Drowning in Fire

by Hanna Martine

  She’d been right to call him. A paralyzing doubt had overtaken her the seconds before she’d dialed, but the moment she heard his voice she knew she’d done the right thing. Only now did she realize she hadn’t actually apologized for the whole war thing. Words like that didn’t come easy for her, but maybe Griffin understood.

  Or maybe he didn’t, and she’d succeeded in making everything worse by not spewing out all the things she longed to say. Now she’d never get to, and it was that loss of a chance that hurt the most. He would never know how much she regretted blaming him for her capture, how ashamed she was of her subsequent actions.

  She wondered if he would think her quest foolish. The stern Ofarian leader, the Senatus hopeful, might appreciate her desire to take back what had been lost, to lead her people in her own right. But the man who’d murmured to her in bed about new chances and dreams for his race, that man would sympathize with her need to find the Source, no matter the cost—even though she would never be able to tell him the reason why without compromising innocents. It created a heartrending polarity.

  Keko realized her feet had stopped walking right in the middle of a macadamia nut tree farm. He was doing it again. Griffin was making her veer off her path, steering her mind in directions it didn’t need to go, and he wasn’t even here.

  With a violent shake of her head, she gritted out “Stop it!” and exorcised Griffin for good. She’d said her good-byes, and that was that.

  FIVE

  “I already know you don’t like it,” Griffin said, pulling out his old soldier’s vest from the back of the closet and tossing it on the bed, “so don’t even think about calling me ‘sir.’”

  David scowled from where he leaned a hip against the blond wood dresser. With a hand scraping through his hair, he turned his head to look out the long bank of windows framing the slope of Hyde Street, Alcatraz hazy in the distance.

  “No backup,” David muttered. “No nothing. It sucks and it makes me look like a shitty head of security.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Not when I’m ordering you to stand down. Not when, technically, no Ofarian knows where I am or what I’m doing. If anything, I’m the one who looks shitty, but I’m okay with that. Hell, I’m used to it.”

  David pushed off the dresser, its legs scraping an inch on the hardwood floor. “At least let me put up some soldiers in Hilo. In case you need them.”

  Griffin threw a small backpack onto the bed to join the vest. “Absolutely not. The second Keko suspects I’m there for any reason other than to stop her from throwing herself into a volcano or whatever the hell it is she thinks she’s gonna do, she’ll put up a massive fight or she’ll vanish. No soldiers, David. Just me.”

  “Fuck.” David gave Griffin his back and stared out the window, arms tightly crossed.

  Griffin understood David’s frustration. After all, Griffin had had David’s position once. The major difference was that Griffin had just barely tolerated the old Chairman, while David was a brother in all but blood.

  Gwen came into the bedroom holding a small cardboard box. “This just came for you.” She squinted at the PO Box return address. “From Adine?”

  He took the box but didn’t open it, just tossed it next to his vest.

  “What is it?” Gwen had never been one to mince words. Sometimes the Ofarian woman reminded him of a diluted version of Keko.

  Griffin glanced at the box, debating whether or not to say. Which was dumb because there were no two people in the world he trusted more than those in the room with him right now. “Signature sensor,” he said.

  Gwen reached out and tapped his forehead. “Is yours broken?”

  He ducked away from her touch. “It’s, ah, something Adine has been working on for me. Something other Secondaries might be able to use. Something that enhances our own abilities.”

  Gwen glanced at the box. “What do you mean?”

  “It should, if it works right, be able to track signatures long after a Secondary has left a scene. Like a trail.”

  “Adine can do that?”

  Griffin shrugged. “Something she’s been playing with. Mixing technology and magic. I asked her to do this for me on the side, but by the way she jumped on it, I wonder if it was something she hadn’t already been pursuing. Which might scare me if it wasn’t Adine.”

  The half-Secondary woman had no magic of her own, just an otherworldly brain when it came to anything with wires or code or technology. The Ofarians had saved her life, then had got her settled on her own two feet in the Primary world, so Griffin got a pretty steep discount on her otherwise astronomical price of services.

  “Kind of like what Kelsey is doing with medicine and magic,” Gwen said.

  At the mention of his doctor wife, David finally turned around. He scanned the sparse items laid out on the bed: the vest and the box with the sensor, a long knife in a leather holder, packets of freeze-dried food, a small first-aid kit, sturdy boots, and a single change of clothes.

  “The vest still fit?” David smirked. “You’ve been behind a desk for the past five years. Got a little soft around the middle.”

  “Asshole.” Griffin pulled on the vest. Far too many emotions accompanied the drag of the lightweight mesh over his T-shirt. All those pockets that had once zippered in tools of death.

  When he had to let out the side straps a notch, Gwen said, “Aw, you’re not soft. Just old.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Griffin was grateful for the tiny bit of levity.

  The three of them stood within a companionable silence, letting their mutual past settle into the cracks of the situation. It wasn’t the first time they’d said good-bye, but each time carried its own feeling, its own baggage. It wouldn’t be their last either.

  It reminded him of another recent good-bye, and why he was doing all this in the first place, making his friends’ faces pinch that way.

  David’s phone rang. Looking at the screen he said, “It’s Kelse,” and ducked out of the bedroom.

  Griffin watched him go, then removed the vest and folded it into the backpack.

  Gwen eased down to sit on the edge of the bed. At one time, years ago, Griffin would have given just about anything to have her sit there as a prelude of something else to come, but now it just gave him a bittersweet feeling.

  “It has to be me, Gwen.”

  She raised her hands. “I know. Did I say anything?”

  He threw her a questioning, sidelong look.

  She sighed. “I think I know a little bit about taking on something huge, something only you can do. I get it. I see all the strings dangling out there—Kekona and the Senatus and the Ofarians and the Fire Source—and I get how you’re the one person able to tie them all together.” He threw the leather-wrapped knife into the backpack. Gwen bent down, getting in his direct line of vision. “I also know how hard it is, what it feels like, to be jumping around trying to get all the ends of those strings in your hands when all they want to do is fly away.”

  Griffin stilled and met her sympathetic eyes. He still loved her, but in a much, much different way than before. “Thank you,” he said.

  With a slap to her knees, she stood. “So what did the cabinet say?”

  He whistled and shook his head. “Exactly what you’d think they’d say. Divided along the typical lines. One loves the idea of revenge, going after the woman who tried to attack us. The guy who has been against the Senatus from the get-go now loves this idea—show them we can get things done better than they can, clean up their mess, et cetera. Others want me to just butt out. My supporters are the same.” He yanked the zipper around the pack. “But none of them know the real reason why I’m going.”

  “Because you want her back.”

  “What—” He blinked. Several times. Then glowered. “No.”

  Gwen looked at him with her special brand of patience and authority. She had th
e power to stand there all day. “I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself about your relationship with her.”

  “Because there is no relationship. There never was. It was just sex.”

  She crossed her arms. “Really.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Her eyebrows shot for the ceiling. “I wouldn’t?”

  With a grimace, he turned away. “It’s weird, talking to you about . . . her.”

  “Try me.”

  Afternoon was turning to evening, and he had to get to the airport. He didn’t have time for this, yet he continued. “I can’t sit back and watch her do something this idiotic. This selfish. I don’t want her to cause anything like Aya described. I don’t want to see her hurt. Or end up dead. Despite everything, despite how we hurt each other and what happened in Colorado and what she tried to do to us, I don’t believe she deserves this. If I can stop it, if I can help her survive, I will.”

  This time he hated the sympathy in Gwen’s brown eyes, so he hurriedly added, “And then there’s the Senatus. What it could mean for the Ofarians if I bring Keko back.”

  “Right.” Gwen sighed, pivoting toward the door with a roll of her eyes. “The Senatus.”

  “She’s worth more,” he blurted. “More than her mistakes.”

  Gwen stopped and turned back around. “I fucked up, too, Griffin. We all fuck up.”

  Griffin hid his wince, because not even Gwen knew what he’d done to Makaha. And maybe it was time to admit that that had been a colossal fuckup. That he should stop trying to rationalize his way out of it.

  “Thank you. I kind of needed to hear that.” He slung the backpack over one shoulder. “Are you going back to Chicago?”

  “I’d rather stay here and wait for you, if you want. If you need me, it’s easier to get to Hawaii from here.”

  “Stay,” he said quickly. “Please.”

  “I will. I’ll have Reed fly out here, too. Just in case.”

  Once upon a time Griffin would’ve hated to have heard that, but now it gave him peace. “Good.”

  She laid her hand on his cheek. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve seen you smile. Or laugh.” Thought lines dashed across her forehead. “Did I do that? By pushing you into leadership after we took down the Board?”

  That was Gwen, humble to the core. She’d been the one to destroy the Ofarian Board. “You didn’t push me. I could’ve said no.”

  Her hand dropped. “But you didn’t. And that’s what makes you a spectacular leader. Because you took on something that scared you.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I just want what I want, what I think is best. I’m stubborn and maybe a little bit selfish, not spectacular.”

  She cocked her head, her blond ponytail swinging. “What do you want more? Keko or the Senatus? Because you can’t have both.”

  He already knew that, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. He searched Gwen’s face, thinking how to respond. “I want Keko alive so she can give herself another chance in life. But when it comes down to it, I just want what’s best for Henry.”

  Gwen smiled, but it was tight-lipped and small. “See?” She sighed. “Spectacular.”

  • • •

  The road to the Chimeran stronghold on the Big Island of Hawaii was exactly as Cat Heddig had described: a treacherous, rocky, barely discernible dirt line carving up through the thick trees and undergrowth somewhere on the island’s easternmost section. By the time Griffin swung the rented four-wheel-drive SUV into the cluster of three decrepit, turn-of-last-century buildings meant to disguise the entrance to Chimeran land, his teeth ached from being consistently jarred and his stomach felt queasy from all the twists and turns and dips to get there.

  Standing in the middle of the dirt road, just outside a poor excuse for a convenience store, was Bane and another male Chimeran warrior. Bane’s massive arms were crossed over his bare chest. The other warrior, shorter and leaner, had a black tattoo of whorls and lines covering one shoulder, and wore a band of white beads around his neck.

  Griffin stopped the SUV in the road, the grill just feet from Bane’s unflinching stance. Griffin slid out from behind the wheel, leaving the engine running. Instantly, Secondary signatures assaulted his mind. Bane’s was nearly overwhelming, a steady thrum of power lacing itself through Griffin’s awareness. Much like Keko’s. He wondered if their family blood had something to do with the strength of their magic, if it had contributed to their rise to the top of their people.

  “Bane,” Griffin said, not stretching out a hand for a shake because the larger Chimeran hadn’t unfolded his arms.

  “It’s ‘General’ to you,” said the other Chimeran, stepping forward.

  “Ikaika,” Bane murmured, not removing his stare from Griffin. “It’s okay. He’s here for Keko.”

  The warrior named Ikaika looked as surprised at Bane’s response as Griffin felt. The two Chimerans exchanged a look, and a wordless understanding seemed to pass between them. As Ikaika nodded, falling back again, Griffin studied him.

  Not only was Ikaika smaller than Bane, his signature was far weaker. A thready, stuttering pulse that merely teased Griffin’s senses. Odd.

  “Get in,” Bane gestured to the SUV. “I’ll drive.”

  As Griffin hoisted himself into the passenger seat, Bane gave him a hand signal telling him to wait, and the two Chimeran men went into the convenience store. The Hawaiian sun shot down between billowing puffs of silver clouds threatening rain, hitting the grimy windows of the store, but Griffin could still make out the Chimerans’ silhouettes. Bane was talking, Ikaika’s face lifted in rapt attention. Finally Ikaika nodded, hands going to his hips.

  Then Bane touched him. Even through the darkened window, even only in silhouette, the embrace was a powerful thing. No, embrace wasn’t a good word for it. Griffin stared, fascinated and curious. Bane’s hand went around Ikaika’s neck, and he pulled the warrior to him. As their foreheads and noses touched, Ikaika also slid his hand around Bane’s neck and they each took a deep, simultaneous breath.

  The separation was a slow process, but by the time Bane marched out of the store, his shoulders had resumed their tense position and the familiar scowl was back in place. Griffin had to look away, out through the windshield, because at that moment Bane reminded him far too much of Keko.

  Bane threw the SUV into drive and it took off with a jolt past the three vine-covered buildings. He pitched it over a steep edge and followed some kind of pseudo-road that Griffin never would have been able to find. Finally the land flattened out a bit, the foliage parting over the windshield, and Bane stopped the car with a violent jerk. Griffin unclenched his fingers from where they’d been wrapped around the door handle.

  Bane’s hands made fists on his thighs. “I want you to help Keko.”

  “I am,” Griffin said. “I will.”

  “No.” Bane swung his head toward the passenger seat. “I mean, I want you to help her find the Source.”

  Griffin reached for the door handle again, feeling as though they’d taken another sudden dive down that steep road. “I . . . don’t understand. I’m supposed to bring her back before she gets to that point.”

  Bane shook his head. “That’s what Chief wants. Self-preservation and all that. Imagine what would happen to his position if Keko succeeded and she waltzed back into the valley with the Queen’s treasure.”

  “But what Aya said—”

  “No. There’s got to be a way for Keko to get to the Source.”

  The desperation in Bane’s eyes, the tension in his body, was alien and worrisome, huge and alarming.

  “How you acted toward me at the Senatus,” Griffin said, “getting all pissed off that I’d driven her away—”

  Bane snarled. “I had to, in front of the ali’i. In front of all the others.”

  Griffin pin
ched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, you need to tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Bane rolled his eyes toward the driver’s side window. “No, I don’t. I need you to help my sister get to the Source and bring back the magic. If I could go after her myself, I would. But I can’t.”

  None of this made any sense. Did Bane want him to take part in some sort of coup? Griffin refused to be used like that. He turned in the seat toward Bane, stabbing a finger at his own knee for emphasis. “Look. I’m here to stop Keko from killing herself. I’m here to prevent potential massive devastation to the earth.”

  With a growl, Bane threw open his door and jumped out. He slammed it shut with such force it sent the car rocking. Griffin had no choice but to follow, stomping after the general as he descended a twisting, jagged path down into the valley. They came around a bend and the whole Chimeran stronghold—the place hidden from all other Secondaries for over a thousand years—opened up before him.

  The sight matched Cat’s description perfectly: the sagging, white-boarded homes with the tin roofs stacked up the mountainsides; an enormous, rippling tarp covering a collection of picnic tables; the ocean sparkling in the distance; and the great meadow the center of it all. The one thing Cat hadn’t mentioned was the long, one-story building at the very base of the mountain, just opposite the field.

  Griffin stared at it, hearing Keko’s disgusted voice on that fateful night three years ago, describing what would happen to Makaha. “That the Common House?”

  Bane stopped walking. “Yeah.”

  Is Makaha there now? Griffin wanted to ask. Can I see him? Can I talk to him? Knowing full well he could not. Griffin’s presence in Hawaii was secret, known only by Bane and the chief—and now, strangely, Ikaika. Hopefully someday he would be able to meet Makaha’s eyes and personally express his regret, to talk with him man to man and not enemy to enemy, but today was not that day.

  “Chief’s waiting,” Bane barked, and took off again.

  They circumvented the field and entered the back door of the only house perched on the edge of the wide area of grass. Inside it was damp and sparsely decorated, all the furniture basic, uncoordinated, and warped. The chief, wearing a troubled look, sat at the dining room table. He kicked out a chair for Griffin.