Baptism of Fire (Playing With Hellfire Book 1)

by Jessie Thomas

  “I don’t know.”

  I pushed my hair over one shoulder and kept my back to him. It wasn’t his fault that I needed space. That I suddenly felt like my lungs were conspiring against me. The traitorous bastards. My hands trembled at my sides and I felt shaky all over. Maybe I’d spontaneously combust at last with all the heat rushing to my face.

  “I thought I was going to be all right…I don’t know. I need a moment.”

  When I spun around again, he had his hand in his pocket, a deep crease between his brows. “That’s okay,” he said softly. “We’ll go in whenever you’re ready. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I can’t go in there.” I let out a shaky exhale. “I know I have to, it’s just…I can’t. I don’t want to, and I know that’s selfish, but—”

  “We’ll be with you the whole time,” Javier assured. “He shows up, you won’t have to face him alone. I’ve got your back, Nix. Whatever happens in there, you’ve got people who’ll help.”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “I should be freaking out about him and it’s not about him for once. It’s…them. Everyone in there.”

  He followed when I moved further away, hopefully out of earshot of everyone passing by. I was sure a few people slowed to watch my little parking lot meltdown.

  “I’m going to walk in and maybe I can get away with existing quietly for a bit but then they’ll notice. And they’ll look at me in that way that I can’t stand and they’ll ask questions and it’s going to be this endless, horrible cycle of the same shit all night long. I can’t do it. I don’t want to deal with that. I don’t care how good their intentions might be.”

  His hand lingered near my elbow and when I leaned into the delicate press of his fingertips, he didn’t pull away.

  “You don’t have to,” Javier said. “None of that’s their business. And if they want to be nosy assholes, I’ll bail you out.”

  My hands slowed their anxious shaking, but my face was still flushed and probably beet red. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear with a huff after I watched it flutter in front of my eyes.

  “Yeah?” I’d never been this anxious around crowds before—let alone crowds of people that were supposed to be my colleagues and coworkers—and I felt stupid for it. Admitting it to another soul felt even worse.

  “Every time,” he answered. When he offered his arm to me, I took it. “Come on, let’s get this shit over with.”

  “That seems to be our motto these days.”

  “Kind of our style,” Javier said. “Not a great look for us, but we’ll make it work.”

  “You think?” I asked. “It feels like I’m falling apart before we’ve gotten anywhere.”

  “That’s just gonna be how it is for us: making shit up as we go and hoping that we’ll land on our feet.”

  Maybe he was right.

  We started for the doors again, falling into step with each other, our arms linked. It wouldn’t last long—I had a goddamn demon as my plus one for the night—but it felt good to know he’d stick close by anyway. The feeling didn’t come without its own shade of guilt, without the fear that I was doing something wrong by letting him in. More than I was probably willing to tell him. For now, I needed someone to have my back or I’d bolt right out of there.

  We had a demon to kill.

  24

  “There you are.” We’d barely stepped inside when I heard Gemma’s voice. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the violent flash of blue and red outside to the oddly dim mood lighting. “We’ve been looking for you two. What was the hold up?”

  “Nothing,” I said at the same time Javier answered, “Traffic.”

  Gemma snorted, obviously conjuring up much more suggestive excuses.

  Javier didn’t hear it. Or maybe he’d ignored it.

  We broke from the foot traffic clogging up the front doors, off to the side of the foyer where Gemma waited with Jodi, Ozias, and Cassia, who didn’t look like much of a prisoner at all.

  I squinted. With the lights turned down low, there were too many shadows. Too many places where the malevolence would find an invitation. “Where’s Detective Rashid keeping watch?”

  “A few blocks down,” Jodi replied. Her dark gray pantsuit and severe bun weren’t far from her usual work attire. “She got here early and put some wards on the building, but we’re not exactly confident that it’s going to keep out an incendiary with his power. We can only hope that it might buy us some time.”

  “It is a respectable effort,” Cassia said. “Even if it’s futile.”

  “Who asked you?” Ozias snapped.

  He stood next to Gemma in a tailored suit the color of crushed berries paired with an indigo tie and a light blue dress shirt. His cufflinks glinted silver under the lights. Gemma, meanwhile, wore her requisite black, a tea-length dress with a satin bow around the waist and lace accents. There was an impressive heel on her chunky ankle boots. She nudged the bridge of her glasses back into place on her nose and pulled a face, already weary of Cassia’s unwanted presence.

  “I happen the authority on this,” she said. “I know what he’s like and what he’s capable of. You are, as I recall, working with me for a reason.”

  Ozias groaned, dismissing Cassia’s smart mouth. “Where do you want us, Jodi?”

  “You’ll be with me,” Jodi said. “Gemma, you’ll go with Javier, see if you can strengthen some of the wards, but do it quietly.”

  “That’s nearly impossible.” Gemma rolled her eyes. “But you’re the lieutenant.”

  “We’ll be running surveillance, keeping an eye on things,” Jodi continued. “We won’t want to make him run. It’ll be up to you, Victoria, to diffuse the situation. Keep him talking, distract him if you can. If we can move this fight away from the crowds, then find a way to do it.”

  “Great,” I deadpanned. “Got it.”

  I let go of Javier’s arm. He leaned in for a few seconds longer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll stay close.”

  You’d better, I wanted to say. I didn’t. It made sense—Cassia and I were the bait. She knew her place and enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than I did. She wore that smug grin like an accessory, like the crystals that sparkled on the bodice of her off-the-shoulder dress.

  It had to be silk for as delicate and graceful as it was. Not black—I often imagined that black attire was some kind of demon requirement—but bright emerald green. The sort of curve-hugging gown that drew a lot of attention. A silver, emerald-encrusted clip pinned some of her curls away from her face. It seemed exactly like the kind of thing that belonged at a ritzy incendiary ball, not here. There wasn’t a trace of the cut on her lip, no sense that she’d just been in a dank warehouse prison this morning. I was sort of dying to know how she’d managed to pull herself together under the circumstances. Some extra special demon illusion?

  Cassia took over where Javier had been a minute before, hooking her arm around mine. I suppressed a groan as we finally walked through the foyer and into the main room, around everyone who’d stopped to chat despite the tide of people they were disrupting. The interior was just as poorly lit as the foyer. Wrought-iron chandeliers offered weak light from above, while the mahogany paneling gave the place a claustrophobic kind of ambiance. They’d added touches of red for us—the PFFD logo prominently displayed, elegantly folded napkins against stark white tablecloths. A dessert table overflowed with firefighter-themed confections, from decorative cupcakes to chocolates dusted in silver and scarlet.

  Cassia scooped up two glasses of champagne from one of the trays that moved past us.

  “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “I will not.” She offered one of the slender glasses to me. I declined it, which finally forced her to let go of my arm and double-fist the champagne that she apparently had no interest in putting back. “If it were any other circumstance, baby Phoenix—if I were not what I am, and you not whatever it is that you are—you wouldn’t be so uptight about it.”

/>   “I would, actually.”

  “Am I not your type?”

  “No,” I said. “Narcissism doesn’t put you anywhere on my radar.”

  “Well, that’s your loss, I suppose,” Cassia said. “Differences aside, I don’t think I would mind it. I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.” I craned my neck, trying to find Javier and Gemma in the crowd. I’d seen Ozias and Jodi disappear toward the back of the building where the rooms for smaller parties and private events were hidden. “Again. You might want to lower your expectations.”

  “You’re sure I couldn’t tempt you?” Cassia pressed. Was she already getting a buzz from that champagne, or was she just this persistent and bold on purpose? I knew nothing about the incendiaries’ tolerance for alcohol. “One night.”

  I scoffed. “Nope. That sort of thing doesn’t interest me, demon or otherwise. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Pity.” She downed one of the champagne glasses and set it on a nearby table, already working her way through the second like it was water. I suspected that demons could probably drink us pathetic mortals under the table if they wanted.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been met with the same flavor of contempt over my preferences, but it’d been a while since I genuinely felt bad about it. I wasn’t going to let a demon drag me back into my teenage angst.

  “You might want to slow down on the drinks,” I suggested, while wondering how I could possibly remain sober the rest of the night. Goddamn it.

  “I never could pass on an invitation to a party,” Cassia said. “And since all you offered me was a tragic excuse for a meal, I’m not going to decline the chance to indulge in whatever I can get.”

  “Okay, it was tacos from a food truck,” I answered. “We didn’t make you eat gruel.”

  After she’d polished off the second glass, she grabbed hold of my arm again, pressing herself to my side.

  “Not that I’ve been there myself, but this world has a lot more comforts than down below, if you know where to find them. At least, according to my father.”

  “I can imagine.” No matter what she said, I still couldn’t stop picturing her father as Satan himself. Such a mysterious, high-ranking figure inspired devilish imagery. “Though, in my opinion, tacos count as comfort food.” Cassia didn’t seem to agree. “Where’d you get the clothes from, anyway? That dress looks too pricey to be a hand-me-down in someone else’s closet.”

  As if she would ever wear anything that was secondhand.

  “Your lieutenant and I went on an outing,” she said, plucking a hors d’oeuvre off a silver tray. I didn’t know what it was; something fancy with fruit and maybe cream cheese garnished on top of a cracker. My stomach still felt too untrustworthy to have anything to eat, let alone drink. It rumbled in protest. I silently told it to shut up.

  I tried to tone down my shock and made a mental note to ask Jodi about this outing later if we all came out of this alive. “Did she foot the bill?”

  “For this? No, of course not. My family has accounts everywhere in this city. This last minute expense wasn’t a problem.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  “You sound awfully jealous, baby Phoenix.”

  “Stop calling me that,” I groaned. “That wasn’t jealousy. It was sarcasm. And some disgust.”

  The fact that her dress and the accompanying jewelry—worth enough to take care of Gemma’s student loans—had been paid for with blood-soaked demon mob money immediately dulled any of its glamor.

  I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and twisted around to find Javier. Alone. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  “For now,” I told him. “Did you lose Gemma already?”

  “She’s around,” he said, his voice low. “A lot more pyros here than I would’ve guessed. Thought they would’ve stayed away.”

  I had felt it, too, now that I’d spent enough time around pyromancers. The moment we’d stepped into the building that electric current, that spark of energy ignited, prickling my senses. I had no idea how to pinpoint the exact source, but it was strong enough to suggest that there were more than I could guess. It seemed like the fire department had become a popular career path for us. I’d been led there because of a family legacy, never knowing there was more beneath the surface. Maybe by some greater instinct.

  No wonder this incendiary wanted to decimate our ranks.

  “Do you think they know? About who he’s been after?”

  “Have to,” Javier said. “Word travels fast, even if it’s whispered.”

  They all came here anyway, knowing the risks. “They’re here proving a point as much as he is.”

  Javier nodded. He squeezed my shoulder again. “Be careful out there. See you around.”

  When I turned my attention back to Cassia, who hadn’t really budged from where she planted herself next to me, she’d watched our exchange with raised eyebrows. Somehow, in such a short amount of time, she had found a third glass of champagne and a couple of plump strawberries. She was worse than a broke college student smuggling free food out of an informational campus meeting. We’d only had her in our custody for a day and a half and she acted like the separation anxiety from her cushy life was a total crisis.

  “Damn,” I said. “Are you going to complain about them not being dipped in chocolate or gold or whatever, or are they up to your standards?”

  “Chocolate would be lovely,” she considered. “But even I would agree that gold is a terrible waste.”

  “I’m glad you draw the line somewhere.”

  “You are making it very hard to enjoy this. And really, you should stop clenching your jaw. It’s an atrocious habit.”

  I sighed. “I need a drink.”

  “Good. Perhaps then you’ll relax.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me to relax.” My teeth were still clenched. Out of spite. “It’s different for you. You’re untouchable.”

  “You assume too much about my life, Fireblood,” Cassia said. “What do you think would happen to me if Marcus were to discover I’m the one behind his undoing? Do you believe that would end well for me?”

  “I don’t think I’d care.”

  She studied me behind the rim of her champagne glass. Her expression was miles deep, her eyes focused on mine but not her attention. I couldn’t read her. “No, you wouldn’t,” she answered, her tone measured. “Sometimes I’m inclined to agree with you.”

  Poor little rich girl. As much as the statement hit home—like barbed wire shoved through my guts—I didn’t feel sorry for her. She was just an emotionally manipulative monster, the sparkling emeralds and expensive dress an illusion for whatever horror was beneath. I’d seen it, literally, in her blood. I knew she was trying to lure me into feeling sympathy for her. She was either doing it for kicks or to get in my pants. Either way, I wasn’t having it. Not gonna happen, princess.

  “Let’s go.”

  Since she wasn’t interested in detaching herself from my arm, I dragged her forward into the crowd that I’d been avoiding. Clusters of people formed circles under a glossy PFFD welcome banner. Some of them had a passing familiarity, though there were so many of us that it was hard to tell. Several had been in my class at the academy, and I felt their gazes on me long enough to be considered rude. It wouldn’t take much time for the whispers to start and more eyes to discover I’d decided to show my face in public.

  Believe me, I wanted to tell them, I’d rather be at home on my couch, wallowing.

  And the thought that immediately chased after that one: Please don’t talk to me.

  There wasn’t much of a rowdy tide to swim against. Nothing like the sharp elbows and adrenaline of Hell’s Gate. I kept my expression guarded but diplomatic. Annoyance welled up in my veins every time I caught someone’s stare and they shied away. Every time I heard my name in a murmur. Every time there was a look thrown in my direction. The version of me before the fire wouldn’t have cared. But this new me was alre
ady teetering on the edge, already too vulnerable for my liking. Provoked easily and even faster to react with teeth and nails.

  It hurt worse knowing whatever control I’d once had had been left in the ashes.

  Acting like a complete asshole wouldn’t help in the slightest, not when we had enough outside elements conspiring to ruin a perfectly good evening. I had to bottle up all the anger and bitterness for the night.

  One more night, and maybe the grief would ease its sharp heel off my neck. Just a little.

  “Nix.” Before the irritation could sidle in, I recognized the voice. There was surprise in it, the tone more friendly and familiar, not I feel bad for you but I don’t know how to talk to you about it.

  “Hey, Bree.”

  I disentangled myself from Cassia, who looked a bit perturbed, to pull Bree into a hug. She set her martini down on the table next to her and wrapped her arms around me, holding tightly. Her sun yellow dress gathered at one shoulder in a bunch of artfully placed ruffles. Gold glittered across her eyes and there was a shimmer painted over the swell of her cheekbones.

  “Good to see you,” she said, still holding me by the arms when she broke our hug. “I was gonna text you earlier. I didn’t want to pressure you. Glad you decided to come because I’ve been listening to Davis complain about potholes for the past half hour. God, I can’t even catch a break outside of shift.”

  Bree took up her martini glass again, her dark eyes sliding over to Cassia, who was momentarily preoccupied by another silver tray. “Hmm.” She hummed through a light sip of the neon pink martini. “Is this part of…‘work stuff’?”

  “Uh,” I hedged, suppressing the grimace at the thought. “In a sense. Kind of.”

  One day, I knew it was my duty to tell Bree the truth—best friends’ code and all—but this moment in particular didn’t seem like the right one. Bree gave me that slightly wide-eyed, crooked grin look that she always got whenever she discussed relationship things with friends.

  “Right,” I said, a little too quickly to be convincing. “Bree, this is Cassia. Cassia, this is Bree Ramos. We work together.”