Flashfire

by Deborah Cooke

  Puttana.

  Diavolo.

  She remembered enough rudimentary Italian to translate those two words.

  Whore.

  Devil.

  Angelina put the baby on the bed, fussing over him with agitation. She looked around the room in obvious fear, then seized a box on a table. She opened it and Cassie saw the glitter of gemstones. Angelina took a handful of gems and swallowed them, grabbing a glass of wine to wash them down. She had done this twice by the time the girl came back, then spoke to the maid, who repeated the act.

  Meanwhile the shouts became louder.

  The maid swore softly at the sound of wood shattering in the lower part of the house. Angelina flung the rest of the gems into the fire. She barred the door; then the two women pushed a trunk across it to barricade it.

  Angelina then went to one of the paneled walls and felt along the edge. Somehow she opened a panel, revealing a narrow winding staircase. Cassie could smell wood burning, and she heard the reception room being trashed. The men’s shouts were louder.

  Angelina and her maid fled through the opening, Cassie right behind them. Angelina shut the portal, urging the girl up into the darkness. Lorenzo was clutched to her chest. Moments later, the two women emerged on the roof. Cassie was awed by the view; all of Venice spread at their feet, the red clay roofs and domes touched by shimmering moonlight.

  Angelina wasted no time on the view. She raced to the chimney on the far side of the roof, tugging a loose brick free. She removed half a dozen bricks and Cassie saw that there was a recess in this chimney, one bricked from all sides.

  Angelina’s breath caught in a sob. The maid cried out and slammed the trapdoor closed at the top of the staircase. Angelina whispered something in Venetian, perhaps a prayer, kissed her son, and slipped him into the hidden space.

  She replaced the bricks with shaking hands, tears running down her face. Then she looked skyward, crossed herself, and prayed again.

  Cassie didn’t need a translator to know what Angelina was praying for.

  The men burst onto the roof just as Angelina joined the maid. They fled to the opposite side of the roof, and stood together, defiant and fearful. Backed by half a dozen men, their leader spoke to Angelina in a tone that was far from flattering.

  She gave as good as she got, making a show of being undaunted as the men circled. Cassie could see the flames leaping from the windows below, lapping at the stone facade of the house.

  Angelina spoke quickly to the maid, then stepped in front of her. She said something daring to the man, gesturing to his crotch. Cassie assumed by his outrage that she had insulted his masculinity.

  He swore. He flung his torch across the roof to let it burn wherever it landed. He unfastened his trousers and advanced upon Angelina. She never blinked. She never retreated. She just kept taunting him. Two men seized her and pushed her to the ground. They held her down as the other man mounted her.

  She laughed when she saw his manhood.

  Then she spat in his face.

  He struck her hard, making her nose bleed, but she mocked him even more. He mounted her in a fury, beating her with his fists, and Cassie was horrified by how intent he was upon hurting her. When he was done and stepped away, a beaten Angelina smiled at him again.

  “Syphilide,” she whispered, indicating that he would contract a venereal disease from her. Then she laughed and laughed. He kicked her. He beat her. He struck her so many times that every bone must have been broken. Her face was a bloody pulp.

  But what none of the men had noticed was that the maid had fled.

  She had jumped to the next roof and run while the men were occupied. Cassie saw her far away, at the end of the block of houses. She glanced back one last time, then dove off the roof. Cassie heard a splash and knew the girl would be safe.

  Angelina had planned it that way. She had sacrificed herself to ensure the survival of those she cared about. Cassie was awed by the power of her love.

  But the baby cried just as the flames began to emerge from the trapdoor in the roof. The men looked around, seeking the source of the sound, and Cassie prayed for Lorenzo’s survival.

  Even though she knew he had survived.

  It was all so real though, as if she were there in the moment, and she feared that Angelina’s plan would come undone at the last second. The men began to prowl the roof, seeking the child they now knew was there. She heard her heart pound in terror.

  But that was when she saw the silvery dragon descend out of the sky, breathing fire and fury. His eyes flashed, and his talons were extended. He was magnificent and livid, his scales gleaming like silver in the night.

  But Salvatore was too late to save his beloved.

  For Angelina lay in a pool of her own blood, stilled forever.

  Erik leaned over the makeshift cradle, watching his daughter sleep. The hotel room was secure enough, Erik supposed, his dragonsmoke barrier woven thick and deep around it. He could hear the traffic on the Strip and could see the flashing lights even through the curtains.

  He couldn’t sleep.

  He couldn’t leave.

  He knew that Lorenzo believed he didn’t need the Pyr. He knew that Lorenzo was determined to do things his own way. But Erik had a niggling sense that Lorenzo failed to understand the full truth of his situation, of the dangers a firestorm could draw. He feared that if he left, Lorenzo would need him and he’d be too far away to help.

  He’d smelled Balthasar’s arrival, but that Slayer had been defeated before Erik could get to Lorenzo’s home. Probably better that way. Still, he sensed other forces, forces that were less easy to identify.

  Who else was in town?

  Erik suspected he couldn’t feel the most dangerous ones. Those Slayers who had drunk the Elixir could disguise their scent at will, and Erik worried that he had no idea where they had all hidden themselves.

  He paced the width of the hotel room, watching his partner sleep and casting glances at his daughter.

  “No point pestering her,” a familiar voice said in old-speak and Erik jumped.

  He pivoted to find his dead son, Sigmund, leaning against the wall. Actually, Sigmund’s shoulder slid partway into the wall, as if it provided no real barrier to him.

  Erik sat down and braced his elbows on his knees as he confronted his son. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to do more than annoy me.”

  “Why change now?” Sigmund asked with a smile.

  Erik exhaled with irritation. He might have paced again, but Sigmund cleared his throat.

  “Come on, Pops. Have a bit of faith.”

  Pops? Erik glanced back to find a woman standing beside his dead son. She was no more substantial than Sigmund, although she was beautiful. She was richly dressed, her red-gold hair coiled in elaborate braids and a pearl as big as his thumb hanging from each ear lobe. Her décolletage was as creamy as ivory, her lips as red as blood.

  “Meet Angelina,” Sigmund said.

  “Dead like you,” Erik guessed.

  Sigmund nodded. “Dead like me. She wants to tell you something, but I know you don’t speak Italian.” Sigmund arched a brow. “Venetian, actually.” Angelina looked back and forth between then, her fingers toying with her rings in agitation.

  Erik caught his breath and guessed again. “Lorenzo’s mother.”

  At the sound of her son’s name, Angelina’s features lit up.

  “The very same,” Sigmund confirmed.

  “What does she have to tell me?” Erik demanded.

  “Hey, don’t go falling all over yourself thanking me for my help.”

  “What does she have to tell me?” Erik asked again, his old-speak even more emphatic than it had been.

  Angelina confided in Sigmund, her words spilling in her haste to be heard. Within moment
s, Erik was verifying that he understood everything when Lorenzo’s old-speak unfurled in Erik’s mind.

  “I need your help.”

  Erik was so stunned that he pivoted and looked in the direction of the sound of Lorenzo’s voice. Was it a trick? He glanced back to find Sigmund grinning.

  “Lorenzo wants my help,” Erik echoed in amazement.

  “Well, who says old dogs can’t learn new tricks?” Sigmund asked and Angelina smiled.

  “Is he sincere?” Erik had to ask.

  Angelina nodded, her eyes shining, and gestured for him to go. Erik checked the power of his dragonsmoke barrier, kissed his partner and his child, then went to his old friend.

  Just before he left, Erik glanced back toward his son and found Sigmund standing alone. His son was looking into the distance, a slight smile on his lips. Erik followed his gaze and saw two shadows. One was Angelina, and she was laughing up at a dragon that hovered over her.

  The dragon shimmered blue, the glimmer of change sliding over his body from snout to tail.

  One last time.

  Erik knew he was glimpsing the future, his gift of foresight telling him what would be. He understood that he would soon feel the fading of one Pyr in the great network of dragons in the world. There was no doubt in his mind which Pyr it would be.

  If anything, that just made Erik’s mission more imperative.

  Chapter 13

  To Lorenzo’s relief, Erik came quickly, and he wasn’t laughing.

  Although that didn’t mean Lorenzo was home free.

  Lorenzo sat on the summit of the rock in his human form and watched the onyx and pewter dragon descend out of the night sky. The moonlight gleamed on Erik’s dark scales, illuminating how he moved with powerful surety.

  It had been a long time since the two had first flown together, since they had lingered together in Venice. Lorenzo smiled at the longevity of their friendship, regretting that he had turned his back on it in recent years.

  Erik landed beside Lorenzo and shifted to human form. He sat down beside him, his gaze sweeping over the site. Lorenzo kept silent, knowing that his old friend was checking for foes.

  “Surrounded by your smoke,” Erik said, as if surprised. He slanted a look at Lorenzo, one that seemed to see right through to his heart. “Help with what?”

  By way of reply, Lorenzo recounted the prophecy.

  “Flashfire lights the solitude

  Of the Pyr with most to lose.

  Firestorm plus an ancient spell

  Fuels lust that sees his sense dispelled.

  Flashfire’s promise is a lure

  To cheat the Pyr of his true power.

  Will he see through the disguise

  Forget the song, seize the prize?

  The future hangs upon his choice

  Between life and love, or sacrifice.”

  He watched Erik think about it, ponder its references. He handed Erik the piece of parchment. “Is it genuine?”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “Cassie got it from Angelina, in a painting at my lair.”

  Erik blinked but recovered himself. He almost smiled. “Darkfire,” he murmured, then nodded. “I had heard that a prophecy about you had been entrusted to your mother. That was long ago, when Salvatore was considered to be less than reliable.”

  “Who made the prophecy?”

  “Sophie, who was Wyvern then. She feared it would be lost if she entrusted it to Salvatore but refused to give it to me. She said it was rightfully yours. She believed that Angelina should be its custodian, which was in defiance of everything I believed, but Sophie insisted upon her way. I assumed it had been lost along with Angelina.” He slanted a look at Lorenzo. “I wasn’t sure why she consulted me, since she was not prepared to discuss it. Perhaps she saw your mother’s future and wanted to ensure that one of us knew.”

  It should have been destroyed in the fire that ruined his mother’s home. Somehow darkfire had enlivened the painting and made it possible for the prophecy to pass to Lorenzo.

  Darkfire had changed everything.

  Lorenzo frowned.

  “What is flashfire?” Erik spoke idly, as if the question were unimportant to him. “Do you know?”

  Lorenzo wasn’t quite ready to surrender all of his secrets. “Don’t you?”

  Erik shrugged. “I know it is specific, provoking change for a single dragon. Darkfire, in contrast, introduces unpredictability for all of us.” He eyed Lorenzo, who avoided his gaze. “I thought you might know more.”

  “Why?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  Lorenzo admitted a different truth. “You should know that I had the third darkfire crystal in my hoard for centuries.”

  Erik’s gaze brightened at that. “Had?”

  “It’s gone.”

  “You lost it?” Erik was incredulous.

  “No!”

  “You gave it away?”

  “No.” Lorenzo decided he would have to tell Erik all of his suspicions about the crystal’s disappearance. “On that day you came to ask my help, during Rafferty’s firestorm, another Pyr came to my lair. I smelled him, couldn’t identify him, but that was when the crystal disappeared. My father gave it to that Pyr.”

  “Describe the scent.” Erik wasn’t even blinking, he was so intent upon Lorenzo. Lorenzo did, trying to put into words how evocative that Pyr’s scent was of the past. Erik nodded. “Drake. It could only be Drake. The Dragon’s Teeth Warriors would not have come without him, although their scents are similar.”

  Lorenzo met Erik’s gaze. “I thought my father was feeble and hibernating, but it appears that he has been meddling.”

  “He had access to the hoard,” Erik guessed.

  “We kept our treasures together.” It pained Lorenzo to admit the truth. “He has been incapable of breathing dragonsmoke for a number of years. I breathed the perimeter mark where it was necessary but allowed him permission to cross it.”

  “You have cared for him.”

  Lorenzo shrugged, disconcerted to hear the pride in Erik’s tone. “I had no choice.”

  “Did you not?”

  “He is not what he was.”

  “We always have choices,” Erik said with resolve. He nodded and looked over the site again, but Lorenzo could sense that his mood had improved. “So the crystal is in Drake’s possession, wherever he has gone.”

  “You’re relieved.”

  “I have been unable to sense them since the darkfire was released. I have been worried.”

  “Marco came to me. He seemed to know where the crystal had gone and left in pursuit of it.”

  “Interesting.” Erik frowned. “It seems I must delegate this concern, at least for the time being.” He turned to Lorenzo and smiled slightly. “So, Slayer or Pyr? What’s your choice?”

  Lorenzo averted his gaze, not willing to confess all of his intentions just yet. “First explain the verse to me. What ancient spell?”

  “Dragon Bone Powder,” Erik said without hesitation. “The Slayer Chen used it during Niall’s firestorm, to heat the flames of the firestorm and distract Niall from pending attack.”

  “But my firestorm was sated.”

  Erik shrugged. “It fires the lust in all of us to some extent, feeding that primal desire to mate. So close after your firestorm’s spark, it could fuel yours more.” He spared Lorenzo an inquiring glance and Lorenzo frowned.

  “Yes. That must be it.” He hated the idea that his desire for Cassie had been manipulated and might be false, but Erik seemed to anticipate that concern.

  “Niall says the distraction ended but not his desire for Rox. He says without the Dragon’s Bone Powder in his nostrils, he can defend her as he should.”

  L
orenzo was relieved. And here was proof that the experience of the other Pyr wasn’t entirely useless to him, as he had preferred to believe. He still felt vulnerable, as if some dragon had targeted him as prey. Could Erik and the Pyr truly help him out of this closing trap? Or was he simply paranoid because of his love for Cassie?

  “What’s the threat?” he asked.

  Erik considered him. “Have you been attacked?”

  “Pursued,” Lorenzo allowed.

  Erik nodded. “Chen had a brand, which he used to enslave the shadow dragons���those dragons raised from the dead by Magnus to be his slaves—and force them to his will instead. The brand was broken and the shadow dragons destroyed, but he is not one to accept defeat. I believe he has a plan to put himself in charge of all of us, with the use of that brand. It is ancient magic. He has targeted Thorolf in the past, although I’m not sure why. It is possible that he has similarly targeted you. I would not be surprised if he possessed some ancient magic unknown to us. He is far older than any of us.”

  “Like the Dragon Bone Powder.”

  Erik nodded again.

  Lorenzo considered the vista spread before them, then decided he had more to lose by not confiding in Erik. “Balthasar is here.”

  “I know.” Erik was unruffled by this news.

  “He attacked the house last night.”

  “I know.”

  “He had offered to give me the keys to claim Magnus’s most treasured artifacts if I joined the Slayer side.”

  Erik’s eyes gleamed as he watched Lorenzo. “You declined?”

  “And he attacked last night, presumably to change my mind.”

  Erik drummed his fingers on the rock, deep in thought.

  “There is another Slayer here, named JP.”

  “The brother of Lucien,” Erik said. “Long slumbering and indifferent. I smelled him here. I wondered who or what had roused him.”

  “I met him when he was with Cassie.”

  Erik was surprised by this. Lorenzo knew by the way he turned suddenly. “You have had many visitors.”