Fireshaper's Doom

by Tom Deitz

  “You’re a hero, David,” Liz said slowly, “because what you did wasn’t for yourself. It was for other people.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” David cleared his throat and swallowed. “But that’s getting off the subject. I’ve . . . I’ve said one thing that was hard to say and shouldn’t have been, and now I’m gonna say another. I . . . Oh, I don’t know.”

  Liz laid a finger against his lips. “Don’t rush, David. Heart over head. Just turn off your brain and let your tongue go.”

  David grinned nervously and folded the hand in his own, lowered it to his chest. “Easy for you to say.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Liz asked quietly. “Surely it can’t be of me.”

  “Liz, I thought about you all summer,” David blurted out. “I mean I met a lot of girls at Governor’s Honors. Lots of bright girls, nice-looking girls. Kind of girls I ought to be attracted to. Kind of girls my body told me I was attracted to. Some of ’em liked me, too. But there was no sparkle, Liz, no magic—not the kind I get from you.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  The corners of David’s mouth quirked upward in a foolish smile. “Yeah, well, I hoped it would be.”

  Liz’s tone turned serious. “The same thing happened to me, David, down in Gainesville, but I didn’t dare do anything. Because there was always you in the back of my mind, doing crazy things, with your brain running ten times as fast as your mouth, and your imagination ten times faster than that.”

  “Liz . . . Do you want to know something really scary?”

  “How scary?”

  “Pretty scary.”

  Liz raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, and I’ll let you know.”

  “I think I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Davy, and there’s no ‘think’ about it—but you know, I’m not sure I could have said it until just now.”

  David grinned and levered himself up on his elbow. Moonlight cast a silver-blue veil across Liz’s features.

  “You want to know something really awful?”

  “Awful as that was scary?”

  “Worse: I’ve never kissed a girl. Seventeen years old and never kissed a girl.”

  “That I don’t believe.”

  “Well,” David amended, “never kissed a girl like I meant it.”

  Liz’s eyes twinkled. “That’s more likely. Now, you want to know something?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve never kissed a boy!”

  “That can be easily remedied.”

  Liz’s breath was a touch of sweetness on David’s cheek. He moved toward her, slid his left hand over her waist, and pulled her to him.

  It was awkward and funny—clumsy and quite simply the most wonderful feeling he had ever known: her soft lips, her wonderfully firm and supple body next to his. They broke apart, smiled foolishly, then drew together again, this time with more authority.

  And something awoke within David—something that had never been far from the surface but which he had ruthlessly denied.

  “Shirt’s a little hot for close contact,” he mumbled. He pulled away and skinned off his CommArts jersey.

  The third kiss lasted a very long time. But finally they separated, giggling like idiots for no apparent reason.

  David rolled onto his back, facing the stars. Liz flopped over on her belly and began to run her fingertips lightly over his smooth, hairless chest. “I’ve always envied you this,” she said.

  “Huh? Surely you don’t want to be flat-chested!”

  “No, foolish boy, being able to go shirtless whenever you want to. Being free about your body . . . Going skinny-dipping with Alec.”

  David’s eyes flicked sideways and caught her own. “You’ve envied Alec a lot, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah . . . I mean, I know he’s your best friend, and all. But he’s been so close to you so long—he knows so much more about you. He’s seen so much more of you—both figuratively and literally—than I have.”

  David took her hand and kissed it. “I can’t help that, Liz, and I wouldn’t want to. But you want to know something funny? He’s been pushing me toward you, too, just like everybody else. He could see what I couldn’t—or wouldn’t.”

  Liz’s finger began to trace the curved outline of David’s pectoral muscles, occasionally venturing up to mid chest, more rarely and more enticingly slipping down the valley of his stomach to draw circles around his navel.

  “Know something?” she whispered.

  “Hmmm?”

  “I like you better when you don’t talk so much.”

  “Do something about it then.”

  She did.

  Eventually David slipped his hand under her T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, he’d known that. And she did not resist, though he heard her breath catch. Her breasts were small, no more than a palmed handful. But they were firm and smooth, and they responded to his touch.

  Liz’s hands too began to wander, becoming ever more venturesome. Even as David’s hands slid down to probe at the waist band of her jeans, her hands found the top of his.

  He reached down and popped the snap, unzipped his fly.

  “What the heck,” he muttered, and sat up to slide them the rest of the way off.

  He looked inquiringly at Liz, reached down to tug shyly at the tail of her T-shirt.

  “Your move.”

  “I . . . I don’t know, David.” She looked suddenly very unhappy.

  David fought the urge to snap at her. Romantic that he was, he could not have contrived better circumstances than these—and he’d never been so intimate with a girl. But Liz was frightened, and, he admitted, so was he. There’d be other times. Just once he’d do the right thing when it came to Liz. But still . . . maybe . . .

  “Yeah, all right,” he said at last, looking away. “But since you’ve got me all hot and bothered, you’ve got to help me cool off.”

  A faint frown furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

  David pointed at the lake and wagged a mischievous eyebrow. “Skinny-dipping. Then you won’t have any reason to be jealous of Alec anymore; you’ll know as much about the bod as he does. More in fact, since you already know what most of it feels like.”

  Abruptly, he stood up, stepped into the moonlight, then glanced around. Liz was still hesitating. He stretched a hand toward her. She took it and he pulled her to her feet.

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it once with extravagant chivalry, then grinned and sprinted to the shore.

  With one decisive move, he skinned his skivvies off. The night breeze was cool against his bare skin, and he shivered slightly.

  “You’ve got a cute fanny, you know that, David Sullivan?” Liz giggled nervously as she joined him.

  David felt himself blushing. “I guess I do now.”

  “Well, seeing you in one of those little Speedo bathing suits kinda woke my suspicions—but I think I like the real thing even better.”

  “I think this is gonna be fun.” David grinned. “Alec never tells me things like this.”

  “I hope not!”

  He paused, staring at her, hoping the eagerness he felt stirring within him would not show in the moonlight. “It’s kinda your turn now . . . I mean if you don’t want to take it all off, you don’t have to, just ’cause I did. Course, you’ll have wet clothes to explain otherwise. Because I’ll throw you in!”

  He made a grab for her, but she sideslipped him and turned away. Her back to him, she stripped in a series of efficient movements.

  David could not help the smile that broke out on his face when she turned back around. “You’ve got a cute—a cute everything, Liz.”

  She stepped closer.

  He thought of something then, reached back and unhooked the chain that held the ring. He cupped it in his palm for a moment, staring at it, then took Liz’s hand and slipped the silver circle onto her finger.

  She looked up at him uncertainly.

  David stopped the unspoken protest with a finger again
st her lips. “Just until I can get another. It’s the most precious thing I own—or maybe the second most precious, now. But it’s not really mine to give—not yet. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. But for now . . .”

  “You know—”

  “You know, I think kissing you naked in the moonlight’s more of a fantasy of mine than anything in Faerie.”

  Liz’s eyes twinkled. “Anything?”

  David smiled awkwardly. “Well, almost.”

  They kissed again, standing on the beach with sun-warmed lake water nipping at their toes. Liz began to giggle, and David found himself tickling her ribs. She pulled away. He reached for her, lost his footing. They fell into the shallows, came up laughing.

  “We did come to cool off,” Liz gasped between fits of mirth.

  “We?”

  “Of course,” Liz snorted indignantly. “You’re not the only one with hormones, David Sullivan.”

  They waded a bit farther out, until they felt the lake floor falling away. Eventually they were swimming. David hadn’t realized how hot he’d been, until he felt the water swallow him. He dived; surfaced; dived again. Felt Liz near him in the water and broke surface with her. Ventured a kiss—and felt the fire reawaken. He pulled away, suddenly embarrassed.

  Again he dove, and felt the water’s sensuous caress upon his body, now less sensuous than his memory of Liz’s touch.

  His hand brushed fingers: soft and delicate.

  He grasped the hand eagerly, began to pull it toward him, toward the surface. He was getting low on air, though the notion of an underwater kiss was certainly intriguing. Perhaps a little later . . .

  But that hand was pulling him downward! Downward into the dark with a greater strength than he’d ever expected from Liz. His chest began to throb; red lights swam behind his eyes. His head hurt. And still he felt that tugging. He tried to focus the Sight, but could not. Why was she doing this? And who was she? His thoughts were slow, dull. Like he was going to sleep.

  Why?

  Bubbles trickled from his mouth.

  Why?

  Asleep.

  Asl . . .

  Somewhere above him, closer to shore, a silver ring woke upon Liz’s finger, sending pulses of heat up her arms. Bright as day the ring glared into her startled eyes.

  “David!” she whispered as the awful truth struck her. “No! Not now! Not now!”

  PART III – FLAMES

  Chapter XV: Water, Fog, and Fire

  (Sullivan Cove, Georgia—Sunday, August 4)

  “Not now!” Liz gasped aloud as she surfaced, desperate for air. “Oh God, Davy, no!”

  Light flashed into her eyes so brightly that it hurt. She looked down, saw David’s ring glowing white-hot like a magnesium flare. It burned against her skin too, becoming hotter with each passing second. So this is what it feels like, she realized. The mystery of the ring.

  Davy!

  She dove then, farther and farther down, until the water became as cold and dark as the knot of fear in her stomach. Her chest grew tight. Her fingers brushed a tangle of slimy weeds, then muddy sand.

  Davy?

  And distant as a dream, words filled her mind, like a brush of cold air behind her eyes: He lives, girl. Now begone. This realm is mine.

  Davy.

  Silence.

  Davy . . . ?

  And then silence gave way to despair.

  Help: she had to get help, had to find someone to help her—to comb the bottom till they found him, maybe. If necessary drain the lake—

  No! She gave herself a mental slap—she was being irrational. She had to help David, but panic would do no good.

  She broke surface again, took blessed mouthfuls of air. The moon beat down upon her, cold and distant. Water glittered blue and silver about her. And the ring no longer glowed, no longer warmed her hand. She wondered what that meant. It had to have some sort of limit of detection, she supposed, so David must truly be gone. But whose thought was it that had sounded in her mind? Somehow it had seemed female. Yet David didn’t know any women of the Sidhe—did he? He’d better not!

  Her toes touched bottom, and she dragged herself to shore, toweled herself vaguely dry with David’s discarded jersey, and dressed hurriedly. After a moment’s indecision, she picked up the rest of his clothes and made a clumsy bundle of them. A brief search for his glasses proved unsuccessful, and then she remembered that he hadn’t worn them since some time in the spring. The Sight had done that much for him, at least. But it hadn’t kept him from being captured—if that was what had happened.

  Suddenly it was a long way to the car. As suddenly she was running. Branches tore at her, fallen limbs tripped her as she fought her way through the intervening wood. Her breath quickened, became a series of short, painful gasps, each a greater torment to her lungs. Eventually she developed a stitch in her side that made her cry out. She careened to a stop, panting heavily, fingers digging into the sticky bark of a pine tree. Finally the pain faded, and she was off again. Briars ripped her flesh, and then there was open space about her and broom sedge flogging her legs.

  She reached the car, threw David’s clothes in the back, but then hesitated. It wouldn’t do for someone to find them there and ask questions. Resentful of the time it took, she stowed them in the cubby where the spare tire went.

  Now where to go, she wondered. Not to David’s parents; they’d only go to pieces. And besides, David had left home under a cloud of anger, and she’d sort of been an accomplice. And she was wet—they’d wonder what the two of them had been up to, and while she wasn’t exactly ashamed, it wasn’t the sort of added complication she wanted to deal with just then. The absurd image of a shotgun wedding with JoAnne Sullivan wielding the gun appeared from nowhere in her mind.

  God, how stupid! Panic was making her silly.

  She cranked the car, slipped it into first, then paused. Alec, maybe? No, wait, better Nuada first. This was a Faery problem, let them provide the answers.

  She mashed the gas, sending the little car skittering over the rough gravel as it tore back up the road.

  Far ahead and to the right she could see a corner of Davy’s house silhouetted against the night. No lights burned there except the single mercury vapor in the yard.

  But there were lights closer by: at Uncle Dale’s cozy cabin. Now, that was an idea! He had always seemed more sensitive to what was going on with her and Davy than anyone else in David’s family. And he had always been open-minded. After all, he had sensed the presence of the banshee that had almost taken him last summer. And maybe he knew about the Tracks as well, and the Sidhe. He’d said some things . . .

  Almost without thinking she found herself turning up his narrow, rocky driveway.

  She dared not stop to compose her story. If she did, she might simply quit—might just drive on and on till she ran out of gas, and then press on afoot. But she knew she could not do that.

  Hurry, girl, hurry, she told herself. Park the car . . . up the long flight of wooden steps . . . onto the porch, not caring how loud her staccato tread sounded on the ancient boards.

  A knock on the screen door. Another. And then, as fear finally took her, a pounding. Her knuckles hurt.

  A naked light bulb came on among the exposed beams of the sloped porch roof above her. The inside door cracked open, then swung wide, as Uncle Dale unhooked the screen. He was dressed in a pair of rumpled khaki work pants and a worn white undershirt. Without his glasses, his deep-set eyes were nests of squinting darkness.

  “Why, Liz, girl, what in the world are you doin’ here this time of night? What’s happened?” His gaze darted over her—missing nothing, she was certain—at last coming to rest on the ring. An eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, and a ghost of a smile twitched across his lips, before his mouth hardened. “It’s Davy, ain’t it? Somethin’s happened to Davy? And I just bet you it’s somethin’ . . . unusual.”

  Liz nodded breathlessly, suddenly unable to speak. She made no move to go into the house. “Ye
ah,” she panted. “Davy and I were swimming, and . . . and he dove down deep and disappeared.”

  Uncle Dale grasped her by her shoulders. “Swimming? You mean he’s drowned?”

  Liz shook her head. “No. No—I don’t know. I don’t think so. No,” she finished decisively. “It was—” Her voice froze. “I heard a—”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, God! I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you! But believe me, oh please, Uncle Dale, believe me! We’ve got to get to the Traders, they’re our only hope. They’re from Ireland and this is an . . . an Irish matter.”

  Uncle Dale fixed her with an appraising stare, then steered her through the doorway. “Come on in, girl. Let me get you some coffee. Get you a towel.”

  “You believe me?”

  The old man paused in midstep. “I believe you’re scared to death, and I know you well enough to know you don’t scare easy. But you’re not actin’ like you think Davy’s dead, so you must think he’s still alive. Must be somethin’ like what happened to Little Billy, maybe? Somethin’ to do with them funny-lookin’ folks he kept talkin’ about? Like that boy I saw when I had that stroke that time.”

  Liz’s eyes widened incredulously. “You saw that?”

  “Saw somethin’. Teenage-lookin’ boy in funny clothes. Thought he was an angel, only he didn’t act like one. Finally told myself it was a dream so I could sleep with some peace of mind; you may have noticed I been goin’ to church more lately. Now let me get that coffee. Maybe hot cider? Yeah, that’d be better,” he muttered as he shuffled into the kitchen.

  Liz flopped back on the sofa and closed her eyes. She had a headache, she realized. She stared at the fireplace on the opposite wall, at the stuffed deer head above it. And that reminded her of what David had said about the Crazy Deer. But that had been male, hadn’t it—she thought that was what David had told her. And the mind that had touched hers had been a woman’s, she was almost sure of that. She shook her head. It made no sense.

  Uncle Dale returned a moment later with a steaming mug. “Might be a touch hot. Did it in the microwave. There’s a little ’shine in there with the cider—help you calm your nerves.”