Within the Flames

by Marjorie M. Liu

  Lyssa raised her brow. Eddie stared at Roland with a look in his eyes that was heartbreakingly vulnerable.

  Long Nu backed away. “You’ve made an odd decision today, Roland. Not entirely practical. Or wise.” She gave Lyssa a long hard look. “Your father was equally foolish.”

  She started forward, but Eddie held her back. “Go to hell. He loved us.”

  “Love is rarely enough,” replied the old dragon.

  Without another word, she turned and walked down the corridor. The elevator opened for her, she stepped forward . . . and in moments was gone.

  Lyssa let out a shaky breath and collapsed into the nearest chair. Eddie sat beside her, with a wildness in his eyes that felt too familiar.

  Roland bowed his head, rubbing his neck.

  “Both of you,” he said gruffly. “Tell me everything.”

  Eddie found Lyssa on the roof of the old building, watching the city come alive in light.

  A fire burned in the copper pit, and her feet were propped up on a wooden bench. She held a bottle of water in her left hand, and her right—ungloved, exposed—hung loose off the arm of her chair.

  The wind was sweet. Eddie took a moment, watching her, soaking in the miracle all over again.

  I hope I never screw it up.

  He ventured close. Lyssa did not turn around but she set down her water. “I smell pizza.”

  “There’s an Italian restaurant downstairs. Roland has them on speed dial.” Eddie sat beside her, sliding a box across the small table between them. “Meat. A lot of it.”

  Lyssa’s mouth quirked, but she looked away at the city. “This has been a strange couple days.”

  He stared at his hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Estefan.”

  She sighed. “If you had . . . I would have run like hell. I wasn’t ready to hear that news. You were right.”

  “Still,” he said. “It bothered me, keeping that from you.”

  “I called his wife.” Lyssa glanced at him, and tears glittered in her eyes. “Josie was glad to hear from me, I think. But she didn’t know who killed her husband.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  “I told her . . . I took care of it. That it was a shape-shifter thing. And she believed me.” She rubbed her eyes “I don’t want to be a good liar about things like that.”

  Eddie stared at the city, then the burning fire. Without quite realizing what he was doing, he found himself reaching out—sticking his hand into the flames.

  He felt nothing. Just a tickle. Movement of air over his skin.

  “What Long Nu said,” he murmured, “about children.”

  Lyssa tensed. “I want them. I didn’t before . . . but I do now.”

  She sounded defensive, but Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. “I do, too.”

  “With me?”

  “Of course. Who else?”

  She smiled, but it was tremulous. “You looked at me as if I were an idiot for asking. I like that.”

  “Good.”

  “But I had to ask. This has all been so fast. We didn’t . . . talk about that.”

  “No, we didn’t. Like I told you, though . . . I like surprises.”

  “I like you,” she said, and all that good heat spread through him like the sun was blooming in his bones.

  Eddie pulled his hand from the fire and reached for her. Lyssa met him halfway, and he could see in her eyes the weight of the day bearing down on her. This was his home, not hers. She had been wrenched across the country, away from what she was used to—forced to deal with people she hated, people who were grieving—just as she was grieving.

  He hauled her into his lap, holding her tight in his arms. The sky was darker, the city brighter. Her hair smelled like woodsmoke and something sweetly indefinable . . . maybe his shampoo.

  She buried her face in his neck, and her body slowly began to relax. His did, too, and after a short, very comfortable, time . . . he began to drift off.

  Until his cell phone rang.

  Lyssa flinched. Eddie briefly considered not answering until he looked at the screen.

  “Mom,” he answered.

  “Matthew Swint,” she said, and dread splashed him cold. “He was here.”

  “I’m coming,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Eddie’s mother was a short, slender woman with an elfin face and long dark hair streaked with silver. She wore jeans and a white blouse with chunky turquoise jewelry—but the bright clean colors only seemed to enhance the sadness in her eyes.

  Especially, thought Eddie, when she looked at him.

  She met them at the door and seemed only a little surprised to find that he had brought someone with him. Lyssa was calm and polite, and her smile was warm. But she walked to the windows as Eddie spoke to his mother, and he knew her good eyes were scanning the shadows outside the house for any unwelcome observers.

  Roland still had some clothes that had belonged to an old girlfriend, a woman Eddie knew well. Soria was shorter than Lyssa, but her style was the same: long-sleeved flowing blouses and equally long skirts. A silken scarf embroidered with turquoise beads covered her throat, but she’d kept the cream-colored knit gloves Serena had given her in New York. It didn’t look all that odd, put together.

  “Where is he?” asked Eddie.

  “I don’t know,” said his mother, rubbing a shaking hand through her hair. “I happened to look out the kitchen window, and he was in the backyard, staring at the house. I called you as soon as it happened.”

  Fear and loathing touched her eyes. “He was thinner, and his skin sagged. He looked . . . sick.”

  Eddie felt sick. “We’ll find him.”

  “No, you stay away from him.”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  “You have to.” His mother’s voice broke. “Edward—”

  “No.”

  “I can’t lose you.”

  “You should have thought—” Eddie stopped, but too late. His mother stared at him, no doubt hearing the rest of that sentence in her head.

  You should have thought of that.

  All the color drained from her face. He looked away, shame rolling off him like a bitter cloud.

  “Mom,” he said, softly. “Keep the doors locked. Call Grandma and tell her to do the same.”

  She didn’t say a word.

  Outside, Eddie strode down the front walk, past the rental car, and down the street. His hands were in his hair, partially covering his face. Every inch of him was strained and rigid.

  Lyssa followed, allowing him his silence—until even he couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I hate him,” Eddie snapped. “Come on. There’s a park nearby.”

  A small park, filled with trees and a several wide paths. It was empty except for two joggers in black pants and sweatshirts who ran past them with a large golden retriever. The dog shied from Lyssa with a whimper.

  They found a bench and sat down. It all seemed too normal, far away from the disgusting horror of the previous night.

  But not sufficiently far away from the horror of his childhood, years and years in the past.

  “I’ll never be able to talk with her about this,” he said. “It’ll kill her. It might kill me.”

  Lyssa leaned against him. “Some things can’t be talked about. Anyone who says differently has never lived through a truly horrible event.”

  “And saying the words doesn’t heal anything unless you’re saying them to the right person, at the right time.” Eddie bowed his head, kneading his brow. “You were the right person, the right time. My mom . . . isn’t.”

  “If you told her that you forgive her—”

  “I don’t,” he interrupted, then softened his voice. “One day, maybe. Not yet.”

  “Then wait,” Lyssa said
gently. “Wait until you’re ready. If you force it . . . she’ll know you’re lying. And you’ll resent her for making you feel as though you have to say something you don’t mean.”

  Eddie drew in a shaky breath. “Maybe you should be a therapist instead of an artist.”

  “The artist is a therapist.” Her lips brushed his cheek with great tenderness. “But I’m better at dishing out advice than taking it.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “I want to introduce you a little better to my mom. Do you feel comfortable going back there?”

  “Do you?”

  When he hesitated, she said, “Let’s wait.”

  “You must think I’m a coward.”

  “No.” Lyssa rested her cheek on his shoulder. “When you returned home for the first time . . . what was it like?”

  “Horrible,” he whispered. “She was so happy to see me . . . but she was angry, too, that I’d run away. Angry and hurt. She needed me after my sister died, and I abandoned her. I had a good reason—good, from my point of view—but she didn’t know any of that, and maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe I should have just stayed and fought it out—the fire, the guilt. All of it.”

  “Early on, did you have trouble controlling the fire?”

  “Yeah. It would just . . . come on me. I spent a lot of time alone. I’m surprised I didn’t die from starvation or loneliness in those first few years.”

  “I almost did,” she said. “And I’m surprised I didn’t accidentally murder anyone. I was a girl, alone. Men would . . . men would try to take advantage of that. I’d fight them off, or they would see my right hand and freak. Or maybe they’d catch fire, and I would run like hell.”

  He held her tightly against him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Did that happen to you? You know . . . with men who liked boys?”

  “Yes.” Eddie closed his eyes, burying his nose in her hair. “I fought like you did, but it made me think of Matthew, and that was . . . one more horrible thing.”

  “He didn’t molest you, did he?”

  “Not like that, but . . .”

  “You don’t have to talk about it,” she said quickly.

  “No, it’s . . . he would look at me. Me, naked. And . . . say things.”

  Lyssa gripped his hand so tightly it hurt. But he welcomed the pain.

  “That’s all,” he whispered. “You want to walk now?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Eddie was going to drive them back to his apartment, but he could tell that Lyssa was still thinking about what he’d told her—and that wasn’t the memory he wanted to end her night on.

  So he took her to the Kosmo Klub.

  Built underground, the bar was accessible via a narrow stairwell so nondescript and unadorned, the only way to know it existed was by the long line of people waiting to get in.

  Fortunately, it was the favorite haunt of Dirk & Steele’s agents—and the owner, an endearingly eccentric elderly woman named Dame Rose—loved all those men and women. Like, she really loved them.

  Eddie walked Lyssa to the front of the line, and she gave all the waiting people an uncertain look. He slipped a protective arm around her waist, aware of the women glaring—and the men checking out her flawless face.

  “You sure about this?” she asked, checking her scarf.

  “You’ll love it. Only the best musicians come here, and the food is great.”

  “Mmm,” she said, peering at the diminutive, old-fashioned sign nailed above the entrance.

  “Kosmo Klub,” she read out loud, and smiled. “For a kosmic good time.”

  The bouncer recognized him, and was just beginning to unhook the velvet rope when a musical voice cried, “Eddie!”

  An elderly woman hobbled up the stairwell, face lit up in a broad smile. She was dressed in emerald green sequins, with a matching feather in her silver hair. Her skin was very dark and fine, her bones delicate as a bird’s. But when she hugged Eddie, her fingers pinched his ass with unerring precision, and she pulled his face down for a hearty kiss on the mouth.

  “Lord, you make me lusty,” she announced loudly, and turned her sparkling gaze on Lyssa. “And who is this lovely? Don’t tell me you finally have a girl?”

  Lyssa grinned, and held out her gloved left hand. “My name is Lyssa.”

  “And yes, Rose,” Eddie said proudly. “She’s my girl.”

  “Well,” she said, hooking her arms around them. “This calls for free drinks and dancing. You, sweets, are my special guests tonight.”

  “Be gentle,” Lyssa said, and Rose roared with laughter.

  The bar was packed, and so was the cleared space in front of the stage, where a small band played. A tall, lanky black man in a T-shirt, jeans, and a suit jacket held the microphone like a lover, and sounded so much like Otis Redding that Eddie had to take a moment to make sure he wasn’t seeing the impossible.

  “He’s something,” said Rose with a sigh, and led them to a small empty table on the edge of the dance floor. She plucked away its RESERVED sign, and as Eddie pulled out Lyssa’s chair, she said, “Some big-time movie star said he wanted dinner tonight, but he can just stand at the bar and drink his supper standing up. This, babies, is for you.”

  “Oh,” Lyssa said, staring. “Are you sure . . .”

  Rose smiled and patted her cheek. “You are sweet. But you should know now that I take care of Eddie and his friends. And his ladies . . . well, you’re the first I’ve seen, so I know it’s special. You’re always welcome here, Lyssa. Don’t forget it.”

  Before Lyssa could say a word, the old woman spun and disappeared into the crowd.

  Eddie caught her hand, smiling. “See?”

  “I . . .” she began, and gave him a peculiar look that was full of wonderment. “I’ve never . . .”

  “I know,” he said. “But this is your home now. All of this. Everything I have is your home, Lyssa. I want you to know that.”

  She blinked hard and swallowed. “If she knew what I am, what I could do . . .”

  “You do good,” he said. “You help people and save lives. You’re an artist, a writer. A great one. You’re the finest, bravest person I know.”

  She exhaled, slowly, her eyes beginning to glow. The small candle burning on the table sputtered, and flared like a firecracker. A grin touched her mouth, and Eddie laughed.

  “Miracles,” she murmured, looking at him with a heat that made him feel his soul was burning in light. “I love you.”

  The man onstage launched into a stirring rendition of “Try a Little Tenderness.” Eddie stood and tugged on Lyssa’s hand. “Let’s dance.”

  “No,” she said, laughing. “I’ve never.”

  “Then you have to, with me.”

  “You’re going to regret this.”

  “Only if you say no,” he said, pulling her off the chair with a flex of one strong arm. Lyssa’s laugh became a gasp as she slammed against him, his one arm sliding instantly around her waist and holding her so tightly he could feel every curve of her lush body. She held him just as closely, her right hand clasped in his left. He turned them slowly, swaying to that soulful voice singing about love and tenderness.

  And then he looked past her, into the crowd—and saw a man watching them.

  Time slowed down. Details stood out in the shadows. Every part of the man was sharp, jutting, hard. Maybe because he was so skinny, as if every ounce of fat had melted off him, stretching his skin tight as a drum across his chest and face. His eyes bulged, and his mouth was thick, making a long slashing line across his face.

  Matthew Swint. It was him.

  The world came unhinged around him, tilting sideways. Nothing seemed real. He was suddenly a kid again, heart pounding, crushed with fear.

  The Cruor Venator couldn’t touch him, but Matthew Swint . . . seeing him again was a greasy, sweaty
nightmare filled with cigarette burns, and his pants pulled down so Matthew could make fun of his penis and threaten to set it on fire. It was seeing him kiss Eddie’s mother, and follow her into her bedroom, and seeing him in that same bedroom with his sobbing sister . . .

  A strong, warm hand grabbed his, holding tight. Fire flowed through that touch, sinking into his skin.

  Lyssa. He was not alone.

  She stared at him with concern, but Eddie didn’t wait to explain. He let go of her, and ran toward Matthew—plowing through the crowd with hot, wild, determination. Matthew ran, too—fast, darting. Eddie glimpsed his back just before he disappeared up the stairs to the Kosmo Klub’s front door.

  Lyssa caught up just as he hit the sidewalk. Matthew was already at the end of the block, and Eddie took off after him—heart pounding, fury fueling his muscles, lending so much speed that he caught up with the older man as he swerved down an alley.

  Matthew spun, nearly tripping, and his hand flashed inside his jacket. He pulled out a gun, pointing it at Eddie—just as Lyssa staggered into the alley with them.

  Dammit.

  “Edward,” said Matthew, breathlessly. “I wish you hadn’t seen me just now.”

  “Following me? Visiting my mother’s home?” Eddie edged in front of Lyssa. “What did you think would happen?”

  Matthew was still breathing hard, one hand holding his chest. He really did look sick, even frail, but there was a wiry strength about him, too—and something quietly frenzied about the way he looked at Eddie that was totally unnerving.

  But not as frightening as knowing Lyssa was just behind him, in range of a bullet.

  Eddie edged closer. “You should have died in jail. Isn’t that what happens to child molesters?”

  Matthew’s mouth stretched into a ghastly smile. “When they’re lucky. Let’s just say . . . I wasn’t. But it gave me plenty of time to think about you.” The gun wavered. “You’re the reason I went to jail. You killed my brother. Everyone thought I set him on fire, but I knew it was you. I saw the look in your eyes when he went up. Sort of like the look you’re giving me now.”