Pyromantic

by Lish McBride

  He twisted around, pulling me into a proper hug before easing back to look me in the face. “You called me Dad and are embarrassed to talk to me about boys. It’s like we’re a real father and daughter.”

  I swallowed hard, willing away any tears. “We are a real father and daughter. I’m sorry if I made you feel like we weren’t.”

  He wiped away a tear from my cheek, letting me know I hadn’t been successful in tamping them down. “It was a joke, Rat. Don’t worry about it. We’ll do this our own way, just like everything else.” His nose scrunched slightly as he said, “But maybe without any more of Sylvie’s scripts.”

  “Deal.”

  He gave me another big bear hug. “I love you, Rat.”

  “I love you, too.” We stayed like that, enjoying the simple fact that I had him and he had me. Nothing else really mattered beyond those two facts.

  Sylvie laughed in the other room then, and our quiet spell was broken, but he didn’t let go.

  I grimaced. “Sorry about the noise.”

  He laughed. “Don’t be. You know, I never had a big family. Growing up, it was just me and my parents, and they were…” He struggled for a nice word.

  “Awful, even on a basic level?” I’d never met my grandparents, but I was convinced they were emotionless cyborgs.

  He frowned but didn’t correct me. “It was always a quiet house, and even when we were all home, it felt empty. And then you showed up, and I had a full cabin of my very own, but it was still quiet. This, well, it’s loud. And messy. I’m having to get used to finding not just you, but Sylvie and the boys and a displaced kelpie coming and going, and I don’t think that’s going to stop even when this whole mess is cleared up. Then there’s the drove. So the house is loud and full and there are always dishes, and sometimes I don’t know whose socks I’m folding, but I like it. It’s just what I imagined a house full of family would feel like.” He tweaked my nose. “And I have you to thank.”

  I leaned a little so I could see into the living room. Ezra lounged on the couch, his feet up over the arm. Fitz sat hunched against the front cushions, his arms around his knees, his face alight as he listened to Sylvie speak. Her hands flitted through the air as she described something. Lock’s head was down as he laughed. Katya was making it snow, but only on Olive’s head, which had the young hare scowling, even though you could tell she kind of liked it. Ikka and Sid grinned at her, which made her scowl more. Even Bianca was smiling, her face open and unguarded for once. And I thought about what Alistair had said earlier, about family and what it meant, and what Cade was saying now. None of the people in my living room shared my blood. No one had my genes or my nose or the same eyes. There were no photos of us playing together as children. But each and every one of us would gamble our lives for the others, and all of us had. If that’s not family, I don’t know what is. So I would hold it close and I would never let go.

  “You’re welcome, Dad.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “You’re absolutely welcome.”

  *

  ALISTAIR COULDN’T make it to the party, but he sent a gift along—a brand-new Volvo. He gave Sylvie a freaking car. The paint matched that of the Doctor Who police box, a deep blue, and the license-plate frame said TIME AND RELATIVE DIMENSION IN SPACE. Bianca handed her the keys, which Sylvie clasped to her chest. “TARDIS,” she whispered, reading the frame.

  “He thought you might need a reliable car. Something nice but sturdy. You know, in case you ever want to visit Boston, and as a thank-you.” Bianca smiled when Sylvie squeaked and kept staring at the car.

  “So it’s part thank-you gift, part bribe,” I said.

  Bianca shrugged. “Two birds, one stone.”

  Sylvie held up the keys in her fist. “I have my own car! I have my own car! I don’t know how I’ll explain it to my parents, but I have my own car!” She stopped. “But I almost helped bad people wipe out several magical races.”

  “Yes, but not on purpose.”

  Sylvie looked hesitant, until Sid grabbed her by the shoulder and said, “We’ll figure out something to tell your parents.” When she still didn’t move, he added, “You have your own car.”

  “I have my own car!” she crowed, her hand holding the keys thrust into the air. “Who wants a ride?” Then she danced in place until people got in. Personally, I wanted to wait until she calmed down before I got in with her. Sylvie had a lead foot.

  Cade tapped on the hood while Sylvie made everyone buckle up. “Cake in twenty minutes?” Sylvie gave him a thumbs-up and then turned the keys, a big, stupid grin on her face.

  Ikka had stayed to help Cade with the pizza dishes, and after I picked up the living room mess a little, I took advantage of the quiet moment and snuck up to my loft. Since Fitz was sleeping on our couch until we figured out a better arrangement, I’d closed the curtain we’d hung ages ago so that I could make my open loft private when I needed to. I’d just never really needed it until now. Not that I walked around naked or anything, but sometimes you just want to be alone, and with everything going on, I hadn’t really been alone in many weeks.

  The curtain was closed as I snuck up to my room. But I wasn’t going to get privacy. Lock sat on my bed, his elbows on his knees, his body tense, though I could tell he was trying to look relaxed.

  “I thought you went with everyone.”

  Lock scratched his side, where I knew his stitches were. Healing is itchy business, and his stitches were about due to come out. “The car was full. Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “So you waited in my bedroom? Because that doesn’t say ‘I’m a creepy stalker’ or anything.” I sat next to him on the bed.

  “I promise that I haven’t stolen your hairbrush to make a hair doll or anything of that nature.”

  “I’m both relieved by that and somewhat insulted that you weren’t willing to go through the effort. Also, disturbed that those were the first things that popped into your head.”

  Lock grabbed my hand, and I stopped babbling. I had the urge to bolt. He had a serious expression on his face, which meant the discussion he wanted to have was going to be about big things, and I was scared. It would be so much easier to run, to go downstairs and avoid this talk for as long as I could. As if sensing this, Lock waited, his hold on me loose. I could have sprinted if I’d wanted to. I could have left, and we’d never talk and I could skip to the easy part where we were just friends, but I would also be closing this door. You could only stomp on someone’s heart so many times before they stopped leaving it out as a welcome mat for you.

  I thought back to Sylvie’s script and wished someone could hand me something like that now. Only, I didn’t really need it. What I needed to do was be brave. Not the running-into-danger-throwing-punches kind of brave. I was good at that. Emotional bravery was quieter, but so much harder for me. But I was tired of being afraid and of missing out on things, on important people like Cade and Lock, because I was too chicken. I could do better than this. They both deserved better from me.

  So I did the hard thing. I stayed.

  “The others will be back soon for cake, so we don’t have much time to ourselves.”

  I nodded, back to that deer-in-headlights feeling I was so fond of in times like these. Lock looked down at my hand, and I thought about how courageous he was to keep putting himself out there even though I kept swatting him down like I was King Kong and he was a teeny airplane circling the Empire State Building. Well, courageous or stupid. I was going with courageous. I was feeling generous.

  So I decided that just once, I could be the brave one. Or the stupid one. This time it really was a toss-up. “Okay, let’s say we try this. We go out, we have dinner, or see a movie or whatever and it’s terrible—or, worse, mediocre—but we try out of sheer will and keep at it until what we do have dies. What then? You and Ezra are my best friends, and I can’t handle anything that would jeopardize that. When we weren’t talking, I hated every minute of it. It was like a piece of me was missing. And while I lov
e you both, that doesn’t necessarily translate over into relationship material.” I stopped to examine Lock’s face to see if his jaw was twitching, which was one of his “I’m overwhelmingly angry or frustrated with Ava” tells. Instead, he was more relaxed than he had been when I sat down, and if I wasn’t wrong, he looked kind of amused.

  “I find it funny that you think mediocre is worse than terrible.” He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles.

  “One abysmal date and we’d move on. Mediocre? We’d keep at it until we suffocated each other, trying to make it work. I don’t want that.”

  “You’re really that concerned we’d be a dud, huh?”

  I rubbed my other palm on my jeans—I was suddenly a little sweaty. Charming. “Look, it sounds really bad when you say it like that—” I never got a chance to finish my thought. Lock decided that I was only going to accept direct evidence.

  He dropped my hand, brushing his fingers up my cheeks instead, stopping with his palms cradling my face as he pressed his lips to mine. Lock was a gentle kind of guy, so when I’d thought about this moment, I’d always pictured a sweet, soft kiss. And I’ll admit that, despite all my worries and fears, I had thought of this moment. A lot.

  But I didn’t get sweet and soft. While his hands were tender, his lips weren’t. There was a demand to them. A “you are mine and I’m going to prove it” kind of urgency that the romance novels Sylvie enjoyed so much like to refer to as a claiming kind of kiss. Thought stopped. Worries evaporated into dust and blew away. And my entire body said, You know, he may have a point here.

  The next thing I knew, I was in Lock’s lap, my fingers tangled in his hair, my lips doing their own claiming. One of his arms was wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him, while the other supported my spine, his hand gently cupping my neck. When I finally broke away, we didn’t say anything. My breathing was rapid and we were both trembling from the adrenaline rush, but Lock didn’t loosen his hold on me. I slid my thumb along his cheekbone. He didn’t say anything, just waited for me to sort through my thoughts. Everything inside me slid around, feelings and logic doing a mad dance, each telling me the best thing to do, how to handle this. For that second, everything in me was pure twirling chaos. Then the dancers stopped, collapsing to the floor in exhaustion. All the tumult stilled and solidified, and I realized there had really only ever been one answer to Lock’s question.

  I held up a finger. “One date. After that, I make no promises.”

  My breath caught at the slow smile that spread on Lock’s face. He pulled me a little tighter. “Not to sound cocky, but didn’t I ever tell you one date was all I ever needed?” He rested his forehead on my chin and let out a breath I hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Because you’ve got to believe I’m going to give it all I’ve got.”

  “Boy, do I own you. I mean, we aren’t even dating yet, but you’re totally in my power. Doesn’t that make you sad? It makes me a little sad for you.”

  “You realize you’re on my lap, right?”

  I opened my mouth, ready to dredge up a scathing retort, only to realize I had nothing. “Damn.” I tilted my head, remembering something he’d said a few months ago. “This date, it’s not in a gas station bathroom is it? I seem to remember you saying once that you could take me to a date in one of those and that it would blow anything Ryan ever took me to out of the water.” He blinked at me. “What I’m saying is, I don’t want this to devolve into a weird revenge date.”

  “You think I would waste my only shot by trying to get revenge on someone like Ryan? Your lack of understanding is troublesome.”

  “I just wanted to make sure.”

  “Uh-huh.” He pulled me in closer, his face an inch from mine.

  He looked so happy and hopeful, I felt I had to be just a little more brave. I cleared my throat. “You know I won’t really hold you to just one date, right?” And I tried, as best I could, to show him that I wasn’t being glib and that for once in my life I was doing my best to be emotionally honest.

  “Well then, our first date will absolutely be in the men’s room at a gas station. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  And that would be the sound of emotional honesty biting me in the ass. I looked at him, my eyes wide. “Stars and sparks, you might actually be the one for me after all.”

  He grinned and leaned in for another kiss. “Count on it, cupcake. No one else would put up with us.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book was a beast, and these people helped me take it down, stuff it, mount it, and put it on my wall. To Noa Wheeler, for giving this beast its shape, and to Kate Farrell for gamely jumping in mid-process. Thanks goes to all the amazing people at Macmillan Kids for their continued support. To my agent, Jason Anthony, for not just tolerating my ridiculousness, but encouraging it and supporting me at all times. To the rest of the team at Lippincott Massie McQuilkin, especially Maria Massie for handling my foreign rights. Jill Gillett and Sylvie Rabineau and the RWSG agency also get many thanks for their hard work. April Ward is responsible for my beautiful book covers, and I owe her so many ponies.

  Darin and Serafina Carlucci for once again wading through multiple drafts to get my Maine facts right (all mistakes are my fault alone). To my mom for answering all my weird medical questions—you’re the best! Huge thanks to Cindy Pon, Kendare Blake, Emily Adams, and Anje Monte Calvo for beta reads. To my writing buddies, Marissa Meyer, Martha Brockenbrough, Jen Longo, Leigh Bardugo, Jen Bosworth, Sara Wilson Etienne, Jet Harrington, Jolie Stekly, Ayesha Patel, Kim Derting, Rori Shay, and Brenda Winter Hansen. You can blame the kelpies on Claire Addison and ML Brennan. Thanks to Stephen Blackmoore, Juliet Swann, and Team Parkview for all the love. Many thanks to Mel and Anna from University Bookstore. To Sarah Hull for all of the fanart (the sound you just heard was her exploding into a ball of glitter). Many thanks to Dawn Rutherford for holding my baby so I could edit—who knew that was a service Teen Services Librarians offered? And to all you other child wranglers, I love you guys so much. Aaron Carlton and Bradley Bleeker for website shenanigans, and Vlad Verano for designing all of my swag. And I’m just going to assume that Erika and Eric at Imaginary Trends will make shirts or totes for me again for this book. And of course Third Place Books and Team Honeybear for, well, everything.

  To my family for the constant, unflinching kindness and support, even when I’m running around the house telling everyone that I’m quitting and becoming a goat farmer. Just so you know, I’m not ruling out Totes My Goats as a business model yet.

  To all the booksellers, librarians, and readers who have supported me over the years, thank you for being so mighty and wonderful. You warm the cold, dead cockles of my heart.

  I have an overriding fear that I will forget to thank someone for their help during the long, crazy writing process. Between my questionable memory and the quantity of the awesome helpers, it’s bound to happen. So if you’re one of those people, write your name in the white space below somewhere, and if anyone asks, I’ll totally back you up.

  About the Author

  Lish McBride is an author, bookseller, and all-around ne’er-do-well living in the Seattle area. She has written the much-praised young adult novels Hold Me Closer, Necromancer; Necromancing the Stone; and Firebug. When she isn’t working or reading (most of the time), she is probably on Twitter, talking about how she needs a nap. Visit her online at lishmcbride.com, or sign up for email updates here.

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Some Things Mend More Easily Than Others

 
; Chapter 2: The More Things Change, the More I Have to Replace Clothing

  Chapter 3: Firebugs Aren’t Good at Playing It Cool

  Chapter 4: Bring Out Your Dead

  Chapter 5: Don’t Try This at Home … or Anywhere Else

  Chapter 6: Minivans Really Are Quite Practical

  Chapter 7: Slayer Would Be So Proud

  Chapter 8: Finders Keepers

  Chapter 9: Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

  Chapter 10: Coming Out—It’s Not Just for Debutantes

  Chapter 11: We’ll Take Our Order to Go

  Chapter 12: Careless Whispers—Plant Edition

  Chapter 13: Wheelin’ and Dealin’

  Chapter 14: Just Darn It

  Chapter 15: You Think It’s Kinda Funny … but It’s Not

  Chapter 16: He’s a Real Fun Guy

  Chapter 17: Sometimes the Warts Are on the Inside

  Chapter 18: Attack of the Killer Gastropods

  Chapter 19: Coterie Insurance: It Covers the Strangest Things

  Chapter 20: I Would Have Made a Hell of a Kelpie

  Chapter 21: That’s Going to Leave a Mark

  Chapter 22: One Person’s Glorious New Dawn Is Another Person’s Howling Night Terror

  Chapter 23: Sometimes the Problem Is Also the Solution

  Chapter 24: Life Bonus: Sometimes the Selfish Thing Is Also the Right Thing

  Chapter 25: Wibbly Wobbly

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by Lish McBride

  Henry Holt and Company

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data