I rubbed circles across the back of her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I told her quietly. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
She leaned into me and clutched the open flaps of my coat in her fists before she flung her arms around my shoulders. It caught me totally off guard. I held her anyway, feeling a certain kinship with an almost stranger that left me somewhat nauseous. Her crying became muffled into my chest with the rustle of our rain-slicked coats.
“Fire went out shortly after that,” her friend offered. “We never had it under control. It was too hot.”
Javier and I locked eyes over the distressed firefighter’s head.
“Thanks,” Javier replied. “I know this is the last thing you wanna do right now. But this’ll help us.”
She unfurled herself from the shelter of my coat. “You’re going after him?”
I nodded. “The sooner, the better. We’ve lost enough good people as it is.”
She let go of me, wiping furiously at her tears and the rain, which was starting to slow a little bit. “Sorry—thank you,” she whispered. “I hope you get rid of that son of a bitch. He deserves it.”
You’re damn right he does.
Her friend helped her up out of the mud and escorted her in the direction of the vacant ambulance. Back on my feet, my jeans were soaked through at the knees and caked in sludge. That was the least of my worries now that we had another case of demonic arson and another firefighter killed. I felt the anger flash white-hot again, and let out a deep sigh.
While we walked back to the safety of the sidewalk—dodging another fuck you glare from our new friend—I threw a last look at the burned-out second story of the house. The hollow darkness within. The charred siding and lingering scent of Hellfire.
“If that house was vacant at the time, which I’m willing to bet it was, we know he’s not interested in targeting residents.”
Javier’s eyes narrowed. “Was Moretti a pyro?”
“No,” I answered, a little too quickly. The possibility made my head spin. “I mean, I never asked, but I don’t think he was. That incendiary was there because of me. Somehow, he knew before I did. It was a test. Moretti was collateral damage.”
My stomach threatened to revolt.
He was dead because of me.
I bristled, trying to push back the dread. This was the first time I’d been on an active scene since that night, and my adrenaline was starting to reach its expiration. That strange prickle of static still buzzed against my skin. It had been since we set foot on the scene, but I couldn’t place it until now. A warning. A slight tug, a resistance that would’ve been stronger if I knew where it was coming from.
I’d felt it at the PCU headquarters. Wards.
We had a pyromancer hiding in the shadows. Something told me they didn’t want to be found.
“Check it out.” Javier nudged his head in the opposite direction. “Look who decided to show up early.”
Across the street, the news trucks were already on the scene. A dark red sedan had sidled up next to them and parked. I could see the reflective white lettering on the side of the door from where we stood. Fire investigation. Two figures in navy PFFD raincoats crossed the street. I nearly expected the woman to be Jodi, but it wasn’t. The other investigator I recognized immediately, a flashlight blinking to life in his hand, paperwork shoved under his arm in a leather folder.
“Kowalski,” I muttered.
“That tone sounds friendly.”
I scoffed. “I cussed him out, so I’m sure there’s no love lost there.”
“He’s a captain, yeah?” Javier’s eyes widened a little. I nodded, huffing out a laugh, my tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek. “Damn, Nix.”
“He did a rush job on Moretti’s arson case,” I said. “Probably wants to close this one as fast as possible. I hope the press tears him apart—two firefighters killed in a span of weeks? That shit shouldn’t stay quiet.”
I pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket to send an urgent text to Jodi. The incendiary is going after pyromancers in the PFFD. A fine mist pattered onto the screen. You might want to keep an eye on Kowalski.
“Shouldn’t we be using Hellfire for this?”
“Yeah.” The pitch of Javier’s voice rose into levels of sarcasm. “You tell me if you find some, then we’ll talk.”
I rolled my eyes. “I meant, wouldn’t it be more effective?”
Waning daylight streaked the floor of the warehouse, shining down from the high windows, the ethereal beams exposing every crater and crack in the weakened concrete. It was an unusual time for us to be training, what with dusk not even having settled yet. There were still kayakers on the river. The chance that we’d be seen by a curious tourist taking an evening stroll along the waterfront was imminent.
Maybe that made it a little more fun.
We needed the distraction anyway. I did, at least; the grieving firefighter’s sobs had bounced around my thoughts all night and sleep had come in fits and starts. I was running on three cups of coffee and a shot of whiskey.
“If you want to get yourself killed,” Javier said. “And, I’d really prefer it if that didn’t happen on my watch. I’ve been asking Detective Rashid to let us use one of her incendiary informants when you’re ready, but she’s not having it. Least not from what I’ve heard.”
“She doesn’t trust us? Or the incendiary?”
“It’s not a trust issue,” Javier said. “Rashid’s got less than a handful of reliable incendiary informants. Real bottom of the barrel types. They’ll sell out anyone—even their own—for some protection.”
“Jodi’s called them monsters,” I said, “but they sure as hell act human.”
“She doesn’t wanna scare ‘em off by making them target practice.”
“Or, I assume, killing them.”
“We have to defer to her. That’s probably the first place she looked when asking about Moretti’s killer.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “How am I going to practice with Hellfire, then?”
“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Javier reasoned. “Some stuff you can’t learn unless you’re in the streets. At least this way, you’ll have practice.”
“That sounds…dangerous.”
“We might not have a choice.”
“Great.”
Voices rose from outside the warehouse. At least two or three people from what I could tell. Young, maybe teenagers, their laughter ricocheting through the abandoned buildings. Javier and I froze, both our heads turning toward the entranceway, neither of us moving until their conversation faded off.
“You’ve already got experience against Hellfire,” Javier reminded. “All you’ve gotta do now is learn how to control it. Switching between pyromancy and knocking down a fire—especially in a situation where a split second counts. That’s where you need training.”
“You’re really selling this.”
Javier side-eyed me. I probably deserved it. “You’re drawing from the same power, but you’re gonna want to channel it in a different way. The night your power manifested, you remember how it felt?”
“I thought I was going to spontaneously combust.”
“That’s how it works,” Javier explained. “Instead of creating, you’re destroying, right?”
“We’re literally absorbing their fire.” I said, unable to keep the hesitant tone out of my voice. “That wasn’t something I hallucinated out of pure rage?”
“It’s how we destroy their Hellfire, the incendiaries, all of it,” he said. “Never had to use it on a pyro, so I couldn’t tell you what happens to them. Probably nothing. I wouldn’t wanna know. They’re human, not demon. Don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in homicide.”
“I’m just here for the demon hunting.”
Javier moved back several paces and wiped imaginary dirt from his hands. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his dark gray Henley shirt and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows before s
preading his arms wide, beckoning me into action.
“All right. Light it up.”
In the time we’d been training together, I noticed Javier’s choppy, abrupt hand movements that preceded his use of pyromancy. I guessed every pyro had their own sense of style unique to them, like way you could see the differences in people’s handwriting or how you recognized the pattern of footsteps up and down staircases after a while. I didn’t know if I had a style yet. Was it something that came naturally or a conscious decision?
I put my hands out in front of me, fingers spread apart and facing the floor. Reaching that fire inside me was an instinct now. A second later, the fiery glow of embers radiated from my fingertips. Flames rose from the already scorched floor, the air heavy with heat, the edges flickering blue. Javier had wanted me to use the highest intensity I could manage to simulate the conditions of Hellfire.
“Shit.” Javier backed off.
“I didn’t want to make it easy for you,” I said.
He let out a wry laugh.
There were no abrupt, reckless motions this time. Javier approached the fire as if he was calculating a solution to a problem, gears turning quickly, studying the fast-moving flames and weighing his plan of attack.
“That’s really all you got?” He smirked. “I’m a little rusty. Could use a real challenge. But if you’re—”
With a push of my fingers, the flames leapt higher, almost dwarfing Javier’s tall frame. I stood a considerable distance away and still felt the surge of hot hair against my face. The fire wavered and I curled my fingers, guiding them along the floor, creating a half-circle around him. Blue flames danced on the outer edges, trying to meet the ceiling, but I kept them contained enough to not set the roof ablaze.
“Oh yeah. Now we’re talking.”
He kept his arms open wide, like an embrace, sparks of red playing across the tips of his fingers. Thin lines of dark orange mingled with the molten embers, winding up his lean forearms. White-hot veins twisted down his neck, his temples, slicing the planes of Javier’s face. I watched the reddish-orange tendrils spiraling from his hands like a flare on the surface of the sun, remembering the way it’d felt that night. Seeing it from a distance—seeing someone else control it—looked about as horrific as it was beautiful.
Despite the otherworldly glow that made Javier look more like some mythological creature than human, his eyes were still deep brown. Not cold and hollow and brimming with an angry firestorm like the incendiary’s deadly stare. Javier’s were all warmth and resolve, a hint of playfulness tempering his expression. His hands curled into fists and the air around us began to change in an instant. A hot wind kicked up to dispel the layer of smoke billowing through the interior of the warehouse, the air obscured with a pale, dirty haze.
The flames deteriorated, losing their intensity, their height, no longer tinted blue at their peaks. As they broke down, their power expelling into the smoky air, into Javier’s veins where they’d meet their end, the glowing across his skin flashed. He grit his teeth, his jaw flexing against the spike in his body temperature as the flaming half-circle extinguished itself.
It looked painful. How could our bodies be built to withstand this? I knew it wasn’t exactly pain jolting through him, but it had felt pain-adjacent. Pure adrenaline could only do so much. I didn’t bother to keep the grimace off my face.
Once the last of the flames had been doused, Javier let out a groan—I couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion, victory, or pain; maybe a little of each—and dropped to one knee on the charred concrete. In my rush to get to him, my boot squealed against the floor, leaving a mark behind. The leftover smoke hanging heavily around us irritated my lungs and triggered a coughing fit. Javier’s arm dangled over his bent knee, his forehead resting on his closed fist. His fingers bent so tightly that his knuckles were taut against his skin. The embers in his veins hadn’t entirely faded yet.
I settled a tentative hand on his back. Even through his shirt, he was blazing hot under my touch. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” His rough, uneven exhales trembled beneath my open palm. “Been a minute since I did this. I forgot how badly it messes you up.”
“I can’t think about putting myself through that again alone.”
“You won’t,” Javier said, his words muffled into his knee. Two simple words, and they made my chest tight.
He groaned again as he pushed himself off the floor. I pulled my hand away to give him space to catch his breath and tried to wave some of the smoke from around us while Javier bent over with his hands on his knees. After a couple of long minutes, he straightened up, rubbing the back of his arm across his face. Sweat darkened his shirt, leaving it strained and clinging to his body.
“If you sent up a signal flare,” Jodi’s voice broke through the haze, “I don’t think you’d call as much attention to yourselves as you are right now. You’re both lucky no one on the river got wise enough to report the smoke.”
I narrowed my eyes, seeking out the front entrance. Jodi walked toward us with Detective Rashid at her side.
“Lieutenant,” I said. I felt like a scolded child. Javier and I exchanged looks while Jodi was busy glaring at the charred floor.
“Here to bust us?” Javier asked.
“No, but Jodi’s right. You really should be more careful.” Rashid answered. She lowered into a crouch to study the burn marks the most recent fire had left on the floor, tracing them with her hands. There were other ones, too: older, fading scars we’d put on this building during our sessions. The place had held up pretty well so far.
“Is this yours, Nix?” Rashid asked, rising from the floor. She wiped a hand on her jeans. “The heat signature coming off it is unbelievable.”
“Santos put it out,” I replied. “You’re probably picking up on both of us.”
“I could feel it even before I stepped in the building,” she said. “We should put wards around this place, Jodi. If I can sense it, then it would be like a beacon for whoever else might be in the area.”
“What’d you need us for?” Javier asked. “Assuming it’s got something to do with the arsonist.”
I crossed my arms. “You find any dirt on Kowalski?”
“Nothing incriminating,” Jodi answered. “Not yet.”
“We had a break in the case this afternoon that could help your team more than mine,” Rashid said. “And you could find yourselves with a new recruit, though I’ll give you fair warning: you’ll have to do a lot of convincing to get her to work with you, and it won’t be pretty.”
“I’m not above groveling if it helps us find this guy,” I said.
“Who is it?” Javier’s eyebrow rose.
Rashid’s knowing expression, tinted with the sort of familiarity that included a strong dose of mild annoyance, fixed on me. “Your weird feeling, Nix.”
14
Detective Rashid had left her PCU vehicle on the outskirts of The Raze, a paved side street along the river about a half mile away from our warehouse. Dusk had already fallen, purple clouds blotting out the moon as the last of the sun’s golden rays edged the horizon and the streetlights formed glowing pools on the sidewalks. Crickets trilled in the mangled, dry grass on the shore of the river, a melody I didn’t hear all too often from my apartment at night. I’d only gotten used to them during our training sessions, the gentle chatter of water and their nocturnal song drowning out the distant scream of traffic.
We piled into the SUV, the interior suffused with a disgusting humidity. My back stuck to the leather seats and I hadn’t even been sweating all that much. Javier rolled down his window almost immediately, his head pressed against the door to catch the wind as we merged onto a main roadway.
The passing streetlights and neon signs made the droplets of sweat still rolling down his face gleam. The heat that continued to radiate off him leached into my skin even though a middle seat separated us. Since I’d been knocked out after my fight with the incendiary, it occurred to me that I didn
’t know how long the effects lasted. It was draining—all that energy focused, sustained, breaking down a power greater than ours. Using it in a street fight against incendiaries would be just as exhausting as a shift at the firehouse.
“Detective,” Javier said, his voice hoarse, “any chance you’ve got A/C in this thing?”
“Oh! Hang on. It’ll be Antarctic in here within two minutes, tops.”
Rashid reached for the controls but Jodi beat her to the chase so she could keep her focus on the road. The vents went full blast, and Javier rolled his window back up to let the interior cool off. She caught Javier’s gaze in her rearview. “Sorry. I’m a bit scatterbrained these days. Blame the workload.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He leaned back into the seats, folding his arms behind his head. The next time he spoke, his eyes were closed. “You kicked my ass, Nix.”
“Payback for scalding me,” I said.
“That’s fair.” A languid grin flittered across his lips.
The frigid A/C blowing around the car lapped against my face and crept up the back of my neck, soothing the heat. I let out a contented sigh and watched the cityscape shift outside the tinted windows. The main thoroughfare carried us from the edge of The Raze into the business district, skyscrapers looming, most of their windows gone dark against a cloudy night sky. There was still life here, though it moved at a leisurely pace. It had an odd after-hours vibe that reminded me of those rest stops on the thruway at one in the morning. Workaholic types made their way to a late dinner or coffee and dessert. Other cars, elegant and streaked with the glow of the tricolor traffic lights, turned onto the ritzy theater district.
“How’d you find out who it was, Detective?” I asked, after a companionable silence had fallen and we were no longer dying from the mugginess. “I realized last night that it was a pyromancer. I felt the wards at the scene.”
Baptism of Fire (Playing With Hellfire Book 1) Page 15
