Pyromancist

by Charmaine Pauls

  “We’re on level zero,” he heard Bono say, which was the cue for the ground team to move in.

  Before Bono cut the blades, Josselin already had the door open. He tried to shake the uneasy feeling that wouldn’t let him go. He felt like he was on the other end of the fishing line. It had him hooked like the damn fish, and experience had made him clever enough not to ignore his instinct. For some strange reason, he was in no particular hurry to capture the ‘suspect’ who couldn’t legally be called a suspect, as he wasn’t in charge of any ‘officially’ approved operation.

  Slowly he got out and turned to face the woman he was supposed to take in, with or without her cooperation. They didn’t exactly do things by the book, and now he, for the first time since joining the team, wished there were some kind of law they operated within to protect the fragile looking being who stood dead still at the end of the walkway, as if she expected him.

  At that moment, she looked back over her shoulder, no doubt taking stock of her escape routes. A man in a brown leather jacket and jeans tucked into his boots exited the woods. He stood watching the helicopter and the female, and her head turned back to him, Josselin.

  Just looking at her he knew she would go without a fight. Not because her spirit was weak. There was something else. He couldn’t be sure. He only knew he wasn’t looking forward to this interrogation. It didn’t seem ‘right,’ which was a strange word in his vocabulary.

  He saw the black SUV making its way down the hill as he closed the distance between himself and the woman. As he got nearer, she looked like she was, in fact, going to bolt, but he was close already.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he called to her.

  His words had the desired effect. She stayed put, stealing another glance at the man in the brown leather jacket behind her. Josselin kept the message in his eyes clear as he moved them from Clelia to the man. Fuck with me, or her, and you’re dead. He was a step away from his ‘suspect’ now. The man with the brown jacket was probably a holidaymaker, an early riser, attracted by the helicopter that had landed on the broad end of the jetty. The stranger now tilted his head, regarding the scene, and then, as if sensing that he was in danger of having his throat slit for witnessing what he wasn’t supposed to, he walked briskly in the direction of the square.

  The woman removed the hood of her rain jacket. She looked young, fragile, vulnerable, and too damn pretty. He took everything in with a practiced eye. There were bruises and cuts on her knees, which stabbed at him like a thorny irritation. He didn’t like seeing her white skin marred. And he was probably going crazy because he experienced an unjustifiable sense of responsibility for those injuries.

  He stopped a step away from her so as to not intimidate her, aware of the difference in their height. He felt like a giant next to her. This in itself should have scared the magic out of his bones, as he had never felt particularly charitable toward his ‘suspects’ before. She lifted her head and blinked up at him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything as he stared down at her. She was too damned delicate. Too damned perfect. She was like a Japanese bird with skin as white as the inside of a shiny oyster shell, and her eyes were dark pools of frightened innocence that brimmed with salty tears. Her nose was delicate and small, her features beautifully proportioned, but it was the quivering of her full, bottom lip that caught and held his eye.

  What the fuck was wrong with him? Resisting the urge to reach out and trace her lips, wipe her tears with his thumb and taste the salt of her sadness and fear, he kept his hands by his sides.

  The SUV pulled up in the road behind them, and Maya Martin, the team’s hydromancist, got out of the vehicle, weapons concealed under her jacket.

  Painfully aware of time running out, Josselin said to her in French, “Clelia d’Ambois. You should have been called Clelia of the fishermen, not Clelia of the brewers.”

  His words somehow seemed to upset her, because her expression was wounded.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t call me Clelia the witch.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember you, little witch.” His eyes travelled over her. “But you’ve grown up.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “Do you remember me, Clelia?”

  “I know who you are,” she said.

  Her answer didn’t please him. He wanted her to say his name, to hear how it sounded on her angelic lips. Shocked by his thoughts, he frowned, and she must have read something menacing in his expression, because she took a cowering step back.

  He tried to keep his voice reassuring when he said, “I need you to come with me. I need to ask you some questions about the fires.”

  “Strange coincidence,” she said, her voice accusing. “You’re the second one this morning.”

  He didn’t like that statement either. “Who was first?”

  “A journalist from a Paris newspaper. Am I to take it you work for a television station?”

  He let the sarcastic comment slide. Anyway, he could see it was all bark and no bite, although, he had to admire her courage for putting up the show. No one else from his team had made contact before he had, and the fact that someone else had approached her was worrisome, but Josselin merely had time to deepen his frown and his concern before Maya walked up.

  In her typical no-beating-around-the-bush kind of way, she said, “There’s another fire, Joss. Île de la Jument. Boss wants you at the site. Details will come through in a sec.” She nodded in Clelia’s direction. “I’ll take her back to base.”

  Josselin had a second to register the unease he felt at leaving Clelia.

  “Boss said on the double,” Maya said, giving him a questioning look.

  He nodded. “Take her to base and don’t let anyone near her until I arrive.”

  Maya already had her hand on Clelia’s arm. “We’ve made arrangements for ground transport when you land on the island. You better go by helicopter. It’ll be quicker.”

  Josselin nodded again. He looked at Clelia’s wet hair and legs, her injured knees, the cuts and bruises on her hands, droplets of water still running from her thin jacket and pooling by her small, red boots.

  “Make sure she gets dry,” he said, surprising himself more than Maya, who stared at him with unconcealed astonishment.

  With another quick glance at Clelia, he turned and pressed on the link in his ear to cut off the noise from the blades.

  “Don’t kill the engine, Bono. We’re up again. Île de la Jument,” he said.

  “Got it, Joss,” Bono said, his voice happy. Bono was always happy, but never as happy as when he could fly. “Got the blades rolling. This baby’s spinning and ready for you.”

  * * * *

  When she saw the dream unfold in front of her, Clelia’s first sentiment was relief. Josselin was unharmed. After that, panic hit. She could have made a run for the forest, but then the journalist appeared in the path and a black vehicle pulled up in the road. Both her escape routes were blocked. Defeat. She was trapped. It wasn’t as painful as the defeat she felt when the beautiful woman stepped from the vehicle. This had to be the woman Josselin brought home.

  For the month that the dream tortured her, she willed herself to see the end of the scene, the outcome, but it never transpired. How could she have been so foolish? What she saw for the end was only the beginning. It had only just started. The fear of the realization froze her. As in the dream, she couldn’t move.

  It hurt so bad that he didn’t remember their kiss. He only recalled her as a child, nicknamed a witch, and he called her the daughter of a fisherman to remind her of the difference in cast–he from royalty, she from nothing. To add insult to injury, she was being kept captive by Josselin’s woman.

  The house they were keeping her in was close to the harbor. She still didn’t know the woman’s name, but the other man in the house was called Lann. He had greeted them by the door. He was very tall and of slender but muscular build, with long, straight blond hair and yellow cat-like eyes. With his slightly elongated ears, he looked like an elf. While
everything about his appearance seemed gentle, Clelia wasn’t deceived by his good looks. He wore a midnight blue dress shirt and black tailored slacks. His shoes were polished shiny. The nails on his long, supple fingers were neatly trimmed and filed, and he wore a gold thumb ring on his right hand and a pinky ring with a ruby on his left. He spoke English with a heavy Russian accent, asking if Clelia wanted a cup of tea, which she declined, before he busied himself with a kettle and a mug while the woman handed her a towel.

  Clelia removed her wet jacket and bundled it into her backpack. Clutching the towel to her chest, she sat down in the chair by the kitchen table as they had told her to. She was desperate to come up with a plan of escape.

  The woman turned to her now, her head slightly tilted as she scrutinized Clelia. Her skin was a beautiful brown–a smooth, spotless cappuccino that made a striking backdrop for her green eyes. She had high cheekbones and a prominent nose. Her lips were lush, painted a dark shade of red, the same color as her long fingernails. Her dreadlocks fell over her shoulders down her back. A red tank top and stretch pants showed off her perfect curves and full breasts, eliciting Clelia’s envy. Around her neck, she wore a huge, purple pendant–maybe an amethyst–and she had the same stone in a pear cut on her index finger.

  “I’m Maya,” she said, her tone unfriendly. “You’re Erwan’s granddaughter.”

  It was a statement, not a question, so Clelia remained quiet.

  “If you answer a few questions, we’ll consider letting you go. Understand?”

  Clelia regarded the woman who seemed cold and distant.

  “Where’s Erwan?” Maya said, walking to stand in front of Clelia, her hands on her hips.

  Clelia looked at Maya and recognized the determination in the other woman’s eyes. She would do anything to get her answers, and Clelia knew she wasn’t going to go anywhere until Maya had those answers. She bit her lip, but didn’t say anything.

  Maya narrowed her eyes. “He’s not even your real grandfather, so why protect him?”

  “Who are you? What do you want from us?”

  “I’ll ask the questions. Now, where were we before you so rudely derailed my train of thought? Ah, yes. I’ll repeat it for you.” She brought her face closer. “Where is he?”

  “He’s innocent,” Clelia whispered. “He didn’t do anything.”

  “His DNA is all over every crime scene.”

  “He visited each of the burnt houses. Plenty of people did. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “If he were innocent, he wouldn’t have run. I won’t ask you again. Where is he?”

  Clelia stared at Maya. No matter what they did to her, she’d never betray Erwan. He loved and protected her when everyone else would have cast her out. How could they think for even a second she’d give him up? She saw Maya’s face become rigid, her expression tight, and before she could contemplate the move, Maya’s arm lifted and the back of her hand came down hard over Clelia’s face.

  Maya’s bulky ring connected with Clelia’s mouth, the sharp edge of the gemstone cutting her lip. The blow sent Clelia’s head flying backward, and only the wall at her back prevented her chair from toppling over. Clelia tasted the blood in her mouth. She could feel her lip pulse as if it had a life of its own.

  Unmoved by the damage she’d caused, Maya grabbed Clelia’s arm and jerked her and the chair upright. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer.”

  “Maya,” Lann said softly from the counter, “gently.”

  At that moment, the backdoor opened, momentarily blinding Clelia. It was Josselin’s tall figure that blocked out the light. He stood very still for a second, taking in the scene in front of him, and then he took a deadly step forward and slammed the door, causing the wall to shake.

  “Let go of her, Maya,” he said. His voice carried a threat.

  Maya looked at him in surprise. “I’m questioning a suspect.”

  He closed the distance between them and stopped in front of Maya. “I won’t tell you again.”

  When Maya released her grip on Clelia’s arm, Josselin said, “If you ever lay as much as a finger on her, ever again, I’ll cut if off.”

  Maya’s eyes widened, and she retreated as if from an invisible push. She all but spat fire, while Lann sipped his tea and appeared indifferent, as if watching a boring spectacle.

  With Maya at a safer distance, Josselin turned his eyes on Clelia, his gaze fixed on her bleeding lip. His finger traced the line of her lip, wiping away the blood, and slowly, as if a scene were replaying from her past, he brought it to his mouth and licked it clean.

  “Why is she bleeding?” he said, his voice calm but his cloudy eyes wild.

  “My ring caught her lip,” Maya said.

  “What was your ring doing in her face?” he said, without looking away from Clelia’s mouth.

  “It’s not the first time that we’ve used ... firmer methods ... to extract information from our suspects. What’s your problem, Joss?”

  “Maya,” Lann said, “this is Joss’ territory.”

  “So now you’re suddenly territorial?” she said with a sneer. “Maybe you should go around and piss on every tree.”

  Clelia could see Josselin’s body tense. He flexed his fingers and inhaled slowly. “Back off, Maya. Or find yourself another team.”

  “I don’t see–”

  “I said, back off.” Josselin didn’t look at Maya. “I’m your team leader, is that clear? Or do we have a problem?”

  There was a short pause, after which Maya lifted her hands. “All right. I’m off.”

  “I asked you a question, Maya,” Josselin said.

  “Yes, we’re clear. There’s no problem. But I think Lann and I deserve an explanation. What exactly is going on here?”

  Instead of answering, Josselin studied Clelia until she started fiddling with the frayed hem of her shorts. His expression suddenly softened. Only then did he turn to Maya.

  “If I had seen your arrogant face in the state I was just in, I would have whipped your ass. You have no idea how close you came to detention. If you ever lift your hand to her again...” He left the threat hanging.

  The atmosphere in the kitchen was suddenly as tough as raw abalone. Josselin seemed to control himself with much difficulty.

  “I think I should make us all some tea,” Lann said.

  “Fuck the tea,” Maya said. “I think Joss needs something stronger.”

  Josselin opened his mouth but Lann lifted his hand.

  “Hold on,” Lann said. He touched the apparatus in his ear. “Do you have your links on?”

  Both Josselin and Maya reached for their earpieces.

  “I’ve got comms coming in.” He listened for a moment and then he turned to Josselin. “It’s Cain. He’s flying in.”

  Josselin’s eyes seemed to simmer. “He’s what?”

  “He wants us to keep her until he gets here.”

  “Cain is coming in?” Maya looked at Josselin. “Then this shit is bigger than we think.” Her gaze shifted to Clelia. “If the boss is coming in, her old man is screwed.”

  “Quiet, Maya,” Josselin said, concern etched on his forehead. “I don’t know who’s screwed, but I get the feeling it’s us.”

  “Based on what?” Lann said.

  “Don’t know,” Josselin said, “just an itch.”

  “I agree with Joss. I don’t like the feel of this,” Maya said.

  Lann leaned back against the counter. “Why would Cain–” he started, but before he could complete his sentence, the mug in his hand exploded.

  Clelia watched in confused shock as a window in the opposite wall shattered less than a split-second later. Everything happened very fast. Lann, despite his docile appearance, ducked behind the center island counter and lifted an automatic rifle from an open duffle bag on the floor to his shoulder, aiming through a telescope. Maya had dived, rolled, and ended on her feet behind stainless steel storage shelves, withdrawing two pistols from holsters on her hips, aiming th
em in the direction of the door and the windows, while Josselin jumped, taking Clelia and the chair to the floor in the process, covering her body with his. He softened her fall with his arms behind her back, one big hand on her head. Once they were flat on the floor, he stretched out on top of her to shield her.

  “What the fuck?” Maya hissed.

  “Lann?” Josselin said.

  Lann’s answer came from behind them. “I’m fine. Got the back window and hallway covered.”

  “Sloppy assassin.” Josselin chuckled.

  “Sloppy or not, I hate bullets flying around my head,” Maya said over her shoulder, holding both handguns steadily aimed on the entrances. “Where the fuck is air support?”

  “Bono, did you get that?” Josselin said.

  He let go of Clelia to remove a revolver from his body holster and when another round of shots assaulted the window frames, the door, and the walls, the three agents, or whatever they called themselves, returned it with determined vengeance.

  Clelia suddenly realized that this was her opportunity for escape. She might not get another chance. Glancing in Josselin’s direction, she saw that his eyes and gun were trained on the window to their right. Lann was scanning the garden through the broken window on the left, and Maya’s attention was focused on the door. Slowly, she crawled away from her position next to Josselin. If she could get down the hallway, she could climb through another window at the back.

  When she was a few yards away from the corridor, she jumped to her feet and sprinted for the escape route. All she had to do was launch her body and jump, shut the door and lower the bolt. That would give her enough time to get away. Just as she projected her body, she felt a hand on her ankle, breaking her run. She fell forward, a scream escaping her lips because she knew it was going to be a hard landing, but the hold on her foot disappeared and a strong pair of arms grabbed her from behind and steadied her.