Call of Fire

by Beth Cato

  Ingrid scooted down in the wide tub. Hot water flowed to her shoulders and she couldn’t help a blissful sigh. However, she couldn’t lollygag; she had plans. She shut off the water and reached for the washcloth and soap.

  “Did you have any more news as you went about your errands?” She spoke loudly to make sure he heard.

  “No. A mercy, that. No mention of ambassadors in the evening headlines.” Cy’s voice was clear; he stood on the other side of the door. “All the talk is gold, gold, gold. How to get to it, how to get it out of the ground, and how to wheedle more money from miners as they travel north.”

  “The disaster in San Francisco is forgotten all too quickly.” She scrubbed in savage strokes.

  “People can only take so much awful at once. Blum’s gold rush gives people hope. It’s a fool’s hope, to be sure, but drowning folks will cling to anything to stay afloat.”

  Ingrid sat up and worked the sopping cloth over her legs. As she looked at her nude form, there was no denying that she’d lost some weight in the past few days. Magic had depleted her very body—a disturbing thought, and not one to dwell on right now.

  She stood and instantly wanted to plop down again and absorb more heat, but she reached for the towel instead. The water could be drained later. She dried herself and tucked the towel around her body as she stepped to the door. “Are you still out there?”

  “Yes.” His voice was a low rumble right on the other side. “Did you get out of the tub already?”

  “Can you help me?”

  Hesitant pressure on the door handle made it twitch, but it didn’t open. “What do you need?”

  She leaned on the handle and took a deep breath to steel her resolve. “You.” She opened the door a crack.

  “Me, Ingrid?” He peered through the opening.

  “You. I’m wondering if you can distract me in a pleasant way for a while.”

  Through the gap, she saw Cy blink rapidly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Oh.”

  At that encouragement, she pushed the door open. Cy stepped back. He wore an expression of calm rapture as he took in the full sight of her in a mere towel.

  Ingrid looked down at herself and wondered what he really saw in her, what he’d seen from the first time they met on the Cordilleran Auxiliary steps. She adjusted the towel over the generous curve of her breasts. Naughty pulp novels made seduction look so easy. A kiss here, a moan there, and next thing the couple knew, suspenders and stays were undone and passion occurred in sly euphemisms.

  Truth was, her anxious heart thrummed like a Porterman engine at full power. She was desperately, horribly afraid that he still might balk and refuse her in a gentlemanly way, and leave her ashamed to face him for the rest of forever. Or even worse, that something might happen in the building across the way while they dared to take this respite. That’s how their luck had worked over the past week, like a leprechaun’s curse.

  “You mentioned that you’ve thought about this,” Ingrid said. “I hope that it wasn’t just in terms of honor, but about especially pleasant things.” She shakily giggled. “Good grief, I can barely talk.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t speak, then.”

  With a single long stride, Cy cupped her jaw and brought her lips to his. His touch sent a spiral of heat straight through her core. The rough skin of his thumb stroked her cheek as he tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. She pulled back enough to gaze into his eyes, her breath rapid.

  “I’d like to think I know what I’m doing here, but I’m relying on a score of purple novels that no proper lady should’ve ever read and my own rather active imagination.”

  “Good.” His voice was hoarse. “Most of what I know is by hearsay from men who would be judged a mite crude.”

  Ingrid was surprised by his confession. “So you’re saying, you’ve never . . . ? Not that it would change my mind if you had.”

  She’d heard enough talk at the auxiliary to know how most men—most adults—were, and if Cy had some experience, it wouldn’t have been a bad thing. The thought of learning along with him, though, held a special sort of appeal.

  Cy coughed. “I wasn’t raised to consider women as casual acquaintances on such a basis, and being on the run these past years hasn’t provided a good foundation for a permanent relationship. Not when my very name is a lie.”

  “I think the nom de guerre of Jennings suits you, really. ‘Augustus’ does sound a bit pretentious.”

  He laughed. “My grandfather was a Smith by birth. Pretension was his intent, harkening to the glories of old Rome and all.”

  Ingrid gnawed on her lip. “Since you’re here with me right now, I take that to mean that you’re interested in a permanent relationship with me?”

  “Yes.” His smile created crinkles around his eyes. “It’s a good motivation to stay alive and free, I think. We do need to give consideration, however, to . . . er, consequences. Especially considering the magical strain on your body of late.” His brow furrowed.

  Ingrid bit her lip, unsure what exactly to say. “My body’s never been normal in that way.” She shrugged, and if not for her hand at her chest, she would have lost the towel. “I’ve never had a monthly. A good thing, really, considering the pain some women describe. If earthquakes had coincided with my cycle, I imagine I would have figured out more about my geomantic powers back in my teen years.” She frowned in thought. “I suppose I sound rather blasé about it, but I came to terms with the matter a long time ago.”

  She shouldn’t have been surprised that Cy brought up the general subject. This was a proper adult discussion to have, but now she fretted that she’d spoiled their moment together.

  Cy’s brow remained furrowed. “That’s a relief as far as my immediate concerns, but I can’t help but feel sad as well. To have no possibility of bearing children can be devastating for some folks.”

  “I never dwelled on that as a child. My body is what it is. I hope . . . I hope this isn’t a problem?” Nervousness crept into her voice.

  “I think your body is quite fine.” His voice softened as he touched her cheek again. She shivered. “I want you to be safe and well.”

  Ingrid caught an edge of hesitation there. Safe could imply many different things. Damn it all, but this was proceeding at a sloth’s pace.

  She tugged at the towel. It dropped upon her feet.

  Cy made a small strangled sound. “It seems your towel fell, Ingrid.”

  She looked down as if surprised. “My goodness. You’re right. Gravity’s working.” She met his eye again. He had an expression she had never encountered before. He looked . . . intent. “Cy. I’m standing here naked and terrified witless. Please make it plain that you really do want me and I’m not making a total—”

  His arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted her up. Her legs barely had time to grip him and then she impacted on the bed with a gasp of breath. Her thighs didn’t relinquish their hold. He propped himself up on one arm. His fingertips traced over her cheek and jaw, and down the width of her lips. She kissed his thumb and gave it the slightest nip.

  “Ingrid, never doubt for an instant that I want you. You’re the smartest, most troublesome woman I’ve ever had the joy to meet, and your body . . .” His fingers trailed down her neck as his gaze went downward. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  She gave a shaky laugh and eyed his shirt. “Our situation seems a bit unequal.”

  He sat up on his knees and began to work his buttons. “You’re right. This won’t do.”

  Ingrid reached for his waist. “Would you like some help?”

  His brown eyes practically smoldered. “Please.” He shrugged and his suspenders draped to his hips.

  Ingrid’s fingers clumsily worked at his trouser buttons. “Should we continue with the good manners? Will that help things along? What if I say, ‘please touch me, Cy’? Will you touch me?”

  “You might need to be more specific.”

  “I think,” she said, just bef
ore their lips met in another breath-stealing kiss, “that I can be very specific.”

  Chapter 13

  Monday, April 23, 1906

  Ingrid woke often in the night. It was odd yet wonderful to share a bed with someone. Cy tossed and turned, his body free to move after enduring the coffin-like racks aboard the Bug. She didn’t mind the frequent awakenings. It gave her more opportunities to simply enjoy his presence. She stroked the long line of his nose. The tenderness of his earlobes. The bristles along his jaw. He looked different without his glasses on, as if the proportions of his face were slightly off-kilter.

  She felt different, too. Powerful in a new, extraordinary way. She also experienced a profound sense of coziness. Not simply because of the bed, though that was a wonder unto itself, but through exploring this new sort of intimacy with Cy. He felt right. And she felt right with him.

  Cy slept clothed as a matter of readiness. Ingrid couldn’t argue with that, though she didn’t fully dress herself either. Basic underclothes sufficed. They also were conveniently easy to strip off again in the middle of the night as she studied Cy again and suddenly found him staring back. Their lips met with a kiss as hot as earth’s magic, and the temperature only elevated from there.

  Good God, but that man could kiss. And more. Judging by Cy’s reactions, Ingrid didn’t think she did too badly herself either. They settled into the blankets again afterward, Ingrid fitted against his backside like a spoon. She embraced him with one arm, her hand on his chest. His body was warm if somewhat sweaty, his heartbeat strong beneath her hand. Within a minute he relaxed into the blankets with a mild shudder. Asleep, just like that. Was that a trait of men, she wondered, or something distinct to Cy? She felt like she had a lot to learn.

  Smiling, she tucked her face close to his shoulder blade. A week ago, she had luxuriated in simply sleeping in Cy’s bed back in his San Francisco workshop. It’d been titillating to be in such an intimate space even without his presence. Now she had him, and a far superior bed. If they managed to stay alive together . . . well, the future showed a lot more promise.

  Ingrid woke with her arm stretched out and unbound hair in a veil across her eyes. Her fist clutched the sheets.

  No Cy.

  She bolted upright in bed. Sun streamed through the gaps of the curtains. Cy’s clothes were no longer folded on a bedside chair. His shoes were gone, too. She pushed herself free of the tangled sheets and winced as she stood. This morning brought a whole new sort of tenderness to her legs and body, though she felt steadier overall.

  A note sat on the chair where his clothes had been.

  I hate to leave you alone, but I’d best help with work on the Bug. You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, sleeping there, and as much as I’d like to wake you again, I want you to get more rest. Don’t leave anything in the room, just in case. I’ll bring breakfast to the shop. Love, Cy.

  Love. She traced the impressions of the pencil the way she’d explored his body hours before. His affection for her was impressive considering how much hell the man had endured during their brief acquaintance. He seemed only to grow fonder of her. Miracle of miracles.

  The gaudy suite looked even more garish in the morning light, and downright intolerable without Cy present. Whoever decorated the room should be counseled regarding their overuse and abuse of lace doilies.

  Ingrid tugged on her clothes. She affixed pins and one of her new headbands to keep the wild mess of hair off her neck; maybe later tonight she could return to the suite and wash her hair.

  After a quick check to make sure she had everything, she headed across the street. The sun was already tilting toward ten o’clock. She hastened her steps, feeling strangely lazy at being the last to rise and help.

  Only when she was at the door could she hear the roar of an airship engine. She hesitated with her hand on the handle, concerned about the alarm, but proceeded inside. The alarm didn’t go off; loud as the ship was, it might have drowned out the klaxons, anyway. She locked the door behind her.

  The Palmetto Bug was still anchored and moored, though most of the ladders and other debris had been moved some distance away. She left her things with the crates and stood on the open floor for a minute, unsure what to do. The engine finally wound down. Ingrid approached as the bottom hatch dropped down and the stairs dangled into space.

  “Hey! Cy!” Fenris yelled. He angled his head to peer out.

  “He’s not in there with you?” Ingrid stood right below the opening.

  “No. I booted him out so I could run tests on that stub wing in peace. He was smiling too much.” Fenris scowled as if to counterbalance that expression.

  Did Fenris suspect something was going on between Ingrid and Cy? Did he mind? Ingrid’s cheeks flushed. She knew there was nothing romantic between Fenris and Cy—their relationship was downright brotherly—but she didn’t want Fenris to feel as though she was trying to steal away Cy’s attention and affection. Ingrid hadn’t even considered that advancing her relationship with Cy might endanger the deep bond between the two old friends. That was the last thing she wanted to do.

  “Oh. Well. Here, I can bring the ladder over so you can get down,” she stammered, relieved to find a reason to turn away.

  “I can jump to the floor. It’s not that bad. But sure, bring the ladder.”

  The ladder legs scraped the floor as she dragged it over. She lined it up beneath the hatch only to have Fenris order her to move it this way and that to position it just right. Satisfied at last, Fenris twisted his body around and climbed down.

  “Has Lee shown up?” she asked.

  “Nope. Nothing tripped the alarms during the night either. It’s nice to be in a place where I can work unimpeded all day long. No ridiculous noise curfews.”

  “Heaven forbid that other people need to sleep,” Ingrid said, deadpan.

  “That’s right. Monsters.” He shook his head.

  “You have gotten some sleep, right? My body isn’t the only one that needs to heal from injury.”

  He flapped a hand in the air dismissively. “Some naps. I sleep when I’m tired enough. I don’t like being stuck anywhere, even a bed. That was a big reason why I built the Bug in the first place. We needed means to go, and go quickly. I sure as hell didn’t expect the need to be so sudden.”

  “Sorry. The next time almost everyone I know is about to be murdered, I’ll give you advance notice to make sure that it works with your schedule.”

  Fenris grunted, which Ingrid imagined was the closest he’d come to an apology. “So. You and Cy?”

  Ingrid blinked. “Me and Cy, what?”

  “Oh, come on. You two were making moony eyes at each other even when you were both covered in blood and muck. You shared a room last night. You both come in here this morning smiling and practically skipping in bliss, as if life were all sunshine and rainbows and half the world wasn’t out to kill or capture us.” He gave her a pointed look. “Cy treats me like a glass doll. Don’t do the same.”

  “I . . . I’m not sure what you want me to say. I don’t know how . . . I don’t want to make things difficult for you two—”

  “Stop it. You hate to be coddled. Don’t coddle me either.” His face twisted in frustration. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, or be afraid of hurting my feelings. If you want to do that, insult my airship, not me.”

  Ingrid couldn’t help but laugh, and even Fenris cracked a smile. “Okay, then. Yes, I enjoyed the night in Cy’s company.” She ducked her chin, feeling the blush spread across her face.

  “Good. You both need that. Hell, we could all be dead tomorrow. You may as well have some fun while you can.” He frowned. “Listen. I love Cy. I’m pretty fond of you at this point, too.” He grabbed a wrench and pointed it at her. “It’s all good and well that you’re canoodling, but I’d rather you not do such things on my airship. You’ll probably damage something.”

  “Damage the ship, you mean. I know your priorities.” Ingrid grinned. “That�
��s why you broached this topic at all, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I want confirmation that Cy finally has some happiness. He’s spent the past dozen years running from his own brilliance and all the deaths he caused because of that damned Durendal tank. The guilt almost undid him, but losing contact with his family is what crushed him most of all.” A wave of grief passed over Fenris’s face. “If he had stayed in and resisted the A-and-A, told them he wouldn’t design anything else, they would have locked him up. He would have lost his family and his freedom. He took the least-bad option, but it still cost him the people he loved.” Fenris sighed. “You’re good for him. When you aren’t almost getting him killed.”

  “Thanks.” She snorted. “He didn’t leave behind everyone he loves, though. That was clear in how he searched Seattle for you. He would have walked the streets day and night.”

  “Yes, well, he can be foolish like that.” Fenris stiffened and looked away. “I was worried, too.” The words were whispered.

  An awkward silence stretched out. Ingrid realized that Fenris needed some emotional space, and she took a step back. “Do you know where Cy is now?”

  “Last I saw, he was in the office.” Fenris waved that way without turning around. “He had food, too.”

  Food. An excellent idea.

  The office was dark. She found the lantern on the counter and turned it on. A newspaper was left sprawled open, but there was no note explaining where he’d gone. It felt odd to not know where he was after being in his presence so much over this past week. She smiled as she touched the coat pocket where she had tucked the letter from their room, taking comfort in its presence.

  Several red-and-yellow apples looked as delicious as fruit from fairy land, but she reached past them to a small box packed with kashi-pan. The hand-sized rolls were a deep golden brown with slits in their centers to reveal hints of the fillings inside. She frowned and angled two pastries toward the light. An-pan with adzuki paste was most common in shops, though strawberry jamu-pan was her absolute favorite. These had something red inside.