Pyromancist SECOND EDITION: Art of Fire (7 Forbidden Arts Book 1)

by Charmaine Pauls

  “I’m listening,” Joss said.

  “At your twelve o’clock,” Lann replied. “She’s on the jetty.”

  Joss turned his head in that direction. A woman wearing a blue rain jacket and red rubber boots stood at the top end of the quay.

  “Got it,” Bono said. “Turning a hundred-and-eighty degrees. Shall I take this baby down, Joss?”

  “Is there space to land?” Joss asked.

  He didn’t feel like dropping down with the rope again like he had to in Cairo last week. He might just spill his guts over the pier.

  “I can land her, no problem,” Bono said with a tinge of excitement, which should worry Joss. Bono was an air cowboy who only enjoyed his job when it required near impossible stunts that put his skill to the ultimate test.

  “Let’s go,” Joss said, keeping his eyes trained on the target on the jetty through the binoculars. As they got closer, she pushed back the hood of her rain jacket, revealing a pretty face with big, dark eyes and beautiful, lush lips. Well, damn. “Suspect confirmed.”

  “We’re on level zero,” Bono said, which was the cue for the ground team to move in.

  Before Bono cut the blades, Joss already had the door open. Getting out, he faced the woman he was supposed to take in with or without her cooperation. She was all grown up, no longer the girl who stalked him in the woods, but her petite size made her look younger than her age. A few scrapes and bruises marred the pale skin of her legs, probably from helping Erwan pull oysters and fishing nets. There was no mistaking the look in her wide eyes. She looked like a deer caught in headlights. She was frightened. Petrified.

  She was right to be. They didn’t do things by the book. They didn’t answer to any governing body. There was no law that could prevent them from taking the woman who stood at the end of the walkway as if she expected him.

  She looked back over her shoulder, no doubt taking stock of her escape routes. A man in a brown leather jacket and jeans tucked into his boots exited the woods behind her. He stopped, looking between Joss and Clelia.

  A witness could pose a problem. Just looking at the stubborn set of her chin, Joss could tell she wouldn’t go without a fight. They’d have to use force. The black SUV already made its way down the hill as he closed the distance between Clelia and himself. She looked ready to bolt, but the man at her back and the SUV on the right cut off the only two ways out, unless she was going to dive into the sea.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Joss called when she took a step back.

  She stole another glance at the man in the brown leather jacket. Joss kept the message in his eyes clear as he targeted his gaze on the man. Walk away and keep your mouth shut. The man with the brown jacket was probably a holidaymaker, an early riser who was curious about the helicopter. As if sensing the danger, the stranger turned the other way and walked briskly in the direction of the square. Good.

  Joss stopped a step away from Clelia. Even if he was supposed to take her, he wasn’t going to deliberately intimidate her with his larger physique.

  Lifting her head, she locked eyes with him. Her skin was as pearly as the inside of an oyster shell and her eyes were dark pools of melted chocolate. Her nose was delicate and small, her features beautifully proportioned, but it was the pout of her upper lip fitting like a pretty little bow on the fuller bottom lip that held his gaze. The younger Clelia had always been cute, but she’d grown into a knockout. Not that he should notice. One, she was their hostage. Two, he had unfinished business with the woman from last night.

  The SUV came to a stop in the road. Maya Martin, the team’s hydromancist, got out of the vehicle, weapons concealed under her jacket. The small amount of time he had alone with Clelia was running out.

  He addressed her in French. “Hello, little witch. It’s been a while.” Nine years, to be exact.

  A wounded expression flickered in her eyes before she managed to conceal it. Her words were cutting. “I’m surprised you remember me at all.”

  Did he insult her by mentioning her nickname? He would’ve thought she’d be long over that. “Oh, I remember you.” How could he not? She’d followed him like a puppy. It was sweet how she’d thought she’d been careful enough for him not to notice. “No words of welcome for me?”

  “What do you want me to say?” She took a step back. “Welcome home?”

  He tried to keep his voice reassuring. “I need you to come with me. I have to ask you a few questions about the fires.”

  “Strange coincidence. You’re the second one this morning.”

  He didn’t like that statement. “Who was first?”

  “A journalist from a Paris newspaper. Am I to take it you work for a television station?”

  He let the sarcastic comment slide. Anyway, it was all bark and no bite, although, he had to admire her courage for putting up the show. No one else from his team had made contact before he had, and the fact that someone else had approached her was worrisome, but he merely had time to deepen his frown before Maya walked up.

  In her typical no-beating-around-the-bush way, she said, “There’s another fire. Île de la Jument. Boss wants you at the site. Details will come through in a sec.” She nodded in Clelia’s direction. “I’ll take her back to base.”

  Joss glanced at Clelia.

  “Boss said on the double,” Maya said, giving him a questioning look.

  He nodded. “Take her to base and don’t let anyone near her until I arrive.”

  Maya gripped Clelia’s arm. “We’ve made arrangements for ground transport when you land on the island. You better go by helicopter. It’ll be quicker.”

  Clelia’s hair and clothes were dripping wet, probably from being caught in the rain. A small puddle had gathered around her boots. She had to be cold.

  “Make sure she gets dry,” he said, surprising himself more than Maya, who stared at him with astonishment. With another quick glance at Clelia, he turned and pressed on the mic in his ear to cut off the noise from the blades. “Don’t kill the engine, Bono. We’re up again. Île de la Jument.”

  “Got it, Joss,” Bono said, sounding happy. Bono was always happy, but never as happy as when he could fly. “This baby’s spinning. We’re ready for you.”

  Whatever this was, Joss wasn’t sure he was ready.

  Chapter 6

  When Clelia’s dream unfolded in reality, panic hit for several reasons. First of all, there was the dream itself. She’d thought after seeing Joss last night the way things had happened in the dream had been wrong. The fact that the scene had still played out like in her dream was all the more disturbing, because last night hadn’t been the beginning and end of the story. Last night was nothing but a preview. A warning.

  Secondly, there was the journalist who’d followed her. He’d blocked her only escape route. She could’ve made a run for the forest if he hadn’t appeared in the path. A black vehicle had already pulled up in the road, eliminating that option, effectively trapping her. She’d considered screaming, but it was clear from the journalist’s quick retreat he wasn’t going to help her.

  Then there was Joss. Last, but far not the least. He hadn’t remembered last night. Maybe that was the most painful. What had she expected? He’d been out of his mind drunk. She wasn’t going to tell him what had happened when he could only look at her as the child he remembered, and certainly not when the beautiful woman stepped from the vehicle, the woman Joss had brought home.

  Shame heated her cheeks as the woman grabbed her arm. Instead of fighting back with a retort, guilt made Clelia held her tongue. The woman was much taller and stronger. There was no point in fighting. Not yet. She had to bide her time.

  As the woman dragged her to the SUV, she couldn’t help but register the irony of the situation. For the month the dream had tortured her, she’d wondered how it would end. She’d asked herself every time after waking up what would happen after Joss had walked toward her on the jetty. How could she have been so foolish? What she saw for the end was only the beg
inning. It had just started. The realization made her feel sick.

  The woman kept a gun trained on her as she bundled her into the car. “Don’t try anything stupid. I’d hate to shoot you in the back.”

  Once inside, her kidnapper locked the doors. The woman peeled out of her coat, revealing a double hip gun holster. Clutching the gun in her right hand, she rested it casually on her thigh in no uncertain threat while steering the automatic vehicle with her left.

  As she took the road toward the harbor, Clelia observed her quietly. She had a smooth, coffee-colored skin that made a stunning backdrop for her sea-green eyes. Beads clanked as she flicked dreadlocks over her shoulder. She was beautiful, and no doubt deadly.

  The house where the woman took her was at the back of the harbor, obscured between the boathouse and the forest. No one would see them coming or going.

  She still didn’t know the woman’s name, but the man who greeted them by the door introduced himself as Lann. Tall and slender but muscular with long blond hair and yellow-brown, cat-like eyes, he resembled a Viking. The only characteristics belying that heritage were his slightly elongated ears and heavy Russian accent. Clelia knew the accent well. At work, she saw many tourists from different parts of the world.

  He wore a midnight blue dress shirt and black tailored slacks. His shoes were polished shiny. His nails were neatly trimmed and filed, and he wore a gold thumb ring on his right hand and a pinky ring with a ruby on his left. While everything about his appearance seemed sophisticated and gentle, she wasn’t deceived by his good looks. He spoke in English, asking if Clelia wanted a cup of tea, which she declined, before he busied himself with filling a kettle while the woman handed her a towel and told her to sit down at the kitchen table.

  Clelia removed her wet jacket and bundled it into her backpack. Clutching the towel to her chest, she sat down while taking stock of the room. It was a big, open-plan space with a kitchen at one end and a lounge at the other. There were two windows and one door facing the front with another window giving a view of a fenced backyard. A hallway led off to her right. If she couldn’t get through the front door, her best chance at escaping was making it down the hallway and finding an exit at the other end of the house, maybe a bedroom sliding door or a window.

  Tilting her head, the woman scrutinized Clelia. With high cheekbones and a thin, straight nose, her face looked like it belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. Her full lips were painted a dark shade of red, the same color as her long fingernails. A red tank top and stretch pants showed off her perfect curves. A purple pendant hung around her neck—maybe an amethyst—and she wore the same stone in a ring on her index finger.

  “I’m Maya,” she said in a curt tone. “You’re Clelia d’Ambois.”

  It was a statement, not a question, so Clelia remained quiet.

  “If you answer a few questions, we’ll consider letting you go. Understand?”

  Clelia regarded Maya from under her lashes. She seemed cold and disinterested.

  “Where’s Erwan?” Maya asked, walking to stand in front of Clelia with her hands on her hips.

  Clelia recognized the determination in the other woman’s eyes. She’d do anything to get her answers, and Clelia wasn’t going anywhere until Maya had those answers. She bit her lip, but didn’t say anything.

  Maya narrowed her eyes. “He’s not even your real grandfather. Why protect him?”

  “Who are you? What do you want from us?”

  “I’ll ask the questions.” She brought her face close to Clelia’s. “Where is he?”

  “He didn’t do anything.”

  “We need to question him.”

  “If this is about the fires, he doesn’t know more than I do. Ask me what you want to know.”

  “If he were innocent, he wouldn’t have run. Where is he?”

  Clelia stared at Maya. No matter what they did to her, she’d never betray Erwan. He loved and protected her when everyone else cast her out.

  Maya’s expression tightened. Before Clelia could anticipate the move, Maya pulled back an arm and backhanded Clelia. The blow sent her head sideways and made her ears ring. A metallic taste filled her mouth. The ring had caught her mouth and split her lip.

  Grabbing Clelia’s arm, Maya shook her. “I asked you a question.”

  “Maya,” Lann said from the counter, “gently.”

  The backdoor opened and sunlight spilled inside, blinding Clelia for a moment before she made out Joss’s tall figure in the frame.

  He stood very still, taking in the scene, and then he stepped inside and slammed the door so hard it rattled in the frame. “Let her go, Maya.”

  Maya’s lips parted. A frown marred her face. “I’m questioning a suspect.”

  He closed the distance and stopped in front of them. His voice was soft, but the underlying threat didn’t need volume to carry through. “I won’t tell you again.”

  Maya loosened her fingers.

  “If you ever lay a hand on her again, I’ll cut it off,” he said.

  Maya’s eyes widened. A green fire raged in their depths. Aggression tainted the air. Clelia didn’t dare move. Her stomach tightened in response to the power wrestling playing off. Lann, on the other hand, sipped his tea with an indifferent expression, watching the action as if it was a boring spectacle.

  Finally, Maya relented. Shoulders slumping with an exhale of breath, she stepped away with narrowed eyes.

  Turning his attention to Clelia, Joss traced the seam of her lips with a thumb. “Why is she bleeding?”

  “My ring caught her lip,” Maya said.

  “What was your ring doing in her face?” he asked, not looking away from Clelia’s lip that was pulsing with a rhythmic ache.

  “It’s not the first time we’ve used firmer methods to extract information. What’s your problem?”

  “This is Joss’s territory,” Lann said.

  “So, what?” Maya asked. “Now you’re suddenly territorial, Joss? Maybe you should go around and piss on every tree.”

  Joss’s body went rigid. His voice turned quieter, sounding more menacing than Clelia had ever heard. “Back off, Maya, or find yourself another team.”

  “I don’t see—”

  “I said, back off.” Joss flexed his fingers. “I’m the team leader. You’ll show me the respect I deserve. Is that clear?”

  After a tense beat, Maya lifted her hands. “I’m off.”

  “I asked you a question,” Joss said, his eyes searching Clelia’s face as if he’d directed the question at her.

  “Fine. We’re clear, but I think Lann and I deserve an explanation. What’s going on?”

  Only then did he turn to Maya. “You have no idea how close you came to detention.”

  “I think I should make us all some tea,” Lann said.

  “Fuck the tea,” Maya said. “I need something stronger.”

  Lann lifted his hand. “Hold on.” He touched the mic in his ear. “Grab your comms. There’s info coming in.”

  Joss and Maya reached for their earpieces.

  Lann listened for a moment before addressing Joss. “It’s Cain. He’s flying in.”

  The silver color of Joss’s eyes simmered. “He’s what?”

  “He wants us to keep her until he gets here.”

  Maya looked at Joss. “This shit must be bigger than we think.” Her gaze shifted to Clelia. “If the boss is coming in, her old man is screwed.”

  “Quiet,” Joss said, giving Maya a hard look.

  “I don’t like the feel of this,” Maya said.

  Lann leaned against the counter. “Why would Cain—”

  The mug in his hand exploded. Lann froze with a stunned expression. When the window behind him shattered, her kidnappers jumped into action.

  Lann ducked behind the island counter and grabbed an automatic rifle from an open duffle bag on the floor. Lifting the weapon to his shoulder, he aimed it at the window while peering through the telescope. Maya dived, rolled, and withdrew the
two pistols from the holsters on her hips. She was aiming them at the door and window even before she’d landed on her feet behind stainless steel storage shelves. Joss dove through the air and tackled Clelia with the chair to the floor. He softened the fall with his arms behind her back and one hand bracing her head, but she hit the tiles with a thump as the chair fell one way and they rolled the other. Joss’s weight on top of her knocked out her breath. Pain exploded in her back and stars popped behind her eyes. Not giving her time to recover, he stretched out over her like a shield.

  “What the fuck?” Maya hissed.

  “Lann?” Joss said, his breath hot in Clelia’s neck.

  Lann’s answer came from behind them. “I’m fine. Got the back window and hallway covered.”

  Joss lifted his head to look at her, his face tight. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  Lann’s voice was strained. “Joss?”

  “Sloppy assassin.” Joss chuckled, but the sound was humorless.

  “Sloppy or not, I hate bullets flying around my head,” Maya said over her shoulder, holding both handguns aimed at the door. “Where the fuck is air support?”

  “Bono, did you get that?” Joss asked.

  He let go of Clelia to remove a revolver from his body holster. When another round of shots assaulted the windows, walls, and door, the three agents, or whatever they called themselves, returned fire with a vengeance.

  What was happening? Adrenalin coursed through Clelia’s body, dulling the pain in her back. Shit. She was caught in a shootout. She rolled onto her stomach and pushed up onto her elbows. Joss and his team were protecting themselves like maniacs, firing shots through the broken window and closed door, and in any direction the shots came from.

  She shivered on the floor, her body trembling from more than her wet clothes. She had to get out of here. While the team was distracted, she had an opportunity to escape. She might not get another chance. She glanced around her. Joss’s attention was fixed on the window to their right. Lann was scanning the yard through the broken kitchen window, and Maya was keeping an eye on the door.