Treasure of the Fire Kingdom (The Elemental Phases Book 4)

by Cassandra Gannon

  God knew he’d arrested enough of these weirdoes over the past few months to have created a gold rush in the legal community. Every defense attorney in a fifty mile radius was getting rich. The Cult’s criminal tendencies were financing a whole armada of pleasure boats and new Mercedes, while not one Cult member stayed in jail more than an hour or two.

  It annoyed Sullivan on so many levels.

  Gion’s mouth curved into the sort of smirk that made Sullivan want to book him for just being a world-class asshole. “I don’t need my lawyers. I’m just here to humor you.”

  “I’m not.” On the other side of the police station, Alder “I-don’t-have-a-last-name-because-I’m-Alder,-of-the-Fire-Kingdom!” raised his cuffed hands. “I’m here because the human is a bigot.”

  Sullivan closed his eyes briefly. “You’re here because you torched someone’s front lawn. Don’t worry. I’m getting to you next.”

  “I didn’t set that palm tree on fire.” Alder insisted passionately. He had the look of a strip-club bouncer, the seams of his camouflaged T-shirt straining against his doubtlessly chemically enhanced muscles. His dark hair sported a red streak at the temple.

  At least, Sullivan thought it was red. He was colorblind, so it could have been green or some in between shade of brown. Not that it particularly mattered. All the Cult members had various kinds of colored markers in their hair. Sullivan wasn’t sure why, except they were all weirdoes.

  “My sister started the blaze.” Alder continued. “I was just standing there.”

  “Right. Innocently standing there with a torch in your hand.”

  “So? That doesn’t prove anything. A lot of people have torches.”

  “Not outside of Frankenstein movies or witch burnings.” Typical that they would pull this crap the day before Halloween. It was probably some kind of spiritual holiday for whatever the hell fake religion they’d started.

  Alder made an aggravated sound. “Missy handed me the torch after the fire started.”

  “I’m sure the jury will be lenient with you, then. You better hope so anyway, because the lady whose yard you incinerated is not a forgiving soul. She’s already calling the DA asking him to go for the death penalty.”

  “Look, I don’t have time for this human crap. In fact, I’m only not killing you because I don’t need Job on my ass.” He hesitated. “Shit. Is ‘ass’ a swear word in the human language?”

  “Yep.” At least, Sullivan’s grandmother had always chastised him when he said it. The fact the he took the non sequitur in stride was a sad commentary on how normal the Cult’s insanity was becoming.

  “Shit! I hate this frigging realm. I only come here to fight in the wars, and now to look for a Match. I have to go! This whole stupid jail thing is making me late to pick up my cousin Hope and now you made me curse.” Alder tugged at the zip-tie handcuffs securing his wrists and looked over at Gion. “Would you do something about this? You were raised by the damn Wood Phases. Tell this idiot to let me go!”

  “Of course.” Gion nodded gravely and glanced back at Sullivan. “Let him go, idiot.” He deadpanned, a mocking glint in his eye.

  “God, I hate you people.” Sullivan had never been much of an actor. He left that up to Mayport Beach’s second biggest problem, she of the scorched palm tree and vengeance issues. No, everything Sullivan felt about a person was typically written all over his face and/or came through loud-and-clear in his voice. And, in case they missed those subtle clues, he also usually told them outright just what he thought. Sullivan found rudeness so much easier than polite, social lies.

  He thought Alder was a pyromanical lunatic and he thought Gion was an arrogant, violent son-of-a-bitch.

  They might as well know he was on to them, because he also thought Gion was an arrogant, violent son-of-a-bitch who could… do things. Weird things. And since the Cult came to town, Sullivan’s previous standards of weird had undergone a dramatic tilt towards the bizarre. All in all, this wasn’t going to be the friendliest interrogation on record.

  He didn’t like the Cult.

  There was no sense in pretending otherwise.

  They’d hit Mayport Beach a few months back, with too much money, too much free time, and no respect for the law. Since then, Sullivan had been aching to get rid of them and now he had a shot at making his dream come true.

  Mayport Beach, Florida was a small, sleepy beach town, with the population skewed heavily towards the eighty-three year old retiree demographic. Until the Cult, keeping crime under control mainly consisted of locking up ass-hat grandkids joyriding in stolen Cadillacs or dealing with stoners breaking into empty vacation homes. Still, Sullivan was the chief of police and he took his job seriously. He took Mayport Beach seriously. He’d lived there all his life.

  The last thing he wanted his peaceful community overrun with lunatics.

  No matter how much said community seemed to like the invasion.

  Sullivan often felt like was the last human uninfected by the Pod People. Most of Mayport Beach loved the Cult. Few seemed to notice that they were weirdoes. They had weird habits and weird stripes in their hair and a weird obsession with following him around. Literally, they followed Sullivan everywhere. Like he was a celebrity in whatever the hell their weird religion was. They waved at him, and tried to talk with him, and brought him gifts.

  It was really, really weird.

  Thankfully, so far only the women of the Cult seemed fascinated with everything he did, said, or thought. That was something, at least. But, Sullivan was still getting real damn sick of their weirdness. All the female Cult members looked like underwear models dipped in skimpy clothes and shiny, bright perfectness. There was nothing in the world Sullivan trusted less than beautiful people.

  What did they want from him? It had to be something. They kept asking him out on dates, and asking him to have sex with them, and asking him for things that made Sullivan squint, because he wasn’t really sure what that even meant, but he knew that it was weird.

  Normal women didn’t come on to Sullivan. At six foot six, with dark hair he usually forgot to trim and a permanent scowl, he was big and not the least bit cuddly. He had a lousy sense of humor. He wasn’t rich. He didn’t do small talk. And he sure as shit wasn’t handsome.

  The large, symmetrical scar on his cheek ensured he wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants. Every time he looked in the mirror and saw the raised concentric circles marring his cheek, he knew that the Cult women were playing some weird Cult-y prank on him and he didn’t appreciate the joke.

  Now, he had something to hold over their heads and he intended to make the most of it.

  Beside Gion sat the one reason Sullivan was striving to remain civil. Ty Waterhouse was sweet, and little, and shy. She favored pink sweater sets and rhinestone necklaces with Hello Kitty on them. The girl was cute in the way of little sisters everywhere.

  Ty was one of the few Cult members he could stand. Sullivan felt protective of her. At some point in her past, the kid had been somebody’s punching bag. He could tell. Whatever lingered in her memories, it still haunted her. Sullivan was an expert at spotting abuse, although it wasn’t a skill he was proud of.

  Ty reminded him of the families he often encountered on domestic dispute calls. Children who wouldn’t meet his eyes or who cringed at the sound of their parents’ voices. Looking at her brought back a lot of memories for Sullivan about his own life.

  Lately, Ty had been more outgoing, though. Less likely to shrink back from physical contact or dissolve into panic attacks. As much as he hated to admit it, Sullivan figured Gion was responsible for the positive changes he’d seen in the kid over the past few weeks.

  Ever since she married the arrogant, violent son-of-a-bitch, Ty’s confidence had soared.

  Just what she saw in that condescending bastard was anyone’s guess. Even on days that weren’t full of jack-o’-lanterns, Gion looked like he was off to a costume party. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, the guy dressed like a
vampire, right down to the Batman cape. The solid black clothes matched his career choice perfectly. The guy was a high rent, well-spoken criminal. With sinister icy blue eyes and black hair combed back from his angular face, Gion looked like a criminal. He acted like a criminal. He thought like a criminal.

  Basically, he was criminal, right down to his questionable DNA.

  And Sullivan had the surveillance footage to prove it.

  Ty tucked a stray curly-cue of red hair behind her ear and leaned forward. “I swear to you, Sullivan, Gion had nothing to do with that Home Depot thing. Really. That was all Chason.”

  “Chason?” Sullivan repeated, doubtfully. That wasn’t the name of any of his usual suspects. In fact, he very much doubted it was a name, at all. He knew all the troublemakers who’d come to town recently. Ever since the Cult arrived, he’d been keeping tabs on them.

  “Yes! Chason is… damaged. Ever since his Match –wife-- died, he’s been so volatile and wounded. It’s affected the way he thinks and the things that he does. You see, there was a… sickness about two years ago that killed so many innocent people. It damaged us all.”

  “You’re contagious?” More good news.

  “No! I’m just saying that you mustn’t judge Chason too harshly. He used to be so good. Really. A very responsible, noble man. But, since he lost Mara…” She trailed off with a sigh.

  “He’s a maniac.” Gion translated calmly. “He kidnapped Ty. The next time I see him, I’m going to kill him.” It was a flat statement of fact.

  Sullivan wished he could just arrest Gion for saying that. It would certainly simplify things if he didn’t have to wait for crimes to happen before he locked-up the criminals. “Someone abducted you, Ty?” He glanced over at her and arched a skeptical brow. “You wanna press charges?”

  “No, of course not. Chason apologized.”

  “Right.” Sullivan saw no reason to even humor them about this. “Why are we talking about this guy, then?”

  “Because Chason was the one who caused all those problems in the hardware store.” Ty nodded earnestly. “He’s the one who started the disturbance and scared those people into calling the police and that’s what this is all about. It was Chason’s fault.” She paused. “But, he’s so traumatized that it wasn’t really his fault, either.”

  Gion snorted. “Yes, it was.”

  “No, it wasn’t, dear. Chason is…” Ty frowned. “What’s that term from TV?” She snapped her fingers. “He’s temporarily insane.”

  “It’s not temporary.” Gion assured her. But, he liked being called “dear.” Sullivan could see it in the way he smiled down at his wife. Gion was a criminal, but he was completely besotted with his bride.

  That annoyed Sullivan, too.

  Arrogant, violent son-of-a-bitches shouldn’t get to be happy.

  And Sullivan shouldn’t feel so utterly lonely when they were.

  He arched a brow at Gion. “Let me guess: This ‘Chason’ is about your height, dresses in a Star-Trek-visits-the-Roman-Empire-style uniform, and carries a real big sword around?”

  Gion glanced at him imperiously. “So you have met him.”

  “No, I just watched his greatest hits.” Sullivan reached over to the small television he had set up beside his desk and pushed play on the DVD player. “Did I mention the Home Depot had a security camera?” He looked right at Gion as he shared that happy news.

  Icy blue eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Gion knew the film was going to screw him over. Sullivan could see the gears in his head spinning frantically wondering what Sullivan knew. For one glorious moment the smirk actually faded.

  It was beautiful.

  “You have a tape?” Gion looked like he was already thinking up excuses for whatever it showed.

  “It’s a DVD, actually.”

  Ty bit her lower lip, her gazed locked on the screen. “Uh-oh.”

  The TV showed Ty’s cousin, Nia; Tessie, a former bartender here in town; and Gion arguing by the customer service counter in Home Depot. The footage didn’t have sound and was taken about thirty feet from them, but they were still easy to identify. Gion’s cape alone cut way down on possible misidentifications. Sullivan kept his attention on the live version of Gion as the camera got suddenly fuzzy and the store’s overhead lights started exploding.

  Suddenly, and from out of nowhere, a new man appeared in the Home Depot aisle.

  He just appeared out of nowhere, as if he’d been teleported into the store direct from the Enterprise’s deck.

  Ty sucked in an audible breath. Not in shock that the new guy had zapped into frame like some sci-fi dork’s wet dream, but that Sullivan had it recorded for posterity.

  “You moron!” Alder shouted at Gion, apparently sharing Ty’s horror. “You and Chason let yourselves be caught on camera!”

  “Shut up.” Gion snarled.

  Sullivan gave a smirk of his own. He had no idea how to explain that Chason guy’s otherworldly materialization, but he knew what it meant.

  He had Gion by the balls.

  Dead silence filled the police station as the footage went black. Whatever powers Mr. Spock had used, they shorted out the camera. But, it didn’t matter. Sullivan had still seen enough to know that the Cult would not want this DVD becoming public.

  “You know, I think that has the potential to be the greatest YouTube clip of all time. I just can’t get enough of it. I’m thinking of making it my screensaver.”

  Gion’s gaze flashed back to Sullivan. “Oh, it’s a very impressive fabrication. Congratulations. You know how to use computer editing software. If YouTube’s a bust, perhaps you can sell it to the Alien Autopsy people.”

  Sullivan arched a brow. “You really wanna argue that I faked it? That’s the best explanation you can come up with? I was hoping for, at least, some kind of X-Men inspired mutants-are-in-hiding-in-plain-sight-because-they’re-scared-of-human-prejudice story.”

  “We’re not afraid of the humans.” Alder scoffed. “And we aren’t mutants.”

  “Shut up, Alder.” Gion repeated harshly.

  “Why the fuck should I, huh? I’m not the idiot who let the stupid little humes videotape me, am I? You think you’re such a badass, but now the Fire House is going to have to kill this guy and find all the copies of the DVD and it’s all ‘cause of you.”

  Sullivan rolled his eyes, not particularly worried that firefighters might try to assassinate him.

  “Don’t you dare threaten Sullivan!” Ty jumped to her feet and rounded on Alder. “He belongs to the Wood House. He’s Parson’s grandson and…”

  “The what house?” Sullivan interrupted. “And how do you guys know my grandfather’s name? Did Melanie tell you?”

  They ignored that. “He’s protected by the Council and you know it, Alder.” Ty stabbed a finger at him. “I mean it. Stay away from Sullivan or else.”

  Gion sighed. “Angel, can’t we just let the Fire Phases do what they want to him? It would be so much simpler.”

  “No!”

  Sadly, Sullivan was used to the Cult’s Dungeons and Dragons speak, so he didn’t even bother to ask for an exact translation of the argument. They were threatening to kill him or something. Again.

  “Alder, unless you want to be locked in a cell for more than just the arson charge, I suggest to zip it.” He made a slashing motion across his lips.

  Alder gave an affronted scowl. “Shut up, human. Gion’s actually said something not stupid for once. Fire Phases can do whatever we want.”

  God, Sullivan hated it when they called him “human” like that.

  “If Ty doesn’t want the human killed, then no one will kill him.” Gion didn’t even bother to glance Alder’s way. He kept his long suffering gaze on Sullivan. “No matter how tempting it is.”

  “Gion.” Ty chided. “Be nice. Obviously, Sullivan has some questions and we need to give him some answers. We should tell him the truth. Then, he’ll understand. I’m sure of it.”

  “I don’t think that’s
a good idea.” Gion shook his head. “He won’t believe you.”

  “But, he deserves to know.”

  “Damn it, Ty. Why do you always favor this human so much?”

  “I told you before, Sullivan is my friend.”

  Sullivan felt a smile twitch at her words. He’d met Ty while busting her for breaking into a hospital. The fact that she’d see him as her friend was bizarre… and charming. No wonder she was one of the few people he could stand to be around.

  Gion snorted dismissively, not nearly as moved by Ty’s declaration.

  “And he’s Parson’s grandson.” Ty added pointedly.

  Gion’s jaw got tense.

  Ty looked back over at Sullivan. “Gion knew your grandfather, you know. They were very close.”

  “Sure they were.” John Parson had died two decades before. Gion would’ve been about ten, at the time. “You guys meet at the seniors’ center, Peterson? Playing shuffleboard and bitchin’ about the Great Depression?”

  Gion’s mouth curved. “Mostly, we practiced the violin.”

  Sullivan glanced at him sharply. John Parson had played the violin. Sullivan could still remember the sound of it. How did this arrogant, violent son-of-a-bitch know that?

  Alder glowered at Gion, schoolyard bully style. “I don’t take orders from the Water House and I especially don’t take ‘em from you, fuckwad. I can kill anybody I like.”

  Ty focused on Sullivan with a determined smile, tuning out that pronouncement. “Now, I know how odd this all must look to you.” She gestured towards the TV. “Chason jumping in like that with the sword. He’s a bit… dramatic.”

  “And magical?” Sullivan drawled, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair.

  He couldn’t wait to hear the spin on this. He had absolutely no idea how that Chason guy pulled off his little trick in the Home Depot, but he certainly didn’t believe it was magic. Sullivan had never believed in magic. Even when he was a kid, he knew the rabbit was really under the table.

  “Let me just explain all this to you, so you’ll understand.” Ty was a trooper. She kept going no matter how unreceptive the audience. “We’re not magical. We’re very close to humans biologically. We just have… a little more power. Not magic powers just…” She screwed up her face in deep concentration. “Just think of this way: If you told some person a hundred years ago that… Oh…” she squinted up at the ceiling, “I don’t know… that it would be possible to travel faster than the speed of sound in huge, flying jets, they’d think it was impossible, right? That you were talking about magic.”