Flames to Free (Dred Dixon Chronicles Book 1)

by N. A. Grotepas

  Copyright © 2021 by N.A.Grotepas

  All rights reserved.

  Cover designed by Deranged Doctor Design

  Version: 8.8.2021

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Acknowledgments

  Stone to Bind Preview

  1

  Demons and amusement parks don’t mix.

  Unless of course the guests at the amusement park believe the demon is part of the show. That was the case here at Lagoon on this gorgeous summer day in northern Utah.

  A demon was loose and my job as a Flameheart was to stop its little show by whatever means necessary. In the case with demons, that usually meant killing it.

  “Send us up,” I said to the roller coaster operator, a frightened looking teenager. The demon had made enough of a ruckus that the girl could see it dancing above us on the spiral of tracks that headed to the Jet Star 2’s pinnacle. Her eyes widened as she stared up at the cavorting, red-skinned beast and punched a button that started the ride.

  I leaned back against my Flameheart partner, Henry Stone, felt his warmth against my shoulder blades, and then sat forward again.

  The thing with the Jet Star 2 was that exact thing—it was a ride best paired with high school crushes, secret loves, and clandestine affairs wrapped in the guise of a roller coaster. Snuggling up to Hank wasn’t in my books.

  He probably didn’t like it either.

  “What’s wrong, Dred? Too hot for you?” He chuckled at his joke.

  I laughed. “Very sweaty, is more like it. That bomber jacket you insist on wearing even on the hottest days has you soaked.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “The plan is,” I said, ignoring his joke, “we get closer and take a shot.” I’d only known Hank for about seven weeks, so we were still working out the kinks in our partnership. One thing I’d noticed about him was his tendency to deflect everything with humor. “And, for the record, that’s what you wish she’d said.”

  I also tended to deflect everything with humor. But I was talking about Hank, and all his problems, not my own. Humor was his armor as much as the bomber jacket he wore as a standard piece of attire. Maybe the jacket was enchanted or something. I wasn’t sure, but it was too hot for it. Case closed.

  Lagoon had summoned us via the Supernatural Emergency Alert System, and the place was still cracking on full-bore. Rides flung park guests around in nausea-inducing swirls and twirls. Children cried around us. I heard someone scream gleefully nearby. The odors of sun cooked blacktop and barbecue wafted by.

  “You shooting or am I?” Hank asked.

  “Me. Wait a minute. Maybe you should stay down there,” I said, glancing over the edge of the train down at the loading platform, “as a back up plan, in case I miss.” My scheme was already falling apart as the train creaked up the spiral of tracks.

  “That might have worked had we thought of it before this point. Ah well, it’s just a demon. What’s the worst that can happen?” he mused. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something grand on the fly. So far, that’s what we’ve always done. Till today, I guess.”

  I wasn’t going to say so, but I suddenly had my doubts about shooting the demon—operating procedures for the Flamehearts had been that way for so long, even before I’d felt a push from an invisible force to change everything. Correction: the source of the push had revealed itself recently, though I hadn’t laid eyes on it.

  Them, not an it. To be clear, there were three of them. I’d only heard their voices so far.

  Intervention from the Fates wasn’t ideal when one’s profession was to keep the hidden world hidden and prevent supernatural anarchy amongst normals. The meddlesome fools had given me explicit instructions to take care about killing. The Fabric was in danger, they’d claimed.

  The Fabric had been a theory, with a small f—fabric. I’d started working on it recently. Taking care, questioning the practice of brute force solutions to problems with vampires and demons, so to speak. Then, rather quickly, it was a reality—everything was connected. Knocking lives out of the Fabric created ripples that could cause shockwaves through the natural world. Too many at once could have drastic effects.

  Something had changed, and I still didn’t know what, but it was deeper than just a few vampire lives being cut short because they’d gotten out of line—taking humans they had no call to take and turning new vampires like they were forming an army.

  Was it laughable that I didn’t trust vampires or the gods?

  “We’ll have her stop the ride when we get close,” I said. The alternative was stopping the ride now and climbing out to ascend on catwalks on either side of the tracks. I knew the demon would likely run off the minute we got close and how we got close had no bearing on that fact.

  “Is that even possible? Stopping mid-track?”

  “Of course. For emergencies. You obviously didn’t work at an amusement park.”

  “Are you saying that you did? Very intriguing, Dred. No offense, but I really can’t see you working one of these rides.”

  “Who said anything about me working the rides? Hang on, just give me a minute, while I think,” I said, squinting up at the malevolent creature, formulating a new plan on the fly as we ascended the spirals. The demon watched us from his position on the very top curl of the loops, intelligence glittering in his orange irises.

  From the waist down, this one was half-goat. Thin red horns curled out of its temples and met in points above the crown of his head. He wore no shirt and his torso was covered with tattoos of runes that endowed him with specific powers and strengths.

  The whole situation felt to me like the demon was trying to lure us away. But from what? This wasn’t a standard demonic infestation by any means. Usually they came in groups, and usually there was a leader. This one seemed almost docile as it watched us circle upwards.

  Docile except, of course, for its ludicrous dance.

  “New plan,” I began.

  “There’s a new plan now?” Hank interrupted.

  “Yeah. Your summoned Glock. You mind summoning it?”

  “As you wish, princess.” He called everyone that, even the male Flamehearts, so I didn’t take issue with it. He also liked to drop occasional references to 80s and 90s pop culture—the two best
decades I knew of, though I’d not witnessed the 80s myself. That endeared him to me immediately, despite my hesitation to accept him as my partner.

  He had massive shoes to fill through no fault of his own.

  Oh my Wesley, what have I done? The words floated around my mind distantly in response to his Princess Bride reference, but I kept my thoughts working on the matter at hand and didn’t let on that I caught the reference. Not yet. I didn’t know when I would, maybe never? Or maybe when I felt a bit more like Dred Dixon again. Hank and I had been forced together under complicated circumstance. My efforts to freeze him out of my life and heart were failing.

  Much to my chagrin, I’d been warming up to him. His sparkling, likable personality was, in a few words, annoying as hell.

  Hank’s hands bumped against my back as he used his magical stylus to write the runes in the air to call forth his gun.

  “You shoot the demon with that gun, it doesn’t kill it? It just sends it to the netherworld?” I knew it did, but I needed the reassurance as I debated with the urge to do my job the way it had always been done, or heed the Fates’ interdiction to kill less.

  “That’s right.” Hank sounded distracted.

  “Does that have an impact on the Fabric, I wonder?”

  “The what now? Oh no. Don’t tell me this is about your Fabric nonsense.” Hank knew about the Fabric because I’d been buzzing about it a lot lately.

  I didn’t answer. There wasn’t time. The demon looked like it was preparing to leap away. And I was coming to grips with that, slowly, realizing I might have to take stronger action.

  As we inched up the final hill to the crest of the spiral, I shouted down at the operator to stop the ride. She complied and the train ground to a halt. The demon’s eyes watched us as it crouched like it would jump. I stood up, my sweaty hands gripping the cushioned rim of the front of the train, never taking my eyes off the demon. We were having a staring contest.

  Coming from a home with seven siblings, I had a PhD in staring contests. I’d win this one.

  From the corner of my eye, Hank’s summoned Glock shimmered with golden light. Brass-colored droplets fell as he moved it.

  “Ready when you are, Dred.”

  I gestured for him to stay his hand. “Wait for me to signal you.”

  This demon was like a goat—all balance and confidence on the precarious tracks. His red-orange eyes burned at me. I swore I could see flames in them, cradling the iris, dancing with darkness and light.

  “What’s going on, buddy?” I asked, as I stepped over the chrome safety bar to balance on the narrow catwalk on the inside of the spiral that skirted the track. I gripped the flimsy waist-high safety cord to keep my balance.

  “Dred? Where you going? Is that a good idea?” Hank asked me quietly.

  Though I was focused on the demon, I could see the muzzle of Hank’s shimmering gun pointed in the demon’s direction.

  “Just trust me,” I said, matching his volume. To the demon, I said loudly, “Is this a cry for help? I got no reason to want to hurt you, my friend. Let’s sit down, have a chat. See if we can come to an understanding.”

  “Suggest a candlelight dinner, Dred. He’ll love that. Fire demons, you know? But I have to say, I’m surprised you want to start dating demons now. You barely tolerate me.”

  I flinched when Hank said that.

  “I’m talking the demon down, smart ass.”

  “How about if I just shoot it?”

  “I still don’t know if that counts.”

  “Counts as what?”

  “Even sending it to the Netherworld… does that count as killing?”

  Hank started to mutter to himself as though working it out on his own.

  I took a few steps closer to the demon, circling around the track. Sometimes working as a team wasn’t ideal. Like right at that moment, when every choice was suddenly up for discussion. My old partner, Theo Scott and I had seen eye to eye on these things, mostly. But that was before I’d been asked to chill out on killing supernaturals. Dealing with the new terrain and a new partner was a gauntlet and I was no knight.

  The demon cocked its head, uttered some words, and a ball of fire appeared around its hand. Oh crap.

  He shot the flame, not at me, but at Hank.

  Urgency to end the confrontation ignited in me as my new partner ducked out of the path of the fireball. Barely suppressed rage seethed in my chest: screw being careful. And screw the Fabric and the gods and the rules.

  This was personal now.

  In one swift motion, I pulled my Colt 1911 from the small of my back and aimed at the demon, squeezing off two shots. The reports were dampened by the modified suppressor—Supernatural Relief Guild issue. The demon leapt, dodging my artillery, and landed at another point on the tracks where it threw more flames at Hank.

  In the meantime, Hank had climbed out of the train, which was now on fire.

  The demon cackled in a low, guttural tone, and threw more fire at Hank, who crouched on the catwalk and sidled away.

  “Shoot it, Dred!”

  “I have been! You shoot it!”

  “I’m trying. Being shot at makes it kind of hard!”

  “That’s what—”

  “Really? Right now?”

  “Your favorite joke, Hank. You can dish it—”

  “I’ve got fire coming at my face and you’re telling jokes, really classy.”

  “Just keeping it light.” There was another joke in there, a phrasing one, but I let it go. Terror was always just a few breaths away when we entered the figurative battle arena. I managed with my timeless sense of humor. Hank protested, but I could tell he appreciated it. So far we got along famously in that way.

  The roller coaster was constructed mostly of steel, so the majority of the flames coming toward us burned themselves out soon after landing. Except the train car. There was enough material there for the fire to latch onto. It blazed, shedding a greasy black smoke.

  “One shot, Hank. Get it and we’re done.” I didn’t want to keep firing my own gun. But I would, if it came to that.

  When I missed, the bullets didn’t just vanish. They kept going, and collateral damage concerned me. We were in a park full of bystanders. My knowledge about Hank’s summoned weapon was still hazy, but I knew that it worked on different principles.

  Hank finally took a shot. The summoned gun sounded like a hiss of air, like the short jolt of an air compressor. The slug gleamed in the sunlight, a flash of brilliance that traced a dripping golden line and split the air toward the target.

  The shot missed.

  The demon hissed and spit, then jumped over our heads in a soaring arc that cleared the gap between the Jet Star 2 and Flying Aces.

  The damn creature landed on the cement pad of the other ride and then leapt to the blacktop below and vanished into the crowd.

  2

  Hank’s summoned Glock gleamed in the sunlight as we climbed down the spiraling steel staircase in the center of the Jet Star 2. It showered glimmering droplets on me and I cringed as I jumped down onto the cement foundation.

  “Turn it off, please,” I said, feeling like I’d walked into some kind of otherworldly, magical fantasy. Not the innocent kind.

  He flicked his hand, spinning the gun on his finger as he stepped down to join me and it vanished in a splash of flickering light. As a runic mage, he wouldn’t be able to summon the weapon again for twenty minutes.

  “That’s dangerous. Smooth, but dangerous.” I glared at his now empty hand.

  “I know. But it must be done—it’s part of my act.”

  “This isn’t the old west.” I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth against my will.

  “Are you sure about that? Mildred is straight out of the old west.” His bourbon eyes regarded me steadily, mirth flickering in them vividly.

  I straightened my linen tank around my concealed waistband holster, pulled chapstick out of my jeans pocket and pointedly traced the balm across my lips
. I wouldn’t be baited. My real name was Mildred, but everyone called me Dred. At least, people who valued their life did.

  His jacket flared open as he ran one hand through his wild black hair.

  “Hot enough for you?” I asked, noticing a damp spot under his arm on his light blue T-shirt. I returned the chapstick to my pocket.

  He smiled at me. “I can take the heat, Dred.”

  “Good choice, Hank,” I said, referencing his return to my real name. The sun beat down on my skull. Sweat gathered at my hairline and on the back of my neck. “I need some water,” I announced.

  “You want water, now, Dred? We’re in the middle of tracking down a demon. Let’s go after him.” He jerked his chin in the direction the demon had gone. “Why didn’t you use your magic on him?”

  “You’re about to die from either heat exhaustion or at my hands for calling me my birth name. I’m doing you a favor. You need water.” While I bristled at his question about my magic, it deserved an answer. “About my magic—I still only know a few spells. Mostly destructive. Wind. Water. And a protection spell. We’ll get him. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “He just went somewhere. Away. He might have even left the park.”

  “Maybe, but I’m betting that his lair is somewhere in the park itself. This place is pretty old, by western standards. So, there’s likely a legion of them. But I wish he’d left,” I said with a sigh, starting to walk toward the ride exit, “then we could leave too. I hate this place.”

  I shouted a goodbye to the ride operator and let her know that a clean up crew would be by soon to take care of the damage, and her mind—but I didn’t tell her that part. The Torchkeepers were the branch of the guild that handled exit interviews, helping people forget the supernatural weirdness they’d witnessed. Their job meant they followed in our tracks and it was always best to be far away when they showed up.