either,” Jac retorted. “Honestly, Sam, you’re such an icicle. Did you even care that Nathaniel died?”

  “Of course I cared!”

  “And that’s why you spent so much time with him as he died,” Jac said bitterly. “As always, you chose work over family.”

  “I was trying to find a cure…”

  “You were ducking any display of emotion,” Jac replied. “Just like you always do.” Her voice wobbled a bit. “Why do you get everything so easily when you don’t even want it?”

  Sam exhaled and rubbed a brow, not wanting to fight with the very last surviving member of her family. She tried to sound calm. “I thought you’d plant a tree to mourn him, or something like that.” She winced, having heard the bitterness in that last sentence.

  “Not this time,” Jac said grimly. “This time, I want to do something. I want to make a difference, and I have.”

  “You could have died,” Sam said.

  “It would totally have been worth it.” Jac’s voice turned bitter again. “Besides, who would have missed me?”

  Sam realized they weren’t getting anywhere and she thought of her exchange with Sloane. Something was bothering Jac, because Sam had never heard her so irritable. She loved her sister, even though they’d fought all their lives. Would it hurt to admit her feelings out loud?

  “It would have mattered to me.” Her voice softened as she dared to admit the real reason for her concern to her sister. “They’re dragons, Jac, not bunnies,” she continued, finding that the confessions got easier to make. “You could have been killed, and then where would I be? What would I do without you?”

  There was silence between them then, a silence punctuated only by the crackle of a bad connection. When Jac spoke, her voice was hoarse. “You’ve never said anything like that to me. I always figured you’d be glad to be rid of me. The new baby stealing your spotlight and all that.”

  “Well, there has been some truth in that.” Sam tried to make a joke. “It would be cheaper to be without you,” she teased, and they laughed together for the first time in a long time. “You could go crazy and get a paying job, you know. How did you afford to go to Easter Island anyway?”

  “Well, that’s just it,” Jac said with some hesitation, and Sam rolled her eyes in anticipation of the inevitable request. “I bought a one-way ticket because that was all I could afford.”

  Sam shook her head and bit back the comment she would usually have made. She and Jac only had each other, so it was time they improved their relationship. Sam wasn’t afraid to make the first move.

  Not any more.

  She figured she wasn’t going to see much of Sloane since he had all that company and it was time she and her sister mended some bridges. “How about this? I’ll send you the money, if you stop here on your way back to Seattle. It’s time we talked.”

  “About Nathaniel?”

  Sam knew that the death of her son, and his infection while he was in Jac’s care, was only the tip of the iceberg. “About everything.”

  “Deal,” Jac said, her enthusiasm encouraging Sam that she wasn’t the only one who wanted to make a fresh start.

  * * *

  Sloane was singing the Apothecary’s song for the umpteenth time when he heard Thorolf, Chandra and Melissa arrive. He’d already changed the permissions on his dragonsmoke and got up to unlock the front door before returning to his song. “It’s open,” he told Thorolf in old-speak even as he knelt beside Rafferty again.

  He scanned the Pyr, seeing no visible improvement in his condition. The light within the crystal was brighter, though, and the glow beneath Rafferty’s scales seemed to have diminished. But Sloane was so tired that he might have been seeing things.

  “Rafferty!” Melissa cried and flung herself at her husband and mate. Sloane noted a slight increase in Rafferty’s pulse and was glad she had come. She ran her hands over his scales, then froze when she found the main burn on his belly. It looked as awful as it was.

  “Will he live?” she asked Sloane and he wished he knew the answer.

  “I’ll hunt Marco down and finish him off,” Thorolf said as he dropped to his knees beside Rafferty, his concern clear. “What can I do here?”

  “I’m getting tired,” Sloane admitted. “Help me with the healing chant.”

  “Even though he’s tone deaf,” Chandra teased. Her worry was clear despite her manner and her eyes narrowed as she reached out a hand to Rafferty. She, too, ran a hand over his scales. Thorolf grabbed her a chair and pulled it closer so that she could sit down. Sloane saw that she was tired, undoubtedly because of the long air journey when she was seven months pregnant. He didn’t want to think of how these two had convinced an airline to let her on board. Thorolf’s beguiling must have improved.

  “Marco was here,” Sloane said. “He brought Rafferty to me. He was really upset.”

  “And so he should be,” Thorolf said.

  “He said he’d trusted the darkfire but that it had betrayed him.”

  “What does that mean?” Chandra asked.

  Sloane shrugged. “The most important thing is that he refused to try to sing the Cantor’s songs, which control the darkfire, because he no longer trusted the dark
fire.”

  “And Rafferty is the only other one who knows them,” Melissa said, biting her lip as she considered her fallen mate. There was tenderness in her caress and fear in her eyes.

  “I’m trying to remember,” Sloane said. “I was there when Marco was awakened. Rafferty sang the Cantor’s songs to do it.”

  “Who else was there?” Chandra asked.

  Melissa bit her lip as she recalled. “Erik, Eileen, Zoë, Isabelle, and Brandt.”

  “Erik and Eileen are on their way with the girls,” Sloane told them and Melissa wagged a finger at him.

  “Erik could see Pwyll that day,” she reminded him. “He said that the darkfire had opened the conduit for him to talk to the dead. Rafferty was able to remember some of the Cantor’s song, but Erik prompted him as to how to use it.”

  “With Pwyll’s advice,” Sloane agreed, remembering. “Maybe he’ll be able to talk to Pwyll when he gets here.”

  “In the meantime, what can we do?” Thorolf asked. “Who fired the crystal? Was it Marco?”

  “I don’t know,” Melissa said. “Of course, we have tons of footage of Rafferty falling and Marco carrying him away, but no one turned a camera on the crowd.”

  “I might have to go there,” Thorolf said.

  “Isn’t Brandt in Australia?” Chandra asked and Sloane nodded.

  “Why?”

  She frowned. “I feel something there. Like a ripple in Myth. It must be strong because I’m not as sensitive as I was, and I don’t have the power to visit anymore.”

  “What kind of ripple?” Melissa asked.

  “Words.” Chandra shrugged, then recited something. “‘Once there were twin boys, each indistinguishable from the other, except that pearls dropped from the lips of one whenever he spoke and snakes leapt from the mouth of the other whenever he spoke.’” Chandra shook her head. “I keep dreaming of Australia and hearing those words.”

  “Anywhere particular in Australia?” Melissa asked.

  Chandra bit her lip. “The dream is always red. Like the world is on fire.”

  “Kim chee,” Thorolf muttered. “The volumes you’ve been eating would give me bad dreams. Great blazing red ones.” He shook his head. “Our neighbor does make it hot.”

  Chandra poked him. “But I’m dreaming it, not you. And this is new.”

  “The red could mean a firestorm,” Melissa suggested, but no one else had other suggestions to make. Sloane was too tired to think about it.

  “Erik should be here tomorrow,” he said. “He might know more. For the moment, maybe you could all help me with the Apothecary’s song.” He shifted shape, hoping that the song would be more powerful in his dragon form. He remembered his father doing that on occasion.

  He placed the crystal between himself and Rafferty, then reached out and took Chandra’s hand. Melissa came and took his other claw, then gripped Rafferty’s claw. Thorolf shifted shape in a shimmer of blue, becoming a massive dragon of brilliant silver and diamonds. It was a good thing they were friends, because the large space was crowded. Thorolf closed the circle, taking Chandra’s hand and Rafferty’s other claw.

  Sloane began the slow chant he’d learned from his father, the healing tune passed down from father to son in the line of the Apothecary. The darkfire in the crystal leapt as if in response, and he tried to believe that Rafferty could be cured.

  * * *

  There was a kind of irony in the fact that Jac had finally succeeded at some goal, and no one noticed or saw fit to congratulate her. All of her life, she’d been compared to her super-successful sister and knew she’d come up short.

  Now she’d shot down a dragon to avenge Nathaniel, but only Sam knew she was responsible—and Sam didn’t seem to care. She had—oddly enough—been concerned for Jac’s safety. That was new and a bit difficult to think about so Jac didn’t.

  Marco should have been celebrating her triumph with her, but he was gone.

  She went to a little local restaurant and ordered a salad and a glass wine to celebrate by herself. She tried to not think too much about Marco’s sudden departure, but to focus on her plan going forward.

  The poem was her only clue, so she had to make it work.

  The salad was delicious and the restaurant was filled with people who seemed to know each other. She savored the meal and the atmosphere

  Jac noticed that the group of people at the corner table were a bit loud, but it was only when the woman laughed that she recognized her voice. She peeked over her shoulder to find Maeve O’Neill holding court. The others must have been her crew. She was even more gorgeous in real life and slimmer, too.

  Jac was trying not to stare—and wondering whether she should confess to Maeve that she’d shot the dragon—when a guy came into the restaurant. He looked like a commando, or a model for a recruiting poster. He was tall and really muscled, his blond hair buzzed short and his eyes such a bright blue that she could see their color from across the restaurant. He was dressed casually, but looked ready for anything. He surveyed the occupants of the restaurant—who stared back at him in silence—and Jac thought of a laser being sighted.

  Maeve checked him out so openly that Jac averted her gaze.

  Even when she returned her attention to her companions, Maeve’s gaze flicked to the new arrival.

  Incredibly, his gaze landed on Jac and he marched toward her with such purpose that she thought she might have heart failure. Maeve watched as the guy pulled out the chair opposite Jac and sat down, fixing that intent blue gaze upon her. “You’re the one,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t even blink as he studied her. “You’re the one who did it.”

  Jac’s heart was fluttering and she felt the need to get up and run. That was irrational, though. They were in a public place. “Did what?” she asked, and her voice was higher than usual.

  His smile flashed and she wasn’t surprised that he had perfect, straight white teeth. He leaned over the table, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “Shot the dragon, of course.”

  Jac wasn’t sure whether to admit her deed or not. She was so shaken by her intuitive reaction to him that she couldn’t decide if he was friend or foe.

  Then he offered his right hand to her. “Welcome to the league of Slayers.”

  Jac felt her eyes widen. “You’ve done it, too?”

  He nodded, as pleased with himself as he should be. “All the time. I’ve lost count.” He shook his head and his lip curled. “But there always seem to be more of them.” He smiled again. “I’m Jorge.”

  “Jacelyn.” Jac smiled and put her hand in his. His skin was surprisingly cold, but his grip was firm as he shook her hand. Maybe a little too firm. Jac wondered whether the bones in her hand would crack. She must have caught her breath because Jorge glanced down, then grimaced and apologized as he released her hand.

  “Sorry. I forget my own strength sometimes.” He winked. “I’m usually battling dragons, after all.”

  Jac smiled at his apology. She had a strange sense that she should be charmed by him, but the hair was pricking on the back of her neck. She supposed that Marco’s abrupt change of attitude was affecting her reaction to Jorge. Men were so difficult to read.

  “You must know Marco then,” Jac said, and Jorge’s gaze fixed upon her with new intensity.

  “Marco, whose real name is Marcus?”

  Jac nodded, encouraged that he knew this detail.

  “Was he here?”

  “We came together. He had the darkfire crystal that I used to take down the dragon.”

  Jorge nodded sagely. “I thought it looked like darkfire,” he murmured. “There’s really nothing more effective.” He glanced up, his eyes alight with a raw hope that startled Jac. “You must have the crystal then.”

  She shook her head. “No. The dark dragon took it.”

  “Figures,” Jorge said and sighed. “They know it can be used against them, so try to keep track of it.”

  “Marco said it was the only one.”

  Jorge nod
ded. “There used to be three, but the other two were broken.” He shrugged. “I actually thought that this one was worthless.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I had heard that the darkfire within it was extinguished, and the stone was dead.” He pursed his lips. “I wonder how it was revived. Maybe Marco could tell us.”

  Jac shook her head. “He’s gone, and I don’t know where he went.”

  Jorge glanced up, his curiosity clear.

  Jac blushed a little as she confessed what had happened. “He was angry with me for using the crystal. We argued and he left.”

  Jorge surveyed the half pizza and the part bottle of wine. “And so you have to celebrate alone,” he mused, then shook his head in apparent disapproval. Then he smiled at her. “How about sharing your victory dinner? I’ll order another bottle of wine and a second pizza.”

  Jac felt a strange suspicion of his motives and found herself beginning to decline. “I already ate…”

  “Then share the wine with me. My treat,” Jorge said, interrupting her protest. He leaned across the table. “And I’ll even tell you why Marco was so angry with you.”

  “How can you know that?”

  Jorge smiled and leaned back in his chair, looking like the hungry predator she supposed he was. “Because I’ve been stalking Pyr for a long, long time.”

  “Deal,” Jac said, even though it was against her better judgment. “But we’ll split the bill.” She didn’t want to feel that she had to be intimate with Jorge, but she did want to learn what he knew.

  His smile broadened, his gaze sweeping over her, and she shivered when she saw how his eyes glittered. Her bad feeling about him intensified and she almost got up to leave the table. Then he turned to gesture to the waiter, his manner so easy that she wondered whether she’d imagined the glitter of his eyes.

  Maybe she was just shaken up by the day’s events.

  Maybe she was too skittish.

  Maybe she should welcome the chance to learn what she really wanted to know.

  * * *

  It was remarkable to Jorge that such a weak species had managed to survive for so many eons. It must be simply because humans bred with such abandon. Raw numbers made up for the inadequacies and misjudgments of the individuals.