Bound by Flame (32 page)

Mother Keara’s gaze wasn’t angry or fierce, as Cynda expected. More sorrowful, and perhaps a bit worried. “We never wish to separate a triad, but I have realized that because of today’s revelations, you must remain where you are and work with Bela Argos and her South Bronx group to coordinate the assault on Sister Julia. You’ll be essential in her recognition and capture, since you are the only one in New York who has seen her face.” A line of fire spread down her shoulders to her hands. “You’ll be knowin’ the foul beast on sight, yes?”

Cynda doubled her fists, the heat inside her answering Mother Keara’s challenge. “I’ll know her, and I’ll burn her to the ground.”

The thought of being separated from her triad sisters made her heart ache, and she could tell by the looks on Riana’s and Merilee’s faces that they felt the same way. Still, Cynda could see the wisdom in the Mothers’ decision. They had to find out about this dangerous water power, whatever it was. And she did need to take the lead on Sister Julia’s capture.

It could be a ruse to separate her from her supports, from her staunchest defenders, but Cynda didn’t think so. Mother Keara might be crafty, but she wasn’t a liar. Besides, Cynda didn’t sense guile or even anger from Mother Keara. Just concern and a level of distraction from her worry about the new Southern force.

This isn’t so bad.

I guess she doesn’t know about Nick and me. At least not yet.

As Mother Keara moved to withdraw herself from the mirror, Cynda stepped in front of Riana and Merilee and raised her arms to close the channel.

A glowing, golden Nick picked that second to charge into the bedroom.

Merilee and Riana grabbed Cynda’s waist, but she was too shocked to react.

“The other Sibyls came downstairs and I was worried the Mothers had come after you—” He trailed off as he locked eyes with Mother Keara, who was still very much present.

The room prickled with the rush of her anger.

“You,” Nick snarled, a deep
other
-like resonance in his voice. “I want to talk to you.”

Mother Keara pushed herself forward, her face filling almost the entire bog-oak mirror frame. Smoke billowed from her hair, her ears, seemingly her eyes, as she snarled right back, “And you will. When
I
deem the time right.”

Fire blasted across the inside of the glass.

White heat jerked inside Cynda and knocked her off balance. She spun sideways and went to her knees, barely bracing her fall on the table with both hands.

Mother Keara nearly yanked all the fire energy out of the room as she tore loose from communication and shut down her mirror—the entire channel—with a tooth-jarring
pop
.

Cynda glared at Nick, stomach aching, not believing, not able to believe—and absolutely speechless.

From behind her, Merilee said, “Oh, wow, does your timing
ever
suck.”

21

Three days later, Nick stood on the townhouse’s front porch with Sal Freeman, squinting in the bright afternoon sunlight. Below them, at the curb, Riana, Creed, and Merilee finished loading an SUV and one of the SWAT vans. Any minute now, they were wheels-up for Atlanta to confront this whatever-the-hell-it-was that had been messing with water along the East Coast.

Nick’s brother and the Sibyls had selected and outfitted a second gold team of six OCU officers. That brought the New York City team down to only sixteen officers, counting Nick and Freeman, who weren’t on injured reserve, or out of the game indefinitely. Nick had tried off and on for the past forty-eight hours to reach Andy on her cell and ask her if she could come back early, but no go. She didn’t answer, and her voice mail was full.

Added to those problems was Cynda.

It had taken her a full day to warm back up to Nick after his little run-in with the Irish Mother from hell. Little doubt the old hag knew something was going on now, but she had chosen not to act. He and Cynda were taking it day by day, but Nick was staying alert for hints of trouble. If the Mothers came after his woman, he’d be waiting for them.

For now, Cynda’s time had been absorbed by a small army of young women from Motherhouse Ireland, about twenty of them in all. Adepts and advanced initiates, sent to shore up the Sibyl ranks for the big hit on Downy, as soon as she could be located.

Teenagers. Nineteen, twenty years old at most.

In less than forty-eight hours, the young fire Sibyls had burned up twelve sets of curtains, two beds, a rug, three walls, and scared the living shit out of a stray tomcat that got too close to the kitchen door.

They were the reason why Cynda didn’t turn up to see off Riana and the troops.

She was downstairs in the gym, putting the young women through their paces.

I know I’d lose it if I had to tell my triad goodbye,
she had told Nick the night before.
I don’t want the younger ones to see me out of control. It sets a bad example.

No kidding.

If the Mothers didn’t hurry up and find J. C. Downy, Nick couldn’t imagine what the place would look like in another few days.

The Atlanta convoy gave a few honks and pulled into traffic.

Just then, smoke and the distinct stench of burning rubber drifted out of the partially open front door.

So much for the gym. Again
.

Nick’s gut cramped, and he contemplated punching one of the porch columns to let off some steam.

“Like we need any more problems right now,” Freeman grumbled, seeming to read Nick’s mind as he waved the thick cloud of rubber-stink away from his face. “Any word from the Mothers on Downy’s 411?”

“Not yet.” Nick flexed his fingers and made himself relax. “You’ll be the first to know.”

Freeman grunted.

Nick followed the captain back inside, past a group of goggled officers patrolling for Astaroths, and walked with Freeman to the conference room door, where he wished the captain luck. It was Freeman’s turn to work with New York City’s experienced Sibyls, twenty or so strong, not counting the two ranger triads that pitched in when they could. They were scheduled to discuss strategies for containing massive quantities of Astaroths and Cursons, should the need arise.

After leaving Freeman, Nick checked in with Cynda a few times, ate an early dinner, then borrowed the open end of Merilee’s temporarily unoccupied library and meditated. When his mind felt clear and focused, or as clear and focused as it could get in a house full of endless friggin’ smoke, he opened the windows and balcony doors for ventilation and worked through a succession of wall-to-wall suicide sprints, several sets of squat jumps, lunges, and a bunch of jump push-ups. Then he showered and went to his slightly burned bed to wait for Cynda, hoping she’d get free from her training and babysitting duties before dawn.

He settled onto the somewhat singed sheets, rolled toward Cynda’s side of the bed, ran his palm across the burned spot where she slept, and grinned. All in all, he was getting better at absorbing her fire. Another few weeks, and he’d have the hang of it—if they practiced often enough.

In the hallway, wind chimes jangled.

Nick closed his eyes, keeping his hand on Cynda’s singed spot, trying not to grind his teeth.

Since the young Sibyls arrived, the damned pipes had been ringing almost nonstop, all over the townhouse. He couldn’t see how those girls would be anything but a liability in a battle, but Cynda kept assuring him he was underestimating their skills.

They were definitely going to discuss that tonight, after a little tandem workout.

Nick’s body tensed at the thought of her crawling into bed with him. He loved the soft silk of her warm skin, the way she smiled at him after he kissed her, the way she beat on him when he made her wait. He especially loved the way she smelled. Vanilla, cinnamon—so fresh and clean and female.

Right now, he was smelling something else.

Probably something burning or melting. Great.

The chimes kept ringing.

Deep in Nick’s mind, Gideon gave an irritated rumble.

Strong odors assailed him. Something like…spaghetti. Was it bay leaves? And rosemary. He knew that one from his grandmother’s cooking. Onion, and chewing gum, too. Spearmint, maybe. And lots of smoke.

Gideon’s rumbling got a little louder.

Okay, okay
. He’d go figure out what had been destroyed.

Cold steel scraped against his throat.

Inside his head, Gideon’s roar bashed against his skull.

Nick’s eyes popped open. Internally, he snatched hold of his inner demon, shook it, and forced Gideon back a few paces rather than risk his
other
exploding outward.

All his muscles tightened, but he went very, very still, not even breathing as he shifted his gaze downward, to the blade holding him hostage in his own bed.

Goddamn. That’s a Da-Dao saber.

“That’s right, demon.” A woman’s voice. Gravelly and low. “Keep yourself still, or I’ll be takin’ your head and makin’ my apologies to your kin at some later date.”

Nick recognized the speaker even as pungent smoke drifted across his face, stinging his eyes.

Mother Keara.

Deep in his insides, Gideon made a noise in between a snort and a groan.

How had she snuck up on him—on them?

And how in two hells was such a short, ancient female holding a five-foot Chinese great sword at his throat like it weighed nothing at all?

Maybe he needed to rethink how much of a threat these Mothers posed.

If he lived long enough.

Sweat broke out along the back of his neck as the woman’s heat encroached on the bed. He hoped she didn’t burn it up with him in it.

He couldn’t see her, but he could imagine her green robes and snow-white hair, frizzy around her wrinkled face. Riana had a habit of referring to her as “Yoda-ette,” after a short green character with really big ears from the
Star Wars
movies. That image stuck hard in Nick’s mind, especially now.

“You’ll speak when I allow it,” the old woman instructed. “When I give you room, respond.”

The nine-pound sword moved a fraction of an inch.

“I hear you.” Nick got the words out fast, but the great sword still stung his throat as Mother Keara moved it back against his flesh.

“You are involved with my Cynda, the child of my own heart. Don’t think to be lyin’ to me, demon.”

Well, fuck her.

No, wait. Somebody else can do that. I’ll pass.

He hated to answer that question, but when he felt the sword shift, he said, “I am.”

Air hissed from behind him, and flames licked over his shoulders. Automatically, he let Gideon come forward enough to absorb the heat, giving his skin a light golden glow.

“Good trick,” Mother Keara said. “I must admit, it would serve you well with a fire Sibyl—but you’ll cease dallyin’ with Cynda this night. Tell me you grasp my words.”

The sword shifted.

Nick said the first thing that popped into his head. “Go to hell, you meddling old bitch.”

He waited for the bite of the great sword’s blade, but a few seconds later, it simply settled back into place against the center of his throat.

A raspy laugh startled him. The sword gave a slight twitch, shaving off a bit of his stubble. He swallowed carefully, feeling the sharp steel edge dangerously close.

“I can see why my
a chroí
likes you, Curson. You are fearless. Foolish, but fearless.”

Time passed.

Nick wondered if he could shift to his full
other
form and eat the old woman before she got his head. Probably not. Plus, that would piss Cynda off in a major way.

At least he knew the crone wasn’t likely to harm Cynda if she showed up.

If Mother Keara intended to act immediately on the threats she made to Cynda, she wouldn’t be here with her giant curved sword, punching
his
buttons.

But he did make a mental note to keep Cynda at arm’s length from here on out. He’d have to, if he was going to protect her from these nightmarish women.

“Do you love her, then?” Mother Keara asked.

The great sword moved an inch away from his throat.

“Yes.” He clenched one fist, but otherwise remained motionless. “I’m not giving her up—and you won’t kick her out. You need her too much.”

The sword shifted back into place faster than Nick expected. Pain lanced through his neck as warm blood trickled to his chest. He counted backward a few times to keep Gideon calm.

“It is not for you to say what happens to Cynda. She made her choices.” The voice behind him turned hot and hard at the same time. Fire jetted against his back. Seconds later, as he absorbed it, the heat eased off, but the Mother wasn’t through. He heard her breathing, as if to calm herself. In time, she said, “I would be willin’ to strike a deal with you on my
a chroí
’s behalf.”

Now we get to it. All right, old woman, let’s play poker.

When the steel let up, Nick part-shifted his throat to heal his wound, then answered with, “I’m listening.”

Mother Keara didn’t immediately return the sword to its menacing position.

So, she had some respect for the strength of the hand he was holding concerning Cynda. That was a start.

When Mother Keara spoke again, her words were more measured, more careful. “If you submit yourself to the Russian Motherhouse and allow them to make you safe—for Cynda’s protection, you understand—I would reconsider our stance on her expulsion.”

Nick finally got to launch into territory he’d been wanting to cover since he first heard the Mothers had come to Cynda about him. With any luck, he could make the old woman understand. “Creed and I are twins, but we’re different. I already have control of my
other
.”

“Not when you’re fully shifted,” she countered.

Nick had to give her that point. “True. But my
other
does our combined will, even then.”

The sword came back, not as fast, not as close, but close enough. “Your
other
kills, Curson. I’ll not be havin’ my
a chroí
die by your cruel golden hand.”