Incendiary (The Premonition Series (Volume 4))

by Amy A. Bartol

  “That could eat up a year of our lives,” she mutters, knowin’ how big Brennus’ castle is and that they probably have traps all throughout.

  “We gotta make it quick, ‘cuz if we don’t, it could be open season on our friends,” I say. “Brennus is gettin’ smarter—adaptin’. He nearly plucked you off this ship already.”

  “What about you, Russell?” Red questions, lookin’ scared. “What happens when Brennus realizes that you were bitten several more times than me?”

  “Then he’s gonna throw confetti in the air and make me his party,” I answer, seein’ her eyes widen in fear.

  “We’ve gotta protect you, Russ! You can’t go with us!” Red spits out as she jumps to her feet.

  “Hush now, Red. We’re just talkin’ here—you and me,” I say in a soothin’ way meant to calm her down. I get to my feet, too. “Where does one hide from magical creatures anyway?” I ask rhetorically, ‘cuz we both know that those demons will always find us.

  “He can’t have you!” she says, pointin’ her finger at me.

  “You’re damn right he can’t have me,” I agree. “I may be new to this magic thing, but I’m catchin’ up quick.” Openin’ my palm, I whisper words to myself that create a small orb of light. Throwin’ it against the wall, it shoots ‘round us and ricochets, like a kid’s rubber superball. When it bounces by my head, I make it pause it midair for a moment before it explodes into a shower of Twinkies.

  Red picks up a Twinkie from the pile on the floor. “How did you do that?” she asks with a laugh.

  “Well, it wasn’t that hard. Twinkies are in season this time of year,” I grin.

  “I love you, Russ,” Red says impulsively, walkin’ into my arms and huggin’ me tight with her face pressin’ against my chest.

  My arms go around her instantly, almost like habit as I stroke her soft hair. Somethin’ inside my heart leaps, like it always does when she’s near me, but…somethin’ else is missin’. I’m not itchin’ to tear her clothin’ off and make love to her on the floor of the engine room and that’s what’s strange ‘bout it. I plant a soft kiss on top of her head, and then wild crickets begin bouncin’ ‘round in my belly, the way they do when Anya is…

  A low growl comes from the doorway of the engine room. My wings shoot out of my back at the sound and I push Red behind me, adoptin’ a defensive posture. I straighten again when I see Anya’s black wings spread out in response to mine. She’s livid, if her emerald, snappin’ eyes are any indication. Reed is holdin’ her upper arm, in case she decides that she’s seen enough.

  Reed speaks to Anya in Angel and she turns her head to glare at him. Then she unleashes a torrent of words on him and me that have me blushin’ even though I have no idea of what she’s sayin’. But the way she’s shakin’ her finger at me is sorta tellin’.

  Turnin’, I see Red’s face. She’s gone completely pale as she’s starin’ at Reed. He’s got a look I haven’t seen since Crestwood: suppressed rage.

  “Whoa, what just happened here?” I ask Reed. “You know this is just us talkin’, right?” I ask, gesturin’ between Red and me.

  “Is that what it was?” Reed responds quietly. “It’s getting more and more difficult to tell.”

  Anger creeps into my voice too, when I say, “You think this is seduction…right now? Here on the open water with Gancanagh tryin’ to drag her off the ship and her father showin’ up to claim her?” I ask, feelin’ like my integrity is bein’ questioned.

  “I hugged him…it was me,” Evie says from behind me. She moves to stand beside me, wringin’ her hands in front of her and makin’ us look guilty.

  Reed’s face turns blank and then he asks, “How could you resist when he brought the Twinkies?” Reed lets go of Anya’s arm and walks out of the engine room. Red pushes past me as she tries to catch up to Reed, leavin’ me to deal with Anya alone.

  Shufflin’ my foot, I feel like a criminal that’s truly innocent of the charges this time. “Why are you here, Anya?” I ask, knowin’ that she doesn’t understand me. I rub my forehead where it’s startin’ to ache. “This world is only gonna break your heart.”

  “You break heart. You throw all away,” she responds immediately, her hands on her hips as she glares at me.

  “You understand me?” I murmur, my mouth droppin’ open.

  “Buns and Brownie—help Anya,” she retorts. “Teach words and…” she pulls a pocket dictionary from the back pocket of her tight, shape-huggin’ low rise jeans, “and Webster.”

  “Yeah? Well that’s good. That means you’re smart, right? So you’ll understand this then. I don’t know you,” I say as anger over the situation I’m findin’ myself in erupts.

  “You not try to know Anya,” she responds in a tense tone.

  “That’s right. I don’t want to know you,” I agree, not wantin’ to have this conversation now, but since she’s forcin’ the issue, I’m thinkin’ that maybe this is as good a time as any. I need her to leave before we get to Ireland. She’s not supposed to be a part of this and if I remove the reason for her bein’ here, maybe she’ll go somewhere safe.

  “So, that is complication?” she asks in a soft tone. Her sleek, ebony wings retract to a restin’ position behind her.

  “Naw, not a complication. It’s a wall between us,” I reply, hopin’ she’ll get what I’m sayin’.

  “Then…I remove wall,” she says, takin’ a step nearer to me.

  Holdin’ up my hand, I say, “I like the wall.”

  She pauses, and tilts her head at me, like she’s processin’ what I just said. “That is two complication,” she replies with a blank expression, holdin’ up two fingers.

  “Here’s number three: I want you to leave,” I state in a firm tone, watchin’ for her expression to change. She just stares at me like she doesn’t understand what I just said. “I don’t love you and I never will. So, you might as well just get a new tattoo or whatever it is y’all do in a situation like this.” I point to her chest and see her fingers skim over the spot where the crimson wings are branded into her skin beneath her clothin’.

  “This is blindness,” she says in a quiet, restless tone. “You not see what we are,” she adds, indicatin’ her and me with her gesture.

  “Don’t tell me that you’re one of those psychotic girls that can’t hear when it’s over?” I ask in my harshest tone, feelin’ my stomach twist at the expression on her face. Pain and confusion break through her blank façade.

  “What is ‘psychotic?’” she interrupts me…she flips open her dictionary, searchin’ for the word. “Spell for me.”

  “Crazy…coo-coo, loco, insane, demented,” I reply, bein’ as crass as I possibly can, but she still looks puzzled. “Non compos mentis—”

  She gasps, like I slapped her and then her eyelids narrow to slits over her green eyes. “Anya Throne…THRONE,” she growls, slappin’ her chest with her fist. She begins readin’ me the riot act with her Angelic words, like she’s tellin’ me where I can go if I have a mind to. Finally, after a few minutes she switches back to English. “You leave me and say, ‘I be back for you.’ That make you liar, not me non compos mantis—cra-zee.”

  She’s breathin’ hard now, lookin’ wild and fierce…exotic and unbelievably beautiful. Her black hair is flowin’ down her back in waves and her face is flushin’ pink with emotion.

  Stay the course, man, I think, givin’ myself a quick pep talk in my mind, while bein’ distracted by her incredible allure.

  “I don’t need a broken-hearted savior,” I say, pointin’ my finger at her.

  Her spine straightens instantly, as her mouth thins in a grim line. “Yes, I have eyes—I see what you want now.” She takes a step back from me and the feelin’ of crickets jumpin’ ‘round in my stomach is makin’ me want to move nearer to her again.

  “Good,” I nod, but I feel sick. My face is a mirror of her grim expression. “So, you’ll be goin’ soon,” I state with a sinkin’ feelin’ of regret.

&n
bsp; “I decide what I do,” she replies.

  Unthinkingly, my hand shoots out to her upper arm, holdin’ her when she would have walked away. “You’re gettin’ off this boat.”

  “This angel no longer belongs to you,” Anya replies in a soft tone. “You shun—you throw away…you get no…” she flounders for a second, searchin’ for words. “You get no thinking in what Anya do.”

  “You’re wrong. I get thinkin’ about what you do, ‘cuz as long as you’re here, you’re my responsibility. You should leave here and go home,” I counter as my hand tightens on her arm.

  “You think you know so much?” she asks me in a derisive way. “You baby compared with Anya. I take care of me.”

  “I know I’m not gonna let up on you until you leave,” I reply in a menacin’ tone as my face draws closer to hers.

  “Your words are wrong,” she says, puzzled. “I am not understanding you. You say you don’t want me. I say I take care of me…you want me away…why care if here, or not here? I will not bother you anymore.”

  “It bothers me to see you here,” I clarify.

  Pullin’ her arm out of my grasp, Anya crosses her arms over her chest defensively before askin’, “Why? I say to you I leave Russell be to run after Evie,” her mouth twists like she’s tastin’ somethin’ bad. “I have no home to go to,” she admits in a soft tone. “I know no one here…I misunderstanding very much. Reapers offer to help Anya…Brownie is kind.”

  “’Cuz I don’t want you here, so you can’t stay. Brownie is my friend, not yours,” I retort. I have to squeeze my hands in fists to keep from takin’ her in my arms when I see the tragic look that comes to her eyes before she can hide it.

  “You would deny Anya any help?” she asks, her face registerin’ shock.

  “You said you could take care of yourself. Prove it,” I say, but the bitterness in my tone is from havin’ to say the words, not ‘cuz I mean them. On the contrary, I feel almost desperate to comfort her, but then I wouldn’t be protectin’ her. I have to keep her away from Brennus.

  “I not know you…not my aspire…on a different day, you would help Anya…you love me…you would make me feel safe in my own skin, not like this—ugly…a stranger,” Anya says like she’s chokin’.

  “I’ll talk to Zee. He has places you can stay. He knows tons of angels. You’ll be all right,” I say in a gruff tone.

  “NO!” Anya says, her brows pullin’ together. “That will feel like corrosion, slowly eating through me. Stop speaking. You only hurt. Try hard to destroy. I will find my way without you.”

  “That sounds fine,” I retort acidly, but my chest feels tight; it aches.

  She nods her head once. Then, she asks, “Do you want to see Phaedrus now then?”

  “Huh?” I ask, not understandin’ what she’s talkin’ 'bout.

  “You say Anya not yours. You tell Phaedrus, he remove your mark from me,” she replies, lookin’ pale and tired all of a sudden.

  “I gotta do what now?” I ask, feelin’ somethin’ twist in my chest, like my heart’s dyin’.

  “You say Anya not aspire—you must release me,” she says in a tight voice.

  “Is that really—do I have to do that now?” I ask, and for some reason, I feel totally enraged with her for even mentionin’ that to me.

  “Yes—it’s what you must do to have your Evie again. You say the words and make it the end of our acquaintance,” she replies.

  “Well, I’m kinda busy plannin’ an attack on the Gancanagh right now,” I reply, runnin’ my hand through my hair in agitation.

  Lookin’ confused and crushed, Anya just shakes her head at me. “When time comes to you, then?”

  “Yeah, when I have time,” I respond in a gruff tone. “You’re gonna be all right.” I can’t help myself from sayin’ it again when she begins walkin’ towards the door.

  She pauses, but doesn’t turn around. She leaves then, which is good ‘cuz I can’t say anythin’ more to her now, anyway. Instead, I crush the handle to the steel door near the bulkhead in frustration. I sit down on the floor and hang my head, wonderin’ if I even know who I am anymore.

  I don’t know how long I sit in this small space, but when I get up from the floor, my legs feel stiff. Slowly, I walk back towards my cabin and when I near it, I feel Brownie and Buns join me on either side. They both link arms with me, like they’re escortin’ a prisoner to his execution. My eyebrows rise as I notice that they’re dressed in bathin’ suits and revealin’ cover-ups, even though we’re dodgin’ icebergs outside. I can’t really say anythin’ to them ‘bout it, since I just gave away the only shirt that I had to Red.

  “A word?” Brownie asks me in a stern tone, while pullin’ me into her cabin and shuttin’ the door.

  “‘Trap’ is a word. ‘Detainee’ is another one,” I say when they both lean against the door with their arms crossed and their faces even crosser.

  “We know you, Russell,” Buns says like a sneer. “You’re super chivalrous—”

  “To a fault,” Brownie chimes in like an accusation.

  “And a sucker for a female in need,” Buns says.

  “HUGE sucker,” Brownie adds, tappin’ her kitten-heel clad foot.

  “What’s your angle here, cowboy? Where did you get the black hat?” Buns asks, her blue eyes narrowin’.

  “Do wut?” I drawl.

  “Cut the country bumpkin crap,” Brownie warns me. “We know how crafty you are—”

  “Crafty,” Buns agrees with a nod.

  “You’re gonna have to explain to me what you’re referrin’ to,” I say again, stallin’ for time to try to figure out what to tell them.

  “Sounds like Russell could use some time with the mermaids, Brownie,” Buns says with an evil smile twistin’ her lips.

  “Or, the Undines,” Brownie hisses.

  “What do y’all want to know?” I ask them with a resigned sigh.

  “Let’s start with Evie and work our way up to Anya, shall we?” Buns asks. “I’ve never seen Reed and Evie argue—disagree, sure but argue, never.”

  “They’re fightin’?” I say, surprised to find that I don’t feel good ‘bout that.

  “They are,” Brownie says in a shamin’ way that makes my face burn.

  “It’s about you. What did you do?” Buns asks, wrinklin’ her nose at me like I smell foul.

  “We hugged…and I kissed her on the top of the head—comfortingly, not passionately,” I blurt out. “Just like I would’ve done if either one of you were cryin’ your eyes out.”

  Brownie and Buns both look at each other and lose a little of their swagger. “Oh,” Buns says in a cowed tone.

  “Can I go now?” I ask them, feelin’ like I won a battle, but the war is still ahead of me if I don’t retreat now.

  “And Anya?” Brownie asks, causin’ me to shut my eyes briefly. Smellin’ blood, they rally and go in for the kill. “Spill it,” she demands.

  “She’s gotta go, y’all,” I state in an authoritative tone.

  “What do you mean she has to go? She is your aspire,” Brownie retorts. “I examined the binding emblem myself. They’re your wings—”

  “No question,” Buns finishes for Brownie.

  “So what?” I ask them in agitation. “I don’t know her at all—at all at all!”

  “So you get to know her,” Brownie says, like I’m slow.

  “Now? This has to happen now?” I ask them, while pullin’ my hand through my hair in exasperation. “This can’t wait until after we kill Brennus? After we get rid of all the evil freaks stalkin’ us?”

  “There’s probably always going to be some kind of evil freaks stalking you,” Brownie points out.

  “You kinda taunt them into it by your very nature,” Buns agrees.

  “Not like Brennus. He’d like nothin’ better than to get close to Anya. If he so much as touched her…” I trail off.

  “She’d be his minion,” Brownie finishes, causin’ my eyes to shoot to her blue ones in
anger.

  “His sclábhaí,” I mutter, usin’ Brennus’ word for slave.

  “There’s the white hat!” Buns says excitedly, nudgin’ Brownie with her elbow.

  “I KNEW IT!” Brownie agrees with glee. “So you told her to go away—that you don’t want her—so she’ll be out of danger!”

  “It’s very old-fashion of you, Russell,” Buns says, her stern tone creepin’ back in.

  “Very Dark Ages meets—” and then she says something in Angel I can’t understand.

  “Yes, very—” and Buns hisses the word in Angel, too, as she nods her head.

  “Fine, I’m—” and I try to say the word, fail miserably, and shrug when I see them both grin. “Can I go now?”

  “Nope,” Buns says with a frown.

  “Not a chance,” Brownie agrees.

  “Why not?” I ask them with a sigh.

  “You just made a big mess,” Buns says.

  “HUGE mess,” Brownie adds.

  “You don’t shun a Throne,” Buns warns.

  “I mean, are you crazy?” Brownie asks with an incredulous grin.

  “Naw…it’s a good plan. I tell her to go away. I take away any chance of reconciliation, and she’s safe,” I explain, watchin’ their frowns deepen.

  “Horrible plan,” Brownie states.

  “The worst,” Buns agrees.

  “Why?” I ask them in a frustrated tone as my brows pull together.

  “THRONE,” they say in unison.

  “So?” I mutter, and see them glance at each other again in exasperation. “You’re all angels. How much different can she be from y’all?”

  They both snort in unison.

  “Karma is what they do, Russell,” Buns says sympathetically.

  “Everything to them is a circle,” Brownie chimes in. “Reap what you sow kind of thing—and this is personal.”