Bound by Flame (31 page)

How could she charge in there without clothes?

She glanced down at herself.

Without clothes
and
with Nick’s sooty handprints all over her body.

SONofa—

“I was trying to get your attention,” Nick said as he caught up with her. “Though I’m sure everybody downstairs enjoyed the show. I damn sure did.”

She glanced at him, face flushed with heat.

Like her, he still had on nothing but what the Goddess gave him at birth.

“Wait here.” He opened the door to his room and went inside. A minute or so later, he came back, wearing fresh jeans and a navy sleeveless T-shirt. For Cynda, he held out an NYU sweatshirt and a pair of cutoff sweatpants.

He apologized with his expression. “Best I can do. I don’t have anything smaller.”

“These will work, thanks.” She grabbed the shirt and wriggled into it. The fabric went to her knees, and the hood felt huge and heavy as it flopped against her shoulder blades—but it covered her up. She accepted the cutoffs, too. Those fit like a tent with holes sliced in the bottom, but the drawstring held them around her waist.

Nick’s scent covered her just like the clothes. Cynda rubbed her palms against the NYU logo.

Okay, the Mothers would know these weren’t her clothes, but no way they’d know for sure the sweats belonged to Nick.

Right?

Dread fluttered in her belly.

Maybe they would.

Somehow, the Mothers always knew everything.

I can’t worry about this right now. I’m fine. The clothes are fine.

“Go downstairs,” she told Nick, turning to face him. “Don’t you dare risk coming any closer to my room, you understand me? All three orders might have Mothers in the mirrors, and I don’t want them seeing you. I sure don’t want them grabbing you.”

Storm clouds gathered across Nick’s expression. He started to argue with her but she put both hands on the soft fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the ripple of muscles underneath. “Please, for my sake, go. So we can find Downy together and get her off the streets. We’ll have time to talk to the Mothers after that, I promise.”

Nick’s face grew even darker. Tight-lipped, he nodded.

Cynda rose to her toes, kissed his rough cheek, then reluctantly left him standing outside his bedroom door.

Please, Goddess, don’t let the Mothers grab
me.

She hurried to her own room, turned the door handle, and slipped inside.

The second she crossed her threshold, the energy already humming along Cynda’s skin doubled. The air in her room smelled faintly of smoke and spices, swirling and mixed in the low evening light spilling through her room’s windows. On the communications platform Harper Ellis, the South Staten Island fire Sibyl, stood holding the font, pot and sprinkler, and crucifix Jake had supplied. Around the table, Riana, Merilee, the North Staten Island triad, and the rest of the South Staten Island triad waited, as if for wisdom or some grand pronouncement.

When Merilee glanced in Cynda’s direction, the air Sibyl’s blue eyes widened. Riana mimicked Merilee only seconds later.

Soon, all the Sibyls were staring at Cynda.

She tried to say something in greeting, but her brain refused to cooperate. As she took slow, centering breaths, she realized all three Motherhouses were already present. She knew them by their distinctive scents, and by the women in the mirrors—Mother Yana in her brown robes from Russia, Mother Anemone in blue robes from Greece, and Mother Keara wearing Ireland’s green.

Mother Keara’s gaze shifted to Cynda, magnified by the mirror’s crystalline glass.

In that split second, Cynda’s pulse raced, and she almost fled the room. Years of training as a warrior held her in place, but she fought an urge to cover herself with her arms, as if Mother Keara could see straight through Nick’s clothes to the telltale handprints beneath.

Don’t be stupid.

But the old woman already seemed to know something. Her expression hardened to inscrutable as her eyes swept from the NYU logo to Cynda’s bare, ash-coated feet. When she once more raised her gaze, the message on her face was more than clear.

You’ve been up to somethin’…

Cynda didn’t hear the thought, but she felt it like stinging nettles on the back of her neck. She had heard the statement so many times growing up that her mind supplied the rest.

And I
will
figure out what it is.

For a moment, fear threatened to overwhelm Cynda. A ripping sensation in her belly made her dig her teeth into her bottom lip. In her mind, she saw images of the Mothers in the mirrors locking arms in a tight circle around her. She could almost feel them crushing into her, imagined the staggering flow of their monumental power as they called the elements to tear Cynda’s fire from deep within her.

She knew the ritual would cripple her.

Just the thought of how cold she would be at that moment, and forever after, left her shaking and pulling at the sweatshirt as if the heavy cotton was forcing the air from her lungs.

Mother Keara simply kept staring from behind the glass, as did all the Sibyls present in the room. It had only been a few seconds since she came into the room, but it felt like hours to Cynda.

She gulped air, doing her best not to break down like an untrained child. Mother Keara might suspect something, but she didn’t know. Not possible. Besides, Cynda had already gotten a taste of that breathless, lifeless cold, hadn’t she? When she sealed herself off from her triad, and from Nick.

Her pulse skipped, then abruptly slowed as she shook her head from the force of that memory.

No matter what she chose, she’d have to battle for her fire. She’d have to struggle to stay a Sibyl, a functioning, fighting member of her triad. Anger whispered through her mind at those thoughts, soothing her with a rush of warmth, wrapping her chest in protective heat.

It wasn’t right for anyone to back her into a corner like this. It wasn’t right for Mother Keara and Motherhouse Ireland to interfere with the affairs of her heart, no matter how carefully they kept a watch on the world’s volatile fire elementals. They were sworn to use their gifts and training to save the untrained, weak, and innocent from the supernaturally strong—not to fight each other.

Cynda didn’t want to war with the women who raised her, but she wouldn’t just give herself and her future over to them, either. Not anymore. She picked Riana and Merilee from the sea of eyes staring at her, and let herself feel the steadying influence of their presence. She had her triad and Nick to consider now, and she didn’t plan to let them down—or live without them.

Riana and Merilee studied her for a moment, then visibly relaxed.

As their earth and air energy rushed forward to join her own, Cynda lifted her chin and met Mother Keara’s eyes, body jumping inside from sparks she refused to let herself shed. With all of her energy and her triad’s support, with fire she could taste but didn’t spill, Cynda returned the Mother’s stare with a little message of her own.

Go for it.

She walked forward, straight to the edge of the table beside Riana and Merilee.

Aloud, she said, “I got it. I remembered where I’ve seen these items before.”

Mother Keara’s angry expression softened to one of keen interest. The other two Mothers leaned forward, and Harper quickly set Jake’s gifts on the communications platform.

Cynda pointed at each one and named it. To Mother Keara, she said, “I think these might have been stolen from Kylemore Abbey by one of the nuns present the night my father brought me to you. The one who got dismissed a few months after I arrived, for her cruelty to her students and her intolerance of the Sibyls. Sister Julia. Remember her?”

Now the Mother’s face was more than easy to read. Any second now, she’d spit a mouthful of molten nails straight through the mirror.

On the communications platform, Harper shrank back as if she feared the same thing. Riana and Merilee leaned to the side, as did the other Staten Island Sibyls, just in case the glass exploded.

“I’ll not be forgettin’ that
striapach,
” Mother Keara said, too low and too quiet. Fire laced the words as she spoke them. Her mirror shook against the wall. “I advised the Abbess Superior to hang her instead of letting her walk away, but such are not the ways of the Church.” Her hands twitched, giving off smoke. “Peace-lovin’ fools. They don’t understand the Legion has eyes everywhere. They’re always watchin’, just waitin’ for an opportunity to recruit somebody unhappy, somebody ripe with information like Sister Julia, to
their
side.”

Cynda felt a rush of joy at the new energy binding the room now. Focused. On target. Powerful—and lethal.

“She’s definitely got Legion demons at her command. Can you speak to the Abbess and track where Julia went when she left?” she asked. “And we need to know who she contacted—or who contacted her.”

Mother Keara kept right on smoking. “Absolutely.”

“If the Church has lost her trail, we can certainly find it,” said Mother Anemone from Greece, her smooth, high voice ringing in contrast to Mother Keara’s gravelly tenor. “Get us her birth name, and any demographics.”

“And any items she might have handled.” Mother Yana from Russia gestured to the items on the communications platform. “Give me those, and vatever else can be found. Ve vill compare trace genetic material for confirmation.”

Mother Keara snarled, sending fire against the inside of the window glass. “Test and confirm and whatever else you’d like. That way, when we find the treacherous bitch, we’ll be stringin’ her up with no fits of conscience.”

While the Mothers spoke back and forth to each other about the best method to contain Sister Julia a.k.a. J. C. Downy once she was captured, Harper scooted the font, pot and sprinkler, and crucifix to the center of the communications platform. Using steps Cynda had known since childhood, Harper danced until the room vibrated with her crackling, sparking fire energy. Cynda breathed it in, let it flow over her, and added hers to the mix. When the objects at Harper’s feet began to move, Cynda felt it in her fingers and toes.

Moments later, Jake’s gifts lifted from the communications platform, borne on a solid wave of heat, and vanished into the big, dark mirror leading to Motherhouse Russia. Moments later, Cynda could see them again, on the stone floor at Mother Yana’s feet. The Russian Mother gave a polite bow. As she bent to examine the items she received, her image wavered in the glass, faded to a pinpoint of light, and vanished.

After making certain Mother Keara would be in touch with the needed information later that day, Mother Anemone also made her exit.

Harper Ellis stood politely on the communications platform, waiting for Mother Keara to terminate her image, but the Mother waved the young fire Sibyl away. “Thank you, child, but I must speak to Cynda and her triad in private. Leave us.”

The whole South Staten Island group looked shocked.

Riana and Merilee looked like they wished they hadn’t left their weapons down in the tactical room.

Cynda’s fingers brushed her own hip. The feel of her sword hilt would have been nice, even though she knew she’d never draw a blade on Mother Keara. As it was, the soft cotton of Nick’s shorts gave her a jolt of resolve.

Here we go, big man. Let’s hope I don’t blow this all to hell.

Despite her earlier bravado, Cynda had to force herself to exchange places with Harper and take over holding open the channel to Motherhouse Ireland. Her throat went dry, and she found it harder and harder to breathe as the other Sibyls left the bedroom.

Before the door closed, Riana and Merilee had climbed onto the platform. They came to stand on either side of Cynda like silent guards, their arms brushing hers. Little bursts of their energy folded around her shoulders like hugs, and she welcomed their support.

Mother Keara studied each woman in turn. “You are one of our strongest triads. And in these troubled times, one of our most seasoned.”

Cynda kept her head high and her back straight. This wasn’t quite the lead-in she expected, but whatever. She could take a little guilt heaped into the mix.

Beside her, Riana and Merilee kept their proud, protective stances. Whatever was about to happen, they’d be facing it together, which meant everything to Cynda.

In the mirror, Mother Keara kept up her heated scrutiny, but she didn’t make a move to dance them all through the channel to Ireland. Instead, she said, “My next words won’t be leavin’ this room, except to reach the ears of those you would choose for the task ahead.”

Cynda risked a glance at Merilee and Riana. Both shocked and confused. Good. She wasn’t alone.

“We have had reports from triads in the Southern United States of a new force,” Mother Keara continued. “A new power’s disturbin’ the rivers, the lakes, the sea, even the moisture in the clouds.”

Riana’s brows came together. “You mean, something elemental? But water elementals died out centuries ago when Motherhouse Antilla was destroyed. How could a new one just appear out of nowhere?”

The old woman shrugged one shoulder. “We don’t have enough information to answer those questions. For now, we’re assemblin’ a force to approach this power, explore it, determine its intent—and deal with it in whatever manner seems most appropriate. We can’t risk the Legion beatin’ us to the punch.”

“That would be all we needed,” Merilee murmured, her fingers traveling to the spot on her shoulder where her bowstring should be. “Unknown water elementals flooding us out, washing us right into demon mouths.”

“We have decided we’ll be needin’ your level head, Riana, and the force of your wind, Merilee.” Mother Keara gestured southward. “Wind is the natural containment, the natural control for water. Motherhouse Greece and Motherhouse Antilla were closely aligned before the disaster that took our water Sibyl sisters away from us. The two of you will travel down the East Coast and meet with the triads we’ve gathered in Atlanta.”

Apprehension tightened Cynda’s muscles, and she sensed Merilee and Riana tensing, too. “What about me?”