Pyromancist SECOND EDITION: Art of Fire (7 Forbidden Arts Book 1)

by Charmaine Pauls

  “Ay, he was waiting, all right. The devil of a man told me he was your father, and that one day he’d be back for you. He came to tell me if we harmed his baby in any way, he’d kill us all. He said he came to tell me to take care of his child, to raise it until the day he’d come for it. There was this thing in his eyes, this darkness. I knew he meant every word. He was pure evil. I could feel it in my bones. I wanted to kill him, and God is my witness, I tried,” he said, his hands trembling, “but he was too strong. He just laughed, and as he walked away, he turned and told me to be waiting. He said he’d be back to claim you when the fires started. I didn’t believe it. I pushed it out of my mind. Ay, I wrote it off to madness. I looked for him for days, high and low, but it was as if he’d simply vanished. God forgive me for not having enough strength to keep my vengeance alive, but I was glad. I wanted him to disappear and for the whole thing to vanish from my memory. I never told Katik or Tella about that day on the beach. Not a soul. I tried to never think of it again. Until now.”

  She stared at her grandfather, her mind unable to form words.

  He got up and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry it had to come to this. I tried hard to forget about that day, and for all the years of your life that you’ve made Tella and me the happiest grandparents alive, I did. I forgot about it the minute you were born and I laid my eyes on you. You’ve made our lives worth living. I haven’t raised you for a jail or an asylum. Or your father. You have to go away.”

  A tear slipped free and rolled down her cheek. “What about you?”

  “I know how to take care of myself. I’m too old to go with you. I’ll only slow you down. Get the box, and then leave. It’ll break my heart if you stay.”

  “When will I see you again?” When he just stared at her, his silence his answer, she gripped his hand. “Give me a date. Give me something concrete. I won’t leave unless you give me that much.”

  “I can’t give you a date,” he said with regret in his tone, gently freeing his hand.

  “We won’t see each other again, will we? You’re not asking me to hide. You’re asking me to run, to—” A sob choked the rest of her words.

  “You’re a strong woman. You’ll be fine. Now get some sleep. You have to leave at first light, before Joss’s woman comes back.”

  “What will you do?”

  “You know what they say. There are as many islands in the Gulf as days in the year. How many of those are inhabited?”

  She blinked. “Forty.”

  “Exactly. I know how to feed myself with fish.”

  She understood his plan. “I won’t watch you become a fugitive because of me. Someone must be able to help us.”

  “No one can help us but ourselves.”

  She grasped at straws, anything to change his mind. “It won’t work. We can’t just disappear. People will wonder what happened to us.”

  “I’ve already told Tristan you wanted to go to Paris for the summer and I bought you a train ticket. I’ve told the men I’m going to work on a fish trawler for a few months. A lot of them do it.”

  “Not at your age.”

  “I’m not your average fisherman.” He smiled bravely.

  “The animals—”

  “Call Rigual in the morning. Tell him to take care of them. He’s a good man. He’ll see to them.”

  She’d exhausted all her arguments. “I can’t leave you,” she said, crying quietly.

  He only laid his hand on her shoulder again and said, “Ken ar wech all, may we meet again,” before he shuffled through the door in the direction of the beach.

  Watching him go, her heart crumpled in her chest. She didn’t want to leave him, but he was right. Staying only put him in more danger. She didn’t have a choice but to heed the message of her dream. She had to run.

  Chapter 4

  It rained that night. By early morning, there was no sunlight, only the drizzle that washed over the panels of Clelia’s roof window. Looking outside, she couldn’t distinguish between the clouds and the sea. The two elements flowed into each other like watercolors.

  She went through her routine briskly but with a heavy heart. She pulled on her denim shorts, a T-shirt, and her rain jacket. She brushed her teeth and braided her hair. As per Erwan’s instruction, she didn’t pack. She only dropped her mobile phone, charger, a cap, sunscreen, and her purse in her backpack.

  When she swung the strap over her shoulder, her gaze fell on the pendant on her nightstand. It was wrong to keep it, but with Joss’s girlfriend asking questions around town, she could hardly look him up and return it. Those questions were enough to make her seem guilty. By now, she understood how the townspeople’s minds worked. Where there was smoke, there was fire. Besides, who was she kidding? It was never her intention to return it. It was her reminder of what they’d shared, a forbidden moment that was wrong and yet so right.

  Dragging a thumb along the hard edge of the crystal, she let her thoughts wander back to Joss. She still felt him in the ache between her legs. Was he all right? She’d probably never know. That thought alone was a knife in her heart. Pushing back the hurt, she dropped the necklace in her pocket and cast a last look around.

  Every muscle in her body was tense, her heart pumping as she got ready to abandon the cottage. Erwan wasn’t downstairs. His boat was gone. Only the dinghy drifted in the shallow water. It was just like Erwan to have left in the night. Saying goodbye this morning would’ve been too difficult. She didn’t want to think of it for the fear of breaking down in tears.

  Erwan had already gotten rid of the fresh food and taken out the trash. After feeding the animals, she spent a little time with each of them. Tripod, as if sensing something, wouldn’t leave her side. He followed her until she was forced to take a stern tone and order him to stay. It broke her heart. She’d call Rigual like Erwan suggested and ask him to take care of them. Rigual wouldn’t ask questions if she didn’t offer explanations. It wasn’t in his nature.

  Because of the rain, she didn’t take the dinghy. Navigating through the mist would be too hazardous. Instead she pulled on her rubber boots and drew the hood of her rain jacket over her head before cycling up the road that led to the harbor of Larmor-Baden. Snow ran out ahead of her, while Rain, Thunder, and Cloud followed. They often accompanied her to the mainland, but today she would have to make them turn around before she got to the harbor. She tried not to think of it as she shielded her eyes against the drops of water that pricked her face. The wind picked up and the rain fell heavier. She pedaled her bike harder into the onslaught of the weather.

  By the time she’d crossed the sleeping town and taken the path through the woods along the coast to the jetty, she was shivering. There was too much mud to carry on by bike, so she left it inside the abandoned boathouse on the way and continued on foot. The wolfdogs ran excitedly around her, undisturbed by the wet weather. She hoped Erwan would be safe, and that all of this would blow over soon so they could return to their lives.

  Absorbed in her thoughts with one hand shielding her eyes from the rain, she almost bumped into Snow when he came to an abrupt halt. She blinked drops from her eyes. A stranger stood in the path a short distance ahead. Snow growled, his gums pulling back from his teeth.

  The rivulets of water that ran through the man’s short brown hair and down his face didn’t seem to bother him. His eyes were wide and open, the same chestnut color as his hair, and his skin was tanned. His hands were shoved into the pockets of a brown leather jacket, the type with wool in the collar that pilots wore, and his jeans were tugged into brown boots.

  Still growling, Snow inched forward. Rain and Cloud flanked her as Thunder took a position at her back.

  “Quite a pack of wolves you’ve got there,” the man called to her in English.

  She raised her voice to be heard above the rain. “What do you want?”

  “Are all locals so friendly?” he asked with a grin. When she didn’t respond, he dropped the smile. “I’m on my way to the vi
llage. I was hoping to speak to some people in town about the fires. I’m a journalist from Paris.” He extended a hand, but froze with his arm mid-air when Snow barred his teeth again. “I can show you my business card if you like. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?”

  “I’m in a hurry.”

  “What’s your name?”

  Thunder growled behind her. Rain and Cloud crouched low, ready to attack.

  “You should call off your dogs,” he said. “You don’t want the legal problems I’ll cause if they bite.”

  She didn’t move. Her dogs wouldn’t attack, not without a word or gesture from her. Normally, she wouldn’t allow them to scare a stranger, but she didn’t trust anyone and the last thing she needed was media exposure.

  “I just want to talk to you about the fires,” he said again, glancing between Rain and Cloud. “I’m writing an article. I’ll mention your name. Wouldn’t it be cool to see your name in a national newspaper?”

  “I don’t know anything about the fires.”

  “It’s awful weather to be out. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. Or you could invite me home if you’d feel happier in your own environment. I just want to get more information for my article.”

  “I can’t help you, Monsieur. I’m in a hurry. Please move out of the way.”

  His eyes tightened, but after a second, he stepped aside.

  She hurried up the slope that would take her around the cliff and to the harbor without sparing him another glance. The dogs kept the stranger hostage on the path, only running after her when she was at the top of the hill.

  Before they exited the forest, it stopped raining. As if a magic wand had been waved, the mist cleared over the ocean to let the sun through a ring of clouds. A fan of angelic light fell over the flat surface of the sea. She paused to take in the sight. Never before had she seen the rain stop like that and the fog disperse as if it had never covered the sea like a blanket. Maybe it was a good omen. If the rain hadn’t stopped, she would’ve had to wait in the woods or somewhere at the harbor until the sea was clear. This was no small blessing.

  At the edge of the forest, she said goodbye to the dogs, biting back fresh tears as she hugged each one. Of all the animals, she felt closest to the dogs. She’d found the pack of puppies in the forest, huddling close to their dead mother. The poor bitch had been shot. The farmers in the area had been complaining about a fox killing their sheep and had been out on a rampage for a month. One of them claimed to have shot a wolf. Turned out he’d shot a husky.

  The hunting didn’t stop, not until every wild fox, wolf, and stray dog had been cleared from the forest. Clelia had hidden the puppies in the shed where Erwan kept his nets and fishing gear, and had raised them with a mixture of buckwheat porridge and milk. They were her family as much as Erwan was, and all she had in the world.

  She kissed each of them one last time before pointing a finger in the direction of their island. “Home, boys.”

  Her heart nearly cracked in two when they tilted their heads, staring at her in confusion.

  Ignoring the knot in her throat, she made her voice hard. “Go home.”

  They yelped.

  The knot unraveled, her voice breaking on the command. “Now!”

  Tails between their legs, they dropped their heads and scampered back down the path. Her chest squeezed as she watched them, the throbbing in her throat echoing in her ribcage. Abandoning them was torture. Erwan had been wise to avoid goodbyes.

  The dogs looked back every few seconds, their slow progress evidence of their reluctance. They paused at the bend for a hopeful few seconds, but when she didn’t call them back, they disappeared behind the pine trees.

  With every step she took away from the forest, her chest grew tighter. By the time she got to the harbor, Snow’s sad howl pierced the quiet morning. She’d trained them not to bark or howl near the village in fear that the townspeople would come after them with their guns, but Snow was an intuitive dog. He knew this was forever.

  Forcing herself not to think about it, she rushed to the jetty. The bigger boat Erwan kept there was one with a rope start that didn’t need a key. Every step was a step away from what she loved and a step closer to the unknown, to that world that didn’t exist to islanders. From that unacknowledged place, a sound ripped through the sky. Her hands grew clammy. Her head spun. It couldn’t be.

  A helicopter.

  She recognized the sound long before the aircraft rose from behind the trees of the island across the water.

  Chapter 5

  The helicopter made another circle over the ocean. From the passenger seat, Joss scanned the meager scattering of boats on the water through a pair of binoculars. His stomach twisted when they dipped. A headache pounded in his temples. Swallowing back bile, he scrubbed a hand over his face. The prick of his stubble reminded him he looked like he felt—like dog shit.

  That was the price of drowning his memories in Calvados and waking up in a megalith site drenched in rain in the middle of the night. He could put his cock on the block that he’d also had the best sex of his life, except he could only remember bits and pieces—a tight little body, soft lips, sexy as sin moans, and a climax that just about fried his brain. He would’ve thought it all fragments of his drunken imagination if not for the evidence on his naked body.

  He’d fucked a virgin.

  Without a condom.

  Fuck.

  Unease tightened his chest when he tried to remember and failed again.

  What kind of asshole fucked a woman, her first time no less, and couldn’t remember her face? What kind of man fucked a woman when he was on the verge of passing out drunk? In the state he’d been in, he shouldn’t have even kissed her. Maybe he’d been even worse of an asshole and been rough. Was that why the mystery woman had left him unconscious? Not that he’d deserved better. However a number or name would’ve been nice.

  Determination hardened his jaw. He’d find her. With his professional resources, he could pull satellite footage to throw light on the identity of the woman, but that would mean Cain or someone higher up would get to watch the footage before releasing it. He couldn’t do that to whoever the woman was. That would make him a double douchebag. Anyway, resorting to such measures wasn’t an option. When whoever got to watch the recording realized he was squandering government resources for personal reasons, his request would be denied and he’d end up with a warning.

  On top of everything, he’d lost his mother’s necklace, the only thing of hers he’d kept. He had to have hooked the necklace on a branch and broken the chain. He’d combed the site and retraced his steps, but to no avail. The memorabilia, a birthday gift he’d bought with the money he’d earned from working all summer in one of the many new age shops that littered the streets of their village, had been his mother’s most prized possession. Now it was lost. It was as if a cord to her memory had been cut.

  He rubbed a palm over his chest where the weight of the pendant was absent. Not even a day back in his hometown and he was already fucking up. He grimaced. He shouldn’t have accepted this assignment. The memories were too much. But what choice did he have? It wasn’t as if he could turn down an order from Cain.

  Refocusing his attention on the moving boats, he eliminated one after the other until Bono, the pilot, spoke into the mic in his ear.

  “Anything?”

  “Nothing,” Joss said.

  They were supposed to take the old fisherman, Erwan, and his granddaughter into custody—well, unofficially and off the record into custody, because their organization didn’t exist. Last night, while he was getting thrashed, the old man and his granddaughter had slipped through their fingers. When Maya had visited the cottage early this morning, she’d found it empty, as in abandoned empty.

  “Shall I turn a couple more times?” Bono asked, giving him a sideways glance.

  Joss nodded at the muscled man with the shiny skin the color of molasses who filled the pilot seat so effectively he crowded the
cabin.

  Bono threw a thumbs-up and tilted the heli left and down.

  Joss turned the binoculars to the harbor. Someone was systematically burning down the whole damn village and it wasn’t a simple open-and-closed case of arson. His team didn’t operate on normal assignments. He headed a task force of investigators that specialized in unexplainable crime. The fact that they were called in to his birth town for the mysterious and deliberate destruction of properties left him clueless.

  There was speculation about Clelia d’Ambois’s mother, but it was exactly that—only speculation. He recalled stories about the Japanese girl who had been abandoned by a trawler. It could’ve been nothing, just a bunch of superstitious fishermen blaming a dry spell and their own negligence on the girl. He never knew Katik. He was only four when she died. If she’d indeed possessed the ability the Japanese men had accused her of, she would’ve passed it on to her daughter. Those were mere guesses. There was nothing concrete. Besides, he’d always been keenly aware of the very young Clelia. If a supernatural force was at play, it wasn’t in her. He’d tasted her blood once, and he would’ve known if there was something in her DNA.

  He’d been to every burnt house. There were no signs to point them in any direction, no clue as to how the fires had started. For all he knew, it could’ve been the devil himself setting the buildings alight with a pointed fork.

  The whole damn mystery, including the one from last night, weighted him down. He should’ve point-blank refused the mission on the grounds of conflicting personal interests, but that would’ve raised questions about his past. If Cain knew how screwed up he really was, he’d send him on early retirement if not to a mental institution. He wouldn’t put elimination past Cain.

  “We have a suspect in view,” Lann Dréan, the slender blond Russian with the golden eyes, said from the ground station into the mic.

  Lann was the wizard-like aeromancist on the team, who had, only minutes ago, used his art, one of the seven forbidden by common law for four centuries, to clear the weather for the helicopter to take off. If Lann had spotted a suspect, it meant he’d picked up someone via their satellite tracking.