by Mia Marshall
It made a horrible, unimaginable kind of sense. Everything else had gone wrong that night. Why would our one goal, to eliminate the killer, have been successful? Of course he’d gotten away. Of course he had.
I knelt down on the floor, staring at the ground. I could see it now, all the pieces that had never quite added up. Before we arrived, he’d grabbed the guard and locked him in the room. Maybe he’d been hiding there when we first came in, expecting us to check all the unlocked doors first.
When we moved upstairs, he’d snuck out, leaving the guard trapped inside, and frozen Amanda’s heart from below. He’d taunted us from a safe distance, counting on Sera’s temper to start a fire in the main building, and she had played right into his hands. The moment he ran back into the room, we had thought he was trapped, but he was only using that time to escape. If I hadn’t seen the red collar on the guard’s jacket, I would never have known he wasn’t our target.
I wondered how much had been planned. Did he know Sera well enough to predict her actions, and how could he know my powers would fail so spectacularly? The night, which had previously seemed like a series of chaotic events, suddenly took on the sheen of premeditation. There was only one problem.
“But he was ice. Not earth. He couldn’t move this much earth,” I said. It took longer than it probably should have to make the connection. In my defense, the possibility was almost too horrible to consider. “There were two of them,” I whispered. “The bastard has a partner.”
Six people sat on dark leather sofas and armchairs so soft they could double as underwear, if one were so inclined. They surrounded rich mahogany coffee tables that held red lilies the owner of the hotel suite had undoubtedly not chosen himself. The walls were a pristine white and hung with original pieces of art. There was not a single speck of dirt to be seen, and I could swear the dominant scent in the room was the smell of money, which seemed to rise in waves from each object d’art and every piece of furniture. Some parents, when their children go away to college, call too often or drop in unexpectedly. Sera’s father bought the local luxury hotel and converted the penthouse for his personal use. It was stunning and opulent, and I found myself longing for upside down wallpaper and Sacramento Kings throw pillows.
I was not the only one, if the body language of the others was an accurate indication. Brian and Vivian were perched on the edge of a love seat. Mac had claimed one of the armchairs and, at first glance, he appeared relaxed. His back slumped slightly, molding itself against the leather. A closer look revealed that his hands were pressed lightly against the chair and his thigh muscles were tense, ready to spring up at the slightest provocation. Simon sat upright in the other armchair, perfectly still except for his eyes, which moved constantly, tracking everyone’s movements. I had the feeling that, if he’d been in cat form, his ears would have been flat to his head. Sera and I were on the remaining sofa. We were calmer, being more familiar with the situation, but we still weren’t teasing each other or, for that matter, even talking. It was hard to relax when one of the world’s oldest and most powerful elementals sat five feet away.
The source of all this tension sat at an enormous desk, silently sifting through the files Simon had pilfered from the feds. Josiah Blais had asked for the file when we first entered, gestured for us to sit, and then not spoken a single word for the last twenty minutes. No one dared to talk, fearful of interrupting his concentration. It didn’t matter that we were all adults. In his formidable presence, we felt like children.
I often wondered how Sera had been raised by this man without developing enough neuroses to keep her in therapy for the next hundred years or so. It was remarkable enough that she’d managed to maintain her vibrant character after her mother died when she was barely a teenager. To have this man then step in to raise her, with his overpowering, unpredictable personality, and still turn out as balanced as she was, spoke volumes about the iron-hard strength that lay within her.
Josiah was a purebred fire, and so diametrically opposed to the purebred waters who had raised me that he might have been a different species, so little did I understand him. Waters were fluid and flexible. While that fluidity rendered them quite adaptable, they still appeared consistent, much like a river coursing over rocks, always moving but remaining the same. Fires were far more mutable, reacting to the slightest stimulus and avoiding even the appearance of constancy. Josiah was intense and mercurial, prone to quick energetic movements and sudden fluctuations in volume, but he was equally likely to sit sullen and morose, staring into the flames that constantly burned near him. The only thing predictable about the man was his unpredictability, and that made people nervous. I suspected he liked it that way.
“They know nothing,” he suddenly announced, laughing. He closed the file and slid it into a desk drawer. “They believe it is an especially deranged human.” As abruptly as the laughter began, it ceased. He looked around the room slowly, making eye contact with each of us, seeming to weigh us each in turn. He looked at me last and seemed to stare for several seconds longer than he had with the others, until it became difficult to meet his gaze. I wondered how much he knew of my failures on the night of the fire. “It is good to see you again, Ms. Brook,” he said quietly. His voice gave nothing away. If he knew about my lack of control, he kept it to himself.
“You agree with us, though?” asked Sera. “You know it’s not?”
He stood up and began pacing the room, picking up random objects and placing them in new locations as he walked, the unnecessary movements highlighting his restless intensity. “The coincidences with the previous killings and the manner of death itself are compelling evidence. I am forced to agree with you, much as I might wish it were otherwise. We must end this, immediately, before anyone else makes the link to ten years ago.” Again, he stared at us all in turn, as if daring each person to be the one to stop it. Then he spun around, placing himself before the fireplace that took up the better part of one wall. He warmed his hands.
Vivian spoke up hesitantly. “Even if anyone does make that connection, no one would ever trace it to an elemental. Humans just don’t think that way, not on their own.”
“Yes, their lack of imagination has been well documented. I rely on it. However, it’s not a risk I am ever willing to take. No human should have evidence of our existence, regardless of whether or not they can identify it as such. Some day, one of them might actually be clever enough to doubt that science they hold so dear.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Also, I see no reason more humans should die. Now, inform me of all pertinent information not included in these files.” He suddenly stopped pacing and stood quietly in a corner, hands clasped in front of him. He bowed his head, eyes closed, as if demonstrating his readiness to listen. He looked like a repentant schoolboy, an image so at odds with reality it would have been comical in other circumstances.
Haltingly, we filled him in on the attack on the cabin and our new theory about the partner. He was particularly interested in the firebomb. He listened intently as I detailed how I put the fire out, black eyes unwavering. He seemed surprised and pleased by my competence. Yeah, he definitely knew about my involvement in the fire at the warehouse. He likely didn’t trust me, not that I could blame him. Even with my recent success, I’d be surprised if he let me near an especially large candle anytime soon.
After we finished, he made a slow, deliberate circle around the room, then dropped suddenly into his chair. “A partner.” He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers together, and pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips. “What do you think, Brian?”
“Sir?”
“Why would an ice need a partner? Please explain that to me.”
Brian looked like a student in Algebra II who had just been asked to complete a calculus equation on the board. Possibly while naked. “Maybe the ice did all the killings, but the earth shared his beliefs? He might have watched, or helped arrange things?” He did not sound certain.
“You are suggesti
ng two people who shared the same deeply rooted prejudice colluded in the murder of those humans, though perhaps did not share equally in the actual killings.”
“Yes?”
“That is a likely scenario.” Brian visibly relaxed as Josiah focused his attention elsewhere. “However, there is one flaw with your theory. Serafina, you know the police report lists four bodies found in the warehouse, one of which was unidentified, suggesting that a) while we may not know who it was, we do know he is dead, and b) there was no earth nearby to pull him out.” He held up two fingers, ticking off his points as he made them.
His words were deflating, the logic behind them causing me to question my second gunman theory. Except... “He wasn’t scared. Not at all. In fact, he smiled at us as he closed the door. He didn’t look like a man trapping himself in a burning building. I don’t think he expected to die.”
“Assuming your perceptions were accurate at such a chaotic time, Ms. Brook, that leaves us with two possibilities. First, the man was psychotic and simply didn’t fear death. Based on his previous actions, I think psychotic is a reasonable assessment of the man’s character, though it does not explain why we have a similar killer running around now. Second, he had a partner who was unable or unwilling to help him escape at the last minute, leaving him to die and who, ten years later, chose to resume the killings for reasons of his own. Each theory contains several unanswered questions. I suggest we stop wasting time and attempt to answer them.” He stood quickly, as if he was ready to single-handedly find all the answers himself.
Sera looked like she wanted to protest his definition of wasting time, but he merely glanced at her and she shut her mouth. “Ms. Charles, Mr. Campbell,” he addressed Vivian and Simon. I was a little embarrassed that Josiah Blais had been in town two hours and already knew everyone’s last names, when I’d just been thinking of him as “Simon the Cat.” By now, I accepted that Josiah just plain knew more, but it was a reminder of how many social niceties I’d forgotten in my years of seclusion, like learning people’s names. “You seem to have a knack for electronics and security. I will provide the cameras, and you will rig the campsites as we did before. You can climb easily, Mr. Campbell? Good, good. Perhaps this earth killer cannot disable the cameras as easily. I assume you have already compiled a list of every earth you know in the area? Ms. Charles, review it to confirm its accuracy. Arrange to have all earths followed and collate the data gathered. I will employ guards again, though I would appreciate it if you did not kill any of them this time, Serafina.” He said this mildly, as I imagined a human parent would scold their child for missing curfew.
Josiah studied Mac for several long seconds, then shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea what you can do, Mr. MacMahon. Do you have any special skills? You’re quite large, certainly. Please feel free to beat up any bad guys we might encounter. Ms. Brook, I’d like you to identify likely targets and establish a protection scheme. Serafina can help you with that.”
I looked over at Mac. His jaw was twitching, and I wondered if he was in danger of hulking out. “I could use Mac’s help. He’s a local, and he can help with the shifter population, since they also seem to be targets.”
Josiah airily waved a hand, unconcerned. It wasn’t clear if that was his response to Mac’s involvement or to the threat against shifter lives. “Mr. Grant, your uncle is still a local policeman and a low-level ice, is he not? Inquire whether anyone’s thoughts are moving in a less-than-human direction. I am leaving town this evening, but I will return in a week for updates. That is all.” With that, we were dismissed.
Outside the hotel, we gathered in a small huddle, laughing and talking too loudly to release our tension. It felt as if we had spent the last hour being squished into insignificance, and now we wanted to assert ourselves as much as possible, to remember who we were when seen through our own eyes rather than through someone’s freakishly intimidating father. Slowly, we came back to ourselves, until we were merely six people standing in a chilly parking lot, surrounded by snow drifts. Sera and Brian climbed into her car with Vivian and Simon, and Mac and I watched them drive off. Without any warning, I was alone with Mac for the first time since our encounter on the deck. I found myself missing the buffer the others provided. He seemed somehow larger when it was just the two of us. Without any distractions, his focus fell entirely on me. It was hard not to feel disconcerted with those brown eyes fixed on my face. Anger lurked in their depths, though I could not identify its source.
I hastily searched my brain for something witty to say that would cover my nervousness. When that proved unsuccessful, I said something stupid, instead. “So, I take it Muscles isn’t your preferred nickname.”
His look was sharp. “I can read.”
It seemed I had blundered right into a sensitive issue. “I know,” I muttered. “Sorry.”
He unlocked the passenger side door, the action putting his body mere inches from mine. He was close enough for me to feel his warmth, to smell the clean, soapy skin at his throat. I closed my eyes and counted to five. When I opened them, he was still watching me, still standing altogether too close. “Ms. Brook,” he said formally, opening the car door and indicating I should enter.
He moved toward his side, tension radiating from his entire body. There was no way in hell I was trapping myself in a small space with this man. Somehow, I needed to defuse the situation. A solution presented itself, and before my conscious mind had time to explain all the reasons this was a very bad idea, I scooped a snowball from the ground and threw it at his head.
He stared at me from across the Bronco’s roof. Snow clung to his hair and the shoulders of his coat, but he didn’t look comical. He looked like a man capable of breaking small trees in two. “Something to say, Aidan?”
At least I was no longer Ms. Brook. “I’m not going anywhere with you in that mood.”
“What mood is that?”
“The ‘I’m going to throw everything that’s not tied down’ mood.”
“You think you know my moods that well?”
“No, but I know when I’m afraid.” The words were blunt, and out of my mouth before I could consider their effect.
Mac froze, and I watched the tension leave his body in a rush. He took a long jagged breath and spoke carefully. “I’m not mad at you. And even if I was, I would never hurt you. I’m sorry I gave you any reason to think otherwise.”
I nodded and climbed into the Bronco, silently accepting his apology.
He joined me and started the car, then waited for it to warm up. “There is a difference between angry and violent, Aidan. There is even a difference between physical and violent, especially among shifters.”
“That’s not a world I know. I’m not really physical or violent,” I answered.
“That’s a shame. The first one, at least.” My eyes jumped to his face. He wasn’t looking at me, but the slight curl of his lips told me he knew exactly what he’d said. I hadn’t meant it that way, but the word suddenly took on a whole different meaning. Once again tension flared between us, though this time it was of a different, and perhaps even more dangerous, sort.
Change the subject. Change the freaking subject. “Will you tell me why you were so angry?”
He pulled out of the parking lot and started the drive back to the cabin. Just when I thought he wasn’t going to answer, he simply said, “Sometimes, you elementals can be asses.”
He was thinking about Josiah. “Yeah, I guess we can be,” I said, remembering how determined my relatives had been to ignore my humanity.
“He seems fond of you, though.”
“Well, Josiah’s a snob. I was raised by the old ones, so I guess I don’t bear the taint of humanity for him. In my home, there are lots like him.”
“It sounds like a charming place. Make sure to get me the address before you leave.”
“It’s my home.” I didn’t know how true that was, but it was the easiest explanation. “The island is beautiful, but it’s also isolated
and the people are slow to change. Even though I’m mixed race, I didn’t even know humans existed before I was twenty. No one talked about shifters, either. I didn’t know there was anything else for much of my life.”
He nodded, thoughtful. “You said mixed race. Many would call you mixed species.”
“What, like a mule?” I knew he was asking a serious question, but it was not one I wanted to seriously answer. “I don’t like to think of myself like that. I feel whole. As much as anyone does, I’d guess. What about you? Aren’t you the ultimate mixed species? Human and—what animal are you, anyway?” The question popped out before I remembered that I was violating shifter etiquette. It didn’t matter. He completely ignored the question.
“It’s not like that. I feel whole, too. This is who I am, man and animal together.”
My brain flashed to sudden, animalistic images of Mac in his white tank top. The air in the Bronco was definitely too warm, I decided. “So, why aren’t there more shifters running around? Don’t you have, er…” Halfway through that sentence, I realized it wasn’t going to end well. I stopped abruptly and hoped he wouldn’t notice.
No such luck. He snorted. “Large litters? No, we don’t. And the reason there aren’t more of us is that sometimes the shifter gene wins out, but more often it doesn’t. Two of my brothers are human, despite having the same parents.”
I started to ask more about his family, but even as I began to speak, I could see his face shutting down again, closing me off from that line of questioning. I knew what it was to avoid certain topics, to need to avoid them, and I didn’t push. I redirected the conversation as if that moment of tension had never occurred. “It’s very different for us. For me, anyone other than a water elemental would dilute the magic. That’s why so few are as powerful as Sera. Josiah is scary old and pure-blooded. I’m pretty sure he can control a volcano. And her mom was at least half-fire. I never met her, though.”