The Fire Salamander Chronicles Series: Books 1 - 3: The Fire Salamander Chronicles Series Boxset Book 1

by N M Thorn

  At first, he was going to call Uber again, but as soon as he turned his phone on and saw the icon of the Uber app, he changed his mind. He didn’t think that right now he could tolerate another long drive with another chatty driver or talkative people.

  Gunz jogged around the school to the small parking lot in the back and quickly surveyed the area. There was no one here. The parking lot was dark and pleasantly empty. He waved his hand, opening the fire-curtain of his portal and walked through it, counting seconds to the moment when he could finally lie down and close his eyes.

  He walked out of the portal and yelped in pain. Instead of standing in his own backyard, he found himself in the middle of his neighbor’s swimming pool, up to his chest in cold, well-chlorinated water. At the touch of the cold water, his whole body got twisted with a dull pain and as if that wasn’t enough, an electric shock struck through him, making all his muscles spasm.

  Mishka rushed out of his watch and was hovering over him, angrily spitting fireballs in his direction.

  “What’s wrong with you, Salamander!” he yelled, hopping up and down over his head. “Decided to go for an evening swim without taking your watch off? Don’t you know that water hurts?”

  Gunz exhaled and didn’t say anything, slowly moving toward the edge of the pool. His skin was burning at the touch of the cold water. He was exhausted, drained and pissed, so he put all his efforts into keeping his cool and controlling his power. He finally made it out of the pool and stood still for a moment, water dripping down off his shivering body.

  Slowly he made it out of his neighbor’s backyard and crossed over to his own. He mumbled a quick spell checking his wards and protection spells and walked inside the house. After he locked the door, Gunz re-enforced his wards, making them stronger and rushed upstairs, where he stripped all his soaked clothes off, dropping them on the floor in a wet pile. Standing absolutely naked in the middle of his bedroom, he channeled some fire, heating up his skin. The water slowly evaporated, surrounding him with soft swirls of hot steam.

  Mishka materialized in the bedroom and sprayed him with fire. At the touch of his element, Gunz sighed and relaxed. At least the nagging pain was gone. He picked up his pants, dripping with water and pulled out his wallet, cellphone and FBI consultant badge. His cellphone was fine, thanks to the waterproof case, but everything inside his wallet and his FBI badge were soaked with water.

  He cursed again and dropped on the bed, hiding his face in his hands. How did he manage to open his portal to a wrong location? Thank God, no one saw him. It never happened to him before. He couldn’t count how many times he opened a portal to his backyard, and he never missed the right location even by a foot. Something wasn’t right.

  “Why don’t you relax, boss,” said Mishka peacefully, landing on his shoulder. “Don’t take it hard. Happens to the best of us.”

  “Doesn’t happen to me,” growled Gunz, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “It’s just that I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”

  “Sure, you were,” purred Mishka sympathetically into his ear, stroking his hair with his wing, “you just need to try it again and I’m sure you’ll perform just fine. You were opening this portal while you were tired, upset about your vehicle and stressed a little… Plus it was your first time opening the portal in front of me, probably the performance anx—”

  “I do not have performance anxiety,” roared Gunz, wiping the wyvern off his shoulder with one move of his hand. “Someone is messing with me! And you know what, Mishka, why don’t you go annoy someone else for a change. I need my rest!”

  “But why?” asked Mishka, pouting. “I like annoying you. It’s fun!”

  “Ugh.” Gunz fell on his back and pressed a pillow over his face, hugging it with his arms. He moaned into the pillow. “Please… I’m begging you… go away… Please!”

  “Fine, boss, I got it,” said Mishka, pulling the blanket from under Gunz. “You need your beauty sleep. Now lie down…”

  Gunz sighed and pulled himself up on the bed, putting the pillow under his head. Mishka threw a blanket over him and disappeared. Gunz closed his eyes and slowly started to drift asleep when he heard a soft humming. Unwillingly, he half-opened his eyes and saw Mishka sitting on the pillow next to him, singing.

  “Mishka… I thought you were gone. What are you doing now?” he mumbled.

  “Singing you a lullaby, so you sleep better, of course,” said the wyvern proudly. “I have an amazing singing voice, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah… You’re the next American Idol,” muttered Gunz, feeling at his wit’s end. “Now shut the hell up, you little flying rat, before I exterminate you.”

  Mishka huffed indignantly and vanished from the room.

  “Next time I see Kal, remind me to give him a piece of my mind…” Gunz mumbled, turning to his side and fell asleep almost immediately.

  Different people react differently to the sound of a gunshot. Some people stare into the black abyss of the gun barrel, consumed by panic so intense that their mind and body freezes in place, devoured by terror. They can’t move, can’t think, and even the instinct of self-preservation can’t rip them out of this state. Some people panic, run around, scream, cry, unable to think rationally and do anything to protect themselves.

  And then there is one more category of people whose mind reacts to gunfire or any kind of danger by becoming sharp and focused. The clarity of their mind and the speed of thinking increases exponentially, and their body becomes a cold, precise instrument of their highly alert brain.

  The dry sound of gunshots filled Gunz’s ears, immediately tuning his mind into a state of extreme vigilance. A thunderous sound of an explosion overlapped the barking of guns and and three more explosions followed right after. He stared in the direction of the sound, trying to sort out everything that was going on.

  Where am I and how did I get here? A thought flew through his mind and disappeared as he had no time to think about it.

  “Gunz! Cover me!”

  He recognized the voice of his friend Sasha in the communication system and pulled the scope of his sniper rifle to his eye. He saw Sasha fighting his way toward a house, surrounded by a few hostiles. Everything looked excruciatingly familiar—a blast from the past. From his past.

  “Gunz! Are you sleeping?”

  Good question. Gunz aimed at the man closest to his friend and softly pressed the trigger. His rifle jerked back against his shoulder and the man fell. He aimed at the next hostile and pressed the trigger again, sending another man tumbling down, clearing the path for his friend.

  “Gunz, Sergei is inside. I’m going in…” He watched Sasha disappearing behind the door of the house, and he remembered what he did next. He got up and ran downhill toward the house, holding his rifle in his hand.

  What am I doing? It can’t be real. I’m dreaming…

  Gunz clearly remembered falling asleep in his house in Florida and everything that happened before that. He had to be sleeping. But everything felt so real—the racket of the gunfight, the thunderous booms of explosions, the smell of gunpowder mixed in with the stench of burnt car oil.

  He came to a sharp halt right next to the house and surveyed the area. It was just a dream. It had to be. He was reliving one of his most painful memories—the time when he discovered the Fire within him. He didn’t want to… no, he couldn’t go through all that again.

  It’s a dream, concluded Gunz. Dammit! Why can’t I just scream and wake up?

  A man jumped in front of him. The gun in his hand flared with bright light, spitting fire, and Gunz felt a push in his shoulder, followed by a burning pain. Reactively, he raised his rifle pointing it in the man’s direction and pressed the trigger without aiming, killing him instantly. The kickback radiated through his body, followed by an agonizing pain in his wounded shoulder. He clasped his hand to his wound, staring at the warm streams of thick red liquid running down his fingers with shock.

  He was bleeding. Real blood. And t
he pain was more than real too.

  Gunz reached for the fire but couldn’t find it. His magic was gone too. What’s going on? The pain was becoming too much to handle. He screamed and spun around, searching for anything that would help him escape this nightmare. A loud buzzing filled his ears and bright flares of light, green and red, followed.

  For a split-second, everything went dark and when Gunz was able to see again, he found himself on the floor of his bedroom. He jumped to his feet and a sharp pain in his shoulder responded to his move. He groaned and touched his shoulder tentatively. His hand was covered with blood. The gunshot wound was real.

  How is this possible? Gunz turned around searching for Mishka, but the wyvern wasn’t in his bedroom.

  “Mishka!” he yelled, and the wyvern materialized in front of him right away.

  “Boss, you’re bleeding,” acknowledged Mishka. He cocked his head, staring at him with interest. “Did you shoot yourself?”

  “Ahh, of course not!” yelled Gunz, clasping the bleeding wound on his shoulder. “I was going to ask you if you noticed anyone come in or out while I was sleeping? Or a presence of any kind of magic, other than mine?”

  “I was downstairs, hunting. One has to eat,” said Mishka, scratching his head with his golden wing. “Didn’t notice anything or anyone.”

  “Hunting? Where?” mumbled Gunz.

  “In your refrigerator, of course,” replied Mishka, shrugging his wings.

  “But of course.” Gunz chuckled, carefully probing the wards and protection spells. All his spells and wards were in place. So, if someone was messing with him, he or she had to be powerful enough to do it, bypassing all his defensive magic.

  The pain in his shoulder was making him nauseous. Gunz let go, reverting to his natural state and quickly healed the wound. When he came back to his human form, he heard the Enter Sandman ringtone blasting in his bedroom, accompanied by a loud rumbling of vibration. This ringtone meant that the caller wasn’t in his contact list. He grabbed his cell phone from the bedstand and stared at the screen.

  3:23 AM.

  Coral Springs, FL.

  A phone number he didn’t recognize.

  Chapter 17

  ~ Tessa ~

  By the time Aidan walked Tessa out of his office, it was close to 10 PM. Everyone left earlier, and their steps were echoing loudly on the marble tiles of the empty lobby. Aidan wanted to walk Tessa to her car, but she gave him one scorching gaze and he backed off right away. He didn’t even try to open the door for her, but she noticed that he stayed in the lobby, watching her until she got into her little Honda and started driving away from the parking lot.

  As her car moved through the evening city streets, she rehashed her conversation with Aidan. It wasn’t the first time she stayed behind to talk to him, but something was different about this time. Aidan was different. He was stressed and looked tired. He asked her about Dr. West and what happened in the dental office. When she told him her side of the story, he kept interrogating her, digging into every little detail until she got tired and cut him off.

  The biggest challenge was explaining to him what Zane was doing in her office and then in the hospital. And at the end, he demanded that she stay away from Zane, telling her that he couldn’t be trusted. She was still boiling about that. Who is he to tell me who I can or cannot associate with? Tessa thought furiously as she drove through the gates of her condominium community.

  She remembered the look on his face when she yelled at him for trying to control her relationships and her life. He looked sad and a little desperate. Then he tried to apologize and tell her that the only reason he mentioned that was because he was worried about her safety.

  As she walked out of the car and the cool evening breeze brushed through her long hair, Tessa sighed, regretting her behavior. Her hot blood started to cool down and now she was looking at everything in a slightly different light. Come to think of it, Aidan did nothing wrong or out of character.

  Since that memorable evening, when he carried her into his school in his arms, he always cared about her wellbeing and did everything to make sure she was safe and had everything she needed. He was like her overprotective older brother—ready to come to the rescue at the first sign of trouble. Tessa decided that tomorrow she’d talk to him and set it all straight.

  She walked up to the door of her condo and reached into her bag for the key. At the same time, her neighbor Mrs. Rosenberg opened her door and slowly walked outside with her little old Pomeranian, Daisy. Both the old lady and the dog were tiny, had fluffy yellow-orange hair, and biddy round eyes. She noticed Tessa and waved her hand.

  “Hello darling,” she said, her brown eyes smiling kindly.

  “Hi Mrs. Rosenberg, what are you doing outside this late?” asked Tessa, smiling back at her. She liked this little old lady and her little old dog. Since Tessa moved back into her mom’s condo, Mrs. Rosenberg always found a reason to stop by and bring freshly baked cookies or invite her for dinner.

  “Aw, it’s nothing, darling,” she said, waving her wrinkled hand dismissively. “Daisy is a bit restless tonight. She keeps whining and crying, and I thought I’d take her out to get some fresh air.” She sighed, massaging her left shoulder with her fingers deformed by arthritis. “But to be honest with you, my joints are bothering me today more than ever. I won’t be surprised if the weather will start changing tomorrow… Well, you have a good night, honey. And do come by for dinner before your karate practice tomorrow…”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Rosenberg,” said Tessa, but as she watched the old lady shuffling away, slowly and heavily stepping on her sore feet, she sighed and rushed after her. “Why don’t you go home, Mrs. Rosenberg. I’ll walk with Daisy and bring her back in a few minutes.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Tessa returned Daisy back to Mrs. Rosenberg and finally walked into her apartment. She took a quick shower and climbed into her bed, feeling her every muscle throbbing with tiredness.

  A half hour passed but Tessa still couldn’t sleep. In the quietness of her bedroom, she could hear Daisy howling and the wooden floor moaning under Mrs. Rosenberg’s heavy steps. Tessa turned to her side and pressed a pillow over her ear. Little by little, her exhausted body won the war with her overly vigilant mind, and she fell asleep.

  Tessa woke up with a start. She sat upright and searched around, her heart beating heavily against her ribcage. The room wasn’t dark—she always kept a nightlight on, but in the dim light of her starry globe, she didn’t notice anything unusual. Except for the semi-transparent form of Mrs. Rosenberg, glowing with a soft white light, which was levitating right above her bed, everything else was as usual.

  “Holy mother of pearl!” she yelped, jumping off the bed. “Are you dead or something?”

  “Or something,” replied Mrs. Rosenberg dryly, slowly gliding down to the floor, now levitating in front of Tessa. “What do you think?”

  “Oh, no… Mrs. Rosenberg,” whispered Tessa, sadness constricting her throat and filling her eyes with tears.

  Probably the most adaptive species in nature are human beings. People can get used to pretty much anything. Tessa remembered how terrified she was when she started to see the spirits of the dead. But now she felt nothing but deep sadness. She was still uncomfortable with her ability, but mostly because she didn’t know what it was and how to use it. She didn’t know what she was and why she had this power. But after seeing what Zane could do and realizing that she wasn’t the only supernatural freak in this universe, she started to feel better and the fear slowly melted away.

  “Don’t Mrs. Rosenberg me, Tessa,” said the spirit of the old lady sternly, shaking her semi-transparent head. “I’m not here for a social call.”

  “I can see that,” said Tessa, stretching her hand to the spirit. “I’m so sorry about your death. Let me help you, Mrs. Rosenberg.”

  The spirit flew up to the ceiling, avoiding her touch and glowered down at her indignantly. Tessa stared up, her jaw dropped. She never sa
w such a strange, irritable spirit before and she wasn’t sure if the behavior of Mrs. Rosenberg was funny, frustrating, or scary.

  “Don’t you dare touch me, missy!” the spirit shouted, folding her arms over her chest. “I still have some unfinished business, and this is why I’m here.”

  “Oh,” mumbled Tessa, the first time in her life lost for words.

  “Oh?” repeated the spirit, an air of sarcasm swirling around her. “That’s all you can say, Therasia Donovan?”

  “Okay, Mrs. Rosenberg, let’s take it down a notch on your sarcasm. You were never like this when you were alive, so let’s not start it in your afterlife.”

  “Afterlife, huh?” huffed Mrs. Rosenberg. “Darling, I can’t start on my way to the afterlife until I deliver a message to you. And you’re wasting my precious time here.”

  “A message?”

  “Do I hear an echo here?” asked the spirit, throwing her translucent hands in the air. But then she sighed and waved toward the door. “Follow me, child. Let me show you something.”

  The spirit glided out of the bedroom into the living room and Tessa followed her. They crossed the living room, and the spirit halted in front of a small den. The den was so small that a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with books and a small sofa was taking most of its space. It was Tessa’s favorite spot in the house. Any free moment she had, she would spend it in this den, curled up with a book on the sofa.

  “Tessa, darling,” said the spirit, her voice suddenly soft and kind like it used to be in life, “you’ve been to my place before. Our apartments’ floor plans are supposed to be identical. Now, look carefully at your den and compare it to mine. Do you see any difference?”