Child of Fire

by Harry Connolly

I was trapped. Or, I was supposed to be trapped.

  I took out my ghost knife and cut the chain. Its weight pulled it to the floor with a loud rattle. I pushed open one of the doors and slid the ghost knife through the other one, just beside the latch.

  I heard the clatter of sharp nails on linoleum. The wolf was losing me, and he knew it. I slipped through the door and slammed it behind me, then slid the ghost knife through it right next to the latch.

  The wolf rammed the push bar on the other side of the door. The latch mechanism I had just cut made a grinding noise but didn’t open. Thank God.

  I backed away. The doors would hold for a little while, until Emmett finally hit them hard enough to bust the latch or decided to go back for his uniform and gun.

  Emmett Dubois was a werewolf.

  I ran to the far end of the lot where the van was parked, then drove to the front of the building. Annalise was waiting at the curb, scowling at me as I approached. Had I just said that I liked her? I decided it was time to stop being stupid and start hating her again.

  I opened the door for her. She climbed in. She didn’t put on her seat belt. “What took you so long?”

  I was not in the mood to share information. If she wanted something from me, she was going to have to give something. “Tell me about the last time you were in Hammer Bay. Tell me about the last time you met with the Hammer family, and about the tall man with the walking stick.”

  She didn’t answer. She looked at me closely for nearly a minute. I realized that I was still breathing hard, and my hands were shaking. The adrenaline had not left my system yet.

  I began to get uncomfortable.

  Finally she said in a low voice: “The tall man with the walking stick was named Eli Warren. He was a peer in the society.”

  “Were you his wooden, um…”

  “No,” she said. “I was his apprentice. And his toy.”

  Saying that cost her something. I could hear it in her voice. But I pushed. “Where is he now?”

  “I killed him,” she said. “He betrayed the society. He sold spells, then used the society to hunt down his customers. I figured out his game and told the society. They told me to kill him. I did. As a reward, they gave me his spell book.”

  “Do you think the spells we’re facing here came from Eli’s book? Could he have sold them to the Hammer family way back when?”

  “I don’t know. Each spell book is unique. Even if they contain the same spells-and most have at least a couple of spells in common-the marks are never identical. But the society excised a lot of Eli’s book before they passed it on to me. I certainly don’t have a spell that would make people around me breathe spirit fire. But he and I did come here, just before I puzzled out his scam.”

  “Do you have a spell that could turn a person into a werewolf?”

  “That’s a pretty specific question. The answer is no, but I do have a spell that makes my sense of smell as keen as a wolf’s for a short while. To track people. I never use it, though. Now I ask why you ask.”

  “While I was getting the van just now, I was stalked by a wolf. Right down in the morgue. The woman you were talking to was dead. Her throat was torn out.”

  Annalise’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t say anything.

  “I think it was Emmett Dubois,” I said.

  “How certain are you?”

  “Well, not terribly certain. I saw what looked like a police uniform on a table near the body, all neatly folded, and I did just make an enemy of him. And the magic detector went nuts when I touched it to him.”

  “But you didn’t see him change? He didn’t say, ‘I’m going to change into a wolf and rip your heart out’?”

  “No. Does he have to?”

  “No,” she said. “We can kill him anyway just to be safe. But if he’s carrying spells or infected with a predator, we should watch him to see if he’s not alone.”

  I nodded. “Thanks for trusting me.”

  “You’re earning it,” she said. “And you’re useful. But remember whose side you’re on.”

  We stopped at the supermarket again and bought more beef, a roll of aluminum foil, and a leg of lamb. This time, Annalise came inside with me and picked the cuts she wanted. As we were walking back to the van, I asked: “Is the pain getting bad?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Okay. Very bad? What if we got you some painkillers? Even something as lame as ibuprofen ought to help.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said again. “I’m dying.”

  I stopped and stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Inside the van,” she said.

  We climbed in, and I shut the door.

  “There’s a spell called golem flesh, right? It’s a protective spell, like our tattoos, only better. For some reason, it shows up in almost all the spell books. No one is sure why, but pretty much everyone gets it.”

  I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. How did spells “show up” in books? But this wasn’t the time to interrupt.

  “When Eli first recruited me, he laid these tattoos on my skin. I wasn’t his wooden man, but…” Her voice trailed off. “When I was my own person again,” she continued, “I cast golem flesh on myself. As I said, nearly everyone in the society has it. It protects your whole body, not just the parts that are marked, and you can still feel things.”

  She paused. I knew what she meant. The tattoos on my chest and arms were numb. The enchanted skin in those areas couldn’t feel anything-not pain, not cold, not heat, not a human touch. And Annalise was, as far as I’d seen, nearly covered with them.

  “You just have to eat meat to survive. That’s the tradeoff. Any kind will do, and the less cooked the meat is, the more recently you’ve killed it, the better.”

  “And the meat will heal you,” I prompted.

  “When I’m injured, the meat tries to heal me. That’s all it does. Nothing I’ve eaten has sustained me. I’m eating and eating-“

  “And the food is going to a wound you can’t heal.”

  “And I’m starving.”

  Most people could go weeks without food, but Annalise wasn’t most people, and this was not regular food. “How long?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  I started the engine and pulled into traffic. I wanted to reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder, to comfort her somehow, but it didn’t feel right. Despite the fact that she had begun to trust me, there was still a gulf between us. There was a gulf between her and the world.

  “What do we do, boss?” I asked.

  “Finish the job,” she said. “Afterward, we may know enough to heal me. If not, I’ll go to the society and see if they can help.”

  “Why not go to the society right now? Why wait?”

  She shook her head and would say nothing more on the subject. Conversation ended.

  We reached the motel. I suggested that we move to a new motel, or at least change our rooms. She turned that idea down. She’d searched all over for Charles Hammer and come up with nothing. No one in town would talk to her. She was in pain. She was tired of searching for our targets. Maybe, if we stayed put, they’d come to us.

  That didn’t strike me as the most sensible idea in the world, but I wasn’t in charge.

  We went into her room. She picked through the things in Karoly’s bag. It was mostly mundane personal effects, unless the ballpoint pen was enchanted to shoot fireballs, or the comb could turn french fries into hundred-dollar bills. It didn’t seem likely, though; I couldn’t see a sigil on any of them.

  She took out the laptop and plugged it in. I didn’t know much about computers. I’d had a PlayStation before I did my time, but I never had much use for the spreadsheets, email, or the Internet.

  Annalise didn’t look like an expert either. She pecked at the keys with one finger. After a minute or so, she picked up a teddy bear wearing a shirt that read WE MISS YOU, DAD! and popped its head off.

  Some sort of computer plug stuck out of
its neck. Annalise connected it to the back of the laptop. It looked as though its head was stuck inside the computer, and I couldn’t help but smile. I’d bet Emmett Dubois hadn’t found that.

  I took out the meat and started slicing it up. I was pretty good at it by now. I also took out the box of plastic forks and began spearing little pieces of meat on the forks and setting them on a piece of aluminum foil beside her.

  Annalise took out her cell phone and pressed a speed-dial number. She held the phone to her ear. “Karoly is dead,” she said after a moment. “I have his drive, but not his password.”

  She took a bite of meat while she listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. Click click tap tap. The room began to feel stuffy.

  “Got it,” she said. “Thanks.” She shut her phone and began scrolling through files on her screen.

  I finally finished cutting the meat. I arranged it into a pile, then went into the bathroom to wash my hands and the ghost knife. When I returned, she was still staring at the screen. I sat opposite her and speared pieces of meat with the forks.

  The quiet began to make me antsy. “Find anything?”

  “Nothing useful,” she said. She took another bite of meat and laid the empty fork down. I picked it up and stabbed it into a new piece, then set it beside her. I was beginning to feel like a manservant. This was not exactly the straight job I’d envisioned when I got out of prison.

  I decided to earn more of her trust. “I still have your plastic, you know.”

  She didn’t look up from the screen. “I know.” She continued staring at the screen. I should have brought a book.

  Annalise looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you get some food? I may be at this all night.”

  I lunged out of the chair and went out. It was still daylight, but my stomach was grumbling. I went into the office and smiled at the woman behind the desk. She scowled at me. Apparently, the other manager told her all about us. She gave me directions to a bookstore in town.

  I drove out there and bought a detective novel, then drove across town and ordered my pad thai. I was tempted to eat in the restaurant window and read my book. We were stirring up the town, trying to see what would float to the top. I should be visible for that, just to see what shook out. But I didn’t like leaving Annalise alone, not if she was dying. I ordered takeout.

  I drove back to the motel, and as far as I could tell, no one was following me. No one had staked out the motel either. After checking in on Annalise, I went to my room, ate, read three chapters, then fell asleep.

  I dreamed about fire all night.

  I awoke to a thumping on my door. It was Cynthia, and she looked terrified.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m sorry,” she said, glancing back toward the street nervously. Everything cast long shadows; it was very early, probably no more than an hour past dawn. “But I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  “Er, come in.” I stepped away from the door to let her in. I had fallen asleep wearing my pants, but I didn’t have a shirt on. I could feel Cynthia watching me as I dug out a clean one.

  I retreated to the bathroom to wash my face. I used cold water. I was sure she hadn’t dropped by for a quick roll in the sheets.

  When I returned, I gestured for her to sit at the table. I sat at the foot of the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, she lowered herself into the chair. She was wearing a long-sleeved, chocolate-brown dress that just reached her knees, white stockings, and little, flat-soled brown shoes. Simple, but she looked very good.

  I made a point of looking at her eyes. “What’s the problem?”

  “It’s Cabot,” she said. “Emmett let him out of prison this morning.”

  “Ah, shit. Who told you this?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  She looked at the floor. “I’m sorry, I-“

  “Hold on,” I said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” I noticed the tiny coffeemaker on the table beside her. “Hey, do you want a cup of probably terrible coffee?” I stood.

  She jumped out of her chair. “I’ll get it. I need something to keep me busy.”

  She went into the bathroom to fill the pot, and I went to the window and peered around the edge of the curtain. Cynthia’s silver SUV was parked beside the manager’s office, but everything else looked the same.

  She came out of the bathroom with a pot full of water, poured grounds into the filter, and filled the brewer halfway.

  “Why don’t you fill it up,” I said. “I’m going to need it.”

  “You don’t have enough coffee. Too much water and you get bitter coffee.”

  I shrugged and sat on the foot of the bed again. I thought all coffee was bitter. What did I know?

  “Where did you get those tattoos?” she asked. “Behind bars?”

  There was something in the artificially casual tone of her voice that I didn’t trust. “No. After.”

  “So you have been to jail.”

  “Yep. Prison, too.”

  She looked at me, trying to decide if that was a joke. She was still undecided when she started the coffeemaker.

  “Why… what did you…”

  I decided to help her out. “What did I do to get sent to prison?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “You have an awful lot of questions for me all of a sudden. Or are these the questions you meant to ask me yesterday?”

  “Well, I came here to see you, so-“

  “You can go if you want. The door’s right there. But don’t think I’m going to answer a lot of questions if you won’t answer mine. Who told you that Emmett released Cabot this morning?”

  “Okay. That’s fair.” She set the two cups on the table. The coffeemaker had stopped brewing, but I could see liquid still dripping into the pot. “It was Sugar Dubois.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “He didn’t say, but we were in high school together. We knew each other a little, and he was always nice. Deferential, even, like some boys get when they have a crush.”

  “He warned you because he had a crush on you in high school? Is there more to it than that?”

  “Not to the crush. We never dated or anything. He was too far below me then. Don’t make that face. It was high school. You know what that was like.”

  Actually, I didn’t. I never stayed in school for more than a couple of weeks at a time, although I’d gotten my GED in prison. Not that I was going to tell Cynthia that. “High school is over. Is he making a move on you right now?” It made sense, if the Dubois brothers wanted to consolidate power in the town.

  “Ugh. I think he knows better.”

  Okay. I’ll bet he did. “Do you think Emmett put him up to it?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Questions with questions.” Before she could apologize, I said: “It seems strange to me that he’d go against his own brother because of a schoolyard crush.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple. Sugar loves his brothers, but he’s always wanted to be a cop. Actually, I think he always wanted to be a cop on TV, and I don’t think the setup his brother has here in Hammer Bay is what he had in mind. He has to accept some of what they do-they’re his brothers-but letting Cabot go when he might take another shot at me… I think they went just a little too far this time.”

  I didn’t say anything to that. Emmett turned into a wolf and tore people’s throats out, and I suspected his brothers were the same. Setting Cabot free was small potatoes for them.

  I wasn’t sure what play Emmett was making by setting Cabot loose. Was he hoping Cabot would take another shot at Cynthia, or was he trying to keep things as chaotic as possible, just as I was?

  Cynthia passed me a coffee cup. She’d filled it while I wasn’t paying attention. I took a sip. It wasn’t bitter. How about that? There’s a right way to do things after all.

  “That’s what I think, anyway,” Cynthia said. She sipped her coffee and winced. It was ob
viously below her standards. To me, it was wonderful. “Now, how about you?”

  I shrugged. “I went to prison because I was in a fight.”

  “That must have been some fight.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t much of a fight at all. And it’s not something I’m proud of.”

  “I’ll drop it.”

  “Thanks. Why were you arguing with Cabot yesterday?”

  “That doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  I sighed. I took a long sip of coffee and savored it. It took a few moments of silence for her to take the hint.

  “We were arguing about the family business, if you think that’s important. Charles inherited the timber company from Dad, but he wasn’t interested in it. Uncle Cabot rounded up some capital and bought it. Charles used the money to start the toy company, which everyone thought was nuts, but it’s Cabot who’s going bankrupt and Charles who’s thriving.”

  “So… what? Cabot felt cheated?”

  “He wanted more financing from Charles to take some of the pressure off. And he wanted Charles to…” She paused, searching for the correct phrase. She had suddenly become very careful with what she said. “Charles has access to some resources that Cabot wanted to use. Advice, really. Cabot wasn’t sure which way to jump.”

  That rang a bell. I couldn’t quite remember why, but I’d heard something like that before. “Charles wouldn’t help him.”

  “I’m not sure why, but no, he wouldn’t. Charles wouldn’t even meet with him. Uncle Cabot began to get really intense about it. I guess he was in more trouble than anyone realized.”

  “And he came to you, because?”

  “He wanted me to help him with Charles. I don’t know what he expected. I don’t own any part of Charles’s company, and I barely see him myself anymore.”

  “What do you live on?”

  “Trust fund,” she said carelessly. “The interest is more than I need, so I invested some instead of blowing it. I’m doing pretty well right now.”

  “Does Cabot know that?”

  “Hell no, and don’t tell him, either. I’m not throwing my money down his rat hole.”

  “So he thinks Charles has all the money. And you don’t have any pull with your brother. Did you explain that to him?”