Firebug

by Lish McBride

  Les leaned back in his chair, thinking, and I could feel every hare in the room go still, all chatter and motion coming to a stop as they waited to see what their leader would say. “Not much to do now,” Les said, staring at Duncan. “We can’t plan until she calls.”

  Duncan agreed with a grunt. He was whittling again, this time a tiny fox, by the look of things. I wanted to smack the figure right out of his meaty paws. Was now a really good time for that? What was a tiny wooden fox going to do to help us?

  He threw me a questioning look, even though his fingers kept moving, never once stopping their glide as he shaped the wood. Our eyes met, held. I turned away, my jaw clenched so tight, I was surprised my teeth didn’t shatter. I felt Lock’s knee touch mine as he nudged my leg with his, and despite my best efforts to hold on to my anger like a comfortable old blankie, I felt my muscles relax, the fire in my gut dim and sputter. Lock always had that effect on me. Sometimes I hated him for it. Sometimes I needed that anger.

  Duncan put the fox down on the table and the hares eyed it warily, like it might come off the table and nip at them. Since it could fit in the palm of my hand, I didn’t see why they all leaned minutely away from it. Even if Duncan made it come to life, wouldn’t it still be too small to do any harm? Maybe it was an ingrained survival thing—must beware of foxes, even tiny ones. I squished down a smile.

  “We’ll just have to wait,” Duncan said, pulling a new chunk of wood from a bin by his chair. I was beginning to think he had a problem, an addiction to whittling. Was that a thing? Could we find him a support group when this was all over?

  Les slumped, his eyes on the wooden fox, seemingly more as something to rest his gaze on than anything else. “Maybe we should go over Venus again—her strengths and weaknesses. Try to plan our attack.”

  I got up from the table, stretching, knowing this discussion would be fruitless.

  “Nothing to add, Ava?” There was a sarcastic note in Les’s voice, an accusation I didn’t care for.

  “I want her gone as much as you do,” I said, wrapping my arms around my waist, suddenly bone weary of it all. “More, probably. But speculation is useless. Besides, I know what her weak spot is, I just don’t know if we’ll manage to exploit it.”

  “If you have something to share with the class…” Duncan said, not looking up from his work.

  “Hubris,” I said, holding myself tighter. “With vamps like her, it always comes down to that.” Then I stomped out of the room, refusing to explain myself further. I didn’t owe anyone any explanations, least of all Duncan.

  MY MOM and I were somewhere in Colorado. The air was cold and dry, and the sudden shift up into higher elevation wasn’t going well for me. My mom was making me drink tons of water. She was also keeping a hawk eye on me, since I’d start to spark at random times. When that happened, I could never quite tell if she was worried or proud, so I’d made up a new emotion—I called it woud, or sometimes porried—to describe the welter that seemed to overtake her whenever I made the slightest flame.

  We’d holed up in a snug cabin somewhere at the edge of a tiny town. There was no electricity, and I would cozy up on the bench seat by one of the cabin windows, where I’d read and watch the snow fall. I loved the quiet and the sense of safety. My mom must have felt the same way—she didn’t look over her shoulder as much when we were there. She’d relaxed a fraction. I watched her from my seat as she sat by the fireplace, humming a tune and doing her best to mend the torn sleeve on my jacket. It was quite an undertaking—I’d torn that sleeve when I’d thrown it over some barbed wire that topped a fence I was climbing. We were running from Coterie men—they’d come close to getting us, and there hadn’t been time to be careful. I made it over the fence, but in yanking my jacket, I’d torn the sleeve.

  I could have left it, but I knew better. Short term, leaving the jacket would have bought me a few more seconds of running time. Long term, I could have frozen to death, not to mention the importance of all the things I had sewn into the lining—things I needed. Things that might have helped them track us again, or worse, confirm what I was.

  A flare of anger over my jacket—and the scratches on my mom’s forearms from the same climb—caused sparks to jump from my fingers onto the blankets. I yelped and she sighed as she watched me swat at the tiny spots of singed wool.

  “Really, Ava.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” I mumbled, rearranging the blanket so the scorched bits were at my feet.

  “If you keep this up, I’ll have to take your books away. I’m afraid of your fingers on all those flammable pages,” her voice was stern, but I could see a half smile on her lips.

  I clutched my paperback to my chest. “You wouldn’t dare,” I said, cradling the book protectively.

  Her tiny smile flared and then dimmed before she looked away from me, suddenly sad. I padded over to her, resting my hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mom. Don’t be sad, okay?”

  She smiled up at me then, but her eyes were wet and shining in the firelight. “You don’t need to apologize to me, sweetheart. It’s nothing. You just…” She turned back to the fire. “You reminded me of Cade just then, somehow. The expression on your face. And the book.”

  The comparison made my chest squeeze, but in a good way. There was no greater compliment from my mom. I would hold on to these moments in my mind, squirrel them away. And sometimes, when things got really bad, I’d bring them out and pretend, just for a second, that Cade was my dad. I knew he wasn’t. The math didn’t add up. I’d seen photos of the first time he’d met me, when I was two, and he hadn’t seen my mom in almost three and a half years before that. The time line just didn’t work. Still, I could dream. It was better than trying to imagine a stranger.

  I shoved my mom’s mending away and flopped on her lap, which I knew would cheer her up.

  “Get off, you big whale.” She pushed me gently. “You can’t be my child—you’re too big. I gave birth to an adorable little girl, not some sort of giant.”

  “I can’t get up. My legs are broken.”

  She laughed and hugged me close, her cheek resting against my hair. When I felt like she was out of her slump, and when I knew it was safe to, I asked when we’d get to visit Cade again. Besides my mom, he was the only thing even remotely consistent in my life. And he made my mom light up in a way that nothing and no one else did.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice a whisper.

  I knew better than to ask, and I already knew the answer, but I couldn’t help asking anyway. “Why can’t we live with him? I’ll be careful, Mom. I can hide. I know I can.”

  My mom squeezed me. “He practically lives at that bookstore of his, and even if he didn’t, his cabin is full of books too. Books are paper, dear. Paper burns really well. It seems like a terrible place for a bug.”

  I sat up and play punched her arm. “Be serious.”

  “I am,” she said; then, seeing that I wasn’t going to give it up, she gave me a real response. “It wouldn’t work, sweetheart. Even if we were careful. Even if we hid. Cade wouldn’t be safe—we wouldn’t be safe.” I could hear the brittle pain in her voice. “Cade deserves to live his life fully. It wouldn’t be fair to put him in danger simply so we could be happier.” I saw her reach unconsciously for her necklace, her fingers gripping that tiny silver heart and star.

  “I think Cade would risk it,” I said softly, looking down at my hands. “You should let him choose.”

  “Sometimes,” my mother said, her voice suddenly firm and taking no nonsense from me, “you have to protect people from their own choices. Without us he’s out of harm’s way. Our occasional visits are risky enough.”

  I did my best preteen sulk, and the flames in the fireplace sputtered in reaction. My mom pulled me close again, her hand stroking the top of my head before she kissed it. “Nothing lasts forever, Ava. Not even the Coterie. That includes Venus. Who knows,” she said, the last bit having a wistful air about it, “maybe someday we can stop runni
ng.”

  “And live with Cade?” I couldn’t help asking, just like I couldn’t help the flicker of hope in my chest. It was a child’s question—I knew it even then. It was built from cobwebs and air. Fragile. And reality was a big, fat spider, ready to tear it to shreds to get what it wanted.

  “Yes, and live with Cade.”

  I wished for that future on everything in the room. With every tiny molecule in my being. I would regret that wish later. It was a faerie wish—it came true, but the cost was too high.

  My mom complained that her legs were going to sleep, so I slid to the floor, my head resting on her knee. I must have had a hopeful cast to my face, because my mom continued to reassure me.

  “I don’t know if it will be in our lifetimes, but eventually Venus will be defeated, sweetheart. Empires fall, and so do their emperors.”

  “I hope it does happen,” I said. “Soon. But she seems so … invincible.” Because of the stories my mother had told me, Venus loomed large above my life, an overwhelming shadow. Bedtime stories take a different tone when the bogeyman is real.

  “Even Venus has her flaws,” my mom said.

  “She’ll never take her wards off though,” I said. “You told me that.”

  My mom shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t get so stuck on your gifts that you don’t think around them, dear. I was talking about hubris. Her overweaning pride. She thinks of herself like you think of her—like she’s indestructible. It will be the death of her someday.”

  16

  THE WINDS OF CHANGE KIND OF BLOW

  WHEN THE PHONE call finally came, it was Owen’s voice on the line. He gave me coordinates and a few hours for travel, putting us at our destination after nightfall, which was probably the reason we were given so much time—Venus wouldn’t want the disadvantage of sunlight against her.

  I repeated Owen’s instructions out loud, and in response there was a flurry of movement as the weres behind me pulled out a map and spread it on the table. As if seeing this, Owen chuckled.

  “And let me add one little thing. You know how they always say ‘and come alone’ in the movies?”

  “I didn’t know you watched movies,” I said. I had a hard time picturing Owen doing anything that didn’t involve following Venus around or killing things. Did he secretly knit? Make mosaics or dioramas? Owen with downtime—what a frightening picture. “What’s your point, Owen?”

  “My point is that, while most people would go through the charade, we have no need to. You may bring anyone you wish. But while we’d like to keep you alive, at least for our own needs, we have no real interest in doing the same for your friends. So go ahead. Pick those you want to see die a terrible and painful death. And it will be painful, I can assure you.” Owen was enjoying himself. “Toodle-oo,” he sang, and then the line went dead.

  I stared at the phone in my hand until Sid took it from me and hung it up. “Sick little puppy, isn’t he?” Then he barked like a dog.

  I couldn’t help grinning at him. Apparently his cheering powers extended beyond Olive.

  Everything became a flurry of movement then. Phone calls were made, bags packed, and all the general chaos of a mass exodus was in evidence. I seemed to be in the way, so I went to my room to prepare myself. Which basically meant stuffing my pockets, getting warm clothes together, and—my personal favorite—eating another sandwich. I was going to need it. There was a quick rap at the door, and then Sid popped in. First Ikka, earlier, now her brother. If I kept entertaining like this, I would have to ask Duncan for a bigger room.

  “Good sandwich,” I said, still chewing. “What is it?”

  Sid leaned down and sniffed. “Venison. We’ve got company.”

  I stopped chewing. “I’m eating Bambi?”

  “No, Bambi was a cartoon. The deer you’re eating is completely real. Now get your butt downstairs. You’re not going to believe who’s here, so I’m not going to bother telling you.” And with that cryptic comment, he left. Ooo-kay.

  I don’t know what I expected, but even with no expectations, I was surprised. Alistair, his elegant frame folded into a chair, his fingers steepled, and his face smug as hell, sat at the head of Duncan’s table. There were two more people with him—a dainty little blonde who looked like she’d be more at home in an artist loft somewhere, maybe wearing a beret and discussing Nietzsche, and the superhuge guy from the Portsmouth Council.

  The only thing that kept me from casting a flame ball into their faces was the way the drove was lounging about. If the new people were a threat, they’d all have been on alert. I had faith enough in their commitment to keeping Duncan safe that I took my cues from their behavior. Still, I wasn’t happy.

  “Last time I saw you,” I drawled, resting my palms on the table, “a group of vodyanoys tried to kill us. So please tell me why I shouldn’t return the favor right now.”

  Alistair’s expression was sunny but cold, like a clear winter morning. Beautiful, but if you stayed too long in it, something was going to get frostbite and fall off. “Ava, please. We are pressed for time, so let us forgo the pissing contest. If your little friends here had the slightest inkling that I’d been part of any such fiasco, they would have eaten my liver by now. I still have all my organs; therefore, they don’t believe me to have been involved. So let’s discuss why we’re all gathered together today instead of rehashing nonsense. Sound peachy?”

  I grabbed a chair and flipped it around before I sat on it. Cade hated when I did that. He said it was bad for the chair, but I’ve never figured out how. “Fine,” I said. “I’m game. I suppose your minions would have been better dressed and less green.”

  His arctic grin widened. “I wouldn’t send minions. In my experience, they fail. I would have gone myself.”

  “Touché. So why are you here? Last I heard, the Council wasn’t going to stretch out its neck for us.”

  There was a grumble, but it was smooth, like a stampede off in the distance. This was from the giant heap of a man next to Alistair. I didn’t understand the grumble, but Alistair obviously did, because he responded with “I don’t know if it’s so much cowardice as greed. Our fellow members have been bribed so many times that the only action which won’t land them in hot water with someone is complete inaction.” Then he turned his attention back to me. “You’re right—but we’re not here as Council. We’re here as … an interested party.”

  “You just want to help out of the kindness of your heart, right?”

  “My, my, no. Do I look like a philanthropist to you?”

  “You look like a model for Elitist & Wealthy magazine,” Lock said as he walked into the room, coming to a stop at my back. He rested a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Ezra slipped in behind him, coming to my other side.

  “Thanks,” Alistair said, buffing his nails on his sweater vest. “I want to make this clear, Ava. I am not joining your loveable band of misfits because my heart bleeds for you—any of you—or your position. I’m here entirely for my own advantage. Duncan and I have been in contact for some time about bringing in a regime change. Until now, he has turned me down. So I wish to offer you a proposition. You need help; can we agree there? It certainly appears to be an all-hands-on-deck situation. Well, we’re here to offer that assistance.”

  “And in exchange?” I asked.

  “In the simplest of terms, I will help you remove Venus, and then I’ll help you avoid the inevitable power struggle by stepping into her place.”

  Lock gave a low whistle. I was glad he did it so I didn’t have to. Alistair was certainly aiming high. “And if we want to disband the Coterie entirely?”

  Alistair leaned forward, his fingers splayed on the table. “I would say I thought you were smarter than that. Something else will spring up in its place, Ava. And while that’s happening, this area will become like a war zone. I’m giving you the chance to remove your enemy and have the smoothest transition possible.”

  “Who says you won’t be worse than her?” I a
sked.

  “Duncan could vouch for me, I suppose, though he’ll tell you that he doesn’t know me very well. He trusts me to a point. The rest of my character references you don’t know, and so I doubt they will hold much water for you. You’ll just have to manage a little faith.”

  Oh, good. Because that always works out.

  Duncan, who up until then had stayed quiet, obnoxiously whittling away as usual, piped up. “It’s the best offer you’re going to get, Ava.”

  I knew he was right, but I wanted to at least think about it. “If I may ask, what, exactly, do you three bring to the table? All you have right now is your status as ineffectual Council members and”—I stared at the new girl—“whatever.”

  “Fair enough,” Alistair said, holding his arms out. With seemingly little effort, a tiny storm cloud gathered over each of his hands.

  Sid scoffed. “That’s it? What are you going to do, get their clothes wet?”

  Alistair didn’t respond as the clouds continued to grow. The air in the kitchen stirred as a sudden wind sprang up from nowhere. Clothes flapped and the papers attached to the fridge with magnets rustled. I could feel the crackle of electricity as it danced along my skin. There was a clap of thunder before a lightning bolt leapt from one of the clouds and sizzled to a stop at Sid’s feet. He yelped and jumped back. Then, as quickly as it started, it was over, and the kitchen went back to normal.

  Alistair held his hands out, as if to proclaim his innocence or wash his hands of the situation.

  Duncan huffed, a singular sound of disapproval. “Show-off.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what you other two can do,” I said.

  The giant mass next to me introduced himself as Parkin, though he had to say it twice for me to get it, and Alistair had to ask him to speak up. It wasn’t enough to say he was large—it was like everything about him was on a bigger scale than the rest of humanity. There was a general air of rumpledness about him, as if he’d slept in his clothes his whole life and somehow that had permeated his very personality. He didn’t put me on guard like Alistair did, though, and he didn’t instantly annoy me like the girl did.