“Blaze, is everything all right?” Kenna asked.
I turned to look at her, aware that the minor shaking in my hands had now become flashes of heat. Moisture washed over my entire body. “Of course.”
But everything wasn’t all right. These memories made me feel more out of control. Hopefully, nothing a swig of curequick couldn’t dispel, but I wasn’t going to drink it now. I can wait just a little longer. I would end up taking it because I’d never jeopardize the mission, even if drinking the curequick meant hurting myself. It was almost like a game I played at times, a deadly serious game. One I always lost.
I strode past Kenna and added, “I’ll grab the computer while you sweep for bugs.”
Setting up the laptop and the projector didn’t take long. Soon I was staring at a large satellite image on the white wall of the sitting room, where I had removed a painting to give us more space.
Kenna came into the room with a teapot full of water. “Is there some special place that Portuguese customarily keep the matches? I was going to make some tea, but I can’t light the gas burner until I find the matches. Would you like a cuppa?”
“Sounds good.”
Like all Unbounded, we didn’t need to eat to survive. Our bodies were continuously absorbing bits and pieces of the world around us, but we still derived comfort from food and especially the familiar. Sometimes a juicy cheeseburger helped push back my demons.
“Here.” I approached her, reaching for the pot. I could see lemon rinds already floating in the water.
“Wh—” She broke off, a smile playing on her mouth. “Oh, this I have to see.”
I gave a little effort, and the pot in my hand instantly heated, the water beginning to boil violently. Oops, too much.
As a roaster, my Unbounded ability was to manipulate matter in one specific way—heating. The ability was remotely similar to the talent of pyros, who could set fire to anything flammable, but my manipulation extended to any matter. I could increase the temperature of an object by touch, either scorching, boiling, or melting it. Bursting objects into flame was the most obvious part of the ability, though not the most effective, thus my nickname Blaze.
A side effect was that my skin could withstand incredible heat before it began to burn. Not that I was impervious to high temperature, but I could normally work through the discomfort and pain. The ability made me valuable to the Renegade cause, but using it excessively as I’d done meant I often ended up incapacitated and in dire need of curequick, which in turn had allowed the “medicine” a chokehold grip on my life.
Still smiling, Kenna went to retrieve the teacups and a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches made from the welcome package left by the landlady.
I set the still-boiling teapot on a hot pad and returned my attention to the map on the wall. Splashes of yellow marked the areas our intel had pinpointed as possibly being connected to the Emporium. Some of the purchases dated back over ten years, but it was the recent large purchases marked in red that had flagged our attention.
“With both the red and yellow, it means they own most of the land surrounding the city,” I said.
“If the yellow really belongs to the Emporium.”
Sometimes I wondered if Kenna disagreed with me just for the sake of argument.
“I’m betting it does, and whatever they’ve been doing here, it’s been successful enough that they’ve decided to expand.” I reached to touch the teapot again, giving it a final shot of heat because it hadn’t boiled quite long enough yet.
“That’s farmland, isn’t it?” Kenna pointed to the red areas on the satellite image.
“According to the data, it was all vineyards and cork trees at one time. And one olive grove. But you’re right. The satellite images Greggor gave us don’t show trees on the new land they purchased, though there are some on the yellow areas.” I paused before adding, “Cutting down cork trees? That’s almost a crime. It takes three harvestings of nine years apart before the very best cork is grown. That’s twenty-seven years of work and patience thrown away.”
“Vineyards take time too.” Kenna sat on the floral sofa, crossing her knees, her eyes still fixed on the map. “And it’s difficult to cut down trees at all. So what are they growing instead that is so important? Maybe some kind of GMO?”
“Genetically modified organisms? Could be. The background I was reading on the plane says Portugal has increased their use of GM crops every year.”
“I thought Europe banned the use of GMOs.”
“Publicly, maybe. But most countries have them in some form or another.”
Kenna gingerly tested the handle of the teapot before pouring a cup for each of us. She’d found a sack of sugar—most likely left by past vacationers—and put one spoonful in mine and two in hers. I wondered how she knew my preference, but before I could ask, she was talking again.
“Still, cutting down trees hardly seems something the Emporium would waste time on. Why not just go somewhere else? With American companies pushing for GMOs, it isn’t really an agenda the Emporium needs to help along. Something else is going on. Something bad.”
“Well, that’s what we’re here to find out.” Like most Unbounded gifted in combat, she had great instincts. I would trust her even if my gut wasn’t giving me the same feeling. “I already emailed Greggor a request for a population comparison with other towns to see if that brings up anything.” Our technopath in London could come up with the information we needed in a fraction of the time it would take us to research it.
I gulped the hot tea and eyed the sandwiches, but my desire to eat had deserted me. I couldn’t push back the need for curequick any longer without endangering my ability to function. Besides, in a minute, Kenna would see that I was suffering.
“You up for a bike ride?” I asked her. “Let’s see what they have growing in their fields now.”
Kenna’s laughed was genuine. “Actually, I haven’t ridden a bicycle in fifty years.”
“Don’t worry. It’s like . . . like . . .”
“Riding a bike?”
I laughed. I’d spent most of the last decade largely avoiding working with a single partner. Mostly, I was sent in alone, while a team worked the same op from another angle. My goal was to complete whatever missions I was assigned until I was too damaged or too exhausted to continue, and then I’d spend weeks in my flat recovering. That meant a lot of solitary moments. It felt good to be working with a partner again.
“I’ll just change into some shorts,” I said. “Trifle hotter here than in London.”
Grabbing my duffel, I headed to the smaller of the two bedrooms. I forced myself to wait until after I changed, my body flushed and sweating, my stomach cramping, to get the curequick from my pack. Curequick was a staple for all Unbounded regeneration, despite its addictive properties, and we usually carried it in both drinkable and injectable versions. Made primarily of sugars and proteins reduced to their most usable forms, it allowed us to regenerate at five times the rate of our already increased regeneration level. It also gave the user a pleasant buzz. The mixture had been designed by a scientist in one of our American Renegade cells, strictly formulated for use after taking wounds in combat. Unfortunately, Unbounded who used it too often found themselves victim to the severe withdrawal symptoms.
Unbounded like me.
For years, I’d told myself I was different from the new generation of Unbounded, who used curequick as a recreational drug, not as a way to heal after battle, but in the end it all boiled down to the same thing. Too many missions, too much curequick, and I was no longer reliable. The only thing left was to check myself into a certain hospital in London for treatment, and I’d be damned if I was going in that direction. No, I’d fix myself.
After this op.
It was always after the next op.
I downed the contents of a pouch, and the warmth spread through me, at first a trickle and then a rush.
I loved it—and I hated myself for needing it.
Of course, if I had been reliable and not in the habit of avoiding extended meetings because of my dependence, I would have been in New York with the others when we were betrayed to the Emporium. I might have been one of those slaughtered. Instead, I’d have to live the rest of my two thousand years—twenty-five lifetimes of guilt—knowing I hadn’t been there to protect our people.
A noise at my door had me reaching for my gun, but it was only Kenna, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the pouch in my hands. “Look, if you can’t do this . . . I heard about your . . . trouble.”
“My addiction, you mean. It’s not a problem. I’m dealing with it, okay?”
“Sure.” The firm line of her jaw told me if there came a time when I wasn’t handling it, she’d make sure I didn’t endanger the mission.
“Anyway, right now we have a bigger problem,” she continued. “I was moving the bikes out to the path behind the house, and I found something. Remember those old people we were looking for? I found another one, but he’s dead.”
END OF SAMPLE. Click here to purchase a copy of Set Ablaze on Smashwords. Or continue to the next page to learn more about Teyla Branton and her books.
TEYLA BRANTON grew up avidly reading science fiction and fantasy and watching Star Trek reruns with her large family. They lived on a little farm where she loved to visit the solitary cow and collect (and juggle) the eggs, usually making it back to the house with most of them intact. On that same farm she once owned thirty-three gerbils and eighteen cats, not a good mix, as it turns out. Teyla always had her nose in a book and daydreamed about someday creating her own worlds.
Teyla is now married, mostly grown up, and has seven kids, so life at her house can be very interesting (and loud), but writing keeps her sane. She thrives on the energy and daily amusement offered by her family, the semi-ordered chaos giving her a constant source of writing material. She grabs any snatch of free time from her hectic life to write. She’s been known to wear pajamas all day when working on a deadline, and is often distracted enough to burn dinner. (Okay, pretty much 90% of the time.) A sign on her office door reads: DANGER. WRITER AT WORK. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.
She loves writing fiction and traveling, and she hopes to write and travel a lot more. She also loves shooting guns, martial arts, and belly dancing. She has worked in the publishing business for over twenty years. Teyla also writes romance and suspense under the name Rachel Branton. For more information or to sign up for free books and subscriber exclusives, please visit TeylaBranton.com.
BOOKS BY TEYLA BRANTON
Unbounded Series
The Change
The Cure
The Escape
The Reckoning
The Takeover
Unbounded Novellas
Ava’s Revenge
Mortal Brother
Lethal Engagement
Set Ablaze
Short Stories
Times Nine
UNDER THE NAME RACHEL BRANTON
Lily’s House Series
House Without Lies
Tell Me No Lies
Your Eyes Don’t Lie
Noble Hearts
Royal Quest
Royal Dance
Picture Books
I Don't Want To Eat Bugs
Table of Contents
Copyright
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Bonus! Preview of The Escape
Bonus! Preview of Set Ablaze
About the Author
Books by Teyla Branton
Under the name Rachel Branton
Mortal Brother Page 12