Pyromantic

by Lish McBride

  “He thinks it tastes better when he steals it,” I said. “So right now he’s trying to decide if he’s hungry enough to eat what you gave him or if he should keep going for my cookies.” I solved the problem by tipping his plate onto mine. Now he’d have to steal them back and he would be happy.

  Ezra grabbed my hand and kissed my fingers, holding the hand to his chest. “You really get me.”

  “You’ll still be punished if I catch you,” I said.

  “If he gets caught, he deserves it,” Olive said from under the table.

  “Exactly,” Ezra said, stuffing a cookie into his mouth. I hadn’t seen him take it.

  “Fascinating.” Alistair settled back into his chair. “To be honest, we don’t know if what’s happening right now isn’t part of someone’s, or several someones’, various plans to take over. We haven’t been able to figure out if this has been an orchestrated attack or if things are just hitting all at once.”

  “Have we found any common thread between the incidents?” Sid put his arms on the table and rested his chin on his wrists.

  Alistair shook his head. “Not yet. Then again, we haven’t had much free time to really analyze things, either. For now, rest up. We need you fresh.”

  *

  ALISTAIR’S PREDICTION rang true. He didn’t even make it out the door before his phone went off, and this time he couldn’t ignore it. So we were being sent out again. And again. Though the timing of the events appeared random, a vague pattern began to evolve in our days. Sleep—not enough. Fight some things. Burn your clothes. Eat. Nap. Fight more things. Eat. Gag when you find … something … encrusted under your nails. Shower until the water runs clear instead of green or brown or red, depending on your injuries or what you were covered in. Get so tired, you find yourself actually laughing at Bianca’s jokes, followed by surprise that Bianca actually makes them. Rinse. Repeat. Cha cha cha.

  We followed this pattern for a solid week. Suddenly Cade’s decision to get someone to cover me at the bookstore didn’t seem so crazy.

  “It’s like the entirety of the coast between here and Portland has decided to implode all at once,” Lock said, holding an ice pack to his eye. He was going to have a shiner. Ezra finished changing a bandage on one of Bianca’s arms while she ate trail mix with the other.

  Sid poured coffee into all our empty mugs. “C’mon, everyone. Mug up.”

  I grumbled, my head resting on the table. “I never thought I’d say this, but I am tired of coffee. Contrary to my earlier hypothesis, it is not, in fact, a replacement for sleep.”

  “You shut your lying mouth.” Ezra covered the lower half of my face with his hands. “Such scandalous talk, Ava. I won’t have it.” I shoved his hands away.

  “Well, it’s as good as you’re going to get anyway.” Sid refilled his own cup before replacing the pot.

  “We can’t keep on like this,” Lock said.

  “You said that two days ago.” Ezra collapsed into a chair, his head lolling back against the top. He looked to be ten seconds from passing out.

  “I meant it two days ago.” Lock set his ice pack on the table before he put his face on it.

  “What are you doing?” Ikka asked, propping herself up with the kitchen counter.

  “I’m icing my eye,” Lock said. “This way seems much more efficient.”

  Alistair walked in without knocking, a tube of paper in his hand. All of us except Bianca groaned as he ushered us into the living room. She was just that dedicated to Alistair. Even she made a face, though. We had started to associate Alistair with work, misery, and bad news. Not his fault, I know, but if someone always shows up during flu season, you start to connect them with chicken soup and throwing up. It’s just how the human brain works.

  Alistair ignored our complaints. There was a squeaking sound behind him, and I turned my head to see Olive rolling in a big whiteboard.

  Alistair unrolled the paper, which turned out to be a map, and pinned it to the wall. Olive got out numbered pushpins and a sheet of lined paper covered in Alistair’s precise and elegantly looping handwriting.

  “Are we going to school now?” Ezra asked. “Because I’m almost certain that I graduated.”

  “You didn’t graduate so much as they passed you to get you to leave.” Lock sat up, the ice pack left on the table until Bianca scooped it up and made him put it back on his bruise.

  “What are you talking about? They loved me there. I was king of the school.”

  “More like the god of chaos.”

  Ezra sprawled in his chair, a satisfied look about him. “So you admit I’m a god?”

  “Give up, Lock.” I tipped some more cream into my coffee.

  “I brought this in to help us visualize what’s been going on,” Alistair said, taking the prudent course of action and ignoring us. “The numbered pushpins correlate to that paper there, which tells us the when, where, and what of each problem.” He gestured to the whiteboard. “This is for any notes, ideas, or thoughts.”

  “Notes?” Ikka asked, pulling herself up straight on the couch.

  “What kind of creatures we are dealing with, what their dominating elements are, numbers of victims, and so on.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been poring over the information as it comes in, but I still can’t see the connection. So I decided some visuals and some new—trusted—eyes would be welcome.”

  Olive continued to put pins into their respective spots. Alistair grabbed a black marker and started a column for creatures, another for elements, and another for numbers. The kelpies we’d dealt with earlier belonged to the element of water, because that was where their strength lay. Lock, being half-dryad, was earth based. Some creatures were aligned with more than one element. I spent my time on land, but clearly my element was fire as well, which made me a little harder to classify.

  We filled in the board, shouting out details as we thought of them. Despite the visuals Alistair was providing, I still wasn’t seeing a connection. The creatures were all different. The places seemed diverse. The numbers varied. In fact, the only thing the board seemed to accomplish was the headache I was getting staring at it.

  When we were done, Alistair stepped back, hopeful. “Anything?”

  “I now hate whiteboards,” Sid said.

  I grabbed my hairbrush and started on my hair, thinking that I could at least do something useful while we floundered. Ikka got up without me asking and gently pushed me to the floor so she could sit behind me and braid my hair. When Ikka was around, she often took over like this, and it was simultaneously comforting and strange. I was fine watching her throw knives, kick people in the solar plexus, and take on her share of dangerous creatures. But no matter how many times she did it, I was still surprised that she hummed softly and braided my hair with kind hands.

  Everyone stared at the board and offered their theories, most of which sounded vague and wrong, but Alistair scrawled them on the board anyway. Ikka had made two braids this time and was pinning them to my head like a crown. It’s relaxing, having someone groom you. I can see why monkeys are so into it. I let myself sink into that soothing feeling and let the jumble of information float before my eyes. What did it all have in common? On the face of it, nothing. But maybe I was thinking too specifically. I needed to widen my range, think in a more general fashion. As soon as I did that, a few things emerged.

  “Humans,” I said.

  Alistair turned to me. “What do you mean?”

  “Are they having the same problem?” I asked. “I mean, when I look at the board, all the information is so disparate. The only connection is something Lock said earlier—it’s like everyone from here to Portland has lost their damn minds.”

  Alistair tapped the dry-erase marker against his slacks and looked at the board thoughtfully, trying to see what I was talking about.

  So I pushed forward, hoping I could make some sense out of it. “But that’s not true. Not everyone has lost it—just us. So we’re either missing some
vital information—like what’s going on with the human population—or we’re so busy focusing on what’s there that we’re forgetting what’s not there. You know, like Sherlock Holmes. Or the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime.”

  Everyone blinked at me, and rather surprisingly, Olive spoke up. “The dog didn’t bark. That was the clue. Sometimes it’s what didn’t happen that’s important.” She’d been quiet this whole time, unobtrusive. When she caught everyone staring at her, she blushed a little. “Ikka read it to me.”

  Ikka patted my head, letting me know she was finished. Sid was already behind her and taking the brush. I would have offered to help, but Sid was faster. In the drove, everyone helped with everything, and labor wasn’t divided so much on gender lines as by whose hands were closest. And they were apparently big on storytime.

  Alistair continued examining the board. “You’re right, Ava. Either we’re missing information, or there’s none to miss. My guess would be that there’s none to miss, as we haven’t stumbled upon any humans in our incidents save for a few that I think can be categorized as in the wrong place at the wrong time, like those bodies we found in the warehouse. I haven’t caught anything in the news. It pains me to admit I haven’t been focusing on the human world as much as I normally would, so while I think you’re correct, we need to look into it. Which means I need to tap some different contacts.” One side of his mouth quirked up. “I knew the board was a good idea.”

  Alistair’s phone beeped. All the joy he’d found in the small step forward our session had afforded him leaked out. His features took on a grim cast as he read the text. “Looks like our break is over. Everyone get ready to go.” He jotted down notes on two scraps of paper, handing one to Bianca.

  The caulbearer was frowning at our paper like it had insulted her mother. “A bar fight? It’s ten in the morning! What kind of person gets a buzz on at ten in the morning?”

  Alistair smiled at her. “I believe that particular bar opens for brunch, and I’m not sure if the incident actually involves alcohol.”

  Bianca tucked the paper into her pocket. “It’s a fight in a bar. When don’t those involve drinking?” Grumbling, she went back to the living room, and I followed. I needed to grab my freshly cleaned boots and my jacket. The weather was supposed to stay in the seventies, but I usually stashed emergency supplies in my jacket. Or at least, I had before Alistair made me destroy that jacket. Well, I would take whatever was hanging in the closet and make do. Alistair had been true to his word on most things, but I was still surprised to see a new light jacket in the closet for me. I fingered the runes on the inside of the cuff. It was warded against fire. For some reason, I found my eyes tearing up as I held the jacket.

  “Did you find your new jacket?” Bianca had her head down as she laced up her shoes. “It should fit. Lock gave him your measurements and told him what you liked to have stocked in it, so it should be close to the one we had to get rid of.”

  The inside of the jacket held several small pockets, and I found electrolyte pills, emergency cash, energy bars, a thin folded knife, plus a few pockets that were open for me to fill. It was even the same army-green color as my old one.

  When Bianca came up behind me, I realized I hadn’t answered her. “He tried really hard to get it right, Ava, but if you don’t like it…” Her tone made it clear that if I didn’t like it, I was an ungrateful jerk.

  “No, actually. It’s perfect.” I slipped it on. Why was I getting so emotional over a jacket? Clothes were just there to keep you from the elements and indecent-exposure fines.

  Mollified, Bianca grabbed her own summer jacket, which was, shockingly, black. Just like everything else she wore. “Good. He said that if you like it, he could get a few more made. You know, extras and then a few for colder weather.”

  It wasn’t until the jacket was on that I figured out why it was affecting me so much. The jacket made me feel cared for. Venus had always treated us like chattel. We were protected in that we were assets and she didn’t want us damaged—the same way you sharpen and oil a good knife. Respect the blade and it will last you a long time. But other than that, she didn’t care. Alistair didn’t have to replace my jacket, and he didn’t have to make sure it was so much like my old one, but he did. Yes, it would help me work more efficiently, and I’m sure he’d thought of that. It wasn’t a one hundred percent altruistic gesture. But having it ready and stocked told me that my comfort and safety were also factors for him. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. The Coterie had always been something to escape. Something to run from. So why didn’t it feel like that anymore?

  11

  WE’LL TAKE OUR ORDER TO GO

  CROUCHED IN A BACK STREET in Portsmouth, the Blue Moon was hard to find if you didn’t know where it was. You couldn’t tell what it was by looking at it … if you could see it at all. We had to go down an alley, through a gate, and then into an open courtyard, and after all that you had to knock on the correct door. Once inside, you were greeted at the hostess stand, which was curtained off from the main area so you couldn’t see into the bar. This was done on purpose. Every once in a while, humans found it. They would be told that the establishment was full and then politely encouraged to leave. Since they couldn’t see the seating, they couldn’t argue. I asked the owner, Manny Ruiz, what happened if the person argued. He said then they were not-so-politely encouraged to leave, usually by one of the bouncers. I eyed the bouncer with us. He looked like someone had tried to make a mountain out of flesh and bone. I certainly wasn’t going to start a fight with him.

  The bar wasn’t usually open for brunch until eleven, but it had opened up early for a special party. The Blue Moon was nice—lots of smooth honey-colored wood, a central fireplace for the winters, and large skylights giving it a bright, open atmosphere. At first glance it looked like any other high-end establishment, but in reality it catered to our kind of crowd, mostly weres. None of the waitstaff was human, for one, and they had a fairly unorthodox menu. Bloodtini, anyone?

  “Do you get any humans here at all?” I asked Manny as he ushered us in.

  “Not a lot of them,” Manny said, throwing a bar towel up on his shoulder. He looked delicate compared with the bouncer, but Manny was probably close to six feet tall. With a runner’s build and black hair that was longer on top and slicked back, the sides shaved short, he looked professional and also very young to be running his own establishment. “Most people, if they bring a human in here, it’s someone who’s like family, someone who’s personally invested in keeping our kind under the radar.” He grinned then, and though I didn’t know what flavor of creature Manny was, he was definitely a predator. His teeth were just a little too sharp. “Besides, the first time they come in, I have a nice chat with them. You know, give them the ground rules. Make sure everything is crystal.”

  “Does that chat involve you dangling them out a window headfirst or anything like that?” I tried not to smile, but Manny was one of those people who made you grin.

  He tilted his head. “You know, it’s never really come to that. I just use very small, precise words and give them a warm, friendly smile, and that’s about all it takes.”

  Right. I’d seen that smile. And I bet Manny had Colossus here with him when the chat happened, too. Most likely they didn’t have any problem at all.

  While we were making nice, Bianca and Sid were busy scoping out the bar. It was laid for service. Napkins neatly folded. Fresh flowers in vases on the tables. Silverware out. It didn’t look like a bar fight had happened. Even the staff was in order.

  “Mr. Reynolds,” Bianca said to Manny, “we don’t want to take up all your time. We know you have to open soon.”

  Manny took the hint. “Right. That.” He tilted his head to the right. “C’mon. I’ll show you.” He led us into a private dining area. Now this looked like the site of a bar fight. The very large, very nice, and probably quite heavy wooden dining room table was upended. The bottom of it was scored by thick gou
ges—claw marks, from the look of them. The chairs were tipped over, the floor covered in broken glass. Shattered vases and trampled flowers were over by the windows, one of which was broken.

  I pointed to the wall. “What’s that?” It looked like wrought iron, whatever it was.

  Manny squinted at it. “I believe that is the handmade stand we use for the champagne bucket.”

  “I see.” The room had probably looked wonderfully elegant this morning. Everything I could piece together in my mind added up to a setup for a rather classy fete. In fact, maybe I could talk Alistair into taking us to a celebratory brunch here after this whole mess was done. And, you know, after they’d cleaned up all the blood. There were spatters on the white linen tablecloth, on the walls, and on the floor. No large pools or anything, just a lot of spray, like someone had nicked an artery … or been airborne at some point.

  “Any casualties?” Sid asked.

  Manny shook his head. “We had to call in a doctor. Coterie approved, of course. Lives up the road apiece. Lots of serious injuries. But we locked the guy down pretty quick. Still, it was crazy.”

  “So it was only one person?” Bianca asked.

  “Yeah. Name’s Howie. Nice guy. Been in a few times. Usually quiet. Never been a problem.”

  Sid’s eyes followed a particularly fine spray across the ceiling. “Looks like he’s a problem now.”

  Manny dug his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.” He sighed. “Everything’s stove up. You know, I can’t get Mick’s out here for a week? A whole week of lost income. This room was booked solid. People aren’t going to like rescheduling. Can’t risk bringing in a human crew, though.”

  Sid borrowed a pen and paper and wrote down a number for Manny. “You don’t really need a cleaner if there are no residual spells or anything and no bodies to dispose of. Just a discreet construction crew. Call this number, ask for Felicity. Small crew from our neck of the woods. They won’t be booked out like Mick is right now. They’re not as high-profile. Quick, solid work. Tell her I sent you.” He handed the pen and paper to Manny.