by Keri Arthur
He broke into a run, but the other guests had risen at her scream, getting in his way, slowing him down. He pushed past them roughly, ignoring their indignant mutterings as he took the stairs two at a time.
The suite was locked, and his key wouldn’t open the door. Jon swore softly. She must have bolted it.
“Maddie!” he yelled, pounding his fist against the door. “Open up.”
She didn’t answer. Either she couldn’t hear him or couldn’t get to the door. He thumped the door again, then realized the wood was hot to the touch. Burning hot.
Hell! “Maddie!” He stepped back and kicked the lock. The door shuddered under the force of the blow. He kicked it again. The wood near the lock cracked.
“Need help?” a voice said to his left.
Jon barely glanced the man’s way. “Get everyone out of here,” he said tightly. “There’s a fire in the room.”
The man nodded and began ushering the other guests—who’d followed him out of the dining room—back down the stairs.
Jon stepped to the side of the door and grabbed a nearby planter. He glanced toward the stairs to ensure no one was near, then heaved the heavy planter at the lock. The door exploded inward, crashing back against the wall.
Heat rushed out at him, not flame. He threw up his arm to protect his face and stepped into the room.
The thick, acrid smell of magic swirled around him. A log had rolled free from the hearth and flames danced across the carpet, reaching fiery fingers toward the sofa.
He quickly kicked the log back into the fireplace, then stamped out the flames scorching the carpet. Why was the room so hot? Certainly the small blaze would not have caused such heat …
A small sound jerked him around. Maddie sat in one corner, hugging her knees and slowly rocking back and forth.
He could see her terror in the way she huddled, smell it in the confusing swirl of her aura. Yet oddly enough, he sensed it wasn’t entirely fear of the dark magic that was thick and strong in the room. She was afraid of something else, something he couldn’t name.
He frowned and knelt down beside her. “Are you all right?”
A cut marred her cheek. The wound was thin but deep—like the mark left by the lash of a whip. Something had attacked her. The lingering dark magic had to have been involved.
But where were Hank and Eleanor? They had been gone only a few minutes before Maddie had screamed. The spell, no matter what it was, would have taken longer than that to set up. Magic wasn’t something you could rush into. It had strict rules that had to be followed, or it could lash back at the sender.
But the why and how weren’t really important right now.
She gave no sign that she’d heard him, no indication she knew he was there. He touched her shoulder gently, but almost instantly jerked his hand away.
She burned almost as hot as the room. And the fire wasn’t the cause of the heat, he realized. She was. The other talent he’d sensed in her, the one she couldn’t control, was pyrokinesis. The ability to light fire with just a thought.
“Maddie!” He grabbed her shoulder again. Heat burned into his palm as he shook her. He ignored it. He had to get her out of here. The foul taste of magic was still thick in the room and might be dangerous. “Are you listening to me? You have to get out of here.”
“I know,” she whispered without looking up.
He frowned when she didn’t move. “Are you hurt?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. But if I move, I might lose control.”
Just how strong were her abilities if the heat in this room was under control? “Well, you can’t stay here, either.”
He leaned forward and picked her up. It was like a furnace close to his chest. She tensed in his arms, and her gaze jerked up to his. Her eyes were wild and unfocused, full of heat. “I don’t want you to get burned.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Just don’t let the power go.” If she did, they could all die.
She nodded and looked away, so he turned and headed for the door. Heat washed around him, thick and cloying. Sweat began to run down his forehead. He ignored the slick wetness running down his chest and arms as he held her close.
“Control it,” he whispered, and made for the stairs.
From the little he knew of pyrokinesis, he had to get her somewhere cold and quiet until her power was under control. That meant outside, in the rain.
There was a small seat under the old pine out in the front yard. He gently placed her on it, then knelt on the wet grass in front of her. Though he wanted to keep her in his arms, he sensed that touching her any more than necessary was the worst thing he could do right now.
“Imagine the heat as a wall, Maddie.” He sat back on his heels and watched her carefully.
Her gaze jerked up to his. Confusion ran through her eyes before her gaze skipped away.
“Why?” Her soft voice was hoarse, apprehensive.
“Because you have to contain it, or it will consume us all.”
She blinked, and he saw the gleam of tears in her expressive eyes. So the fires had already claimed a life. Had it been someone close?
Her fingers clenched into a fist. “A wall,” she said, and closed her eyes.
“Now, imagine yourself holding a rope of water around that wall.” He was tempted to cross his fingers. His knowledge of fire-starters was limited, and he had no idea if this would actually work. The night air churned with heat, turning the lightly falling rain to steam long before it hit the ground. The smell of pine was growing stronger, as if the tree behind her were beginning to burn. If she didn’t get the power under control soon, everything around them would ignite.
After a moment, she nodded minutely.
“Draw the rope back into your body. Let the water cool the fire as you draw it in.”
He waited. After several long minutes, the heat began to abate. She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and stared at him.
“It worked,” she said softly. “I controlled it.”
He forced a smile. “So you did.”
This time. She desperately needed help, though, and more importantly, training. And he didn’t have the knowledge or time to do either.
“I thought—” She shuddered and looked down at her hands. “I thought I’d kill everyone.”
“How long has it been like this?” He reached out and touched her hand. When she didn’t pull away, he gently caressed her fingers. Her skin still burned with heat. The fire may have abated, but it was still close enough to spark to life if she wasn’t careful—if he wasn’t careful.
“Forever,” she whispered. She shivered slightly and rubbed her arm with her free hand.
He took off his sweater and slipped it around her shoulders. Her shirt was torn near the top of her shoulder blade, the edges smeared dark with blood.
“What the hell happened?” he said abruptly.
She flinched and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing.”
Her tone told him she was suddenly afraid. Or was it once again fear of his reaction? He frowned slightly. Her spirit might be fire, but someone had given her self-confidence a hell of a battering. Anger ran through him, and he clamped down on it, hard. His anger wouldn’t help her, and right now, she was all that mattered.
He gently thumbed away a slight trace of blood from her cheek. “I need to know. It might help us find your nephew.”
She was back to looking at anything and everything else but him. Even though he guessed it was a reaction tied in with whoever had given her confidence such a shaking, he wished she’d stop it.
“I was attacked by ghosts,” she said after a moment.
She had to mean a sylph of some kind. Ghosts, or at least those he’d come across, were generally harmless. Certainly they’d never had the capacity to physically harm anyone. Sylphs, however, were capable of interacting with the real world, and could cause all sorts of mischief—even kill if ordered to do so.
He just had to be thankful they obvio
usly hadn’t been ordered to do so tonight. “Can you describe them to me?”
Her gaze leapt to his. “You believe me?”
There was an odd mix of yearning and loneliness in her expression, and something twisted deep inside him. It was a look he understood only too well.
“Yes.” He rose abruptly. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He loped back to the inn. He heard a babble of voices around the far side of the building and guessed the guests must have gathered there. In the distance came the wail of a siren. The inn’s foyer was warm, and he glanced briefly over his shoulder. He really should get her out of the wet night air, but something told him she wasn’t ready to face the inn just yet.
He grabbed the small first aid kit he’d seen behind the desk and went back outside. The guests were beginning to mill out the front of the building now, and the wail of the fire engine was drawing closer. He wondered where it was coming from—it seemed to be taking a while to get there.
He placed the kit on the seat beside Maddie and got out the antiseptic cream.
“Tell me about the fire-starting.” He leaned close to apply the cream and tried to ignore the faint scent of roses, the heat of her body where it brushed against his—and his own sudden response.
“It happens whenever I get really afraid.” She hesitated and shrugged. “It builds up to a point where I just can’t control it anymore.”
Her fear churned around him, but it wasn’t fear of what had attacked her in their room. She was still terrified of his reaction to her gifts, of what she had done in the past.
“I can remember lighting a fire when I was six,” she continued softly. Tears ran across her aura, so strong it surrounded her with a faint shimmer of silver. “It got stronger with puberty.”
“As most talents do.” He carefully pulled the edges of her shirt away from the wound on her shoulder. Though the cut looked red and vicious against the creaminess of her skin, it wasn’t deep. The sylphs had obviously been sent to scare more than harm her. He gently applied some of the antiseptic cream, his fingers skimming across her soft skin. Lord, she smelled good …
He quickly withdrew his hand and sat back down on his heels. His matter-of-fact tone seemed to be relaxing her, and the last thing he needed to do was something that would jeopardize that.
“Did someone get hurt?”
She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. “I don’t really want to talk about this.”
“You must. You have to be able to understand your abilities and what they can do before you can have any hope of truly controlling them.”
“I know only too well what my damn gifts can do.” Her gaze flashed to his. Anger burned deep in the amber depths, as did old hurt. “That’s why I—”
Retreated, he thought when she hesitated. But what monster had made her lash out with her abilities? Who had hurt her so deeply that she’d had no option but to kill?
And if Eleanor and Hank, or whoever had sent the sylphs after her, attacked again, would she be able to control her gifts? Or would she lose it and kill them all?
He clasped her hand and rubbed his fingers lightly across her palm. Her skin was slightly callused, not smooth, as he’d expected. “Maybe it would be better if you left the area.”
She wrenched her hand from his and stood up abruptly. He rose and watched her warily. The streetlight caught the gold in her wild red hair and illuminated the slenderness of her figure under her thin shirt. She looked so young and frightened and alone that he wanted to take her in his arms and protect her.
He stepped away instead. He barely knew her, and he certainly couldn’t afford to get more involved with her. His work was too important.
She clenched her hands and glared at him. “I won’t run away. Not this time.”
He thrust a hand through his hair. How could he make her understand that it was better for them all if she simply left?
“Maddie, you’re a loose cannon. You can’t control any of your abilities, and someone obviously suspects you’re helping me. What will you do if they attack you again?”
“I’ll control it,” she said tightly.
“And if you can’t?”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You need help with your gifts. I can’t give you that help.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t asking anyone for help, and that was the problem. “Don’t you realize there are people who could help you, people who would understand what you’re going through, because they’ve faced the same fears themselves?”
“And who will help Evan?” She clenched her fists again and glared at him. “I’m not abandoning him, Jon.”
“No one is asking you to. But pyrokinesis is a dangerous gift, and it must be brought under control.” He hesitated, then met her anguished gaze. “How many more people have to die before you admit you need help?”
She blinked back tears. “Damn you,” she said through clenched lips. “You could never understand what it’s like to be a freak of nature.”
He sighed. “I understand more than you could ever guess.”
It was time she faced up to the fact that she had a responsibility to understand and control her gifts. Neither of them could change what had happened in her past. The future was a different matter. If she didn’t want the destruction to continue, she would have to learn to restrain and direct her psychic abilities.
But to do that, maybe she had to learn that she wasn’t the only one in the world with unusual talents.
He ignored the pain in her eyes and glanced at his watch. He had a meeting with Eleanor to get to, and he couldn’t afford to miss it. Not when the lives of two children were at stake. They were more important than Maddie’s fragile emotions—or his own need to help her. He took a deep breath.
“I’m a shapeshifter,” he said softly. “I can take on the shape of a hawk and fly. Now how’s that for being a freak?”
MADDIE STARED AT HIM, REELING UNDER THE IMPORT OF HIS words. “You can’t be serious.” Shapeshifters didn’t exist. He was making fun of her—just as Brian always had.
She bit her lip against a stab of pain. Up until a few moments ago she would have sworn that ghosts didn’t exist, either—especially those who could use a wisp of smoke to lash your shoulders and draw blood.
He sighed. “There are stranger things in this world than you could ever imagine. As far as freaks go, you don’t even make the list.”
There was something in his voice that suggested he’d seen more than his fair share of those freaks. Had seen them, and maybe even killed them. She crossed her arms and shivered. “And that’s supposed to comfort me?”
“Yes.” He glanced at his watch again. “I haven’t the time to discuss this now. I have a meeting to get to.”
Eleanor, she thought. “But you’re soaking wet.”
He shrugged. “I’d get wet walking there, anyway.”
“Well, then, you’d better get going, hadn’t you?” she said more tartly than she’d intended.
“Maddie …” He lightly touched her cheek. His fingers were like fire against her skin, his touch stirring something deep inside. “Eleanor means nothing to me. She’s just a lead.”
She snorted. How could he say that? She’d seen them together. If it was all an act, then he should win an Academy Award.
He dropped his hand, and a hard light replaced the warmth in his eyes. “I have to go. We’ll continue this discussion later.”
Memories rose to haunt her. In a more appropriate manner, Brian would have added. She shivered again. Jon hesitated, and she saw the brief flash of indecision in his eyes. Then he turned and walked toward the inn.
She watched him go. He was nothing like her husband. There was gentle strength in him, a confidence in every action that made him appear so much taller than he was. Brian had been tall—a mountain who had once made a frightened eighteen-year-old feel secure, and later terrified a twenty-year-old.
So
why did she keep drawing comparisons between them? Why did the things Jon said or did remind her constantly of Brian? It wasn’t as if they even looked the same—only the blue of their eyes was similar, and she’d seen more emotion in Jon’s gaze in the last five minutes than she’d ever seen in Brian’s during their six-year marriage.
Oh God, why couldn’t she just take Jon’s advice and leave this town and all the memories it raised?
She bit her lip again. She might have done nothing to save Brian or her brother, but she’d be damned if she’d run this time.
A bitter laugh escaped her at the thought. She was already damned. No one could save her, not even Jon.
She touched her cheek. Her skin still tingled from the slight brush of his fingers. Moisture seeped from one edge of the cut. She wiped it away, then stared at the blood on her fingertips. The ghosts had been real. She had the wounds to prove it. So why couldn’t shapeshifters be real as well?
She watched Jon disappear inside the inn, anger surging through her. It wasn’t fair. All her life, people had walked away from her. Or run, in some cases. And just when she thought she’d found someone who might at least understand, he, too, had walked away—to be with another woman.
Would a few more minutes really have mattered? She needed to talk to him, needed someone to understand her pain and guilt. Needed him to hold her, touch her, and tell her everything would be all right. Even if she knew it was all just a lie.
She had a sudden vision of Evan lying cold and still on the cabin floor, and took a deep breath. No, she was being selfish. Her nephew was the important one here. He was all that mattered. What she wanted—needed—didn’t count.
The fire engine pulled up next to the curb, and the other guests milled toward it. The red flashing lights washed across their faces, making them look like bloody specters. Maddie shivered and rubbed her arms. She hoped it wasn’t a premonition that more death was headed her way.
“You were lucky in there tonight.” The comment came from behind her.
She yelped and spun around. Hank stood near the seat, his hands in his pockets and a watchful gleam in his eyes.
