Cold Flame

by Susan Copperfield

“That’s a good thing. If you treat your children just like you do your rats, they’ll know they’re loved from the start. If your parents had treated you like you treat your rats, things would be a lot different right now.”

  I blinked. “There has to be more to it than that. They’re children, not rats.”

  “But to you, those rats are your children. A little compassion can go a long way. Call me if you have any problems. You have a busy few days ahead of you, so get some rest and keep your chin up. Remember, talk to your boss about your move. He’s a good sort for a royal, and it’ll simplify things for you.”

  “Are you going to say anything if I’m stubborn and determined to do it myself?”

  “No, but I will stare at you in silent disapproval.”

  Damn, the RPS agent knew his business too well for my own good. “Will you be satisfied with me putting some serious thought into it?”

  “It’s a start. Keep on your toes. If you see anyone watching you, take a picture of them and send it to my phone, and I’ll screen and keep an eye out. You’re within your rights to use non-lethal force to escape any relocation attempts.”

  “Remember what I said about being able to take out entire RPS teams?”

  “I do.”

  “I meant it.”

  “I hope your skills are still sharp, because sooner than later, you’re going to need them.”

  Eight

  I needed more help than even a therapist could provide.

  Dressed in one of the few skirts Terry had foisted on me with one of the bright blouses he liked, I ventured off to work. I showed up ten minutes early, and because life had it out for me, the lusty prince was standing in the archive lobby talking with my boss. Instead of the suit I expected from a royal, he had gone the jeans and denim shirt route.

  I checked for any sign of Terry, who would realize the lusty prince wasn’t the only one with a lust problem.

  My peace of mind hadn’t been prepared for the lusty prince to be dressed in jeans. Based on looks alone, I needed to take him home with me and hold him hostage for all eternity. Add in Terry’s hints the lusty prince appreciated an intellectual, and I bet I could make a long-term hostage situation work.

  I needed more help than even a therapist could provide. As I was a strong, independent woman who could handle the epic amount of shit life—and the Californian immigration system—had to offer, I would even tell Terry I would consider attending therapy sessions beginning immediately in the effort to exorcise the memory of the lusty prince in skin-tight jeans.

  Holy hell, I couldn’t handle him in jeans. At all.

  I needed to go home and take the coldest shower of my life—or jump into the ocean to cool off.

  I couldn’t swim, which would make my life difficult at best.

  The security guard, who had let me in upon showing him my identification card, abandoned me to the royal wolves.

  My boss glanced my way before returning to his conversation with the lusty prince.

  Upstairs represented safety. Upstairs was where I worked. Upstairs would protect me from the prince who had opted against the standard dress code of royalty and wore jeans.

  He’d done his suit at the wedding justice, but his jeans did terrible things to me and reaffirmed I’d lost my mind and needed therapy. If I survived my brief encounter with the lusty prince, I would apologize to Terry for being difficult and ask when and where I needed to present myself for therapy.

  I thought it through yet again and came to the same conclusion: only therapy might be able to fix my problems. My unhealthy interest in a man I didn’t even know counted as a major problem.

  I made it two whole steps before my boss said, “Rachel, a moment, please?”

  I took a third step, wished I could pretend I hadn’t heard him, and changed directions. If I didn’t look at the lusty prince, I’d be all right. How hard could it be?

  “Sir?” I met my boss’s gaze so I wouldn’t fall to temptation and drool over the lusty prince.

  “Ethan is going to be your primary contact for your research project, and he has decided that this is important enough he will be involved for the entire process. This is going to result in some scheduling changes, and you might need to work outside of the archive when he’s required elsewhere.”

  I was done. I was worse than done. I was doomed.

  California had a prince named Ethan.

  Its heir.

  Even I, who avoided politics like it would bite me in the ass before killing me, knew about the Californian heir.

  California and New York did not engage in any sort of relationships. We hated each other by default. It was a time-honored family tradition.

  I somehow kept from bolting to the elevator. “Understood, sir. There might be a slight issue.”

  “What issue?”

  I’d have to thank Terry for his recommendations later. “I need to make arrangements to move, as the apartment—”

  “Is smaller than my bathroom,” my boss interrupted. “Yes, I’m aware of your housing situation. What size apartment are you looking for?”

  “A two bedroom, so I can use a bedroom for an office.”

  He nodded. “That’s reasonable. Do you know what area you want to live in?”

  My awareness of California’s heir watching me intensified. “Close to here. I can’t be licensed to drive until my status changes.”

  My boss checked his phone. “Come to my office at eleven. We’ll go over your rental options, and we’ll get something set up for you. Is there anything else that might interfere with work?”

  “I’m adopting some baby rats, and I was hoping I could keep them in my pocket during the day so they can be bottle fed.”

  Both men stared at me, and my boss blinked as though I’d smacked him upside the head.

  The lusty prince, also known as His Royal Highness of California, asked, “You want to keep what in your pocket?”

  I hoped Snookums and Flamingo would save me from my worst nightmare—and possible hottest fantasy. “Pinkies. Infant rats. I have pet rats, and my rat guy is getting me some pinkies, rescuing them from extermination. Snookums and Flamingo are getting older, and I want to have some younger rats around when they do die. They should live for a while longer,” I added, hoping my obvious insanity would discourage His Royal Highness of California.

  “Snookums and Flamingo?” The prince chuckled, and the sound curled my toes in my shoes. “You don’t look like the type to keep rats. I like it.”

  California’s heir liked my pets? I couldn’t help myself; I stared at him with wide eyes. Then, because my mouth had issues and more sense than I did, I blurted, “Do you want to meet them?”

  He glanced towards my boss and lifted a brow in a silent question.

  “I’ll need to see the apartment anyway to confirm it’s too small,” my boss replied, checking his phone. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll shuffle my schedule, and we’ll take care of that now. There’s no way she’s going to be able to concentrate properly if her home life is too restrictive, and she’s over two years into her refugee assignment. She’s probably scraping pennies at this point, because that’s what they’re all doing at this phase in the process. The last applicant I had? I had to send him to the hospital because he collapsed from malnutrition.”

  Shit. If either of them prodded into my health, they’d probably find a similar situation.

  Ethan looked me over. “Turn around,” he ordered.

  My face warmed, but as I couldn’t let on I wasn’t just some smart refugee with a studying fetish, I had no choice but to obey.

  “I’m going to need a report about that previous applicant, a copy of the medical records proving malnutrition, and anything else you think will be useful to form a case. That’s unacceptable. The refugee program is meant to discourage non-serious applicants, not starve them. It’s certainly supposed to do more than barely allow someone to get by.” Ethan’s attention returned to me. “Will you consent to a medical exam?”<
br />
  What the hell was I supposed to do? If I said no, I’d be inviting questions on why not—which would give him reason to take a closer look at me. “If you feel it is necessary.”

  “It’s necessary. Your color is off, you’re at least one or two sizes too small for where you should be, and you look tired. It’s California’s responsibility to maintain your health, and if you’re unable to sustain a healthy diet only because you’re caring for a pair of rats, there is a serious issue. Rodents are not expensive pets to keep.”

  Before I could control my expression, my brows shot up. “Sir?”

  “His appropriate title is Your Royal Highness,” my boss began, and he opened his mouth to continue, but Ethan held up his hand.

  I tensed at the confirmation I’d been lusting over California’s heir—and he’d liked what he’d seen, too.

  How awkward.

  “Please call me Ethan, Rachel. If I wanted a bunch of doddering old freaks tossing titles at me, I’d pay a visit to the congress and listen to them berate me for refusing to pick a consort.”

  “Have you tried lighting them on fire yet?” I blurted before I could put the brakes on my runaway mouth.

  “Much to my dismay, I’m not a flameweaver. I’ve been tempted from time to time. I’m an airweaver with a low-grade waterweaving talent and just enough lightningweaving to make the hairs on your arm stand on end.”

  Since that list wasn’t extensive enough, he was a probable leech, but if he wasn’t aware—or was unwilling to admit it—I wasn’t going to blab his secret. I’d just overshare about my life, ruin everything before anything could begin, and die of shame.

  I wondered if a random, unexpected meeting with the lusty prince counted as a reason to contact Terry.

  I opened my mouth and announced, “I could light them on fire for you.”

  Fuck. What was wrong with me? Groaning, I bowed my head and wished I could disappear.

  California’s heir laughed, and the poor fool had no idea I could do exactly as I claimed. “I appreciate your willingness to assault the congress on my behalf. If they annoy me too much, I’ll even think about trotting you in and having you put on a show. Think you can handle a few hundred old, obnoxious goats?”

  Definitely. Determined to keep my mouth under control, I replied, “Hair is highly flammable, and it doesn’t take much of a spark to torch toupees. The hairspray helps with that.”

  “I appreciate the efficient usage of talents. Why waste unnecessary effort?”

  I had tumbled into hell, Satan was a hot Californian prince with a sense of humor, and I needed someone to either lead me away from temptation or throw away the key. There was no middle ground. “Right. And they can probably put themselves out without help with only minor burns. It’s not like they have real hair, anyway.”

  “Some of them do actually have real hair,” Ethan replied, and he dared to grin at me.

  His grin did worse things to me than his jeans or his laugh, which I could indulge in listening to for all eternity, while happily residing in hell. “Really?”

  “Much to my surprise, yes.”

  “Ethan, you better check your schedule, too. This is going to take longer than we expect.”

  “How long?”

  “It depends on what I see at her apartment, honestly. If the situation is anything like before, I’ll want to bump the medical exam up to immediately and get her on a treatment plan before beginning an extensive research project.”

  I wondered how to burst their bubbles and remind them I wasn’t eligible to use the Californian health system yet—not unless I collapsed. My bank card could handle the fees, but I’d have a lot of explaining to do if they realized I had access to an obscene amount of money.

  Then again, I’d already told my boss I had a credit card, so maybe he’d believe I had more debt than anything else.

  “Right. Wait here, Rachel.” Ethan shot a glare my way promising retribution if I attempted to escape.

  “I guess I’ll call my rat guy while you do that, if that’s okay, sir?”

  My boss waved me off, nodded, and got on his phone.

  I inched away for some privacy, got out my phone, and took a picture of the royals. Then, bracing myself for a scolding, I dialed Terry’s number.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Terry answered.

  “The lusty prince showed up at work, and I’m being apprehended for apartment inspections, and I think my boss is mad because I’m thin.”

  “You’re too thin,” my RPS agent replied. “Repeat that first part?”

  “The lusty prince is here. At my work. Doing work things. Apparently, with me.”

  “With you.”

  “That. Yes. I have already opened my mouth and said stupid shit at least four times now, and I need my baby rats now, Terry. I need them now. Only baby rats are going to save my day at this point. I told the lusty prince, to his face, I was going to put baby rats in my pocket and carry them around with me. What am I going to do?”

  “Well, I’m suddenly grateful I looked into the baby rat situation after I left your apartment last night. I do have a line on two wild baby rats for you, and I can retrieve and deliver them as soon as you’re ready.”

  “Now. I want my baby rats now, Terry. I need my baby rats.”

  “Calm down, Rachel. It’s an apartment inspection, not the end of the world.”

  “I left my clothes on the floor. The place is a sty. I’m going to die of shame, Terry.”

  “I’ll meet you at your apartment in an hour, hopefully with your baby rats, okay? Don’t let anyone take you from your apartment until I arrive.”

  “But won’t they know you’re…?”

  “I’ll be dressed casually.”

  “Bite your tongue. You only own suits.”

  “I’ve taken up surfing. I also have acquired more… appropriate situational attire.”

  I giggled at the dismay in his tone. “You sound like owning jeans is a travesty.”

  “If I wanted to wear jeans, I’d be a cowboy.”

  “But you’re from Montana.”

  “It’s a genetic defect, according to most people I know. I can ride a horse. I just prefer to do it in a suit.”

  “But how do you even do that?”

  “It’s a requirement for RPS agents, Rachel—at least in Montana and Texas. I wanted to be an RPS agent since I was five, which was when I started wearing suits.”

  I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh at him. “That’s adorable. Do you have pictures?”

  “If it keeps you calm through this, there are pictures, and I’m willing to show them to you.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m not calm. I’ve just realized I’m walking through the valley of the shadow of death, I’m making my descent into hell, Satan is a Californian prince, and I’m looking into residency requirements for my stay in hell. I need a cold shower, Terry. He’s wearing jeans.” I stole a few glances at him. “They fit him really well.”

  “I see.”

  “They were discussing my clothing sizes, and he made me turn around for him. I was too shocked he was there to even protest. Then he got offended I was at least one or two sizes too small.”

  “You’ve lost weight since you were in Illinois, and the difference in your appearance likely upset him. Empaths get like that. He wasn’t supposed to go to the archive. He does his research at the palace.” Terry spat a few curses. “I need an hour to see about your baby rats, so manipulate them into staying at your apartment for that long.”

  “I will,” I promised. “You really got a line on my rats already?”

  “San Francisco has a major problem with wild rats. The first place I called was willing to let me tag along and raid a nest early this morning; they’d just been born, so I took the mother and babies to a vet. They’re still nursing from their mother for now, but the mother is feral at best.”

  “I can handle a feral rat.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “I can, too!”


  “No. You can have the babies, but you cannot have the mother.”

  “Why not?”

  “The mother’s old, and she won’t live very long. The vet thinks she has a month left in her at most.”

  “So she’ll die old and happy with me.”

  “Rachel.”

  “Terry,” I countered.

  “You’re really going to make me take the female, aren’t you?”

  “You took her out of the nest, so you have to care for her into her old age. Don’t you dare euthanize that rat.”

  “They can’t stay with the mother, or you won’t be able to domesticate them.”

  “How many babies does she have?”

  “There are six babies.”

  “Then I’ll do a big cage for the four babies and the mother, and I’ll domesticate my two females. Then I’ll just have four feral rats with bad habits and two domesticated ladies. And I can try to domesticate the other four after! How many boys and girls do I have?”

  “They’re all girls.”

  “How is that even possible? Statistically speaking, that shouldn’t be possible.”

  “Lucky for the rats, as the vet had expressed interest in taking the males for scientific research only to discover you had a female-only litter.”

  “Okay. How much do I owe for the vetting? Is the mother clear of disease?”

  “She’s approximately a year and a half old, which is ancient in wild rat standards. She’s not diseased as far as the vet can tell, but she’s not in good health. Long-term poor diet; she was living in an abandoned building without good food resources nearby. The vet was concerned she would eat the babies, but she’s being fed often to keep that instinct from manifesting. It’s a serious issue.”

  I changed my mind. If the vet was concerned the mother would eat her babies, I would take all the babies and keep them safe. “I guess there isn’t another wild rat still alive from the run, is there?”

  Terry sighed. “I anticipated this situation, and I have a second older female.”

  “You’re the best. I’ll take them all, and I’ll see about getting cages and everything they need on my way back to the apartment.” I bounced in place, my attention already wandering to what supplies I’d need for my new pets. “Ask the vet to give the older females their flu vaccinations and put the babies in a box for transport. You’ll need something sturdier for the adult females.”