by Jane Hinchey
“Are you listening?” Buchanan barked. I jumped.
“Yes. But you’re wrong. My demon isn’t me. It’s in me.”
“Incorrect. This is why you can’t control it. Because you believe that you can’t. Just like you can’t control me. Or anyone else for that matter. Lift your arm.”
I did.
“You did it without even thinking about it, right? It was natural. Automatic.”
I nodded.
“That’s how it should be with your powers. We’re going to stop referring to it as your demon, because you are your demon. You are a fire demon.”
“Part fire demon.” I corrected.
“Rae.” His voice held a warning and I sighed, “okay, okay. I’m a fire demon. Rah rah rah.”
“Do you want me to train you or not?”
I cocked my head, studying him, “What are your qualifications?”
“I’m an SIA Agent.”
“No I mean, to be an SIA Agent you have to be paranormal. What are you?”
“That’s classified.”
“Are you serious?” Throwing my hands up in the air I looked him over. I had no clue what type of paranormal entity he could be.
“Are you a fire demon too?” I asked. He shook his head.
“Werewolf?” Again, he shook his head.
“Shifter?” He shrugged and I pounced. “You’re a shifter! What sort? Wolf?”
“Why does everyone assume a shifter is a wolf?” He sighed.
“Not a wolf then. Cat?”
“Time to get on with your training.”
I gasped, clapping a hand over my mouth. “You’re a cat, aren’t you?” I jumped up and down with glee. “What sort? A little bitty domestic kitty? Or a jungle cat.”
“Rae.” He warned, shaking his head. I laughed out loud, “oh my God, you’re a kitty cat!”
“Do you want me to teach you or not? Because I’ve got other things I could be doing.”
“Okay, okay. Teach on.”
Hours. We spent hours outside, but we made progress. I could now summon flame in the palm of my hand with barely a thought. I could mold it, direct it, push it away from me and pull it back.
The back garden was a patchwork of scorched grass and mud puddles from where Buchanan had put out any spot fires I started. I couldn’t be happier. I’d also been mulling over what he’d said. That I didn’t have a demon in me, but the fact that I was a demon. It had been sobering to hear it that way. I’d always though my demon was a curse, but now I was starting to see the possibilities. I wasn’t keen on turning into a human fireball again, but the fact that the fire had healed me? Pretty cool. And now that I was learning to control the flames, well let’s just say I had a cocky swagger to my step when we wrapped up for the day.
Chapter Twelve
“Hey mom.” I was showered, legs shaved, and dressed in cutoff jeans and t-shirt sans bra when she rang.
“Hey Rae, your dad asked me to give you a call.” When a conversation with your mother started like that you knew it wasn’t going to be good.
“He could have called me himself you know.” I muttered. I wasn’t surprised though. My dad had taken avoidance to maximum levels since I’d returned to Maxxan.
“I know sweetheart, but you know how he is. He just…” she blew out a breath, “he just doesn’t know how to deal with you.”
“He doesn’t have to deal with me mom. Having a conversation is not dealing. It’s talking. Jesus.”
“I don’t want to fight honey.”
“You’re right. Sorry. It’s not your fault, I know.” It was my turn to blow out a breath. Putting the phone on speaker I balanced it on the bathroom vanity and busied myself pulling my hair up into a messy knot on top of my head. “So what does he want?”
“We didn’t get a chance to sort through the den when I was over with your Aunts and dad wanted Grandpa’s old books and things. Apparently, there’s a lot of family history recorded there somewhere.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Did he want to come over and get it?”
“He asked if you could pack the den up and leave the boxes out front? He’ll swing by to pick them up.”
I was silent for a moment. My father disliked me so much he couldn’t stand to see me? It stung. He blamed me for Grandpa’s death and I couldn’t fathom how he could hold a grudge for this long – I was his daughter for God’s sake. But we’d had this argument a million times as I was growing up and each time it pushed us further and further apart.
“Sure.” I said instead, masking the hurt.
“We did leave some flat pack boxes there.” Mom couldn’t keep the relief from her voice.
“I’ll check. I haven’t been in there, haven’t been able to bring myself to open the door.” I admitted. For while Grandma’s bedroom had been all her, the den had been all Grandpa.
“I’m sorry to ask you to do this sweetheart. I’d come and do it myself but work called and-”
“Mom,” I cut her off, “it’s okay. You don’t have to do it. I appreciate everything you and Aunt Martha and Aunt Sarah have done already. Did Cam tell you I’ve started decorating?” I changed the subject, filling her in on the paint job I’d done in the living room.
“Cameron also mentioned you have a job? As a deputy?”
“More as a consultant for the SIA. I’d never even heard of them before, have you?”
“I’ve heard of them yes, but they’ve never had a presence here. I wonder if your agent Buchanan is going to stay on after he’s dealt with…” she trailed off and I wondered how much she actually knew?
“Dealt with the vampire’s mom. You can say it. There are rogue vampires in Maxxan again. Who dealt with them last time anyway?” I was curious. Grandpa and I had been attacked by rogue vampires. I never did hear what had happened.
“No-one dealt with them honey, after the attack the vampires simply fled. They’ve barely had a presence in Maxxan, only in the last few years have they started to return.”
“Weird.” Picking up the phone I headed downstairs and stood outside the den door, staring at the wood grain. “Okay mom, gotta go. Thanks for the call, tell dad I’ll get those boxes packed up. He can pick them up in a couple of days.”
“Love you honey.”
“Love you too mom.” Sliding my phone into my back pocket I wrapped my fingers around the door knob and turned.
The den was just as I remembered it. Only dustier. Looked like no-one had been in here for quite a while, which was kinda a relief, because I couldn’t pick up Grandma’s scent like I had in her bedroom. The furniture was big, old, and dark. Grandpa’s desk stood in front of the window, a leather swivel chair pushed neatly beneath it. One wall was floor to ceiling bookcases, crammed with books and random junk. A big old rug covered most of the floor, threadbare in places. By the door was a stack of folded boxes and two rolls of tape sitting on the top.
It had been a long day and I was tired but the den wasn’t going to pack itself and the last thing I wanted was a blow out with my father, so I figured I’d pack a few boxes tonight and do a few more in the morning, though judging by how many books were jam packed into the shelves there was a strong chance I’d need more boxes. And more time.
Crossing the floor multiple times alerted me to it. The squeaky as fuck floorboard. Each time I passed behind the sofa it creaked and groaned, only passing behind the sofa was imperative if I wanted to get to the bookshelf behind it.
“This is ridiculous.” Muttering to myself I braced against the back of the old chesterfield and pushed. The damn thing was heavy but it slid relatively easy thanks to the tattered rug beneath it’s feet. Of course, the rug actually moved with the sofa, so now I had a sofa in the middle of the room with the rug bunched up against the wall on the opposite side and bare floorboards where the sofa had originally sat. Which was the whole purpose of my exercise.
Standing on the floorboards I bounced up and down until I found the noisy one, then got down on my hands and knees to exam
ine it. I was more than prepared to go out to the garage and get hammer and nails if I had to! Only the squeaky floorboard was not only loose, it wasn’t secured at all.
“What the hell?” Pulling at the edges I managed to get a hold and lift the floorboard. “Did you have a hidey hole Grandpa?” Reaching my hand in I felt around, grinning when my fingers brushed against – what was it? A book? A secret diary maybe? My imagination ran riot with possibilities and I pulled the book out. Dust flew into the air and I closed my eyes on a sneeze – in my hand was a folder, old and brown. The emblem on the front? SIA.
“What? How can this be? I thought the SIA was only formed…when was it? Seventeen years ago?” Putting the file to one side I reached my hand in again and felt around but there was nothing else in the hidden space beneath the floorboards. I put the loose board back and wondered what I should do about it if anything. Deciding the floor could wait I sat cross legged and slid the strap of elastic off the file and opened it across my lap.
The pages inside were old and yellow, the words faded but readable. But what I read rocked my world to its very foundations. Grandpa had been involved with the SIA, an undercover agent if you like. And the person he was investigating? His own son. My dad. He believed dad was involved with a vampire they called the Gunslinger – given the name I assumed the vamp had been around since the eighteen hundreds if not longer. There was also mention of the Red Witch, that the Gunslinger and Red Witch were working together.
Did dad know? Did dad know Grandpa had been investigating and had records of him? Is that why he wanted the contents of the den, hoping anything Grandpa had squirrelled away would be concealed in one of his books for dad to find? Then my mind took a dark turn. Was dad responsible for the attack that killed Grandpa? I couldn’t get my head around it, couldn’t believe he’d do anything so heinous…and yet?
“Argh!” Shoving the papers back into the file I carried it upstairs and slid it under my mattress. Changing into jeans, boots and a fresh t-shirt, this time with bra, I thumped back down the stairs, snatched up my keys from the hallway table and headed out. I needed a drink and I’d consumed all of Grandma’s remaining supply.
Twenty minutes later I bounced across the parking lot at Stanley’s, deliberately avoiding looking at the big scorch mark where I’d set fire to a car not too long ago. It already felt like a lifetime had passed since that night.
It was a quiet night, only a handful of patrons who turned their full attention on me when I entered.
“At ease boys.” I called out, heading straight for the bar.
“Rae. Good to see ya.” Stan shuffled along, dishcloth in hand, wiping down the bar as he went.
“You too Stan. How’s business?”
“Can’t complain. What can I gitch ya?”
“Whiskey. On the rocks.”
“Getting classy eh?” He chuckled, shoveled ice into the bottom of a glass and poured a generous shot of whiskey over the top. Accepting the golden liquid, I took a sip.
“Ambrosia.” I murmured, mostly to myself. Digging around in my back pocket I pulled out a handful of notes and slapped them on the bar.
“Leave the bottle.” I instructed. Snatching up the cash faster than I could give him credit for, Stanley nodded and shuffled to the cash register. How old was he anyway, I mused? A hundred? The lines on his face were deep, and his shuffle indicated mobility was difficult, yet he’d swiped my money with remarkable ease.
I’m not sure how long I’d been at the bar, long enough to have a nice buzz going on, when someone slid onto the bar stool next to me.
“That seats taken.”
“Oh yeah? By whom?” My head whipped around to discover Buchanan sitting next to me, waving at Stan for a beer.
“Oh, it’s you.” I turned my attention back to my drink.
“Happy to see you too.”
His voice held that little hint of humor that I liked. It was easy to miss, he kept it hidden well, but if you listened for it you could hear it – with just a touch, a pinch really, of sarcasm. It was a talent I admired. Watching him from the corner of my eye I wondered about my intrepid boss. I’d never met a cat shifter before. Did he shift into cat form for work purposes? It would be a great talent to have during a stake out, who’d notice a cat? You certainly wouldn’t pay much attention to it. Of course, the downside would be other creatures bigger than you, like dogs. I wondered if he’d ever been chased by a dog. I asked him.
“What? No. I haven’t been chased by a dog. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“How many of those have you had?”
“Not enough.” Not enough to block out the memory of discovering my grandfather was old SIA and my father was a bad guy. Potential bad guy I reminded myself. There was nothing in Grandpa’s notes to confirm it. No evidence. Just his suspicions. But that had to be strong to suspect his own son, didn’t they?
“What’s going on Rae?” I’d briefly forgotten Buchanan was seated next to me and jumped a little when he spoke. His hand touched mine where it lay on the bar and that familiar warmth I experienced whenever his skin touched mine did it’s thing, winding its way through my body, heating me, making my blood sizzle and my body tingle.
“Tell me about yourself Buchanan.” My words were only slightly slurred and I grinned, the whiskey was working.
“What do you want to know?”
“Oh I don’t know, anything. Something about you. You apparently know all about me, I know nothing about you. Where do you live? Do you have family? How did you get started in the SIA – is it what you always wanted to do? Do you have a pack? Where are they?”
Laughing he held up a hand to cut off my list of questions.
“Okay, okay. First of all, you can stop calling me Buchanan. My name is Jordan.”
“Jordan.” I dutifully replied, liking the way it sounded on my lips.
“I grew up in Redmeadows, I have an apartment there but I move around a lot with the SIA. My family is still there, I’m an only child so it’s just my parents. And I don’t have a pack, no.”
I frowned. “I thought shifters have packs. Cats have packs, don’t they? What do they call them? A pride?”
“Pride is for lions.”
“So what then? A litter?”
He laughed, “no, a litter is kittens. Grown domestic cats is a clowder.”
“Do you have a clowder?”
“Nope.”
“Are you even a domestic cat?” I peered at him, but his face gave nothing away.
“Nope.” Hmmm. Not a small cat then. Maybe he was a jaguar. Or a leopard. Or tiger.
“Do you hack up fur balls?” I tilted my head, considering him. “After you shift back I mean.”
He laughed, “no, I do not hack up fur balls.”
I thought about this for a moment and wondered if he was lying. Would you even bother grooming yourself if you were a shifter cat? In cat form I mean. I couldn’t imagine licking myself clean.
“Tell me about your family. And the SIA.” Losing interest in cats I changed subject.
“My mom works in administration with the SIA, my dad works in security and is pushing for a seat on the Council. I got involved with the SIA through a buddy of mine, Alex Carter. He convinced me to sign up.”
“You like it?” I asked.
“I do.”
“You said the SIA has only been in existence for a few years…”
“Officially. I believe they’ve been around as an underground type of organization for hundreds of years.”
“That explains it.” I lowered my head, swirling the ice in the bottom of my glass.
“What’s going on Rae? Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”
“You can tell? You think you know me that well?” I didn’t like that he thought that. I was used to being a loner, of not sharing – or caring – with others. How could he possibly know me from words written in a file?
“You’re so feisty.” He chuckled, then lapsed into silence,
letting the silence ride and I cursed him – because it was what I needed. And he knew it.
“Fine.” I finally puffed, “but not here, okay? This place has ears.”
“I’ll take you home. I’m driving. You’ve had too much booze.” Sliding off the bar stool he led the way, holding the door open for me to pass through ahead of him. I wasn’t used to having doors held open for me. It was strange, but oddly pleasant. I hugged the bottle of whiskey I’d swiped from the counter close to my chest. Jordan eyed it then me. “what?” I said defensively, “I paid for it!”
“She’s good.” Stan shouted after us, giving a wave.
“See?” I muttered, heading toward his big black nark mobile parked in the lot. Seeing my slightly dented, faded red pickup next to it I veered toward it instead.
“I said I was driving.” Jordan grabbed my elbow but I shrugged out of his grip.
“You can drive, but we’re taking my truck. I’m not being stuck at Grandma’s without a vehicle again.”
“Oh but it’s okay for me to be stuck there?” He arched a brow and his head angled just enough that he was the cutest thing I’d seen on two legs all day.
“Totally.”
“Fair enough. Keys?” Digging in my back pocket I pulled out the keys and threw them at him. He caught them easily and I frowned.
“You haven’t had nearly enough to drink.” I muttered, climbing into the passenger seat and pulling on my seatbelt.
“You’ve probably had enough for the both of us.”
“Is this going to be a lecture?” I pouted, “because you can save it. My liver may thank you but the rest of me doesn’t.”
“No lecture. You wanted to talk, remember?”
“I did? Oh yeah.” He fired up the engine and reversed, swinging the truck wide and out of the lot. We were both silent as we drove through town, it wasn’t until the township was fading lights in the rearview mirror that he spoke again.