Pyromantic

by Lish McBride

  And they were still in the room.

  We all took a collective step back, moving into the galley. Snails, regular snails, are generally on the sedate side. They take their time getting places. These snails? Not so much. They moved at a pretty good clip.

  Ezra hopped up onto the table while Lock scrambled onto the countertop. I started blasting the snails with fire, which—while it did take out a snail or two—acted like a siren call to the snails in the sleeping berth. They streamed out now, along the floor and the ceiling, drawn to my magic.

  I threw another fireball. “Guys? A little help? Please don’t let my tombstone say ‘Death by Gastropod.’”

  Ezra grabbed a cribbage board and started whacking them off the ceiling. Their shells gave a loud crunch, and I could tell from the thickness of the shell that these were more mature than the one I’d found at the warehouse. Lock twisted on the narrow counter and threw the cabinets open, tossing out plates and cups and boxes of cereal. I had no idea what he was doing, but I had to have some faith in him and let him go about it. I’d give him a minute. And then I would start yelling.

  Dozens of slimy death snails raced toward me. I stomped and kicked, shooting fireballs the whole time, and even though I was making headway, they were moving too quickly and there were too many of them for me to hold them off indefinitely. Especially since more were sliming along the ceiling, despite Ezra’s aerial attack.

  Lock was still throwing food—boxes of mac ’n’ cheese, a jar of jam—and then he must have found what he was looking for, because he spun back around. In his hand was a large container of salt. He popped the spout open and poured it all over the floor. These snails may have been large and magic eating, but they had the same basic biology as regular snails and didn’t like salt one bit. The salt got to a few of them before the rest learned and drew back. The snails didn’t even pause as they moved to the sides, avoiding the floor and the salty grave awaiting them there.

  With more of them coming from the sides and above, Ezra was getting overwhelmed, and he couldn’t kill them fast enough.

  One landed on his shoulder and I blasted it off. “Don’t let them touch you! They’re probably carrying that fungus!” I already had two friends in the Coterie clinic doing their best to stay alive. I didn’t need Ezra and Lock in there, too.

  Lock dug into his pockets and threw a few seeds at the body in the sleeping berth. For a few very long seconds, I didn’t see anything happening beyond the snail onslaught. Ezra was swinging and Lock kicked and I threw fire, worried that we’d set the boat alight and not have enough time to escape. Death by snail and death by burning boat sounded equally terrible.

  Thick green shoots appeared, their ends flattening as they drew closer to us. Flat mouths appeared and opened, the brilliant pink maws spanning wide before they started snapping up snails with a satisfying crunch. Giant Venus flytraps. I wasn’t the only one who’d been working on their game this summer apparently.

  Ezra’s cribbage board snapped with a splintering crack, making him retreat to the edge of the table. Lock tossed him a cutting board so he’d have something to defend himself with. Snails continued to rain down on us, despite our best efforts.

  One managed to get behind me and landed on my back. Panic shot through me at the same time I felt something slimy touch my neck. I felt a weird pull throughout my body as the thing began to feed.

  When I was really little, I loved the swings. There was something magical about being able to fly up and almost touch the sky. I don’t remember where I was when I first saw a kid jump off midswing, but I instantly saw the appeal. No time-consuming, boring slowdown, but instant flight into the ether. A brief moment of elation hanging suspended in the sky like a bird. I could do that. I wanted to do that. So when my mom’s back was turned, I took my chance and leapt. Only I didn’t fly and land triumphantly on my feet. I dismounted wrong and landed flat on my back, knocking the wind out of me. My lungs contracted and I couldn’t draw in breath, and I knew suddenly what a landed fish must feel like.

  That’s what it felt like to have the snail on me. Like all my air was gone. Like I was dying. I couldn’t think, I just reacted. One second, the snail was enjoying his meal. The next, he was vaporized to ash and I could breathe again.

  Our fight ended with a final snap of the jaws of Lock’s giant flytrap. I listened to the crunch as it chewed, sounding uncannily like me when I’m eating cornflakes.

  “I didn’t realize Venus flytraps chewed.” My voice was strong, but I could feel a fine tremor moving through my body as it tried to process all the unspent adrenaline.

  “They don’t,” Lock said. “I think it’s my influence.”

  I sat on the first step of the ladder leading topside. The floor was littered with smashed shells, scorch marks, and whatever it was that made up the snails’ bodies. We stayed like that for a moment, all of us breathing hard and a little bit in shock.

  “I’m never eating escargot again,” Lock said.

  Ezra tossed the cutting board. “Really? I plan on eating it a lot more. Vengeance will be mine, snail-kind.”

  I carefully examined the wreckage. “I’m assuming we can’t just leave now and let this all shake itself out?”

  Lock clambered down. “No. We have to call in a cleanup team. These snails need to be disposed of. And unfortunately, we need to look at that guy again and get a picture for identification.”

  “We are just so lucky.” A shell crunched under my boot. Considering how many clothes I’d gone through that month, I was really hoping snail goo cleaned off boots easily.

  “And we get the added bonus of worrying about infection. Did either of you come into contact with the snails?” Ezra shook his head, but I had to raise my hand. Lock went pale as I explained and took off my jacket to show him the spot.

  He used a butter knife he found in the galley to move my shirt aside so he could look. I’d burned a hole in the fabric since it wasn’t warded like my jacket was.

  He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even see any residue. I think you burned it clean away. You’re probably safe, but Dr. Wesley is going to have to check you out when we get back just in case, okay?” He squeezed my shoulder. “Try to not panic before then.”

  “I will attempt to not think about the fact that I might have contracted a deadly and incurable disease. Got it.”

  “If it will help take your mind off it,” Ezra said, “I can take off my shirt.”

  “Your willingness to sacrifice is noted,” I said. “But I think I’m all right.”

  Ezra grabbed my hand. “Okay, but if at any moment you need it, you just let me know.”

  *

  THE GUY on the bed didn’t look any better under the flash of our camera phones. He’d been festering for a day or two, but the snails hadn’t bothered him once his magic was gone. “Wait,” I said. “How did he die? The snails just wanted magic.”

  “Pleasant,” Ezra said as he leaned over the body and sniffed. “Didn’t the snails kill the kelpies that went after them?”

  “Yeah, because the snails stole their magic and they drowned. They were used to being able to breathe underwater, and when that vanished, they didn’t have time to acclimate. So they drowned.” I tucked my face into my elbow again, the smell getting to me. “But he was on land. So why did he die?”

  Lock carefully moved the guy’s clothes where they were already ripped, looking for any visible wounds. Plenty of scratches, but nothing deadly. “Well, beats me. But I’m with you, Ava. I don’t think it was the snails. I think someone killed him and left him for the snails. Not sure why.” He went back to the kitchen area and washed his hands. “Ezra, call it in. We’ll leave this puzzle for someone else. We have other places to search.” He couldn’t find a towel, so he dried his hands on his jeans. “After all of this dies down, we’ll get someone to come out and get this boat out of the water. Let’s keep our kelpie friends happy.”

  I texted the photo to Alistair and got an address in retu
rn. Thomas had another residence.

  *

  WE PARKED the van a block away and walked over, stopping just out of plain view of the house. This place was in better shape than the houseboat, probably because, according to the records Alistair had found, it had been a rental until recently. Everything was still neat and tidy, the lawn and bushes probably maintained by a service. Gwenant met us again, this time in human form, and this time the other four kelpies were with her.

  “This place reeks of witch and other things. They must have been nesting here for weeks.” She spit on the ground. “I can practically taste him. Laziness. They haven’t even tried to disguise their scent.” The kelpies around her moved restlessly in a pattern I knew well. They were spoiling for a fight. “It is time to hunt.”

  We made the kelpies hold off as we did a little scouting. And by we I mean Olive and Ezra. Ezra piled his clothes behind a bush, and Olive did the same. Light diffused around them, and quicker than you would think, a fox and a hare were in their place. I had to put my hand over Sylvie’s mouth to keep her from squealing, she was so excited.

  I hoped no one had caught the glimmer as they changed. I hadn’t realized how much we’d been relying on Bianca’s gift. We really could have used a veil right then. Olive and Ezra darted off, splitting up and heading around different sides of the house. They were quickly out of view.

  It felt like they were gone a long time. Ikka kept checking her watch.

  “I should have changed,” she muttered.

  “She’s faster,” I said. “And good at this sort of thing. You’ve trained her well. Have faith in that.” I peered through the bushes, looking for any sign of movement. “Besides, even if you’d gone instead, she would have waited about ten seconds before following you.”

  We were all getting impatient, though. The kelpies still wanted to storm the castle. Ikka wanted to go after Olive. I think Katya wanted to go back to the van, but she hid it well. We’d thought about making her and Sylvie stay behind but ultimately decided it would be safer if we could keep an eye on them.

  There was a slight rustle in the underbrush, and then Olive stood before us. “There are people inside—I think having some kind of meeting. No sign of Thomas.” She pulled on her shirt. “I didn’t see any cameras, motion detectors, or security systems.” She yanked on the rest of her clothes.

  “Geez, Olive, you going to tell us what they had for dinner, too?” Katya’s voice was tinged with awe.

  Olive slipped into her shoes. “They had cod. With wine and butter, I think, and some lemon. And what smelled like asparagus. Why?”

  “Just curious,” Katya mumbled.

  Ezra popped up right after that and followed suit. Lock repeated what Olive had told us so that Ezra didn’t cover the same info. He was clothed by the time Lock stopped. Ezra could get undressed and back again faster than anyone I knew.

  “Someone keeps peeking out the window. I’ve seen the curtain twitch a few times.” Ezra left his shoes off, preferring the quiet of bare feet. “If we enter quickly, we should be fine. I don’t think we’re looking at professionals. If anything, I think we’re going in a little overkill here.”

  “Yes, well, I weep for Thomas.” He and any friends he had in there deserved whatever they had coming. “So what’s the plan?”

  Lock ran a hand over his mouth. “The kelpies will infiltrate from the back of the house, taking out any rear guard on their way. Ezra, Ikka, you take the front. Olive, you stay with Sylvie and Katya. Keep them behind us and keep them safe.” Olive made a face as if she were about to argue. “It’s important, Olive. They need you. The rest of us will go in the front as soon as Ez and Ikka take down the guards. Let’s be as quiet as we can. We don’t want them to be alerted until absolutely necessary.”

  Oddly enough, no one commented on the fact that we were leaving Olive to guard two much older girls. Katya may have had some powers, but we didn’t know the extent of what she could do, and since her parents had been in hiding, I doubted she’d had much training. Sylvie, as Fitz had pointed out earlier, was human. Good with books, good with brains, but I didn’t want her in a fight.

  The kelpies melted into the night, their delicate steps making little noise. Ezra and Ikka went the other direction and, if possible, made even less noise. As someone who can’t quite make the transition from drunk elephant to nimble field mouse when it comes to sneaking through bushes in the dark, I was impressed. There was the slightest rustling from the front, and then Ezra peeked around and waved at us. He held a short blade in his hand, and his shirt, chin, and hands were covered in blood. It was best not to dwell on what that meant.

  Lock led the way, with Katya and me close behind, then Sylvie, with Olive bringing up the rear. By the time we’d made it to the front door, Ezra was already picking the lock. I could tell when the tumblers fell into place by the smug look on his face.

  I could see Sylvie staring at the blood on Ezra’s shirt. It’s one thing to hear about what your friends do and another entirely to be confronted with the reality of it. “If he could have knocked the person out, he would have,” I whispered in her ear. “If Ez had to go that far, it meant the person was a threat and we couldn’t afford to have them behind us.” Sylvie nodded, but I wasn’t sure it had sunk in all the way. It was the best I could do in the situation, so I let it go.

  After Ezra peeked in and declared that the entryway was clear, we slipped in one at a time. While the outside of the house was in spectacular shape, the inside was less so. It was clear that several people had been camping out here for days. Clothes everywhere. Magazines strewn on a nearby side table. The TV blared from the other room, and the air held a stale quality that spoke of how long they’d been shut up inside.

  Before we could get a proper sneak going, a loud crash erupted from what I guessed was the kitchen, and several people ran our way. I counted six, men and women. Not the best odds, not the worst. Ezra’s knife flew through the air, missing one opponent’s throat by the barest of margins when he dodged away. Ikka and Lock had been farther into the house, so they both tackled the two people closest to them. Olive had a dagger out, and she was crouched and ready. I threw a fireball, making two of our enemies dance back, while Katya iced the floor, causing the last two to slip and fall, their skulls making thick sounds when they hit the ground.

  “Olive, get Katya and Sylvie back!” Now over their surprise, the people in front of us started fighting back. One threw a handful of dust, and a miniature sandstorm broke out, forcing us to close our eyes and fight blind. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, my hands ready, but I couldn’t use my powers without seeing. It would be too easy to burn the wrong person. We could really have used Alistair right then. Sand scoured my face, and I had to cover my mouth. The only upside to the spell was that our quarry was similarly blinded. The spell sputtered, and I hesitantly opened my eyes, only to have to abruptly dodge a lamp that was being swung my way. I blocked the woman’s wrist, keeping the lamp from coming back toward my head, right before I slammed my other fist into her gut. She collapsed in on herself with a grunt. Ikka ran forward and snapped the woman’s wrists. I grabbed a doily and shoved it into the lady’s screaming mouth. We were clearly dealing with witches, and whatever kind they were, they needed their hands and sometimes voices to make their magic happen. Snapping her wrists may have been cruel, but it was effective, and at least she’d live. I’d like to say we were being altruistic, but we were just being practical. We needed information, and that was harder to get out of the dead. Not impossible, just more difficult since we didn’t have a local necromancer and June had gone home a long time ago.

  One of the witches on the floor was regaining consciousness, so I threw a fireball, but it went wide as the witch rolled. Katya leapt forward and stabbed him through the heart with an icicle. It was a fast and ferocious move, making me adjust my assumptions about Katya’s upbringing. The man’s hands were up, his fingers curled in, words for his next spell fading on his lips. Katya hesitated,
her eyes fixed on the dying man. She hadn’t thought before acting—the killing move had been a reflex—but now that it was done, she wasn’t prepared for the aftermath. And that kind of hesitation can be fatal. Ezra tackled her, spinning her out of the way of an airborne sachet. The sachet hit the wall, and black mold spilled out, devouring paint and drywall until a three-foot hole remained. I could see through to the studs and even clapboard in places. It had taken seconds. What would that have done to Katya?

  Lock had his opponent pushed against the wall, one hand covering the man’s mouth so he couldn’t speak. Lock had managed to pin one arm to the wall, but the other was still free. The witch’s hands were blackened and gnarled, spiraling, wicked sharp claws sprouting from the fingertips. As I watched, the witch slashed at Lock’s side with his free hand. So I dove in and grabbed the other arm. There was a sharp, burning pain as the witch sliced up my arm, but I managed to pin it. Of course, now we were stuck. The witch was immobilized, but Lock was too close for me to use fire and we couldn’t let go.

  “Move!” Katya yelled. Instinctively, Lock and I both peeled away, still pinning the man’s arms but opening up access to his body. The witch spit a spell, snakes flying from his mouth, but apparently Katya had been prepared for him to make some sort of strike. She’d slid in low on her knees. The snakes flew over her head, spattering against the wall, disappearing into smoke. Illusions. She slammed an icicle up through his gut. Not an immediately killing blow, but what the icicle started the spreading frost finished. His skin blackened with the cold, freezing and curling up on itself. We dropped the body, the palms of our hands red from our own contact with the sudden freeze.

  The rest of the group had been doing well without us. Ikka had managed to rip off the arms of her witch. Not her usual move, but I think she had a lot of pent-up rage because of Sid. At least, that was what I inferred as I watched her beat the now-dead witch with his own arms. Ezra threw a screeching woman out the window with one arm. His other arm hung loose, broken or popped out of the socket. I whipped around, searching for the last person. There had been six. I found him gasping for breath at Olive’s feet. She whacked him upside the head with a remote control so hard, the remote shattered and the man crumpled, out cold. She got a bit of her revenge, but she wasn’t into torture, and she’d managed to leave us another informant. She dropped the shattered remote on the floor, motioning to Sylvie for the bag she’d been instructed to carry. Olive fished out a roll of duct tape and bound and gagged the witch, then regagged the one with the doily in her mouth. She was whimpering over her now-swollen wrists, but I didn’t expect any fight out of her. She’d been broken. Olive’s movements were quick, precise, and practiced. Drove training—you’ve got to love it.