Kissed by Fire

by Shéa MacLeod

  “So, tell me about your family.” When in doubt, blunt worked.

  Kabita’s arm tensed in mine. Then she shrugged and heaved a sigh. “You probably noticed Dad and I don’t exactly get along.”

  “Yeah.” My tone was wry. “I definitely noticed that. Has it always been that way with you two?”

  “Pretty much. I mean, it was OK when I was younger. I didn’t see much of him. Mom hated London. Still does. So, she stayed in Malaysia and raised us while Dad stayed in London. He’d come out two or three times a year to visit. Bring us presents and tell us stories of his adventures with MI8.”

  “Your mom knew about MI8 and all the monster stuff?” I asked in amazement. It wasn’t something that got tossed about much. My mom definitely didn’t know about the monster stuff and I planned on keeping it that way. The very thought of her finding out made me shudder in horror.

  “Yeah. Her family and Dad’s have been tied together for generations. My mother is a Gupta. Gupta, in Hindi, means ‘protector.’”

  Seriously cool. “Your mother’s family are Hunters?”

  “That is one of their functions, yes. My mother’s family moved from India to Malaysia when the native Hunters were wiped out during a plague. The islands needed new Hunters and the Guptas were the best.”

  “And your father? How did he and your mother end up together?”

  She paused in front of grave marker. The marble had been carved to look like a woman sleeping on plush cushions, her beautiful face peaceful. Age had worn the edges soft, making her look almost real.

  “They had a sort of arranged marriage. Unusual for an Englishman, I know, but I guess they hoped that a Jones and a Gupta would create a super Hunter of sorts so the two families agreed.”

  I must have looked surprised because she laughed. “I know. It’s ridiculous, but that’s what they were hoping.”

  “Well, you’re damn good at hunting, but I wouldn’t have pegged you as a super Hunter. What about your brothers?”

  She shook her head. “No. None of us are super anything. My brothers hunt, but none of them are natural born. And me ... ” her voice trailed off.

  I frowned. “What about you?” I knew she wasn’t a Hunter the same way I was. Though she was damn good at hunting down demons.

  “It backfired. I was born a natural, but not a natural Hunter. I was born a natural Witch.”

  I already knew she was a natural Witch so that didn’t come as a surprise, but her comment about the backfire sure did. “What do you mean? Don’t Witches run in your family?” That was the usual way. It was rare for a natural Witch to be born to a non-Witch family.

  Her face hardened and she continued down the path, pulling me along with her. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is that the Jones’s were instrumental during the Witch Trials and pushed for so many of the Witches to be hanged or burned. They were the ones who set up the charter preventing witches, whether natural born or religious, from joining MI8. And they’re still trying to persecute Witches today. My father is their driving force.”

  Holy crap. “But there are loads of witches in the UK,” I pointed out.

  “Wiccans, not true Witches. They follow a religion, a spiritual path. They are not born with the power of a natural Witch. True Witches are very rare. I only started showing the signs after I turned thirteen. Everything changed with my father after that.”

  Interesting. I hadn’t known that. “So, your father hates what you are.” It was harsh, but it was what it was.

  “Yes.”

  “Shit. That sucks.” I’d seen how cold Alister had been toward her, so I wasn’t entirely surprised.

  Her smile was wry. “Oh, yes. Big time.”

  I squeezed her arm and drew her further down the path. “Well, I love you and I think you’re amazing.”

  She grinned. “I love you, too, but let’s not get too mushy, all right?”

  I laughed at that.

  The sun shining through the branches of the trees dappled our skin and warmed our heads. It was so warm, I almost wished I’d worn sandals instead of boots.

  “Anyway, Mom wasn’t about to let Dad haul me off and lock me up or have me exorcised or something, so she sent me to live with my aunt in London. She is a very powerful member of the board of directors of MI8 and she doesn’t have the Jones prejudice against Witches. She hasn’t been active in years, but she trained me, taught me everything she knows. She couldn’t get me into MI8, but she made sure I had everything I needed to do my job and become respected in my own right.”

  “I take it she was the one who helped you get me out of MI8 custody?”

  “Yes.” Kabita nodded. “She’s an amazing woman.”

  “What’s your aunt’s name? I’d like to thank her.”

  She smiled a little at that. “I’m sure she’d love to meet you. She’ll be there today. Her name is Angeline Reynolds. She’s Alison’s mother.”

  ***

  After a leisurely walk, we finally arrived at the Jones family vault where Alison would be buried. Or interred or whatever the proper term was.

  I guess I’d always had a hard time respecting death. Maybe because I lived with it every day. Maybe because I’d been dead. Or maybe because to me death wasn’t the end, but a transition. At least, that’s what it had always felt like.

  Even before my attack when everything changed, I viewed death more as a temporary state than something real and lasting. Probably not the healthiest attitude for a teenage girl, but what can you do. I’d never exactly been normal.

  There were about a dozen people standing in front of the vault. Of course I recognized Alister and Dex Jones straightaway. There were two other men, younger than Dex but nearly identical to him. It was pretty obvious they were Kabita’s other brothers, Adam and Adler.

  The twins greeted us with warm hugs. It was obvious they didn’t share their father’s prejudice against Kabita.

  There were also a couple of desk jockey types, a man and a woman, looking a little nervous around the Jones family. Kabita pointed them out as Alison’s co-workers at MI8. I eyed them both. They had worked in the same office as Alison which meant they could have some idea about whatever it was Alison had stumbled across. And that meant they were suspects despite the dragon scale in my pocket that might say otherwise.

  The man was thin and tall with that slight hunch that tall people sometimes had, like they were embarrassed of how tall they were. His thin brown hair was badly in need of a trim, and his white dress shirt and black trousers were a little rumpled like maybe he’d been working all night and hadn’t changed.

  The woman, on the other hand, was neat as a pin. If she’d worn her hair down it probably would have been a thick, frizzy mass, but she wore it pinned into a severe bun almost hiding the fact that it was just this side of ginger. Her nose was a little too long and her face a little too narrow to be pretty, but she was interesting. The round wire rimmed glasses perched on her nose were several years out of date and, combined with her neatly pressed black skirt suit, made her look like a librarian or a schoolmarm.

  Frankly, they both looked harmless, but I’d learned over the years that looks could be very deceiving. I wouldn’t write those two off the suspect list quite yet. Besides, they worked for MI8 and when spooks were involved, even desk jockeys could be dangerous.

  Kabita led me over to another woman standing by herself at the front of the little group. She was slightly built and on the short side, but she stood ramrod straight, her blond bob topped with a chic little black hat, a wisp of netting partially covering her face.

  It was a pretty face. She reminded me a lot of the picture I’d seen of Alison, but older.

  “Aunt Angeline, this is my friend Morgan Bailey. She’s the Hunter you helped me save.”

  “I remember.” Angeline Reynolds held out a dainty hand. My hands were not big, but they dwarfed those of Kabita’s aunt. Her skin was warm and soft and there was strength in her.

  “Mrs. Reynolds, I’
m very sorry for your loss.”

  She gave me a gracious nod. “Thank you, Miss Bailey. Welcome back to London.” Her voice was cultured, her clothes expensive and the very faint whiff of her perfume exquisite. This was one classy lady. She didn’t deserve the kind of sorrow I saw etched into her face. No one deserved to suffer the loss of a child. Especially not like this. And especially not the woman who’d made sure I’d had a second chance at life.

  I kept hold of her hand and stepped a little closer than was entirely polite. Lowering my voice, I whispered, “I want to assure you, Mrs. Reynolds, that I will bring Alison’s killer to justice. I don’t care who or what that killer may be. I will not stop until it is done. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Her blue eyes, identical to her daughter’s, gazed at me from underneath the black netting of her hat. For a long moment she said nothing. And then all she said was, “Thank you.”

  Chapter Seven

  As funerals went, it was a pleasant enough one. The Anglican priest read some scriptures and said a few prayers, the usual fare about ashes to ashes and so forth. Alister made a short speech and Alison’s female co-worker said some nice things about how Alison had been a good person and lovely to work with, stuff like that. There were several hankies out. Alison Reynolds may not have been close to a lot of people, but she obviously mattered to those who counted her a friend.

  At the end of the service, her mother stepped forward and laid a pink rose on the coffin. She stood there quietly for a moment, as though she could communicate with her daughter. Maybe she could. I’d seen weirder things.

  One by one all the other attendees took a pink rose from a nearby vase and laid it on the coffin. Except for the tall man who’d been Alison’s co-worker. He waited until everyone was done, then instead of a rose he laid a single black eyed Susan on top the roses.

  When he looked up, I caught his eye. There was such loss there that for a moment, it took my breath away. Then he moved on, shoulders slumped. I realized then that he wasn’t ashamed of his height. He was simply weighed down by sadness. “He loved her,” I whispered to Kabita. “He really loved her.”

  Kabita looked down at the solitary orange flower amongst the sea of pink. The colors clashed, but strangely it worked.

  “Susans were her favorite, you know. She told me once they made her think of sunshine and summer. You’re right, he must have loved her. I wonder if he ever told her?”

  The thought that he might not have made me feel incredibly sad. I’d be the first to admit that life was short, at least for most people. And while my love life was certainly no shining example, at least I had no regrets.

  Well, maybe one. But Inigo was a matter for another time.

  As we turned to follow the others back to the car park, something flickered at the corner of my vision. I turned my head. Nothing. I frowned. I was sure I’d seen something.

  I grabbed Kabita’s arm and pulled her back into the shadow of a large tree. “I think someone’s watching us.”

  Both of us scanned the grounds. “There,” she whispered, “over by that vault with the giant cross on top.”

  Sure enough, someone was hiding behind the vault. I could just see part of the person’s head and a flutter of cloth from a jacket or something. “I think it’s the woman from the airport. You know, the one who looked at you funny?”

  “How on earth can you tell that from this distance?” She squinted a little as if to see better, but the woman had dodged back behind the vault.

  “Spiky platinum blonde hair. Right height. Right shape. Definitely a woman and definitely an unusual hair color.” I slid around to the other side of the tree so I’d be out of the woman’s direct line of vision. “I’m going after her. I want to find out what she wants.”

  “OK. I’ll keep her attention on me.” Kabita peered around the tree making herself just obvious enough to be seen by the other woman, but hopefully not so obvious our little spy would catch on.

  I nodded and moved out quietly from the tree. From this angle the woman couldn’t see me as the large stone vault with its oversized cross blocked her view. Unfortunately that meant I couldn’t see her either.

  I made my way as quickly and quietly as I could toward the vault, but I must not have been quiet enough. As I rounded the vault, the woman started. I got a good look at her face before she took off running. It was definitely the woman from the airport. What on earth was she doing here at the cemetery?

  “Hey, stop!” I took off after her. She darted down one of the pathways which led deeper into the grounds. This part of the grounds was particularly overgrown and the woman kept disappearing from view only to reappear farther down the path.

  Silently urging my feet to go faster, I followed her down a particularly overrun path. No such luck. Instead of going faster, I tripped on an exposed root and nearly went sprawling face first into the dirt path. I managed to catch myself, but the woman had vanished.

  Leaning up against a nearby tree, I paused to catch my breath, see if I could spot her. There was a flash of silvery white through the trees. I took off running again this time keeping a closer eye out for sneaky roots.

  I rounded a bend in the path just in time to see the blond woman exit the parklands and hop into a waiting car. It took off with a squeal of tires, leaving streaks of black behind it. Show off.

  With a groan, I bent over to catch my breath. As I did, I caught a familiar scent. It was the same one I’d caught the night before. The scent of the vampire who’d killed me.

  I straightened, inhaling deeply. There it was again. I moved along the path a little farther until it forked. The smell was stronger down the left fork, which led deeper into the parklands of the cemetery, disappearing inside a large grove of trees. Left it was.

  Color me suspicious, but I found it strange that the vampire scent had shown up in the same place as the mysterious woman from the airport. I didn’t know what that meant, but I sure as heck meant to find out.

  The smell got stronger as I moved along the path, so strong I almost gagged. He was here. He had to be. There was no way the scent could be that strong without the vampire being very close by.

  I picked up my pace, jogging past rows of grave stones tilted at crazy angles and statues spattered with bird droppings. Something niggled at me. I couldn’t sense the vampire. I could smell him, but that was a physical thing. My abilities had nothing to do with the physical. I couldn’t understand why I could smell him so strongly, but I couldn’t feel him. If he was so close, I should have that whole tingly scalp pressure thing going on. Maybe my vamp radar was on the fritz.

  I shoved the thought aside and kept going, following the scent trail through the park, under trees and beneath archways. It led me straight to The Circle Vaults.

  I hurried down the wide steps to the sub ground level. The Circle Vaults reminded me a little of the catacombs under the ruins of the Colosseum in Rome. All those little rooms on either side of a wide hallway exposed to the elements. I could almost imagine there had once been a floor above them now rotted away, but they’d been built like that. It was an odd place for a vampire to hide. Unless he’d made it into a vault.

  The scent led me past door after ancient door before dead ending in front of one marked ‘Sanford.’ The door was thick oak bound with iron and older than dirt. I tried the door, but it didn’t budge. It was locked up tight.

  “Shit!” Probably not an appropriate sentiment for a cemetery, but I was pissed off. He was in there. Even though I still couldn’t feel him, he had to be in there. I couldn’t think of any other explanation.

  I yanked at the door again. As though that would do any good. It didn’t. I could feel the anger and annoyance boiling just below the surface; fortunately I had a good grip on the Darkness, but my hands felt itchy and tight. I let out a scream of frustration and slapped my palm against the wood.

  Then I jumped back with a yelp as the door burst into flame.

  I staggered back, mouth hanging open
. I must have looked like a fish. Real attractive. But honestly, it wasn’t every day you saw a door burst into flame for no apparent reason.

  Except, perhaps, that I touched it.

  The fire ate at the hard oak, blackening the wood and sending thick smoke spiralling skyward. Shouting in the distance told me it was time to make myself scarce. I was pretty sure I’d get the blame and how on earth was I going to explain the fact that I’d just set a door on fire without the aid of matches or a lighter?

  No, that was ridiculous. It couldn’t have been me. I couldn’t have set the door on fire with nothing more than my touch. The very idea was absurd.

  As absurd as a woman who could channel the power of Darkness.

  Still, I could hardly deny the fact that the door hadn’t caught fire until after I touched the wood. I’d been so frustrated, so angry.

  Something sparked in the back of my mind. A conversation I’d once had with Eddie Mulligan back in his shop in Portland. We’d been talking about my ability to channel Darkness and he’d mentioned how once there had been people who could channel other elements.

  Elements like fire.

  “Oh, crap,” I whispered. “Oh, this is not good.”

  I hurried back down the path toward where I’d left Kabita. She was still there, leaning against a tree. “No joy?”

  “No. She had a car waiting.” I rubbed my palms against my thighs, trying to keep them from trembling.

  She sighed. “Too bad. I wonder what she wanted.”

  “Couldn’t have been good, her spying on us like that.”

  She shrugged and headed toward the parking lot. “Don’t jump to conclusions. There were more than a couple MI8 agents at the funeral today. She might have been watching any one of them.”

  But I knew she was wrong. That woman had been there to watch us. Or more likely, based on what I’d seen at the airport, she’d been there to watch Kabita.