Earth Shaker: A Fire Heart Novella (The Fire Heart Chronicles)

by Juliana Haygert

  Rye assumed the wheel of the truck, while I leaned back in the passenger seat, pretending I was able to rest and not notice how strung up he was.

  For the next few hours, I tried to sleep, but nightmares kept pulling me out of my slumber.

  None of us talked about what happened to our enclave. It was as if we were all choosing to ignore it, to forget it. It would be easier to focus on a mission than to accept what happened.

  I was relieved when Rye spotted the diner and decided we all need some food and rest. Though we all knew we needed a place to sleep, I doubted we would end up going to another inn anytime soon.

  “Besides, we need food,” I said. “We haven’t eaten properly in … I don’t even know how long.”

  “Yeah, I’m starving,” Wesh said. He rolled his good shoulder and neck, pushing the stiffness away. “If we think it’s not safe, we just order food and get going.”

  “We can’t keep going nonstop,” I said.

  “Agreed,” Rye said. “We need a proper rest.”

  “And a shower,” Hanzi added.

  I sighed, just thinking how great a hot shower sounded. “Okay, so now we worry about eating, but after we are done, we look for a place to rest.”

  Eyes on the diner, Rye nodded.

  Hanzi said, “I’m okay with that.”

  “Me too,” Wesh added.

  Three minutes later, we were sitting at a booth in the middle of the diner. Wesh had scooted in with Hanzi, leaving Rye to sit by my side. Stiff, I moved as far away from him as I could, until my shoulder and my hips were digging into the cushioned wall.

  The waitress, a middle-aged lady with gray hair and too much makeup, handed us the menus. “Here you go, darlings.” She smiled wide at the guys. “I’ll go get you some coffee while you choose.” She walked around the counter to the coffee machines.

  “I want to eat so many things,” Hanzi said, his voice low, dreamy.

  “Then eat all the things,” I said, eyeing the menu. Truth be told, I had lost my appetite once we had left home, but I knew I needed sustenance to keep going.

  “I want pancakes and a side of scrambled eggs, please,” Wesh said, looking at me. Then, he stood. “Restroom. Be right back.” He rounded a corner past the long counter and entered a small hallway where the restrooms were.

  I had barely looked over the menu when the waitress came back, but since we didn’t want to waste time, I ordered the same as Wesh.

  The three of us remained silent while we waited for our food. There was nothing to talk about. Everyone was still processing the latest news, trying to swallow it. It wasn’t easy.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but this time, I agreed with Rye. Better to focus on the mission than to dwell on what happened—and what we couldn’t change.

  The waitress brought more coffee and our food. I glanced at the plates in front of Wesh’s empty seat. “I think he got lost on the way to the restroom.” I cut a piece of my pancake and shoved it in my mouth. I almost moaned. By Saint Sara-la-Kali, the pancakes were either the best in the country, or I was so hungry, anything would tasted like heaven.

  Rye swallowed a piece of his food before saying, “He’s taking a long time.”

  Hanzi shrugged. “Don’t worry. He’s probably taking a cat bath in the sink. I’ve seen him doing that before in the middle of training.”

  I scrunched my nose. “That’s just … gross.”

  Hanzi chuckled, his mouth full.

  I tried relaxing, but I couldn’t. Eyes flicking to the old ticking clock on the wall, I kept count of the minutes. After fifteen minutes and our clean plates, I gave up being patient.

  “One of you go check on him before I do,” I said.

  Rye started moving, but Hanzi raised his hand. “On it.” He stood and marched to the corner where the restrooms were.

  The tension around the table tightened the moment Hanzi left.

  “Cora,” Rye started, turning his body toward me.

  I sucked in a sharp breath. Here he went, saying my name like a prayer. Why it was it so easy for him to either make me angry or disarm me? I stared at a stain on the leather seat across the table. “Yes?”

  “We should talk about what happened last night.”

  I snapped my head to him, hoping my expression was as neutral and unaffected as I wanted it to be. “There’s nothing to talk about.” Maybe there was, but I wasn’t up to it. Like everything else, our moment last night was best if burned into ashes and thrown into the wind.

  Ignored.

  Forgotten.

  “There is, Cora, and you know it.” He pressed his lips tight before continuing. “You know how I feel about you. I asked for your hand, by Saint Sara-la-Kali, that should tell you something, and—”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  His eyes widened for a second. “What?”

  “As far as I know, your dat suggested you ask for my hand so you wouldn’t be alone.”

  His jaw ticked. “I told you that. And I also told you that at first I ignored his suggestion, but then I started looking at you, seeing you.”

  “You might have only said that to make me feel better, so I wouldn’t feel like it was me.”

  “You know it’s not like that.” He reached for my hands, but I slid them under the table. “Why are you doing this?”

  Because it was easier.

  Because admitting I had started the kiss to distract myself, to change my anger into something else, but then I had enjoyed—liked—the way his lips closed around mine, the way his touch brought a fire within me, the way his body molded on top of mine.

  I suppressed a shiver.

  Admitting that wasn’t an option.

  I had to be angry with someone, and he was right here, offering something for me to latch on to, to pour all my rage into, and that was exactly what I would do.

  “Just drop it, okay?” I grabbed my coffee and emptied my mug.

  “You think—”

  Rye stopped talking when Hanzi rushed to our table, his eyes wide, and his breathing accelerated. “He’s not in the restroom,” Hanzi spat.

  Rye shot to feet, almost taking the table with him. “What?”

  “I checked the men’s and women’s restroom, and I opened the back door and looked out, in case he needed some air and was just hanging out there, but he wasn’t there either.”

  Rye fished his phone from his pocket while I scooted out of the booth, my wallet in hand. I grabbed some cash and threw it on the table.

  Phone pressed to his ear, Rye walked out of the diner. Hanzi and I followed.

  “Come back soon!” the old waitress shouted, her words muffled by the closing glass door.

  Hanzi stepped in front of Rye, making him stop. “And?”

  Rye lowered the phone. “He’s not answering.”

  My heart sank. “We should look for him. Let’s split up so we can cover more ground faster.”

  Rye caught a hold of my wrist, his hold firm but not tight. “We are not splitting up. We are stronger when fighting together.”

  I nodded, realizing he was right. “Okay.”

  We looked around. The thoughts in my mind ran a mile per second, and I bet Rye’s and Hanzi’s minds weren’t much better. Where was Wesh? Where could he have gone?

  “What do we do?” Hanzi asked, voice low.

  “I don’t know,” Rye said, looking down at his phone. He started a new call, trying Wesh’s phone again.

  “Maybe we go back to the trucks and make sure the animals are okay,” I suggested. If something had happened to Wesh, if alchemists were here, then the animals weren’t safe either.

  Hanzi started moving right away, jogging to where we had parked the pickups across the road. Rye and I caught up with him halfway, and the three of us came to a sudden halt the moment we crossed the thick line of trees.

  “What the …” Hanzi muttered.

  There was only one pickup in front of us. Its bed was open and all the animals were gone, except for the white
lion, who was lying on the ground beside the pickup, as if he was resting before resuming the trip. The sun peeked out from the trees, making his white coat shimmer.

  “The pickup is gone,” I said. Maybe hearing the words would make more sense.

  “I see that,” Rye said, his tone harsh.

  I groaned. “Why is the damn pickup gone?”

  Hanzi started pacing in front of us. “It was the alchemists. That’s the only explanation.” He muttered some intelligible words. “They’ve been following since … since we left the enclave. They caught up with us again.”

  “But they could just have taken the trucks and left us here,” I said.

  “And I think they wouldn’t leave us here,” Rye said. “Four tziganes alone in the middle of nowhere. If they had enough numbers, they could have taken us.”

  I heard the too at the end of his sentence, even if he didn’t say it.

  “Maybe Wesh heard something and went out the back to check. He saw the alchemists and they got him.” Hanzi stopped pacing and faced us. “I don’t know! All I know is it happened a few minutes ago. I say we go after him, try to find him before … before it’s too late.”

  “I see tire tracks.” Rye pointed to the dirt road behind us. “They lead to the main road.”

  Hanzi jerked his chin to the pickup. “Then let’s go.”

  We all took one step toward the remaining pickup, then stopped again.

  “What about him?” I asked.

  “We have to take him with us,” Rye said.

  “We have to trick him into getting back into the pickup,” Hanzi said. “Cora, raise walls around him, creating only one path for him. If he tries to jump over or something, I’ll blast him back with wind. Then I’ll keep him back until we tie him up.”

  Rye nodded. “Sounds like a good plan.” He glanced at me. “Ready?”

  I channeled my power. The earth beneath my feet came to life. “Ready.”

  10

  A wall taller than Rye enclosed the white lion, curving around the pickup, and opening at its back. Agitated, the lion followed it and jumped into the bed, but as Hanzi had predicted, he tried escaping over the wall. A strong blast of wind knocked him back, but the lion was too strong. He kept pushing as if the tornado-strength winds were a mere breeze.

  “Stay in there, damn it!” Hanzi shouted. I knew he couldn’t sustain a wind like that for long. He was getting tired and would have to let go soon.

  Hoping I didn’t hurt the lion too much, I moved my hand, lifting hundreds of small rocks from the ground. I flicked my hand forward and the rocks flew, hitting the lion like bullets—just not as strong as I would have done with an attacker. The rocks and the wind won, and the lion retreated into the closed bed of the pickup.

  Rye sprang into action. He ran to the pickup. I collapsed one part of the wall, creating steps for him. He climbed with ease and ducked under the hard cover to tie the lion.

  A roar echoed from the closed top.

  My heart dropped. “Rye!”

  Hanzi lost hold of his wind.

  I ran to the pickup and I almost fell when the lion shot from the bed of the pickup. He jumped off, arching over me. It felt like we were in slow motion—the huge lion flying over my head. Then the lion hit the ground with grace and strength. He opened his big mouth and let out another roar that raised goose bumps on my skin.

  I channeled my power, ready to defend us.

  Instead, the lion sat down and looked at us.

  “What is he doing?” Hanzi asked.

  “I don’t know.” A moan came from the pickup and my heart skipped a beat. “Rye!”

  I jumped into the pickup’s bed and knelt beside Rye. He was sprawled over the bed, a hand over his face.

  “Rye, by Saint Sara-la-Kali.” I reached for his arm, afraid of pulling it off his head and seeing a giant, bleeding gash. “What happened?”

  Slowly, Rye lowered his arm. There was no wound on his face or neck. “Are you hurt?” My hand hovered over his body, looking for injuries. “Did he scratch you? Bit you?”

  One corner of Rye’s lips turned up. “Careful.” He sat up, and suddenly, his face was a couple of inches away from mine. “I might think you care.”

  I stared into his eyes, wanting to be mad at him for playing like that, but so relieved he was all right that the usual rage at our push-and-pull situation disappeared. “Careful,” I whispered. “I might already care.”

  His arm shot out and his hand cupped the back of my neck. “Careful.” His voice was low and hoarse, and his breath washed over my lips, teasing them. “I might kiss you.”

  Feeling bold, bolder than I had felt in a long time, I lifted my chin, erasing half the distance to his lips. Rye groaned then tugged me to him. His lips brushed mine.

  A loud roar shook the pickup.

  “Shit,” Rye said, pulling back.

  I cleared my throat. “We should go.”

  Rye slid his hand from my neck, down my shoulder, to my hand. He gripped my hand. “This isn’t over, okay?” He stared into my eyes. “Okay?”

  I nodded.

  With a lopsided grin, Rye let go of my hand, then scooted off the pickup. He offered me his hand, but I rolled my eyes at him. Didn’t he know me? I wasn’t one to ask for help, not for things like that.

  Hanzi stood a couple feet from the pickup, facing the lion, who was now standing.

  “I think he’s trying to tell us something,” Hanzi said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  The white lion walked in a circle, and then halted, looking to the road. To where the pickup tracks lead.

  I gasped. “I think … I think he’s trying to show us where the pickup went.”

  “We know where the pickup went.” Hanzi pointed to the right side of the road. “It went that way.”

  “No, I mean … once we get on the road, we won’t know where the pickup went. The tracks will disappear. We won’t have another clue unless we can catch up with it somehow. But I think … the lion has a way of tracking it? I think he wants to lead us to the pickup.”

  Rye cocked one eyebrow at me. “Why do you think that?”

  I shrugged. “This lion has acted so strange since we rescued him. Everything he does is unusual. Maybe … maybe this is one of his powers.”

  “It sounds crazy,” Hanzi said.

  I almost rolled my eyes. “Well, if you stop to think, tziganes would sound crazy to gadjos too, so …”

  Hanzi scrunched his nose. “You got a point.”

  Rye nodded. “I say we have nothing to lose.”

  “But what if he tries to run away?” Hanzi asked.

  “He hasn’t so far,” I said, reminding him. “He has been helpful actually.”

  Hanzi looked at the white lion with a frown between his brows. “Okay. Let’s do it, then.”

  Still watching the lion, we jumped into the pickup—Rye behind the wheel, Hanzi in the backseat, and me in the passenger seat. Rye turned the pickup slowly, avoiding the lion. When the vehicle was lined up with the dirt road, he gripped the wheel and waited.

  “I’m up for it, but I have to say, this is probably the craziest thing I have ever done.”

  I almost smiled at him. “By saying that, you’re inviting more crazy stuff to happen.”

  The lion let out a low, long roar. He turned toward the road and ran.

  “Shit,” Rye cursed, stepping deep on the gas pedal. The lion flew down the dirt road and merged into the main road faster than any car could. “Damn, this cat is fast.”

  I shut off the part of my brain that kept asking me, what if a gadjo saw a white lion racing down the road? How would they explain it? Well, it wasn’t my problem. Hopefully, they would dismiss it as a brief hallucination, daydreaming, or something.

  The lion ran by the side of the road for over fifty miles before turning right onto a smaller, quieter road, and going for another twenty miles. Then, he entered a dirt road and went another ten miles.

  Hanzi leaned ov
er the front seats. “I’m starting to wonder if this lion is trying to trick us.”

  “No, look.” Rye pointed ahead.

  The lion slowed as, in the distance, the road opened up to what looked like an abandoned ranch house, with broken windows, doors hanging from rusty hinges, loose wooden boards, and missing shingles. The grass around it was overgrown and the garden to the left had probably been beautiful in the past, but now it was full of dry, dead bushes and branches.

  Rye drove the pickup off the road and stopped behind some trees. We could still see parts of the house from here.

  “What is this place?” Rye asked.

  “I’m not sure, but look.” I pointed to the right side of the house. We could see the ends of several cars parked behind the house, and one of them was our pickup.

  “I knew it,” Hanzi hissed. “Alchemists got Wesh.”

  Well, we didn’t know that for sure, but who else could kidnapped Wesh and the animals? Revenants, dragons, and other kinds of supernatural creatures weren’t this organized, this rational.

  Hanzi grabbed a sword from the floor of the pickup. “Let’s get these bastards.”

  “Wait, no,” Rye said, turning back to face Hanzi. “First, we sneak a peek. Before we barge in there, we need to know what’s going on, how many there are and, more importantly, if Wesh is still alive.”

  I nodded. “If he’s alive …” By Saint Sara-la-Kali, I hoped he was. He had to be. “Then we need to be careful how we’re going in so the alchemists don’t use him against us.”

  “Exactly,” Rye said. “Take your weapons, just in case, but first we look, then we make a plan. Okay?”

  Hanzi let out an annoyed breath. “Okay.”

  Swords in hand, we exited the pickup. The lion circled us once, and then lay on the dry, grassy ground.

  “I don’t get this cat,” Rye muttered.

  “He’s a mythical creature,” I said. “Like us. You can’t get it.”

  Hanzi pushed between us. “Okay, I’m ready.”