Sapphire Flames

by Ilona Andrews

  I can’t even.

  “And then your mom said that all those vehicles would make a lovely funeral procession when we bury the children. She said maybe your grandma could paint them black to match the coffins.”

  God.

  “Then your grandma went to get the tank. There isn’t much else to tell. She shot the first car. It exploded, which was kinda cool. Then she knocked it out of the way with her tank and started chasing the other three cars with it. They made a circle around the warehouse. Whoever was driving the cars was pretty good, because I’ve never seen anyone drive backward that fast before. She banged another one with the tank, and then the bad guys decided to get out of the armored SUV things, and we started killing them. They had a pyrokinetic mage with them. That’s his corpse over there. He fireballed the warehouse. It caught on fire, which was exciting. Then I killed him. And then the cavalry showed up. Some of the bad guys ran away.”

  Judging by the carnage in the street, most of them didn’t.

  “I don’t know if you know, but Leon is psycho. I heard him talking to himself when shooting people. He used funny voices, Catalina.”

  “Your brother thinks he’s a werewolf.”

  “Good point.” Runa looked at the moon. “You didn’t tell me your mom was a sniper.”

  “It didn’t seem important.”

  “Of course, it is important. We both have moms who kill people for a living. Well, had, in my case, but still important. We have a lot in common, actually. Our dads are gone. We’re both the Head of our Houses. We both have younger male brothers or cousins who are crazy. We’re both murderers.”

  Okay then. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m great,” Runa said. “I can’t decide if I should start screaming because I killed nine people or celebrate because I avenged my mom. It felt good to kill them, but now I feel really guilty about it. I’m probably going to have a nervous breakdown once I process all of this.” She paused. “Yes, that sounds really nice. I think I’ll do that.”

  “Okay, let’s go inside.” I got up and pulled her off the tire to her feet.

  “But the dead people . . .”

  “I think you’ve had enough dead people for today. Come on, let’s go inside, I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, you’ll cry and you’ll feel better.”

  I was dragging her inside when my sister pulled up in her armored Mercedes.

  “Where were you?” I growled as soon as Arabella jumped out.

  “I drove to Austin to our insurance company HQ. They had no right to cancel our policy.”

  “Did you get anywhere?”

  “They called the cops and threw me out.”

  “Did you get arrested?” If she had, I would deal with it.

  Her expression turned bitter. “No. They didn’t have the balls.”

  “Don’t leave my brother alone with Alessandro,” Runa said. She tried to turn around. “He’s a killer. Don’t leave them alone!”

  “I’ve got this,” Arabella told me.

  “I’ll go and get Ragnar,” I promised.

  Arabella took Runa’s other arm and led her into the warehouse.

  I turned around and walked over to where Ragnar and Alessandro sat at the table. Ragnar watched me approach.

  “Your sister is worried about you,” I told him.

  “He’ll be fine,” Alessandro said.

  “He asked her if he was a werewolf.”

  Ragnar sighed. “It’s a quote from a book. ‘When war knocks on your door, bringing suffering and death, good men turn into savage wolves.’ Am I a wolf now?”

  “It depends on your definition of a wolf.” I sat on the bench. “Sometimes wolves go rabid. They slaughter everything they see just because they can. But most wolves kill only to eat or to defend their pack. You seem like more of the second type to me.”

  “It’s my fault.” Ragnar turned to me, his eyes clear and lucid. “If I hadn’t tried to kill myself, none of this would’ve happened.”

  His memories had come back. Hell of a timing.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I told him. “None of this is your fault in any way.”

  “If I didn’t collapse like some stupid baby, Runa wouldn’t have asked you for help. People wouldn’t have attacked your home. They wouldn’t have tried to kill your family because of us.”

  “You’re being a dramatic fifteen-year-old,” Alessandro said, his voice harsh.

  Ragnar drew back as if slapped.

  “Guilt is a luxury and right now you can’t afford it,” Alessandro continued. “Do you want to be an adult or a child? Children require comfort even in a crisis, because they can’t understand how urgent things are. In a child’s world, it’s all about them: how this affects me, how this makes me feel, why is life so unfair? An adult sees a problem and tries to fix it. They think of other people and they plan their actions aware of the consequences. They understand that there will be time to deal with grief and loss after the danger is over.”

  “So how do I fix this?” Ragnar asked, his face grim.

  “Survive,” Alessandro said. “The enemy is trying to kill you and your sister. If you live, you win.”

  Ragnar shook his head. “That’s not enough.”

  “It’s plenty for now,” I told him.

  “What do you want to do?” Alessandro leaned closer to the boy. “Do you want to go over and kill the people who murdered your mother?”

  “Yes!”

  “You can’t. Not yet. You’d die and they would win. That’s also part of adulthood—adults understand their limitations.”

  “I did fine,” Ragnar squeezed through clenched teeth.

  Alessandro looked at the bodies. “Their faces tell me that your sister is too caught up in making her enemies suffer. And that trail of vomit over there tells me you hesitated. You made them sick first. Was it hard to kill them?”

  A tear swelled in Ragnar’s left eye. He swiped at it, his face a rigid mask.

  “Don’t be ashamed,” Alessandro told him. “That’s good. That’s what separates us from them. It should be hard. Killing another human being is the hardest thing you will ever do. But to fight in this war, your kills must be instantaneous. Any hesitation gives your enemy an opening to end you. You die, they win. Acknowledge to yourself that you hesitate. Don’t engage unless you must. Remember your job. You must live through this.”

  “To do what?” Ragnar stared at the corpses.

  “To train and practice to make sure that the next time someone comes for your family, you will be ready. Your sisters will need you.”

  Ragnar jumped off the table and went inside.

  “Harsh,” I told him.

  “That’s what he needs right now. Trust me,” Alessandro said. “If he has a goal, it will keep him looking forward. Thinking about what already happened and what he could’ve done about it will just drive him mad.”

  He got up and walked away. I took in the street full of corpses one last time and went into the warehouse, to the warm light and sounds of my family.

  It took us half an hour to settle Runa down. In the end, Mom gave her a sleeping pill. Runa took it with her tea and then fell asleep at the kitchen table. Bern carried her to her room. Leon took Ragnar and two beers to the Hut of Evil to check out his gaming setup. I hadn’t seen Heart. He was definitely around, supervising, examining the lay of the land, and giving orders, and Mom had spoken to him. I would see him tomorrow. The last thing he needed right now was me underfoot.

  Shadow had acted like I was gone for a century. She stood on her hind legs and scratched at my thigh. She made small, happy doggy noises and wagged her tail so much, it was a wonder it didn’t break off. She also trailed me wherever I went. I had gotten Lawrence’s bones out of the car, put them into a plastic bin, and carried the bin into the motor pool, and she’d managed to trip me twice.

  Grandma Frida turned at our approach. Her eyes narrowed. “Girl, you’re all beat up.”

  I’d counted on everyone being too busy to
notice. Leave it to Grandma to zero in on my scratches like a homing missile. “It’s just torn clothes.”

  Grandma Frida raised her finger and pointed. “Laceration. Abrasion. Puncture. Several punctures. Chunk of hair missing.”

  I dropped the bin and grabbed my hair. “Where?”

  Grandma reached out and touched the left side of my head. “Right there. You’re bleeding and you look like you’ve gone through a shredder.” She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “And you stink like accelerant and smoke. Has your mother seen you?”

  “Mom has her hands full. I’ll just take a shower . . .”

  “Take off that rag and sit.” Grandma Frida pointed to a stool.

  I dropped the torn trench coat to the floor and sat. Grandma Frida took one look at me and reached for the first aid kit.

  There were times in life when alcohol really hurt.

  “Actually, it’s been proven—ow—that treating wounds with—ow—rubbing alcohol slows the healing. A saline wash is so much better. Ow, ow, ow!”

  “Saline wash is for your eyes. Alcohol is for getting arcane goo out of holes in your skin. Be a big girl and deal.”

  Ow.

  By the time I told her the story and my wounds were treated, it felt like I had no skin left. Or rather I had skin, but it was on fire.

  “Where’s your Italian now?”

  “In the old fire station building. He isn’t mine.”

  Grandma Frida chuckled. “I think boatneck.”

  “What?”

  “For your wedding dress. It would be very flattering on you.”

  “Grandma!”

  Grandma Frida rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “I never canceled my subscription to Brides magazine.”

  I jumped off the stool. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to this.”

  Grandma Frida hugged me. The familiar scent of engine oil and gunpowder enveloped me.

  “You’re doing great, sweetheart. I know you think nobody notices, but we all do. You go take that shower now.”

  I hugged her back and went to the door.

  “What do you want me to do with your bin?” She pointed at Lawrence’s plastic coffin.

  “Could you lock it in the cage for safekeeping. Don’t open it.”

  “Will do,” Grandma promised.

  I snuck upstairs into my room before my mom also noticed my punctures, went to the bathroom, stripped off my torn clothes, and stepped into the shower. I didn’t even look at myself in the mirror. The sharp sting of open cuts let me know exactly where I was hurt.

  Shadow assumed a devoted vigil outside the shower door.

  The hot water hit me, sending a fresh pulse of pain through my wounds. I cried out and cringed. Body wash was going to suck.

  Gobs of translucent bug ichor splatted on to the tiles of the shower floor. I reached up and touched my hair. It was like sticking my fingers into half-set Jell-O. Ugh. I poured way too much shampoo into my hand and started working it into my hair.

  Tomorrow I would have to meet with Heart and figure out how much our new security was going to cost us and where we were going to get the money for it. I had a pretty good idea of how to get some quick cash for the deposit but I knew Grandma Frida wasn’t going to like it.

  Finally, the water ran clear. I stepped out, smelling of lemon and lavender, dried my hair with a towel, and carefully wrapped another big, soft, fluffy white towel around myself. I only whimpered twice as I did it. I was a big girl and I dealt.

  My dog was gone. Well, her devotion was short-lived.

  I dragged my brush through my hair. It got stuck. Great. This would take a while.

  I walked out of the bathroom, keeping my movements small to prevent the towel from rubbing me too much and trying to not rip all my hair out with my brush.

  Alessandro lay on my bed, petting Shadow.

  I squeaked and hurled the brush at his head.

  He snatched it out of the air. “Stop throwing things at me.”

  “Stop being in my room. Stop being on my bed. I’m wearing a towel!” And why had I just pointed that out?

  He took a slow look from my feet all the way to my eyes. “Yes, you are.”

  All of my thoughts derailed. My body recalled how it felt to be held by him in every vivid detail. Safe, and warm, and exciting. His carved chest under my cheek, his washboard stomach, the heat of his body, his arms around me . . .

  I clamped the towel to my chest and pointed at the window. “Get out.”

  He sat up, unhurried, confident, like a big cat stretching, and got up to his feet. If I could have recorded it in slow motion and then posted it online, I’d break Instagram.

  “We need to decide what to do about Linus Duncan,” he said.

  “We have to tell him,” I said. “His life might be in danger. Also, he might have a reasonably good idea why Diatheke is trying to kill him.”

  “Do you think he’ll answer our questions?”

  “I don’t know. He’s sort of a family friend, so he might. I’ll call him first thing tomorrow. Alessandro, do you know who Magdalene is?”

  “No.”

  “More for tomorrow.”

  He was looking at me like he was thinking of stealing my towel. And I wanted him to.

  No. Bad idea. Really, really bad idea.

  A hint of a smile played at his lips. He looked evil. “What are you thinking right now?”

  “Nothing.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Thinking about wearing nothing?”

  “Out.”

  Alessandro sighed. “I’m so tired. Are you sure I can’t just rest right here? I promise to behave. Unless you don’t want me to.”

  Yes. No!

  “Alessandro,” I pronounced each word as firmly as I could. “Leave my room. My mother has informed Heart that you are permitted on the premises, so there is no reason for you to hide here. You won’t get shot or evicted.”

  “You think that’s why I’m here? You think I’m afraid of your new army?”

  “I think you enjoy mocking me, why I have no idea. Don’t mistake Heart for Abarca. These are the people who take down Primes.”

  He bared his teeth. “Now you’ve made it into a challenge.”

  I met his stare. “Are you really contemplating killing people who have done nothing to you and who are here to protect my family?”

  He sighed. “No.”

  “Good night, Alessandro.”

  He turned and walked to the window. My magic pulsed in appreciation, recognizing another swordsman in the sure, easy grace of his movements. I could never spar with him. If we ever tried it, I would end up having sex with him right there, on the spot.

  He picked up an object wrapped in tinfoil from the windowsill. “If you scream, I’ll hear you. So if something bad happens, scream, Catalina.”

  “That’s great, but there won’t be any screaming.”

  His eyes lit up. “Wait for it. Three, two . . .”

  “Damn it all to hell!” Leon roared downstairs.

  I sprinted out of the room onto my landing. “What is it?”

  “Someone took the damn pie!”

  “What?”

  “He wanted a piece of the pithivier,” Bern called up. “He already had a piece, but he said he was a great defender and deserved more.”

  I spun around. A blast of cold air hit me. At the open window, Alessandro winked, grabbed his tinfoil loot, and vanished into the night.

  “I just wanted some pie.” The despair in Leon’s voice was overwhelming. “That Italian bastard took it! I know he took it. It’s the kind of rat dick move he would do. I’m going to find him and . . .”

  “And what?” Bern demanded. “Shoot him over the pie?”

  I closed the door. Leon kept yelling, but I couldn’t make it out. I went to the window, shut it, locked it, and lowered the shades. I slipped on underwear and an oversize T-shirt and crawled into my bed.

  The covers smelled like Alessandro.

 
It had been such a long day and now finally I was safe and cozy. My little dog snuggled into the crook of my knees. I closed my eyes and willed myself to go to sleep.

  Chapter 12

  Abarca’s corpse hung from a telephone pole at the entrance to our street.

  In the light of the early morning, his face was unrecognizable, a swollen purplish mass of flesh. The sun had just risen, painting pink light onto the buildings around the warehouse. The world looked bright and cheery. Abarca’s body swayed slightly in the breeze against this backdrop, his intestines hanging like grotesque garlands from a gaping wound in his stomach. They’d gutted him like a hog.

  I hugged myself. It wasn’t that cold, but I couldn’t get warm despite a thick sweatshirt. Five minutes ago, I’d been sleeping in my bed, blissfully wrapped in a soft warm blanket, with Shadow curled against me. And then Mom knocked on my door and told me Heart needed to see me and it couldn’t wait. I knew it had to be bad, but I didn’t expect this.

  Next to me Heart waited. He stood like he was ready to repel an assault, his feet planted, his broad shoulders straight, his muscular frame solid. Of Japanese ancestry, he was about my mother’s age or slightly older. Time didn’t apply to him, the way it didn’t apply to a granite crag. He was always battle-ready. His eyes, dark and smart, radiated calm. He had seen worse. I hadn’t. He knew that and he positioned himself to provide support. If I cried, he would offer me a shoulder. If I asked questions, he would answer them. And if I tried to do something rash, he would stop me.

  “He was killed elsewhere,” Heart said. “They slit his throat with a serrated blade. Everything else was done postmortem. He was still using the cell phone you had issued to him, and the record shows a call from an unlisted number last night, at ten o’clock. His cell pinged from three towers north of Houston and then stopped. I sent a team to the origin of the signal and they’ve recovered his vehicle and possessions. They’re on the way back.”

  “Do you think they lured him out of his house?”

  “Yes. It appears he left to meet someone voluntarily.”