A Fistful of Fire: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Madison Fox, Illuminant Enforcer Book 2)

by Rebecca Chastain

  Part of me wanted to ask how Lupe died, but a larger part didn’t want that fear sitting in the back of my head.

  “You think it’s happening again?” A rogue enforcer in our midst? Suddenly I found myself wishing for another demon.

  “Maybe. I haven’t told anyone of this except Niko. It’s too serious an accusation to make without solid proof.”

  “You suspect Jacob. Everyone says he’s a fast learner.” It was a logical conclusion, even if I felt traitorous voicing it. Just because he shot Jamie didn’t make Jacob evil.

  “He’s fast, yes, but if that were the only criteria, then every warden in the area would have claimed you rogue by now.”

  “Then who do you suspect?” The wardens thought I was advancing quickly?

  Mr. Pitt shook his head. “You don’t need doubts in your head.”

  “No doubts? Now I suspect everyone.” Though Jacob still topped my mental list. My next realization overwhelmed all other thoughts. “That’s why you’re not having me train under anyone!”

  Mr. Pitt nodded. “You’re the only enforcer I implicitly trust right now, other than Doris, of course. She’ll be back soon enough to handle your training. Plus, Isabel wasn’t wrong: Giving another warden authority over you would be career suicide.”

  I realized I hadn’t given Mr. Pitt enough credit: He’d been rightfully worried about his job, but he’d also been protecting me this whole time, despite how bad that made him look. I pulled my thoughts back on topic with an effort.

  “Why did you decide to tell me your rogue theory now?”

  “Because I need your help in a very unorthodox way.” He leaned forward. “I need your lux lucis, Madison.”

  “My lux lucis?”

  “I need to see the larger picture. I’m missing something. Our region’s expansion weakened me. I’m not complaining. I’ll recover and adjust, but we don’t have time to wait. Your lux lucis will give me the strength I need.”

  “Why not take it from a plant?”

  “Yours will be far stronger. Enforcer lux lucis always is. If you want the scientific explanation, ask your handbook. More important, by you giving me lux lucis, I won’t be actively using it, which means my soul’s map remains precise and I’ll be able to see beyond our borders.”

  “And you think doing so will let you see who’s a rogue?” It didn’t seem like such an odd request if it could pinpoint the root of our problem.

  “Rogue enforcers are rare; Cheryl was only the third in the United States since the birth of this country. The other wardens might not know what they’re looking for. Or I’m wrong, and it’s something else, but between the combined experience of six wardens, it seems unlikely we haven’t figured this out. Unless someone’s not telling the truth.”

  “Why would anyone lie?”

  “To fix the problem on their own. To be the regional hero.”

  Was that what Mr. Pitt was trying to do? If he could pinpoint the source of all our problems, he’d be a hero, and it might secure his position.

  “What I’m asking you to do is simple: You push lux lucis into me the same as you would anything else. But it’s dangerous. If done wrong, it could drain you—kill you.”

  “How much do you want to take?”

  “As much as I can.”

  I swallowed. In other words, my boss wanted to almost kill me.

  21

  Always Give 100%...Unless You’re Giving Blood

  “I don’t ask on a whim, Madison, and I don’t want you to say yes lightly, either. Give it some thought.” He stood and exited the room, heading toward the break room. The silence of the nearly empty office settled around me.

  I knew Mr. Pitt’s ugly secret now: He’d unwittingly fostered a rogue and an enforcer had died under his command. Some wardens thought that reason enough for Mr. Pitt to be forced into retirement. Liam had gone so far as to accuse Mr. Pitt of being careless with his enforcers.

  I hadn’t thought much of Liam’s accusation at the time. Mr. Pitt was not careless with my safety. And if Liam had meant to imply Cheryl going rogue had been Mr. Pitt’s fault, he gave my boss too much credit. Morality choices were never made by a second party; my attempt to force good into Sam proved that. Mr. Pitt couldn’t have forced an enforcer to work both sides. That had been Cheryl’s choice. And if Liam had been inferring Mr. Pitt was to blame for Lupe’s death, I couldn’t make that accusation stick, either. Mr. Pitt erred on the side of caution to the point of irritation.

  Which brought me back to the heart of Mr. Pitt’s request: Was I ready to put my life in his hands? The answer came immediately and with remarkable ease. Yes. I’d trusted Mr. Pitt with my safety since the day I’d been hired. Knowing the mistakes and misfortunes of his past didn’t change anything.

  “What do you need me to do?” I asked when he returned with a fresh mug of coffee.

  Mr. Pitt rearranged his office furniture so the two leather chairs faced each other. He sat in one, and I took the other. Jamie crowded close to my chair, alert now and focused on Mr. Pitt.

  “Take my hands.”

  Mr. Pitt’s hands were small, meaty, and faintly damp in my cold fingers.

  “Push lux lucis into me as if I were an imp.”

  I blinked to Primordium. Mr. Pitt’s now-familiar soul, with its bulky lines and odd angles, hugged his body. My own soul looked crisp. Letting out a breath, I pushed lux lucis from my fingertips into Mr. Pitt. A film of resistance pushed back, then my energy slid into him.

  It didn’t take long for the strong white lines of Mr. Pitt’s soul to sharpen and harden until they resembled opaque glass. It reminded me of how my soul had looked after Jamie had supercharged me while destroying the imps. I wanted to look at the pooka to see his reaction, but I couldn’t draw my gaze from Mr. Pitt. Pressure built inside him. I could feel it against my hands almost like a physical barrier. Then the intangible boundaries of his soul burst, and lux lucis spread in a corona around Mr. Pitt. The shape of his soul morphed, encroaching in an ivory tide across the map lines of the adjacent regions. Sweat dripped down Mr. Pitt’s face, but he remained perfectly still.

  I no longer pushed lux lucis; it pulled from me, draining into Mr. Pitt. The sensation mirrored being trapped inside the vervet without the pain. My foot jiggled. This was Mr. Pitt, not an oversize vervet. I was safe.

  My breaths shortened. Just in case, I cut back the flow to a trickle—or tried: My lux lucis didn’t respond. It gushed through my fingertips, swirling up from toes and sinking from my head in a dizzying rush.

  We needed to stop. Soon. Now. I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. Mr. Pitt’s soul bulged and flexed, pulling the urgency from me and replacing it with lassitude. My foot stilled and I slumped in my chair, sinking into the fluid energy of lux lucis gliding through me. My eyelids drooped, but I held them open to watch Mr. Pitt’s soul, fancying I saw shapes in its outline. A shield. A heart. A book. Was Val influencing this? I giggled.

  My fingers tingled, and the sensation spread up my arms straight to my head. Darkness pulsed at the edges of my blurred vision. I floated, but my feet stuck to the floor as it receded, and my shins stretched like taffy. I ran a tongue around my mouth, and the sensation bubbled through my head.

  An angel stood over me, with wings so vast they looked like a solid sheet behind him. Fleshy froggish lips moved, but the language of the heavens was incomprehensible babble beneath the roar in my ears. Maybe not an angel. Maybe a cherub. Angels had full heads of hair, or they should.

  He pressed a cold dropper between my lips. Liquid fire trickled down my throat, and I crashed to earth, gasping. The cherub laid a heavy forearm across my collarbone, holding me down and pouring another thimbleful of flames into my mouth. Coughing, I pushed him away. Heat speared from my stomach to my limbs, but when the burn receded, I could feel my fingers and toes again, and everything in between.

  Mr. Pitt stepped back, capping a tiny thimble of lux lucis concentrate. I groaned. Not that stuff again. I’d
barely gotten rid of today’s headache.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Have you ever noticed how much space exists between your cells?”

  Mr. Pitt arched an eyebrow. “Here.” He handed me a water bottle. I downed it, then accepted a yogurt and spoon. The dairy sat heavy on my tongue, like squishy velvet. I pushed each bite around my mouth, finishing the container far too soon. Mr. Pitt paced the office, his exaggerated soul sweeping through the walls and furniture.

  “Did it work?”

  He planted a foot and spun to face me, his soul haloed around him like a peacock’s plumage on display. “It’s far too soon to be sure. I can’t rush this. I need to . . .” He tapped his chin and resumed pacing. I scooted my chair back to avoid the sweep of his soul when he turned. Sinking into my body, I assessed my lux lucis. My levels were low, but no longer dangerously so. Between the lux lucis concentrate and the yogurt, I was in pretty good shape, considering Mr. Pitt had almost drained me dry minutes earlier. I flexed my lux lucis, looping it around my palm, savoring being back in control.

  Mr. Pitt jumped when I tossed the empty yogurt container in the trash, confirming my suspicion he’d forgotten me.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  I shook my head. It’d been intoxicating and frightening, but not painful. “Have you done that before?”

  “Yes, but only from your position.”

  That surprised me. “How do you feel?” I blinked to normal sight. Mr. Pitt’s cheeks were flush with good health, his eyes bright.

  “Heavy. You should go. I need to concentrate before I lose this.”

  I left him pacing his office, muttering to himself. Jamie supported me with his shoulder, watching me with large puppy eyes. Sharon rose from her desk to unlock the front door for us. I tried not to gawk. I’d never seen her move. She was tiny, inches shorter than my chin, with a brisk stride on black orthopedic shoes, and after Jamie and I were through the doors, she stepped out into the hall, her weighted glare tracking us to the lobby.

  “I need to recharge.” Once we were outside, I angled for a walkway lined with trees. Jamie sniffed at the base of trunks, relieving himself on several while I soaked up lux lucis. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I’d stood in this parking lot with a mammoth, yet already Jamie didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like a part of me. I wondered if the imprint still clouded my thoughts and realized I didn’t care.

  “Do you want to change back or stay a dog?”

  Jamie barked. Unsure how to interpret that, I opened the passenger door to give him access to his clothes. He waited. I opened the back door and he jumped in. I needed to stick to yes or no questions while he was in Great Dane form.

  I slid behind the wheel. Despite leaving the windows cracked, the Civic reeked of smoke, reminding me of my own stench—and reigniting my craving for a shower. I powered the windows all the way down, and we rode home with the sound of the wind and scents of the city filling the car. I drove on autopilot, grateful for the limited traffic and short commute. After everything that had happened today, my concentration was shot.

  I sent Jamie to shower first. That involved teaching him how to work the knobs, and since those required hands, it meant I spent an uncomfortable minute in the close confines of my bathroom with a naked pooka man who possessed zero modesty. Despite using the curtain as a shield between us, I still got an eyeful. Proportional was relative. Of course, if I could choose my form, and if I were a man, I’d have made similar endowment—

  Nope. Not going there.

  I fled the bathroom with scarlet cheeks and slammed the door behind me.

  Mr. Bond chirped. He’d polished off the top layer of fresh food I’d poured when I arrived, and now he twined between my legs. I scooped him up and snuggled him. He tolerated being held long enough to sniff my sweater, hair, and face, then shoved to the floor. With his supervision and steady stream of critiques, I affixed fresh wards to the doors and window, started a load of laundry, laid out wet food for the obese and spoiled cat, then joined him on the floor because I didn’t want my grubby clothes on the furniture.

  I propped Val up on the seat of my recliner and opened him so we could chat hands-free.

  “How’re you doing? Any weird effects from that energy transfer?”

  The words started at the top of the page in a huge font and dwindled down to an unreadable size. You should not have done that. It was dangerous and hasty and foolish and half-baked and senseless and—

  “Val, you’re babbling.”

  Pigheaded, harebrained, insane. That’s what you humans are. As a species, you need to learn patience.

  “So you’re fine?”

  I’m fine. Are you? You were . . . not there for a bit.

  “I’m fine. I passed out.”

  You’ll never do that again?

  “I don’t know. You mentioned needing to research earlier. How do you do that?”

  Are you trying to distract me?

  Maybe. “I want to help you as you’ve helped me.”

  Humph. He actually wrote out the word. Fine. I research by reading up on subjects.

  “You can read?”

  Val remained pointedly silent.

  “It wasn’t a dumb question. I meant, how? By osmosis?”

  You give me far too much credit. I read like anyone else. The next words were almost too small to see. I just require assistance turning the pages.

  I pictured holding Val over an encyclopedia for hours, turning the pages on command. It sounded like a mild form of torture. “What about audio books?”

  I’m unfamiliar with that species.

  I grinned. After explaining what an audio book was, and privately wondering why no enforcer in the last few decades had brought Val up to date, I asked, “Do you want to listen to a few tonight? See if you like them?” I crossed my fingers behind my back.

  I might.

  Such rousing enthusiasm. “Anything in particular? I’m not talking research books here. What about a little fun reading? We’ve both been working a lot lately. It might be good for you to unwind.” Plus, he’d be more likely to use audio books if he enjoyed the first few.

  Reading for fun?

  “You know, fiction. Escapist reads. Funny things.”

  His answer took a few beats. What do you like?

  “Romance. Fantasy.” My interest in fantasy was new, but it was fast becoming the most relatable genre.

  Okay.

  Mr. Bond had settled himself across my folded legs to clean his whiskers and he didn’t budge when I wiggled the laptop in place on the recliner’s seat. After logging on to an online bookstore, I selected a few of my favorite authors and lifted Val to see the screen. Val read the book blurbs while I petted Mr. Bond. Splashing sounds emanated from the bathroom. It was a remarkably normal, homey scene despite the fact that of the four sentient creatures in my apartment, I was the only human.

  Val selected Jim Butcher’s Storm Front, Robin McKinley’s Sunshine, and Robin D. Owens’s Heart Mate. He had good taste. I loaded all three in a library so they’d play back-to-back, with Heart Mate first at Val’s request. I set the laptop to not go to sleep, then attached my headphones and carried it and Val to the closet. Mr. Bond, dumped from my lap, followed. I placed the headphones against Val and adjusted the volume to his liking, then closed the book and laptop safely in the closet, out of Mr. Bond’s reach. My cat pouted all of five seconds before darting into the open bathroom door where Jamie stood, naked, towel wrapped around his head.

  “Around your hips. The towel goes around your hips,” I said. I shielded my eyes and chose a baggy pair of sleep shorts for him. Then I rushed into the bathroom. The hot water relaxed the stress in my limbs, and the exhaustion from the day’s events caught up with me before I emerged from the steamy room. I gathered blankets for Jamie and set a bed up for him on the recliner, with a promise that he would not leak atrum in his sleep. Jamie gave me an affronted look ruined by a huge yawn. I brushed my teeth—making a note to buy J
amie a toothbrush, too—and climbed into bed. Mr. Bond flopped across my stomach, and I petted him until the rumble of his purr lulled me to sleep.

  Salamanders chased me through my dreams, lighting fires in my apartment. When I extinguished the flames and killed the salamander—using a pizza topped with yogurt sauce—Jacob burst through the blackened doorway. He carried a spear gun in each hand, and he shot Jamie through his human heart with one gun and through his dog heart with the other.

  I woke drenched in sweat. Peeling back the covers, I stared at the light of the alarm clock: 6:42. My head throbbed. Since I wasn’t going to get good sleep in the next eighteen minutes, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, pleasantly surprised that the sharp pain in my ankle had subsided to a sore ache. My toes hit something solid and warm. I jerked back and clicked on my bedside lamp.

  Jamie lay tangled in his blankets on the floor beside the bed, his hair mussed a dozen different directions. Gold eyes blinked at me.

  “Everyone was in here. I was lonely,” he said.

  We took turns in the bathroom and squeezed together in the kitchen. Jamie decided he wanted dog food for breakfast, and I insisted he eat it as a dog, which he thought was amusing. I found it nauseating to watch him eat kibble as a human. Of course, since he remained seated at the table, his front paws on either side of his bowl, and drooling as much as he ate, it ended up ruining my appetite anyway. Mr. Bond sulked atop the back of the recliner, either because Jamie got to eat at the table or because it was the first time he’d seen the pooka’s dog form.

  “What’d you think of your first audio book experience?” I asked Val when I collected him.

  It merits further study.

  “And your first paranormal romance?”

  Humans are very preoccupied with each other’s bodies.