“An invitation to a performance,” I said, “of public fire magic—”
“Unannounced, wearing a mask,” Jewel said. “I just want to spin. I don’t need to be top billed or center stage or any of that. I’m happy to be someone else’s window dressing, hanging out in the background, creating beauty with fire, completely anonymous—”
“Spinning the most distinctive fire magic in the world,” I said. “That’s how I recognized you, Jewel. Not from that beautiful curvy body, or those sexy leather bracers you wore at your last two performances—but from your style of spinning. I recognized your magic—first.”
Jewel’s face drained of color. “Oh, shit.”
“Aren’t these guys great,” cried an unfamiliar voice I oddly still recognized—and then the lead singer of the Loch Ness Dragons vaulted over the sofa, big black chunky boots banging onto the coffee table. Molokii slid off the sofa onto the floor, and the singer spun, kilt flaring, plopping herself down into the seat he had just vacated, squeezing his hips with her boots and wrapping her arms about his bare, muscular chest. “And I don’t just mean in bed.”
My mouth dropped open, and then I saw Jewel roll her eyes and lean forward. “She plays with the other team,” Jewel said in a stage whisper. “Most embarrassing.”
I blinked. This was coming a bit too fast; then I realized I was technically in the Loch Ness Dragons’ greenroom and should say something nice, like about their band or something.
“You guys rock,” I said. “But Infernal called. They want their song back.”
“Infernal loves us. Every time we play Sorti de L’enfer, Rechargé they sell dozens of copies of the original album,” the singer said. She had a way of tilting her head forward and staring under those hanging rainbow bangs at you. It was very distracting. “We used to open for them. We got the spinny disc thing from them after it shorted all their amps on one tour.”
“Sean,” Jewel said, “Dakota Frost.”
“Dakota—oh! Your unrequited,” Sean said, giving Molokii a hug.
“Not so much unrequited,” I said, “as uninvited—”
“Really?” Sean said. “She talks about you all the time, and didn’t invite you?”
“I did too invite her, just . . . not directly,” Jewel said, her curvy face flushing with color, and I smirked at her. She said, “The timing was . . . inconvenient. We didn’t know we were coming in town, and we were sort of lying low—speaking of which, Dakota just—”
“Well, I’m glad you could make it,” Sean said. “How’d you ding your . . . ?”
Curious, I followed her eyes and touched my forehead. “Oh!” I said, feeling the little lesion. “I was . . . uh . . . well, I was practicing firespinning and—”
“Were you now,” Jewel said, raising an eyebrow. “I feel less bad about pining. But I still don’t understand. That’s a hell of a welt you got. What were you spinning with?”
“Well, I don’t have the, the poi that you guys have,” I said defensively, “so I got some string and some blocks of wood—”
“Blocks of wood!” Jewel said, hands going to her face. “Whatever possessed you—”
“The house is being worked on,” I said defensively. “Some scraps were lying around, with holes in them so I could tie in some twine—”
“Lōlō! I thought you were smart!” Jewel said. “Dry beans in stockings. I’ll show you.”
“Alex told me to try that, but it sounded confusing,” I said, smiling tightly. “I’d say I look forward to you showing me, but since I’m not sure I’m ever going to see you again—”
“Ouch,” Sean said, winking at me. “Anyway, Dakota doesn’t look like she wears stockings. Or does she, Jewel?”
“What?” Jewel said, reddening. “I—I dunno—”
“You could ask her, you know,” Sean said, leaning back, putting her feet up on the table on either side of Molokii, who put his hands on her boots. He looked like a kid in a candy store under her relentless attention. She said, “Good things come to those who ask.”
“I think the phrase is normally ‘to those who wait,’ ” I said, “but speaking of asking, I love those boots.” They were even bigger and chunkier than they looked on stage, polished like she was an army officer, with big old buckles and snaps, coming all the way up her calf just beneath the high white socks tied off just below her knees. “Where did you get them?”
“Cohen’s,” she said, rocking her boots back and forth. “They’re vegan, you know.”
“Really?” I said, staring at them—more for the chance to look at her legs than the boots, to be honest. Even though the boots and socks covered her skin, they accentuated the flesh you could see beneath the kilt. I heard a slight noise, and glanced over at Jewel, who was staring at me . . . no glaring at me, jealous. I smiled back at Jewel, and said to Sean, “Something about your outfit makes me wonder whether you’re wearing the kilt Scottish proper.”
Sean stared at me brightly beneath her multicolored bangs. “Since you didn’t answer my question about how you wear stockings, I think you’ll have to ask one of the Dragonriders about how I wear my kilt,” she said, tousling Molokii’s hair. He smiled and touched her hand.
“Dragonriders?” I said. “I thought you were the Loch Ness Dragons.”
“We are,” she said, once again reaching down to wrap her arms around Molokii’s bare shoulders. “The Riders are what we call our groupies.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling my face redden. “I think I just bit off more than I can chew.”
“She does have limits,” Jewel said, making a note with her invisible pad and pen.
“You knew that,” I said. “I seem to recall receiving a critique about them—”
“About your rules,” Jewel said, leaning forward, “But that was before I knew you.”
“So, are we good now?” Sean asked, looking between us. “By which I mean you two.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling at Jewel. “I wasn’t mad, I was just a little hurt—”
“Don’t be. This stop was unplanned, a favor to Ranger,” Sean said, “and Jewel really was trying to lay low. No billing, no publicity, we even added the masks, a nice touch—”
“And still spinning the most distinctive fire magic in the world,” I said.
“So?” Sean said. “That’s why we always try to get the Fireweavers. They’re the best part of our performance, better than any light show.”
“So you’ve done this for them before?” I asked, and Jewel seemed to sink lower in her chair. “Aye yae yae, have you learned nothing of what I have taught you? Look, I want you to cancel the rest of your schedule with the Dragons—”
“And who are you to tell her to do that?” Sean said. “I thought you were split—”
“Dakota’s . . . head of magical security for the Southeast,” Jewel said, and, before I could correct that little exaggeration, she launched into a vivid account of the attacks that had happened in San Francisco. It was worse than even I’d known—Jewel had neglected to tell me about Daniel’s death threats, or that some of his ninjas had torched the fireweaver’s safe house in Sunol. “To the ground. Fortunately, no one was killed, but . . . Dakota wasn’t there to stop it.”
“Holy . . . fuck,” Sean said. “You should do what she says.”
“Don’t puff me up so much,” I said, shifting as my Dragon squirmed against my body. “I’m not an expert at this or infallible. I’m not trying to ruin your tour here. And going on tour is a good idea—it’s far from your normal haunts, it keeps you moving, isn’t predictable—”
“Tonight,” Sean said. “Isn’t predictable tonight. The rest of the tour—it’s on everything, our T-shirts, website, MySpace—”
“Including galleries of photos, I bet—including Jewel,” I said. “Damn it—”
“I’m sorry,” Jewel said. She was halfway between pouting and crying. “I . . . look, San Francisco may be his nominal home, but Hawai`i is Daniel’s birthplace and stomping ground. I didn’t feel safe there. I thought if I got far away—”
“It’s not your fault,” I said; though that wasn’t quite true, it wasn’t quite false either. “You’re new at this, and frankly, no one should have to put up with this shit—”
“Hey Dakota,” Ranger said, clomping in to the room. Her face broke out in a grin when she saw me sitting opposite Jewel. “I do good, hooking you up with your honey?”
“You did great,” I said. “Like I said, a tailor-made text.”
“I told you,” Ranger said, smiling at Jewel, “told you I could get her here.”
“Hey Ranger,” Sean called, leaning forward, kissing Molokii’s ear. “We do good, hooking you up with some crowds?”
“You guys were awesome,” Ranger said, plopping herself down on the couch next to me and hooking her cane over her shoulder. “Ow. Even last minute, you packed my house and Staniel says you sold out of your own CDs. I owe you guys the hugest favor—”
———
“Which I’m calling in,” Sean said. “Can you take on a pair of Riders for a few days?”
38. The Unexpected Dragon of DeKalb County
Things progressed quickly after that. It didn’t start as dating—Jewel and I hung out late that night, discussing a plan for her safety, Jewel and Molokii swung by the Rogue Unicorn the next day to follow up, and Cinnamon and I cooked dinner for both of them that evening.
Ranger, good to her word, found friends that could take Jewel and Molokii, and we didn’t see either of them the next day. But they planned to stay in town the week while they figured out their next move, and I planned to see as much of Jewel as I could before she disappeared again.
They met us for lunch, then for dinner, then again, and again. Jewel was a delight—feisty and challenging one minute, sweet and apprehensive the next. I couldn’t tell whether she was more scared of the situation, or me . . . but this time, she didn’t run and hide.
Well . . . not physically.
A few nights later, Jewel, Cinnamon, and I hosted Doug, Jinx, and our mutual friend Jack Palmotti for dinner. I was experimenting—vegan pepper “steak” made from portabellas for Jinx and me . . . and fried kidney slices with shitake mushrooms and shallots for Cinnamon.
Doug raised a curved blood-red slice of kidney dubiously, then shuddered as Cinnamon wolfed another one down with her big toothy grin. Jinx bumped him with her shoulder, not turning her head, and Doug turned the slice on his fork. He said, “It looks . . . different—”
“Nothing ventured,” Jack said, spearing one for himself. He had a shaggy Einstein haircut and moustache, brown rather than gray, and had served as Cinnamon’s foster parent briefly during the adoption. “Mmm. Not bad, Dakota. You should try my kidney pudding.”
“Fuh—yeah,” Cinnamon said, another one already on her fork, her fangs gleaming. It was amazing how much control she’d regained since her poisoning, but the full moon was not long behind us—and this close, she really put the ravenous in werekin. “I loved that—”
“Gimme the recipe,” I said, after I swallowed my pepper ’shrooms. I had tried a tiny bite of the kidney, and it was good, but as a general rule, I tried to limit my intake of meat. “I guarantee, it will not go to waste in this household if an animal died to produce it—”
Doug froze with his fork still in his mouth, and Jewel and Cinnamon giggled.
“Rich,” he said at last. “Which reminds me, Cin, I did find that Gaines book cheap—”
“Dover books are your friends, let me tell ya,” Cinnamon said. “How is it?”
“Rich,” Doug said, chewing a little. “But I don’t think it’s going to help us—”
“Which book is this?” I asked.
“Cryptanalysis,” Doug said, and Jewel grimaced. Doug put down his fork. “Normally, I’m skeptical of older references, but this seems solid. The problem is, we don’t have enough code to decode. Five messages, sixty characters each—all we really know is the alphabet.”
“Assuming there aren’t low-frequency letters that haven’t shown up,” I said. “Like Z.”
“Good ciphers don’t do that, Mom,” Cinnamon said. “They reworks it to mix it up.”
“Yeah,” Doug said, looking at Jewel. “Have you seen more messages in Hawaii?”
Jewel was staring off, uncomfortable. Then she realized Doug was talking to her.
“Me?” she asked. “What—no. No, I haven’t seen any more of those stupid curses.”
“They’re not curses,” Doug said gently. “Well, what about the symbols? Are they—”
“Secrets of my Order,” Jewel said flatly. “I’m sorry, I can’t share fireweaving secrets—”
“Well,” Jack said with a grin, “if we’re going down the rabbit hole, I’ll take my leave—”
“Sorry, Mr. Palmotti,” I said. “I know you don’t like Edgeworld business—”
“No, that’s OK, Miss Frost,” Jack said, standing, dumping his napkin on his very cleaned plate. “My babysitter’s expecting me home, and I have a long drive early tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll help clear,” Jewel said, picking up her own plate. “I’m serious—I’m not supposed to talk about the Order.” She paused, plate in hand. “Look, I appreciate all you guys are doing to track down the people that hassled me . . . but it was half a country away. Can we let it rest?”
Jewel stared around the table, taking in our silent reactions. After a moment, she nodded, then took some of the cleared plates and stepped to the kitchen. Cinnamon hopped up to help, then saw the remaining kidney slice and speared it with a claw. She bit into it, filled her hands with plates, and skipped after Jewel and Jack, humming and purring to herself.
“If you leave kidney drips on my hardwoods, you’re wiping them up, young lady,” I said mock sternly, and Cinnamon smirked back at me. We’d both spent time wiping down the hardwoods together when we moved in. I looked at Jinx. “I love that kid.”
Jinx leaned forward, conspiratorial. “Jewel really won’t tell you about her magic?”
I frowned, leaning forward as well, lowering my voice. “Not a word of it,” I said. “She says there are seven hundred and twenty ways to perform the basic weaves, and until I’ve learned all of them, she can’t even think of telling me the details of the actual magic.”
“Oh, Dakota,” Jinx said. “And this with people trying to kill her.”
“We should figure this out,” Doug said. He frowned. “Look, Dakota, Cinnamon’s great, she’s a genius, but she’s also like a howitzer. If you roll her in place and point her at the right problem, she can blast it away, but she doesn’t know enough math to do it all herself yet—”
“I know, I know,” I said, scowling. “When I’ve been helping her with her homework, we try to take half an hour or so to look at the problem, but . . . look, I’ve been helping her as best I can, Doug, but honestly, I’m no cryptographer. I’m just a chemistry dropout—”
“Oh, Dakota. A dropout with three years of chemistry under her belt?” Jinx said, slipping something out of her satchel. “With all the math frontloaded, followed by a year sucking down all Emory had on graphomancy? You can’t fool me, Miss Frost. You’ve got the math.”
She slid a small blue book to me—a copy of Cryptanalysis by Gaines.
“They had a second copy,” Doug said. “And I could use a third eye on the problem.”
“Maybe your friend won’t help you help her,” Jinx said. “But you can help anyway.”
I stared at the little blue book, staring at the grid of letters on its cover. Then I took it.
“Thanks, guys,” I said. “As much for the vote of confidence as anything. No p
romises.”
We all said our goodnights, and Jewel, Cinnamon and I cleaned up. Very quickly, we were developing a little domestic routine: pots and dishes, leftovers and garbage, counters and floors. It made things easier on the nights my bodyguard Nyissa wasn’t over to help out.
Afterward, we retired to the front porch . . . to enjoy the Atlanta summer.
On a typical night before Jewel’s arrival, I’d have practiced Taido or spinning in the front yard, while Cinnamon watched from behind the elaborate iron bars that made a “safety cage” out of half of the porch, struggling through her homework while I struggled through karate moves or dinged myself in the head with wood blocks. Then, on good nights, Cinnamon and I would curl up on the sofa together and work on her homework, or try to crack the code.
Now Jewel and I practiced together, her with glowy plastic LED balls, me with beans in stockings ($1.68 bulk at Whole Foods, $4.49 on sale at Target), spinning in the front yard while Cinnamon watched from her safety cage, cussing through an English assignment.
Jewel kept refusing to divulge the secrets of fire magic . . . but she had agreed to teach me the basics of fire spinning. Or perhaps “agree” was not the right word—after hearing more horror stories about me and my blocks of wood, she practically demanded it.
“Woow—fahh—wow,” Cinnamon said, lifting her head from her homework, staring at Jewel, who was whirling through move after complex move as I just kept hitting myself. Cinnamon sat up straight. “They stops in the air. How are you doing that?”
“Just practice,” Jewel said, whirling the LED balls around her in an elaborate flower, then seeming to make the poi stop, one above her head, the other at her feet. When she pulled them out of the pause, she brought them fluidly into a counter-rotating weave, her hands darting in and out of the intricate pattern the poi made in the air. It looked effortless, unless you were trying to do it yourself, in which case it looked impossible. “No magic, no liquid fire. Just practice.”
Liquid Fire Page 29