Flashfire

by Deborah Cooke

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jean-Pierre said, bending to kiss the back of Cassie’s hand. Stacy rolled her eyes and fanned herself when he couldn’t see her face. Cassie fought her laughter, trying to turn it into a polite smile as Jean-Pierre straightened. “You must call me JP, as all my American friends do.”

  Cassie had a strange and sudden dislike of JP, although she couldn’t say why. He was handsome and he was charming, but something felt off.

  On the other hand, her judgment was seriously questionable on this day.

  It might be the heat.

  It might be that she was feeling protective of Stacy, who did have terrible taste in guys.

  Not that Cassie was picking any long-term players herself.

  “Sorry . . . ,” Cassie started to say, but Stacy just grinned at her.

  “It’s easy to get separated here,” she said breezily, then winked when JP looked away. It was clear that Stacy had no hard feelings, even if Cassie felt guilty.

  She still couldn’t figure out what had made her act that way.

  “Cassie’s a photographer,” Stacy said, then hopped back on to her seat.

  “Really?” JP was being polite. Cassie knew it. He wasn’t interested in her, and that was just fine. He smiled at Stacy and Stacy smiled back.

  “She’s really good at it,” Stacy said, and Cassie saw JP’s flicker of annoyance. Maybe he’d rather they talked about him.

  Well, she knew how to remove the spotlight from herself.

  “ ‘Paparazzi’ is maybe a better term for photographers like me,” Cassie said. “It’s not like I have shows in galleries or anything.” She flagged the bartender and ordered herself a glass of wine.

  Surprisingly, her attempt to deflect attention from herself only had JP turning toward her with interest.

  “So, you must know a lot of celebrities,” he said.

  “You could say that.” Cassie smiled. “Some throw rocks at my Jeep when they see it.”

  His eyes sparkled. For a second, it looked like malice, not humor. But she must have been mistaken. “Do they ever hit it?”

  “Not often, but I had to get the windshield replaced last month.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you, taking pictures of people who don’t want to be photographed?”

  Ah, so this was his issue.

  Cassie was used to this question, and had made her peace with the concept a long time ago. “It comes with the territory, don’t you think? Some people think that to be famous, they need to be in the news all the time. They’re the stars who actively cultivate every kind of exposure. I don’t think it’s reasonable for them to expect to be able to turn that on and off to suit their own convenience. You go around lighting fires, you’re going to get burned.”

  It was an unfortunate choice of analogy, one that reminded her of where she and Stacy had been that afternoon.

  “But those who don’t look for the exposure?” JP persisted.

  “They want to be left alone.” Cassie shrugged. “I usually leave them alone.”

  “Other photographers don’t, though,” Stacy said.

  JP nodded. “I’ve seen them, at Cannes. It’s quite vulgar how aggressive they can be.”

  Cassie heard the judgment in his tone and didn’t blame him for it. The pursuit of a coveted shot—and the money it would pay—could get ugly. “Sure. There’s often more money offered for shots of reclusive celebrities.” Cassie smiled and firmly tried to close the subject. “I work freelance. I choose my own jobs. We all do. I can’t answer for every other photographer and his or her choices. I try to make choices I can live with.”

  Which was exactly what she had done recently, which was the core of the problem. That, however, wasn’t JP’s business.

  Stacy was watching Cassie, probably having guessed something from her friend’s tone, but Cassie looked away. She wasn’t ready to talk about her crisis of faith yet.

  And certainly not in front of JP.

  The conversation died as the waitress brought Cassie’s wine. She thought she might just disappear with it, so these two could get back to their private conversation.

  “And so?” Stacy prompted, leaning closer to Cassie. “Did he tell you what you wanted to know?”

  “Who?” JP asked.

  Stacy told the story when Cassie might have swept it aside. “Cassie asked the illusionist Lorenzo where she could find one of those dragon shape shifters that have been mentioned on TV.” She nodded with excitement and sipped her drink. “It was amazing.”

  JP swallowed a smile, his eyes twinkling as he lifted his drink to his lips. Cassie interpreted that as skepticism and smiled at him. “I know,” she said. “It’s crazy. The whole dragon shape-shifter gig has to be a trick, but Lorenzo pulled a great one.”

  JP put down his glass. “I don’t understand.”

  “His answer was ‘Right here!’ ” Stacy contributed, flinging her hands up in an echo of Lorenzo’s move. Fortunately, she’d already put down the pink drink. “Then he turned into a dragon and flew over the crowd. It was incredible!”

  “It was an illusion,” Cassie said. “I’m sure he does it every night and twice on Wednesdays.” She took a sip of her wine, hoping Stacy didn’t feel compelled to share the rest of what had happened.

  JP frowned. “But I don’t understand,” he said. “I saw his show the other night. He didn’t turn into a dragon.”

  “It was the big finish,” Stacy insisted. “After he got out of that tank, then answered three questions.”

  JP shook his head. “No. He disappeared in a pillar of starlight. That was the big finish. There was no dragon. I would have remembered that.”

  No dragon?

  Cassie and Stacy exchanged a glance. “Maybe it was an addition to the show,” Cassie suggested, sensing that wasn’t the answer.

  “A new trick,” Stacy agreed with a nod. “We were just the first to see it.”

  “Do you think so?” JP asked. “I thought these shows ran for years, essentially the same, then were renamed or even relocated when the performance changed.”

  He was right. Cassie thought about the magnitude of the illusion and couldn’t imagine that it would just be added into the act without fanfare. Lorenzo seemed to have a flair for publicity.

  “Ah, look at the time. No wonder I’m hungry. Would you ladies join me for dinner?” JP asked, his gaze fixed upon Stacy.

  Cassie got the message and declined his invitation, but Stacy accepted with a smile. There was no sign of the waitress, so Cassie said she’d stay to finish her wine. JP gave her some cash to cover the bill for all of their drinks, plus a nice tip.

  He wasn’t cheap, which was a good change for Stacy.

  Stacy tucked her arm into JP’s elbow as they walked away and Cassie watched him lean closer, put his hand over hers, say something that made her smile. And maybe he was a bit of a gentleman, too. Stacy could use a bit of that.

  Stacy gave Cassie a fingertip wave and smiled; then they were lost in the throng.

  Maybe Cassie had judged him too quickly.

  She sipped her wine and wondered some more about the dragon.

  The obvious conclusion was insane. There had to be another logical explanation.

  And Cassie would find it.

  Chapter 4

  “Another round?” the waitress asked, startling Cassie.

  “No, thanks. I’ll settle up.” Cassie watched the woman as she produced the tab. She paid the bill, appreciating JP’s math skills again.

  “Thanks!” The waitress smiled and started to turn away.

  Cassie had an idea. She called after the waitress. “By the way, have you seen Lorenzo’s show, the Trial by Fire?”

  “Several times,” the woman acknowledged, her smile genuine. “It’s
fabulous. My kids want to go all the time. We’ve seen it maybe eight times this year, whenever I manage to snag some comps.” She winked. “Funny, but I don’t mind going either, given the view after that water tank trick.” She smiled, then scanned her section.

  “That and the dragon trick,” Cassie said.

  The waitress glanced back at her in surprise. “What dragon trick?”

  “When he turns into a dragon, right at the end.”

  The waitress frowned. “Are you talking about Lorenzo’s show, the Trial by Fire?”

  Cassie nodded, her excitement rising. “We just saw it this afternoon and he turned into a dragon at the end of the questions. It was incredible.”

  “No kidding.” The waitress pursed her lips. “Well, that’s funny. I can’t imagine that he’d add a new illusion without advertising it, much less that he’d do it right now.”

  “Right now?”

  “Lorenzo has that big spectacle coming up on the weekend.” The waitress rolled her eyes as Cassie recalled Stacy’s brochure. “He’s going to be buried alive in his car for a month. My kids are beside themselves with anticipation. There was no chance of our watching it on HBO—even though the tickets cost me the earth and I had to seriously negotiate for a Saturday off.” A patron at a nearby table raised a hand and she flashed one last smile at Cassie. “Gotta get back to it.”

  She left Cassie, moving toward the patron with a smile.

  Interesting. The dragon trick was new. Had it been in response to her question? But how could he have prepared for it, if it had been done just by chance? How had he done it anyway?

  It had to be a new trick, maybe one he’d been testing out for the first time today. That was the only thing that made sense.

  Cassie finished her wine and put the empty glass on the bar. The obvious way to find out whether Lorenzo had added a new illusion or whether it had been a one-off was to go to the evening show.

  Even though she didn’t want to see him again.

  No, this was pure research. The resolution of an intellectual question. Solving a puzzle, hunting down something that didn’t add up. This was completely characteristic of her.

  Even if her pulse was leaping.

  She’d go up to the room, shower and change, grab something to eat, then head back for the evening show. It would be sold out, like the other performances this week, but maybe Ursula would let her into the theater.

  Lorenzo would never even need to know that she was there.

  Besides, if he repeated the trick, images of the show might satisfy that editor’s craving for photos of the Pyr. It wasn’t quite what she wanted, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t pay for them anyway. If dragons were hot, dragon shots would sell to someone.

  Cassie decided to buy a decent camera before the show.

  Just in case.

  She’d better pick up a present for Ursula, to smooth her own entry into the theater. She congratulated herself as she left the bar, glad to find her usual workaholic spark back in play. Maybe a little fun had been all she needed to reenergize. Maybe she’d been making too much of that troublesome incident. Maybe Wade hadn’t been right about an inevitable crisis of faith.

  Cassie strode toward the elevators, telling herself that her rising sense of anticipation had nothing to do with the prospect of seeing her passionate lover again.

  Even she knew a lie when she heard one.

  “I don’t have time to discuss this with you,” Lorenzo told Erik.

  The leader of the Pyr didn’t look inclined to leave Lorenzo’s dressing room. In fact, Erik appeared to be supremely pissed off. Given that he was characteristically grim, principled, and inclined to irritation, that wasn’t much of a surprise.

  Lorenzo was pretty sure that Erik hadn’t liked him choosing the venue, or the fact that Ursula had met him in the lobby and escorted him to the dressing room. Like Lorenzo, Erik preferred to keep the element of surprise on his own side.

  Lorenzo wasn’t happy with the situation himself, but he hid his reaction. He had no idea how much Erik knew or suspected about flashfire, but he could guess what the leader of the Pyr would think about it. Lorenzo didn’t intend to share any information.

  His dressing room was filled with the woman’s scent, which distracted him mightily. It took considerable effort to think of anything other than the silk of her skin beneath his hands and the way her lips parted in surprise.

  He wanted to surprise her again.

  He wanted to repeat that particular performance.

  And the realization was killing his composure.

  “I’m not going to simply forget about this, Lorenzo,” Erik insisted. “I’ve been patient, but I need to you to rejoin the Pyr. I need every talon . . .”

  “Rejoin?” Lorenzo scoffed. “I’ve never been part of your team.”

  Erik’s eyes flashed. “You’re not Slayer.”

  “I don’t play on anyone’s team. Period.” Saturday could not come soon enough.

  “You must!” Erik became more agitated. “We are in the midst of the final reckoning with the Slayers . . .”

  “Blah blah blah. It’s always a crisis.” Lorenzo eyed the other Pyr’s reflection in the mirror and forced a smile. “You need to get out more,” he suggested, calmly fastening the front of his white shirt. “Find some entertainment. Enjoy life. You’re in the perfect place for such an endeavor.”

  Erik’s lips tightened. “There is a firestorm, and it is my responsibility . . .”

  “There is no firestorm,” Lorenzo corrected in that same mild tone. He made a show of checking his reflection as if unconcerned with Erik’s presence. He could use a bit more color, he decided. It had been so busy that he hadn’t had time to bask in the sun this week, and he could see that his tan was starting to fade.

  He was livid that Erik would dare to come to the theater and challenge him. Lorenzo answered to no one, man or Pyr, and the one individual who should have understood that was Erik. Lorenzo invited Erik when he wanted to talk to him, and not one minute before. And he didn’t want to talk to Erik now. Lorenzo took a steadying breath and forced the light of anger out of his eyes.

  The less Erik knew of his true feelings, the better. He must not even think about flashfire lest Erik catch wind of Lorenzo’s real intent.

  Lorenzo, fortunately, could feign indifference better than most.

  “Of course there is a firestorm,” Erik argued with impatience. He started to pace the width of the room, always a sign of a pending lecture. His British accent was stronger, too, which meant he was even more annoyed than he looked. “It was launched by the eclipse earlier today and I followed its heat to you. You are having a firestorm, whether you like it or not.”

  “No, I’m not,” Lorenzo said calmly.

  Erik’s eyes flashed. “You don’t have a choice in the matter. . . .”

  “The firestorm is sated,” Lorenzo said, interrupting him. He gestured to the unmade bed, then picked up his tie. “She was most enchanting.” He examined the tie, as if it were fascinating.

  He was actually recalling the sight of her.

  In that purple lingerie.

  The memory stirred him more than would have been ideal. Far more. He always forgot women as soon as he had them. Why did he keep thinking about this one? Why was he wondering what lingerie she was wearing now? Why was he tempted to find her and seduce her again? Why hadn’t he learned his lesson?

  Why did he have to endure this complication now?

  Erik opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked at the bed, then at Lorenzo, his displeasure clear. “You have already satisfied it? It’s only hours since it sparked.”

  “I thought you’d be pleased,” Lorenzo said coolly, then chided the older Pyr. “Actually, I thought you’d already know. Are you losing your edge?” It am
used him to remind Erik of his connection with all of the Pyr, right before Lorenzo and the flashfire severed that connection.

  A charged silence was his only reply.

  Lorenzo smiled at his reflection, exuding a calm he didn’t feel. The knot of his tie didn’t come out as neatly as he wanted, so he unfurled the tie and started over. Lorenzo wished that hadn’t happened—it was random chance, but made it look as if he were rattled. He knew Erik would notice.

  His game wasn’t slipping that badly.

  Not quite.

  Even if he couldn’t stop thinking of the contrast between the woman’s luxurious, feminine lingerie and her practical, easy-to-overlook clothing. Which was the real woman? The hedonist or the pragmatist? Which was the illusion? Which was the truth?

  What was her name?

  Why did he want to know so badly?

  Erik folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe. “Why would I be pleased?”

  Just as anticipated, Erik’s tone had changed. Instead of being confrontational, he was composed, curious. Lorenzo stifled his annoyance. Erik had noticed Lorenzo’s agitation, which meant that the illusion was not perfect. Lorenzo turned from the mirror to confront the man who had once been his friend.

  “It always pleases you when a firestorm is satisfied,” he said, his tone challenging.

  “True enough. But that was a quick seduction, even for you.” There was a taunt in Erik’s tone and Lorenzo chose to take the bait.

  “I beguiled her. Of course.” He smiled as Erik inhaled sharply. So he had still managed to needle the leader of the Pyr. He turned back to the mirror and adjusted the length of his tie, feeling more in control of the situation. He could hear the audience filing into the theater and needed his composure. “It was a question of expediency.”

  Erik arched a brow. He flicked a glance to the door, then switched to old-speak. “Does she know there will be a child?”

  Always concerned with discretion and the long-term view. Always convinced of the Pyr mythology, which Lorenzo thought was a lot of wishful thinking.