by Zoe Chant
“Candice sends her apologies,” Wystan said as he shifted back to human form. “She would have liked to have been here, but someone had to stay with Estelle. This didn’t seem like a baby-friendly ritual, given the location. She’s keeping Diana and Beth company, since they need to keep away too.”
Joe hunched his shoulders against the constant wind. “So… now what? Are we supposed to, I dunno, sit in a circle and chant?”
Zephyr shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Not unless you really want to.”
“No,” Seren murmured to Joe.
“It feels like we should be doing something,” Edith said. “Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do to help?”
“Just being here is enough.” Zephyr looked around at the squad. “I’m not going to say goodbye.”
Rory shifted, stepping forward. “Neither are we. But we will wish you luck.”
Zephyr clasped the squad leader’s hand. “Sorry in advance for the fires. Unfortunately, it’s the only way to cleanse the land.”
“Will handle the wildfires,” Fenrir said, clapping Zephyr on the shoulder. “Go, Stormheart. Hunt. Pack will be waiting for you, at the end of the trail.”
“Waiting with beer,” Joe added. “And virgin cocktails, of course, for the non-drinkers among us. I’m already planning our end of season party. Don’t you dare miss it, Zeph.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Zephyr said, smiling.
Blaise waited while he exchanged handshakes with Wystan and Seren, and brief hugs with Edith and Darcy. Finally, he turned to her. Before he could say anything, she pulled him into a fierce, tight embrace.
“Come back to me,” she whispered in his ear.
His certainty shone down the mate bond, filling her heart with light. “Always.”
She would have held on to him longer, but he stepped back, gently disentangling himself. He lifted her hands to his lips, pressing one last, soft kiss to each one, then released her.
She watched him walk away, striding sure-footed up the slope of the mountain. The light seemed to dim as the distance between them grew, as though the rising sun had reversed direction. Glancing up, she saw storm clouds gathering. They thickened with impossible speed, shrouding the sky.
Thunder growled. She had to close her eyes against a fierce flash of lightning. When she opened them again, bright spots danced across her vision. Zephyr was out of sight now, lost in the unnatural twilight. She could still sense him down the mate bond, climbing steadily toward the peak.
She focused on the bond between them. His heart beat alongside her own. It pulsed faster, now, as he pulled himself up the last expanse of rock. She could feel the burn in his muscles; his fierce exhilaration as he stood upright, opening his arms to the storm.
She heard him call. She felt him tense, waiting, listening.
The storm answered.
The sky split apart. Distantly, Blaise was aware of hands grabbing at her, bodies shielding her as hurricane winds screamed around the peak—but she wasn’t there, with the squad. She was there, at the heart of the storm, at the edge of the world, reaching out to the lightning.
Zephyr jumped.
Storm-cloud wings opened, taking him in. She felt him falling, falling, into a place of thunder and fury, lit only by jagged flashes of lightning. She felt his sudden cold fear, a sense of him turning, trying to reach back to her—
Thunder roared, snatching him away. She couldn’t sense him anymore; couldn’t feel his heartbeat. The mate bond stretched between them, a pale, fragile rope in the darkness of the storm.
The Thunderbird felt that slender chain. It yanked at her, with the blind fury of a hurricane, trying to tear itself free from her grip. She flung all her heart and soul and will into holding on to her mate.
Help me, she called out in desperation—to her animal, her friends, anyone. Help him!
She felt them adding their strength to her own. Rory, Edith, Wystan, Callum, Fenrir, Darcy, Joe, Seren—they were all there, holding on to her as she clung to Zephyr. They anchored her against the storm winds, keeping her grounded.
But they couldn’t hold on to her mate.
Her phoenix could. It was with her, claws tangled in the mate bond, midnight wings beating furiously against the storm—but it was just a shadow. Without fire, it was nothing but smoke and ash, powerless against the elemental force of the Thunderbird.
She felt her grip slip. She felt the bond stretch.
And she felt the moment it broke.
Chapter 28
“Tens of thousands of people have been forced to leave their homes under mandatory evacuation orders, as wildfires continue to rage throughout Montana. Firefighters from across the country are battling to contain a record number of simultaneous fires, started by an unusually high number of lightning strikes. So far, scientists have been unable to explain the freak weather conditions causing these ‘dry thunderstorms,’ which—”
“Somebody turn off the news,” Blaise muttered, too tired to reach for the radio herself. It was all she could do to keep the crew transport on the road. “It’s depressing.”
Rory stirred in the passenger seat, coming out of his half-doze. He stared blearily at the dashboard, like it was the console of some alien spaceship, before stabbing at a button. The news reader’s tense, worried voice cut off.
“Hey,” Joe objected from the back seat, though it didn’t sound like his heart was in it. “I was listening to that.”
“Why?” Callum’s voice was an emotionless monotone, stripped down by exhaustion. “It’s not going to tell us anything we don’t already know.”
“It was helping me stay awake.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” Wystan mumbled. “If you don’t want your sleep, I’ll have it.”
“Believe me, bro, you don’t want my dreams.”
Rory rubbed at his face, his unshaven stubble making a rasping sound against his callused palm. “Something we should know, Joe?”
“Just more of the same. Fire, fire, and more fire. Sometimes, just for a change, fire.”
“That’s all any of us are seeing,” Callum pointed out.
“Which isn’t making it easy to separate visions from reality.” Joe heaved a sigh. “Getting to the point where I can’t tell whether I’ve got my eyes open or shut.”
Blaise glanced into the rear-view mirror. “Open.”
“Thanks, bro.”
“Anytime.”
Her own eyes were gritty with ash. She rubbed at them, which probably just added a fresh layer of grime to her filthy face. There hadn’t been shower facilities at the last fire camp. Or tents. Or food, for that matter. All they’d had was what they’d carried in themselves, on their own backs.
“Gonna have to order more MREs,” she said to Rory. “That trip nearly cleaned us out of rations. Remind me to remind Buck.”
From the look Rory gave her, she might as well have asked him to translate the complete works of Shakespeare into Urdu. “Wystan?”
“Yes?”
“Remind me to remind Blaise to remind Buck about the MREs.”
“Right. Of course.” A pause. “Fenrir?”
“Am asleep.”
“My sincere apologies. Joe?”
“Bro, I’m already fairly convinced that I’m hallucinating you all, and that none of this has happened yet. Don’t rely on me to remember my own name, let alone anything else.”
Callum leaned forward, tapping Blaise’s shoulder. “Turning.”
“Shit!” In her exhausted state, she’d nearly missed the track up to their base. She spun the steering wheel, squashing the rest of the squad together. “Sorry, guys.”
“Don’t be,” Joe said from the depths of Fenrir’s armpit. “This is the comfiest I’ve been for weeks. I might go to sleep after all.”
“Too late.” Blaise parked the transport. “We’re here.”
Blaise stared at the car door handle, trying to muster the energy to reach for it. She might h
ave still been sitting there at dawn if her mother hadn’t opened it for her.
“You look terrible, love,” Rose said by way of greeting.
“Thanks. That’s a lot better than I feel.” Blaise slid out, just about managing some semblance of standing upright. “What are you doing here?”
“Buck called ahead to let everyone know the crew was on their way back.” Her mother gestured around the parking lot, where other family members were also coming forward to greet the returning firefighters. “Though he warned us you probably wouldn’t be in the mood for celebrations.”
“Nothing to celebrate. Fire’s still not contained. We just reached the limit of how long we’re legally allowed to work, so had to hand off to another crew. Though God only knows who. From what I’ve heard, every hotshot and wildland firefighter is already out on assignment. Speaking of which, is Dad back yet?”
Her mother shook her head. Her usually warm, smiling face was drawn with worry. “He’s still flying around the state, helping as much as he can. Unofficially, of course. But even he can’t blow out wildfires like candles on a birthday cake.”
“At least he’s giving people a chance to evacuate safely. And saving some homes, too.” Blaise had seen more than one shaky-cam amateur video clip of fires ‘miraculously’ diverting around houses, devouring trees and yards while leaving structures untouched. “We’re lucky to have him here.”
“Could do with a couple dozen more shifters like him,” Buck said, joining them. Like the rest of the crew, the Superintendent was gray with ash and exhaustion. He nodded to Rose in greeting before turning to Blaise. “Good job out there. Just coming round to tell everyone to leave all the crap in the trucks for now. We’ll sort it out later, after we’ve all had a chance to sleep, eat, and shower. Not necessarily in that order.”
Blaise scrubbed a hand over her hair, dislodging a fine drifting of ash. Her curls were getting long enough to be annoying under her helmet. There hadn’t been time in between the back-to-back assignments to get a haircut. At this rate, she’d have to run clippers over it herself.
“I should unload the drip torches at least,” she said, though the thought of doing anything other than collapsing onto the nearest flat surface made her want to cry. “Against safety regs to store them in the trucks overnight.”
“Seren’ll take care of it.” Buck gave her a pale shadow of his usual glare, his bloodshot eyes barely able to focus. “Won’t do anyone any good if you push yourself too hard and end up in hospital on a saline drip. Get some rest, Blaise. That’s an order.”
“That reminds me,” she mumbled. “Got to order MREs. We’re out.”
“You know Edith will already be on top of all the logistical stuff. Or you would, if you weren’t so brain-dead you’re practically in a body bag.” Buck jabbed her shoulder with a finger. “I’m giving everyone five days off to recover, and I don’t want to see you pick up so much as a pen that entire time, understand?”
“But—”
“Don’t make me drag your mom into this.”
Rose’s dark eyes glittered. “I’m still perfectly capable of grounding you, even if you are an adult. And that goes for you too, Buck. Oh, don’t give me that look. I’ve been mated to Ash for decades, I know what you alpha types are like. Always so busy looking after your crew, you forget to take care of yourself. I bet you’ll send everyone home, and then go straight to your office and work through the night, hmm?”
Blaise had the rare delight of seeing Buck look taken aback. “Well, I—there is a lot of paperwork—”
“Which will still be there after you’re fed and rested.” Rose linked her arm through his, claiming Blaise’s as well. “I’ve got hot meals waiting for you both in the kitchen. Are you two going to come quietly, or do I have to tie you to high chairs and spoon-feed you? Don’t think I won’t.”
Before either of them could respond, Edith came panting up, one hand cradling her ever-expanding bump. Dark circles smudged her eye sockets, and wisps of her long blonde hair were escaping from her usually neat braid. Blaise knew that she’d been putting in countless hours of unpaid overtime to support the squads out in the field.
“Superintendent,” Edith said, and then had to stop to catch her breath. “Boise is on the line.”
Blaise’s heart sank right down to her sweaty, disgusting socks. Boise was the location of the National Interagency Fire Center, which coordinated wildland firefighters across the country. If they were calling, it could only mean one thing.
“I told them that we’d done four back-to-back assignments already,” Edith continued, clearly unhappy about being the bearer of bad news. “But our region is desperately short-staffed, even after calling in the smokejumpers and Type II crews from neighboring areas. Boise is asking how fast we can turn around.”
Buck rubbed his forehead, smearing the dirt there. “You’ve been monitoring the overall situation. Are Boise yanking our chain in an attempt to pinch some pennies, or is it really that bad?”
“It’s bad,” Edith said bluntly. “They need us back out there, chief.”
Buck let out a long breath through his nose. Then he raised his voice. “Forty-eight hours, people! I know, I know, but we’ve all seen the news. Two days. Make ‘em count.”
The hotshots were too tired to grumble at the minimum rest period. Even Joe just nodded, slumped against Seren, bereft of witty comments. One by one, firefighters staggered away to their cars or cabins.
“Come on, love.” Blaise’s mom pulled gently at her arm. “Let’s get some food into you.”
Blaise’s stomach growled, reminding her just how long it had been since she’d had a meal that wasn’t vacuum-packed and laced with preservatives. Eight weeks of eighteen hour shifts, broken only by a few snatched rest days, was enough to drain even a shifter’s stamina to the dregs. Nonetheless, she shook her head.
“Thanks, Mom.” She disentangled herself. “But I think I’ll just head to my cabin. I need… I need to get some sleep.”
Rose didn’t try to argue. She just nodded, her eyes shadowed by the deep, powerless grief of a parent who could see their child hurting, and could do nothing to help.
She pulled Blaise in for a hug. “Give Zephyr my love.”
Chapter 29
The storm didn’t want to let him go. It pulled at him like clutching hands, seeking to drag him back. Just putting one foot in front of the other took all his strength.
Even with his eyes closed, lightning streaked his vision. He focused inward, blocking out the roar of thunder, the shriek of the wind. Concentrating on that distant, whisper-faint call.
One more step. Another. Just one more—
His foot crunched down into a deep drift of wood ash. He staggered, thrown off balance more by the abrupt cessation of the storm than the uneven terrain. His ears rang in the sudden silence.
“Blaise,” he said.
She’d been sitting on a blackened log, surrounded by skeletal, smoke-shrouded trees. Her phoenix perched on a branch over her head, black and brooding. All of her dreams lately had been like this; barren, charred, the aftermath of devastation.
At his voice, she turned. Her eyes were dull hollows in her soot-streaked face, looking out from a place beyond exhaustion. Yet she smiled when she saw him; a brief flash of true joy, bright as lightning.
That was worst of all.
“Zeph.” She scrambled up, hurrying over to seize him in a fierce embrace. Above, her phoenix rustled its wings, claws clenching on twisted wood. “I was waiting for you.”
He leaned his head on hers, closing his eyes. Trying to pretend that she was really here; that he could feel the flutter of her pulse against his chest, the warmth of her breath on his neck.
But he’d known her touch in the real world. No dream could come close.
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“Since we last met in dreams?” Blaise pulled back a little, just enough to look up at his face, though her arms didn’t slacken their tight
grip around his waist. “Three weeks.”
He breathed out. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She grimaced, nose wrinkling. “Coyote camping by a fire line isn’t exactly conducive to a restful night’s sleep. At least our downtime finally coincided again.”
He traced the shape of her cheekbone, his fingertips leaving trails in the ash that dusted her skin. “You’ve been busy.”
“So have you. And on that topic, please tell me there aren’t going to be any new fires breaking out for a while.”
“I wish I could.”
“Still that bad?”
“Worse than any of us imagined. I don’t understand it, Blaise. Uncegila’s thrusting wave after wave of horned serpents into the world, in vast numbers, even though I’m waiting right there to destroy them. In previous years, she was much more cautious. She’d sneak her serpents out here and there, one at a time, to make it harder for me to sense them. Or find protected areas like the unicorns’ mountain, that I couldn’t reach at all, or send Lupa’s hellhound pack to harass me so I couldn’t get to the spawning sites in time. Now she’s just throwing her children’s lives away. It’s like she doesn’t even care if I burn them.”
“Maybe she doesn’t. I mean, she is a giant demonic snake.”
“She still has maternal instincts, in her own twisted way. It’s true, she wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice her own offspring if it served her purpose—but she wouldn’t slaughter them for no reason.”
“You think she’s planning something?”
“She must be. Perhaps she’s just trying to overwhelm me with sheer numbers. I can’t be in two places at the same time, after all. Uncegila is clearly trying to time things so that her children rise in multiple locations at once. Some of the horned serpents must be slipping past me.”
Blaise’s brow furrowed. “Maybe my dad could help. He can burn pretty much anything. If you could tell him where the demons are going to come up—”
“It wouldn’t work.” He’d already considered that option himself, in those rare, fleeting moments when he was capable of human thought. “I can’t tell where the horned serpents are going to rise until they actually breach the waking world. And even if I did have a way of communicating with you outside of dreams, it still wouldn’t help. For all your father’s power, he isn’t the Thunderbird. Only fires started by lightning can cleanse Uncegila’s corruption. He could destroy the serpents who’d already emerged, but not prevent more from spawning.”