Pocket Full of Tinder

by Jill Archer

  “Turn around,” he said.

  I gave him a quizzical look but complied. He swept my hair over one shoulder and ran one finger slowly down the row of buttons on my back.

  “Do you know how long it will take me to try and unbutton these?”

  “Then don’t,” I said. “Fara’s a gap-filler. If she doesn’t know a mending spell, she can find one.”

  “So I finally get to rip your clothes off of you?”

  “Only if I get to burn yours off of you.”

  He laughed and leaned toward me, burying his face in my neck. Every spot rubbed raw by his rough whiskers was soon soothed by the press of his flesh against mine, specifically his shiver-inducing, brain-addling, soft-as-smoke lips. Within seconds I was trembling with aching need and impatient want.

  What was he waiting for? Hadn’t we waited long enough?!

  Ari stepped back and I was suddenly bereft. My back felt chilled and I started to turn around, but Ari’s hand on my shoulder stopped me. He moved it to the nape of my neck and then, even more slowly than before, ran his finger down my spine. Buttons fell to the floor, scattering like beads. For one brief, uncanny moment, I worried that Ari had partially shifted or taken some other form with razor-sharp claws. I clenched my fists, hissing as the sharp, erotic burn of his touch from nape to buttocks charred silk and scalded skin, producing ashes, sweat, boneless limbs, and a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that making love to Ari wouldn’t quite be what it used to be. That being denied what he wanted – whether it was my body for the last fourteen months or my hand in marriage for ever after – had caused the drakon in him to become more possessive and aggressive than it had been before.

  Would I be able to control him?

  Who said I wanted to?!

  It’s not like I wanted him to try to control me.

  He placed his hand on the small of my back. His thumb slid into the small dimples there as he caressed both curves and cleft with his fingers. Then he moved his hand slowly back up my spine, cooling the burn but upping the ache. He pushed my dress off one shoulder and then the other, letting it fall to the floor. Because of the gown’s sheer top, the only undergarment I had on was a pair of lace knickers. I stepped out of the dress and faced Ari.

  He’d seen me naked before, of course. Only about a thousand times. But my body was different now. Leaner, more muscled. There were even a few scars and, as a result of the suffoca ignem curse and its removal, my demon mark was now much, much darker. I wondered what Ari would make of all the changes. Whether he’d miss the girl with the voluptuous curves who’d been soft and scared. His gaze swept the length of me and his face settled into an expression of rapt wonder that was almost comical. Indeed, he appeared incapable of looking away. Without taking his eyes off me, he kicked my dress out of his way and closed the distance between us.

  But I put up a hand to stop him.

  “My turn,” I said, grinning. But I didn’t have nearly the patience that Ari seemed to. Instead of a slow, teasing burn, I vaporized every stitch of clothing he wore except the sling. Torching that had seemed counter-productive. I didn’t want Ari focused on his damaged arm. I wanted him focused on me. I smiled sweetly and then gave him the same full-body stare that he’d given me. But the only unexpected things I saw were a few ashes stubbornly clinging to his excessively muscled middle. I knelt before him and gently blew them away.

  It nearly undid him. I could feel that I’d finally pushed Ari to the point of almost losing control. And for a man – a demon – like Ari, that was no small feat. He groaned and plunged his hand into my hair. He grabbed a fistful of it and slowly pulled me to my feet with it.

  I stood before him a little wobbly. A little drunk on his own reaction to me.

  I motioned in mock indignation toward my dress. “You said you’d rip my clothes off.”

  He reached forward, swaying like a giant who’d been clubbed in the head, grabbed the waist of my lace knickers, and pulled. The fine mesh ripped and they fluttered to the floor.

  “Satisfied?” he said, his voice nearly a growl as he yanked me toward him.

  “Not even close,” I said, placing his hand on my heart.

  Luckily, Ari was kissing me when his fingertips finally brushed my demon mark. Otherwise, my scream might have woken all of Rockthorn Gorge, whose residents were surely sleeping after their night of debauchery. Involuntarily, I arched my back, but instead of retreating Ari doubled down and flattened his palm against my breast. I bit his tongue, no longer able to keep up the pretense of a kiss, and gasped for breath, shuddering beneath him. He shushed and hushed and murmured how sorry he was over and over again. But I don’t think he was. All I could feel in him was this euphoric sense of rightness… of fittingness.

  Eventually, he lowered me to the floor and took me there, as an ordinary man might take an ordinary woman. Good thing too, since the bed – and nearly everything else in the room – had been reduced to a smoldering pile of charred wood, ashes, and soot.

  IDYLL

  Ari

  Almost two years ago

  And every moment since

  He felt her before he saw her. Sitting on the docks in Etincelle, waiting for the morning ferry. She’d been completely buttoned up – with both cloak and cloaking spell. And her face had been half-buried in the cowl neck of her sweater but her signature… well, it had surged. To Ari, it had felt like a deep, powerful subterranean stream. One that, once he was caught in, he didn’t think he’d ever have the strength to pull himself out of. Nor had he wanted to. Her magic had swirled around him, capricious and strong, almost knocking him over as if it were a dark watery wind. It was only after he touched her that he knew. What he’d felt was just a shadow. A vague, colorless outline of what she might become. He became fascinated, then nearly enchanted. He began to feel like a lapidary, but instead of cutting gems from stone, he was carving light from darkness.

  When this girl’s signature finally surfaced, what would it feel like? Would it rage like a rock-strewn river? Would it wink and shimmer like moonlight on water? Or would it shine like glass – a glossy sheen atop a deadly force?

  Noon’s magic had felt like all of those things, and more. Every time he saw her or felt her, it was different. She was different. There was an old Hyrke saying about living happily ever after. “Ever-newer waters flow on those who step into the same rivers." The trick, they said, was to find the river. Most folks from Bradbury picked the Lethe.

  But Ari Carmine had picked Nouiomo Onyx.

  Part II

  Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight.

  For the greatest tragedy of them all, is never to feel the burning light.

  —OSCAR WILDE

  18

  LUCK IS ON YOUR SIDE

  Noon—

  Drakon wing bones, huh? I’m sure you’re aware, dear sister, that there are only a handful of winged demon species in all of Halja. How you’ve managed to have run-ins with two of the possible five species out there, I have no idea. But what’s wilder still is this…

  I recently captured a scarlet augur, which had a broken wing. The presentation was eerily similar to the one you describe – an old break that healed improperly. I don’t have the time or the paper to tell you how difficult it was to figure out how to fix that wing.

  My point is simply that Luck is on your side.

  Linnaea was intrigued enough by my success with the scarlet augur to grant me leave to come north and attempt the same procedure with your drakon. Expect me the week after Frigore Luna.

  Your ingenious, masterful, brilliant brother,

  Nightshade

  19

  A SHINING BRIGHTNESS

  They say that before the apocalypse, names had magical power, similar to modern-day spells. Followers were told to use deities’ names judiciously – or not at all. And demons were told not to share them.

  It all seems a bit paranoid now. Countless times a day, Host and Hyrke invoke Luck by saying his name, n
ot to mention the myriad other times greater and lesser demons are called upon by name as followers go about the business of beseeching. But those names aren’t birth names; they’re monikers, chosen by the demon.

  To my knowledge, only one demon has ever been granted a birth name.

  I woke sometime around noon the day after Frigore Luna. I hadn’t slept that late since… since…. Who knew? I felt achy in all the right places. I felt exhausted. Sore. Satisfied.

  At least for now.

  I sat up and grinned at Ari, who was resting beneath me with his good arm draped across his face. He’d always been like that. Aggravatingly robust after even the latest nights. My gaze traveled the naked length of him, hardly believing the night we’d had. What was it Ari had called me before I’d trekked up to Cliodna’s place?

  The Patron of Reluctance?

  Well, not anymore.

  It wasn’t just that I’d given as good as I’d gotten last night, it was that now I wanted to apply that audacious spirit to every aspect of my life. Suddenly, I wanted to shape my magic like a fiery drakon and go for a test flight. I wanted to write to my father and request a meeting. I wanted to hang a sign that said here be drakons over my bed.

  I wanted to slip back under our non-existent covers and test Ari’s aggravating robustness.

  But my bedroom was a disaster, my barghest needed to be fed, and eventually, someone would come looking for us. I wasn’t going to hide the nature of our relationship any longer, but it didn’t seem prudent to be found in such a state of dishabille either. Tenacity had been none too pleased about my melting my alarm clock. I could only imagine what she’d say about me torching the entire room.

  I started sifting through the wreckage, glad that most of my possessions were in my study or dressing room. The red-roses gown was a casualty of love but the rest of my trousseau had been spared. As had Rafe’s bracelet. I bent down and retrieved it from the pile of ashes that had once been my chest of drawers, marveling at its apparent imperviousness to waning magic. In the sunlight, the bracelet gleamed shiny and bright.

  How appropriate, I thought, glancing at the inscription on the inside of the bracelet.

  BHEREG 9-2-92

  “Looks like your former Guardian’s cuff is as surprisingly hale as he is.”

  I turned around to see Ari staring at the bracelet. His voice was laced with slight irritation and grudging respect.

  I took a deep breath, remembering that I’d torched my Patron of Reluctance persona along with nearly everything else in this room last night.

  “He’s not just my former Guardian,” I said, handing Ari the cuff. He frowned but accepted it and a moment later asked the question I knew he would.

  “Who is Bhereg?”

  “You,” I said. “You are Bhereg.”

  And then I told Ari the rest of the “everything” that Rafe had told me to tell him. That they were half-brothers and that, upon Ari’s birth, Rafe had given him the name Bhereg. The entire tale sounded outlandish, more like a cheap horror novel than the near-unbelievable truth, but Ari listened patiently. Calmly. Even a bit callously.

  And then he said simply, “It doesn’t matter. Even if it’s true, it changes nothing.”

  I would have spent more time contemplating Ari’s reaction to the news that he and Rafe had a familial connection if it weren’t for the fact that, soon after, Ari made another discovery, one which required a much more immediate response.

  LAST CHANCE… LIVE FREE OR DIE

  It was another cartoon. This one showed a lit Magna Fax firing a giant meteor toward the Memento Mori dam. I looked up at Ari. His dark eyes seemed to simmer with the presentiment I felt in his signature. Only a few minutes ago, he’d left my chambers to find clothes in his own dressing room while I did the same. I’d barely had enough time to pull on a camisole and some pants when he’d returned with the threatening note.

  “Where did you find this?” I asked.

  But instead of answering, he just pulled me into the atrium where Fara was already waiting.

  Post-party, the cavernous rotunda was a mess. It reminded me a bit of Timothy’s Square after a festival. Wine bottles and overturned goblets were everywhere. Nova had upended a trash can, the statues’ shrouds were askew, one of the alcove curtains had been torn from its rod, and every single torch was missing – as well as Servius Rockthorn’s tabula ansata.

  A dreadful, nauseous feeling bloomed deep inside of me. The tabula ansata was the Magna Fax’s matchbook.

  “So what does it mean?” Fara asked, motioning to the cartoon. “That Displodo’s going to try to use the Magna Fax to blow up the Memento Mori dam?” Before I could answer, though, she narrowed her eyes and glanced between Ari and me, no doubt noting the absence of Rafe’s bracelet on my wrist as well as other more and less obvious signs of our change in status. “Wait—

  “Are you two back together now?”

  Despite the enormity of what we were facing, I smiled at Ari. “Yes,” I said, unequivocally. Suddenly, knowing we were as close as we’d ever been gave me a new sense of optimism. But it faded fast when I explained to Fara that the rotunda’s relaxed security last night had given Displodo his chance to break in and steal the Magna Fax’s matchbook.

  “Huh? What do you mean, ‘matchbook’? How can a stone tablet be a matchbook?”

  “The statue’s tabula ansata wasn’t made of stone,” Ari told her. “It was just made to look like it was, which means whoever has it, now has the key to a weapon that could destroy more than just the dam. A lit Magna Fax could level this town. Instead of a dozen casualties, there could be thousands.”

  We raced through the atrium and the rotunda’s foyer toward the outside where we had a clear view of Mount Occasus, its ancient guard tower, and the Magna Fax.

  “Ari, if you shift, you can fly us both up there. We might be able to beat Displodo to the top. Fara, cast a simple levitation spell over me. It will make me lighter and easier to carry. After you’re finished, find Yannu. Tell him to round up the retainers and meet us at Mount Occasus. Tell him Displodo found the Magna Fax’s matchbook.”

  “You’re going to ride Ari?” Fara asked incredulously. “What… like a horse?”

  I glared at her. “No…” Well, yeah, maybe.

  Actually, considering Ari’s broken wing, my plan was to hang on and hope like hell I didn’t fall off. I wouldn’t be riding. I’d be flapping in the wind like a flag. I glanced at Ari to gauge his reaction. He looked like he wanted to argue but realized now wasn’t the time to be overprotective. My confidence waned. But then I remembered someone who not only thought I could ride a drakon, she’d encouraged me to shape my own. In fact, she’d designed an outfit for just that purpose.

  “You’re right,” I said to Fara. “Forget that plan. It’s insane.” I turned to Ari. “Fly up without me. I’ll meet you there.”

  He frowned, perhaps suspecting I had another even more ill-conceived plan in mind. But relief over the fact that I wouldn’t be clinging to his back while he dive-bombed Displodo, combined with his impatience to get moving now, won out. He nodded, backed up to a clear space, and shifted. I didn’t stick around long enough to see him take off. Instead, I ran back inside and headed for my blackened bedroom and the thankfully unscorched dressing room beyond.

  I reached my trousseau trunk and threw the lid open. It banged against the wall and I rummaged through the paraffin paper-wrapped packages until I finally found the last item that Sartabella had designed for me – the one labeled “Test Flights.”

  I ripped it open. Inside was a note:

  Now, you must ride Megaptera.

  You are ready!

  The suit wasn’t much different than my sparring suit except that there was no fiery red drakon emblazoned on it (guess Sartabella thought it would be redundant considering I’d be riding one), the backplate was much bulkier, and there was a pair of goggles. I changed quickly and nearly bumped into Fara, who’d followed me in.

  “So you’re
going to ride your own magic up there?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay, well, forget the levitation spell then. Its ceiling is about two feet. What you need is this”—she strapped a leather holster around my waist and thrust a pepperbox revolver into it—“in case you deplete your magic and every bump and booster spell I cast over you.”

  It was time I didn’t have, but I stood as patiently as I could while Fara spent her potentia on me. She bottomed out. Emptied everything she had into and over me. Some of the spells felt familiar. Others felt fresh and new. A few minutes later, I felt invigorated. Charged up. Like she’d just splashed cold water in my face and pumped Thunderbolt straight into my veins. But instead of being a magnet for everyone’s attention, I now pulsed with energy and magic.

  Just as I was heading out, Tenacity showed up. Her dancing skeleton costume was now a harlequin one. She stood in the doorway, gazing at my destroyed bedroom, mouth agape.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, uh… Ari and I happened. I’m really sorry about the room. I’ll help you clean it up when I get back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To stop Displodo from lighting the Magna Fax,” I yelled from the hallway.

  Outside once again, I wasted no time trying to shape my mount. I’d done it before. Sort of. Down in southern Halja, I’d shaped my magic into a barghest. I’d dubbed her “Nova,” which is where Nova’s name had come from. That fiery mount had been short-lived. Rafe and I had ridden her for less than an hour before my magic tapped out. And then I’d been unable to use my magic for a good hour or so after that, which I couldn’t afford to let happen today.