Wildfire Phoenix

by Zoe Chant

  She dropped her toolkit off at the storeroom, then went downstairs to what was usually the Superintendent’s office. Having been taken over by Rory for the past three months, it now more closely resembled a humanitarian disaster zone. Piles of mail—most of the envelopes unopened—teetered on the windowsill, blocking out half the light. The box files of old incident reports and crew records were out of order. Some lay drunkenly on their sides, contents spilling out over the shelves.

  Rory himself sat slumped at Buck’s desk, his head in his hands. He looked up as she entered, with the expression of a drowning man spotting a lifeboat.

  “Please tell me demons are attacking,” he said.

  “No such luck.” Blaise perched on the edge of the desk. She craned her neck, reading the paperwork upside down. “Rory, why are you claiming that we spend three and a half billion dollars on payroll? I mean, full marks for ambition, but if you’re trying to cook the books and skim a little off the top, I’m pretty sure someone’s gonna notice.”

  Rory stared down at his extremely creative accounting. “I think I misplaced a decimal point somewhere.”

  “Yeah, possibly in the Bermuda Triangle.” Taking the pen from his fingers, Blaise started to make corrections. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t tackle anything involving numbers without a responsible adult present. Where’s Edith?”

  “I managed to persuade her to take a nap in one of the spare cabins. This trimester is hitting her harder than she’ll admit. She hasn’t been getting much sleep.”

  “From the way you look like death warmed over, neither have you.” Blaise shot her old friend a mock glare. “I’d send you off to join Edith, except I know you guys wouldn’t take the opportunity to actually rest.”

  The stressed lines of his face softened. “Can you blame me, when I have such a stunning mate?”

  “Not really. Edith’s a fox, and way out of your league. You’re lucky that she’s inexplicably attracted to blond dorks with the numerical skills of a dead haddock.”

  Rory chuckled. “I certainly am.”

  “Ha. So you admit it. You are a dork.”

  He flicked a screwed-up ball of paper at her. “I meant the lucky part.”

  Blaise suppressed a smile, pleased that her teasing had worked to lift Rory’s mood. “We’re all lucky. And not just to have Edith around. Seriously, Rory, don’t run yourself into the ground either. You can delegate some of the crew admin, you know. If you need help with anything, just ask.”

  Rory grimaced at the mess he’d made of the paperwork. “I think we’ve conclusively proven that I do need help.”

  “Eh, it’s not so bad.” Blaise made a last correction, and handed him the pen. “See? Sign here, Acting Superintendent.”

  Rory pulled a face, but signed the box at the bottom. “Buck should have left you in charge. How are you so good at this stuff?”

  “You would be too if you’d started your career in a city crew. Structural firefighting is thirty percent tedium, twenty percent adrenaline, and fifty percent paperwork.”

  Rory laughed, some of the tension easing from his shoulders at last. “And wildland firefighting?”

  “Fifty percent sore feet, forty percent swearing,” Blaise replied without missing a beat. “And ten percent hair-raising terror.”

  “Only ten percent?”

  “Well, for normal crews. Y’know, the ones that only have to deal with hundred foot fire twisters rampaging across burning forests.”

  “Sounds positively idyllic.” Rory sighed, his brief amusement melting away. “I got into this job to protect people. I never thought it would be from demons. It’s not exactly something that’s covered in standard training.”

  “Hey, we’ve managed to smack down giant snakes, possessed unicorns, and rampaging hellhound packs. Whatever fate throws at us this year, we’ll handle it,” Blaise said, with more confidence than she actually felt. “And maybe it won’t be as bad as you fear. We whipped Uncegila pretty good this winter. Plus, Lupa’s on our side now. Whatever Big Mommy Demon’s plotting, she’s fresh out of minions.”

  “For now,” Rory said grimly. “Lupa’s convinced that Uncegila’s going to hatch demons out in force this year. Not just one or two, like we’ve seen before. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. And we have no idea where.”

  A chill crawled down Blaise’s spine at the prospect. She forced her tone to stay optimistic. “Well, six of us can’t stake out an entire mountain range for months on end, so there’s not a lot we can do about that. Unless Joe gets a vision, and frankly I do not think we should be basing any form of strategy on that possibility.”

  “Agreed. His talent is erratic at best. There have been plenty of times when we’ve personally encountered threats that he didn’t foresee.” Rory grimaced, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. “Just as well, I suppose. If he saw every potential upcoming danger, even just to us, I can’t imagine he’d stay sane for long.”

  “Would we be able to tell the difference?” Blaise softened her tone. “Look, Rory. Demons or no demons, we’ve still got a job to do. It’s been a dry winter, and all signs point to a summer of perfect wildfire conditions. You’ll do more good concentrating on what we can fight, rather than stressing out over what we can’t.”

  Rory let out another heavy sigh. “I know. You’re right. I’d just feel a lot better if we still had the Thunderbird.”

  Even just the name made an electric tingle race through her blood. Blaise did her best not to show it. “Bet you never imagined you’d be saying that about someone who tried to shove a lightning bolt up your butt.”

  Rory snorted. “It wasn’t exactly the best first impression, no. But we know now that he had his reasons for starting all those fires.” He turned serious again, looking up at her. “I realize it might cause even more problems, but I can’t help hoping that Zephyr’s animal isn’t truly dead. Do you think it might still be there, somewhere, deep down?”

  “How would I know?” She realized her voice had shot up half an octave and dragged it back down. “I mean, I’ve spent like a grand total of five minutes in the guy’s presence. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Rory’s golden eyes held hers, steady and focused. “We both know that’s not true. What I don’t understand is why you’re so intent on denying it.”

  Her frayed temper snapped at last. She snatched up one of the papers from his desk, glaring at him.

  “Really?” she snarled, as the paper began to blacken and curl. “You can’t think of a single reason why I might need to keep my stupid animal locked down, no matter what? Not one?”

  Rory’s expression was gentle, but uncompromising. “I know why you’re frightened, Blaise. But he’s your mate. You have to trust that it’ll work out. You can’t fight fate.”

  She crumpled the paper in her fist, smothering the flames before the smoke could set off the fire alarm. “Watch me.”

  Whatever argument Rory might have tried next was forestalled by the office door opening. Callum poked his auburn head around the frame.

  “Fenrir’s back,” he said, in his typically brief fashion. “Or at least, he’s about to be.”

  Blaise glanced at Rory, raising her eyebrows. “I thought he wasn’t getting in until Monday.”

  “Me too,” Rory replied, rising. “Maybe he just missed the pack. Or maybe it’s something else. Let’s go see. And it’s Fenton, Cal, remember? Or Fen.”

  A slight wince flashed across Callum’s usually stoic features. “Sorry. Hard to break old habits.”

  “I know, but it’s best to use his human name even amongst ourselves.” Rory led the way out of the office. “That way there’s less chance of someone slipping up in front of the rest of the crew.”

  Blaise hung back a little, falling into step with Callum. “How are you guys settling into the new house?”

  Callum let out a breath of his near silent laughter. “Slowly, even with Conleth and Connor’s help. Restoring old Victorian architecture is turning out to be more w
ork than we anticipated.”

  “It’ll be worth it when it’s done, though.”

  Callum nodded, his mouth curving in the slightest of smiles. “Diana’s already in love with the tower room, and the contractors haven’t even finished fitting all the floor to ceiling bookcases yet. We’ll have a housewarming party when the paint’s finally dry. Whole squad’s invited.”

  “Sounds great.” Blaise squinted at him in sudden suspicion. “Wait. You, throwing a party? Voluntarily? Is this just an excuse to get us all round to move your sofa?”

  Amusement glinted in Callum’s green eyes. “Maybe.”

  “Damn it. Well, as long as there’s beer, I’m in.” Blaise sighed. “It’s gonna be weird this season. What with you, Wystan, Joe and Rory all getting your own places, almost the whole squad is going to be living off base.”

  Callum lifted one shoulder in a laconic shrug. “Things change.”

  They did, but Blaise didn’t like it. Happy as she was for her friends’ happiness, it was strange to see them all moving on with their lives, getting mortgages and having babies like they were actual adults. Sometimes, she couldn’t help feeling that they were leaving her behind.

  And now I’m getting maudlin. Somebody shoot me.

  One change, at least, was definitely welcome. And he was pulling into the parking lot now.

  The sleek black BMW turned a few heads as it came to a halt, incongruous next to all the battered, functional crew transports. The side door opened. A bearded bear of a man unfolded himself from the passenger seat. He took a deep breath, looking round at them, and smiled.

  “Pack,” Fenrir rumbled.

  “Hey, Fen.” A grin split Rory’s face too. He clapped a hand on Fenrir’s shoulder, pulling him into a quick, hard hug. “Good to see you.”

  “Is good to be home.” Even though Fenrir had been able to shift into human form for months now, there was still something canine about the way he turned his head, scenting the air. “Especially like this. A true hotshot at last.”

  Blaise noticed Tanner, B-squad boss and a long-time member of the crew, watching the exchange from the sidelines. Catching her eye, he tilted his head.

  “Can’t help but notice that Rory seems mighty familiar with the new guy,” he said in his soft country drawl. “Another buddy from back home?”

  “Not exactly. But Fen—” Blaise caught herself just in time. “Uh, Fenton’s a good friend of ours. We’ve known him for years now. Always hoped he’d join the crew one day.”

  Tanner gave Fenrir a long, appraising look. “Well, he’s certainly big. But does he know anything about fire?”

  Blaise hid a smile. “Oh, yeah. Fen has plenty of experience there, trust me.”

  “Huh. Well, guess he’ll fit right in, then.” Tanner cocked his head, as though something had only just occurred to him. “Hey, where’s that big dog of yours? Haven’t seen him around.”

  “Uh…” Blaise had never been any good at acting. Joe had come up with a (needlessly elaborate) cover story, but in the face of Tanner’s curious gaze, she couldn’t remember a word of it. “He… went to live on a farm.”

  “Oh.” Tanner’s weathered face filled with sympathy. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. He was a fine animal. Always felt like he understood every word we said, somehow.”

  “No!” Blaise yelped. “I mean, he’s not—Fenrir’s absolutely fine, really! He’s just, uh… it’s kinda complicated. Ask Joe. He’ll explain. Excuse me.”

  Before she could dig her conversational hole any deeper, she fled. By now, Joe and Seren had emerged to greet Fenrir as well. Blaise jogged over to join them.

  “Hey, big guy.” She gave Fenrir a hug herself. “Looking sharp. Ready for the thrill and excitement of pre-season training? I warn you, there will be a pop quiz.”

  “Am looking forward to it.” Fenrir looked down at her, and his black eyebrows drew together. “You look different.”

  Those clear copper eyes had always seen too much. Blaise forced a laugh, punching him in the arm.

  “It’s probably just that you’re no longer seeing me in black and white,” she said. “Not to mention from waist level. Hey, you catch up with the others while I help Darcy unload your stuff. I want to say hi before she takes off.”

  Darcy had already hopped out of the BMW and popped the trunk. Leaving Fenrir to the rest of the squad, Blaise went over to her.

  “Here, I’ll get that.” Blaise reached over Darcy to grab a duffel bag. Used as she was to being the short-ass in the crew, it was kinda fun to tower over someone for once. “Good to see you, Darcy. Or is your real identity top secret now? Did Shifter Affairs finally make you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

  Darcy laughed. In her patched Levis and kid-sized sneakers, she didn’t look much like a secret agent. Which, Blaise supposed, was one of the reasons the shifter equivalent of the CIA kept trying to recruit her (the other, of course, being that Darcy was a stone cold badass, even when she wasn’t in her hellhound form).

  “Haven’t signed my soul away yet, despite Min-Seo’s blandishments,” Darcy said. “I like the freedom of self-employment too much. But I am working a gig for them, actually. Special contract. That’s why we came back earlier. Shifter Affairs wants me to try to uncover anything I can about Uncegila and her plans.”

  Blaise looked at her in surprise. “Not that I’m not happy to hear it, but is that really a job for Shifter Affairs? I thought they were mainly focused on covering up our existence.”

  Darcy shrugged. “Well, their mandate is to protect shifters, and Uncegila is as much of a threat to our kind as to the general population. Besides, giant horned snakes erupting out of the ground and devouring everything in sight tends to get people asking awkward questions.”

  “Point. Well, it’s good to have you watching out for us.” Blaise dropped her voice. “Do me a favor and tell Rory that you guys have this covered? You know how he has a tendency to feel he should be able to protect everyone single-handed. Not being able to do anything about Uncegila is really stressing him out.”

  “Sure thing.” Darcy’s mouth twisted a little. “Though I’m not sure how reassuring I can be. Honestly, no one has a clue how to tackle a problem like Uncegila. Except possibly one guy, of course. How’s Zephyr?”

  Blaise’s heart did a little skip at the name. It literally went pitter-pat, for hell’s sake. Stupid heart.

  “I have no idea,” she said, a bit more sharply than she’d intended. “Why would I?”

  Darcy treated her to another thoughtful, lingering stare. Too late, Blaise remembered that Darcy made her living as a private investigator.

  “You were the one who managed to wake him up, when no one else could,” Darcy said. “Or so I hear. That strikes me as significant.”

  Blaise threw her hands in the air. “Does everyone around here leap to ridiculous conclusions for no reason whatsoever? I swear, it’s like I’ve fallen into a bad Regency romance. Next, everyone will be insisting the two of us have to get engaged, just because we were alone in a room together. So I woke him up! Big deal! That doesn’t mean we’re true mates!”

  “I didn’t say anything about true mates,” Darcy said, with deceptive mildness. “Interesting that you did, though.”

  Blaise threw her an exasperated look, and bent to pick up Fenrir’s bags. “I don’t know why you’re riding my ass. The guy is awake, after all. Go talk to him.”

  “I intend to.” Darcy pulled an annoyed face. “Assuming I can get past Buck. I already tried calling him, but he flatly refused to put me through to Zephyr. Said he was in no state for an interview at the moment, and he’d talk when he was ready. Only in considerably more colorful language. When it comes to his nephew, that man is more protective than a dragon with a diamond.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  “No, not really.” Darcy sighed. “I do sympathize, honestly. If I could, I’d give Zephyr plenty of time to recover fully before questioning him. But we don’t have time. Lupa
says the demons start hatching in late spring, when the weather turns hot and dry. She reckons we’ve got a matter of weeks at best. Zephyr’s the only chance we have of stopping them.”

  Blaise bit her lip. Darcy had a good point. But still, part of her—the part that she was very determinedly trying to ignore—wanted to snarl at Darcy to back off and leave Zephyr alone. Whatever had happened to him, the wounds were clearly still fresh. The last thing he needed was someone forcing him to relive his long nightmare.

  “Just… just be gentle with him, okay?” she said lamely. “He’s been through a lot. I don’t imagine he’ll be keen to talk about it.”

  “I’ll be careful. I’m trained to handle victims of trauma.” Darcy reached for a hot pink suitcase. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

  Blaise put a hand on the suitcase, pinning it in place. She stared the hellhound straight in the eyes.

  “And if he does still have his Thunderbird,” she said, very softly. “Don’t you dare ask him to unleash it. Not unless he’s absolutely sure he can control it this time.”

  “I understand your concern. But even in the worst case scenario, the Thunderbird’s fires are less of a threat than—”

  “I’m not talking about the threat to other people. I’m talking about Zephyr himself. He’s already lost half his life to that monster. After all he’s sacrificed, you can’t demand that he gives even more. I don’t care what’s at stake. No one is going to hurt him. No one.”

  Darcy’s gaze flickered downward. A faint scent of scorching plastic tickled Blaise’s nose. She realized a thin trickle of smoke was rising from under her palm.

  She jerked her hand away, clearing her throat. “Uh, good talk. So, you heading to the hospital now?”

  Darcy stared at her for a second longer, then shook her head. “No, actually. No point.”

  Blaise inwardly winced. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go all Rory on you there. I know you have to talk to…”