Ember's Kiss (11 page)

He put it in his pocket.

Jorge smiled in anticipation of his next meeting with Chen, then manifested outside the lair. He walked through the town, enjoying that people thought he was just another tourist, and took care to disguise his scent again. There was just a tendril of it, enough to taunt Chen, enough to show that he was in Hale‘iwa.

Jorge would talk to Chen on his own terms, and not one minute sooner.

In the meantime, he wondered what would happen if he broke the scale. A person didn't have to fully understand magic to mess it up. He'd wait a while, long enough for Chen to realize he'd been robbed, then find out.

Jorge was pretty sure it would hurt somebody, and that made him smile.

Sara Keegan, partner of Quinn the Smith and herself Seer of the
Pyr
, was ready to drop even though it was just after lunch on a routine Saturday. She sat down at the kitchen table and sipped a cup of tea. She could hear Quinn talking to their older son, Garrett, as they headed back to Quinn's workshop together. Ewan, the second of their sons, was sleeping blissfully in his crib.

Sara sipped her tea. Too bad Ewan hadn't been inclined to sleep the night before. Sara had gotten up to nurse him at eleven, an hour early, fed up with his fussing and restlessness, but he hadn't gone back to sleep after his feeding.

She couldn't figure out what had troubled Ewan the night before, but he had refused to sleep a wink. That would have been one thing, but he had also screamed himself into a fury and wouldn't be soothed. That had put her nerves on edge. Quinn had been restless, too. At the time, she'd thought the baby was keeping both of them awake, but now she wondered
whether Ewan's mood had something to do with the
Pyr
.

There had been a lunar eclipse the night before. She guessed from Quinn's gruff manner this morning that a firestorm had been sparked somewhere. He would have felt it and might be wondering whether they would be expected to join the
Pyr
there.

But Ewan shouldn't be able to sense any of that dragon stuff yet. The
Pyr
came into their powers at puberty, and that was mercifully far in the future. Sara sipped her hot tea and yearned for a nap.

An hour wouldn't hurt anything and she'd feel much better. The problem was that Sara wasn't positive she'd wake up in an hour. She might sleep four, and that would put everything off.

She was just stifling a yawn when there came a crack like lightning.

A brilliant light flashed outside and Sara was wide-awake. She raced to the window in time to see sparks radiating from the lightning rod on the roof of the studio. She ran to the studio, fearing that Quinn was hurt, only to find him striding for the house as soon as she got outside. He had Garrett in his arms and looked intent.

The sky was perfectly clear and blue. The snow all around their country home was pristine and the woods were quiet. A last strand of dark smoke wound upward from the lightning rod, and Sara could smell ash.

Something was terribly wrong.

“What's burning?” she asked.

“I thought you knew,” Quinn said. “Where's Ewan?”

“He's asleep.” Even as she spoke, Sara hurried back into the house.

To her relief, their baby was sleeping quietly, his fist in his mouth. Sara picked him up all the same, needing to feel his warmth against her. She turned to face Quinn, who had paused in the bedroom doorway behind her, and saw the flames in the mirror over the dresser.

There were letters there, like handwriting wrought of flames, burning on the glass. It made absolutely no sense, but Sara knew better than to ignore it.

She also knew better than to expect it to last. Portents tended to fade.

She handed Ewan to Quinn, grabbed a pen and paper, and wrote down the verse written in burning letters on the mirror.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked, standing behind her with the boys.

“Can't you see the words?” Sara asked, not pausing in her transcription.

“What words?”

“There's a verse, written in fire, on the mirror.”

“One ring to rule them all,” Quinn suggested, humor in his tone.

“Not quite,” Sara said, scribbling to get it all down as she saw the letters start to fade. The mirror glimmered, flashing once before all the text disappeared.

It looked perfectly normal again.

“Gone,” Sara said, putting down her pen.

“Not gone,” Quinn corrected, nodding at the pad of paper as he juggled the weight of their sons. “Read it to me.”

Sara glanced up at Quinn, only to find his expression thoughtful. “What's a Firedaughter?”

“My father spoke of them. They're witches who can assume the form of fire.”

“They can become fire? Literally?”

Quinn nodded. “I think there's more than that, as well.” He frowned. “My father always spoke of them with awe, maybe a bit of fear. He preferred to not talk about them.”

Sara got her keys and her purse, newly invigorated. “I'm going down to the bookstore. I'll find out what I can.”

“But you're closed today.”

Sara paused on the threshold and glanced back at him with a smile. “I've known you long enough, Quinn
Tyrrell, to recognize the influence of a firestorm. This may be the only chance I have to do any research.”

Quinn's lips tightened and he averted his gaze.

“Won't you go?” Sara asked, then continued when he didn't immediately reply. “You used to go to firestorms, to heal the armor of the
Pyr
in question. Who is it this time?”

“No one I know,” Quinn said flatly. He shook his head. “It doesn't feel right to me.”

“What does it feel like?”

He winced. “Darkfire.”

Sara swallowed. He referred to the force that had been set loose before Rafferty's firestorm. Darkfire seemed to turn everything upside down. She knew that Quinn distrusted its power and that's why they hadn't gone to the last firestorm.

“You can't stay away forever,” she said, tugging on her coat. “It's your responsibility.”

Quinn looked grim. “I have a responsibility to you, as well.”

Sara kissed him, pausing when her lips were still close to his cheek. “I have a feeling this
Pyr
needs us, Quinn. Not just you, but me, too. I think that's why I got the prophecy.”

Quinn frowned and exhaled, looking down at the boys. Ewan was still sleeping, but Garrett was clearly listening. There were times when Sara thought he understood far more than he should for a boy who was not quite three years old.

“I'll take Ewan with me to the shop. I'm sure he'll
keep sleeping after last night. Why don't you go into your studio?” Sara smiled. “The forge always helps you think.”

Quinn nodded and gave Garrett a bounce. “I have a piece of reclaimed wrought iron that's been tempting me. Garrett can help me.”

Garrett grinned, then lifted his hands the way dragons lifted their claws in challenge before they fought. He bared his teeth and pretended to breathe fire.

Was he just playing dragon?

Or did he sense a coming battle?

Sara gathered her things and tucked Ewan into a carrier. She was heading out to the car when Quinn called to her. “Come into the studio instead,” he said, his expression grim. “Erik's coming.”

So the
Pyr
did need them. Sara wondered what Erik knew.

Quinn Tyrrell wasn't surprised to see a pewter and ebony dragon land in the snowy field beyond his studio. He wasn't surprised when that dragon shimmered blue and a tall man with dark hair took the dragon's place. He certainly wasn't surprised when Erik Sorensson strode determinedly toward him and his workshop.

That Erik came in person to make his request for Quinn's help indicated how important the leader of the
Pyr
perceived Quinn's participation to be. Or maybe it was because Quinn had refused to go to the last firestorm.

Sara rocked Ewan and watched by the window, not saying anything.

The forge was roaring, the flames hungry and powerful. The firestorm, however distant, could also give something to his work. Quinn found that the iron worked more readily on the days surrounding the spark of a firestorm—it seemed that there was a perfect link between his vision for the piece and the reality of the shape it assumed.

Garrett played in the corner of the workshop. Quinn knew that his eldest son would make a good Smith, perhaps even a better one than Quinn was himself. Garrett was drawn to the forge and to the flame, and he was invariably close when Quinn was working. Going to school was difficult for him, as Garrett seemed to believe that he was missing the more important lessons while he was at nursery school.

In a way, he was right.

Erik rapped once on the door before he entered the studio, and on the threshold he shook the snowflakes out of his hair. He looked Quinn in the eye. “You know why I've come.” He nodded to Sara, and Quinn guessed that Erik spoke aloud—instead of using old-speak—in deference to her.

Quinn nodded agreement and shoved a rod of wrought iron into the forge. Garrett gave a cry of delight and came running to his “uncle,” who crouched down to speak to him.

Quinn watched the flames lick the wrought iron
and saw it heat to orange and then to yellow. He liked wrought iron, and he salvaged it wherever he could. It worked well and it carried power. Quinn knew the history of this piece as soon as the flame touched it, then understood what it would be.

Perhaps what it had always wanted to be.

“You know I have concerns,” Quinn said to Erik. He pulled the metal from the fire and hammered it on his anvil, finding satisfaction in how readily it took the shape in his mind. After half a dozen blows, he returned it to the fire to heat again.

“As do I,” Erik admitted.

“I had a prophecy this morning,” Sara said, then showed the piece of paper to Erik.

“You dreamed it?” he asked, but she shook her head.

“I saw it. Written on a mirror, in letters of flames.”

Erik glanced in surprise at Quinn, who shook his head. “I couldn't see it.”

“A Firedaughter,” Erik mused as he read, then looked again at Quinn. “Do you know anything of such a creature?”

“My father mentioned them. He seemed wary of witches who could become flames.”

“Who is the
Pyr
?” Sara asked.

“It's Brandon.” Erik paused. “Brandt's son.”

Quinn pulled the iron from the fire again and hammered it with force. “I thought Brandt didn't want anything to do with us.”

Erik smiled. “For a long time, you didn't want anything to do with us. Surely you can understand a change of heart?”

“So, it's Brandt asking for us to help?” Quinn shoved the iron back into the fire.

Erik exhaled. “No. He and his son are still estranged. I already sent Sloane.”

The Apothecary was a good
Pyr
, and Quinn didn't want to leave him exposed to any threat. Brandt would have been easier to decline.

Still, he was concerned. “Can you see the future?” Quinn asked, referring to Erik's gift of foresight.

“Not enough of it for my taste,” Erik admitted, then frowned. “It's the darkfire. It muddles everything. I think, perhaps, it introduces more possibilities and instability.”

Quinn pulled the metal from the fire again and returned to his anvil. Another half a dozen blows, and he had flattened it to a circle like a platter. Erik and Sara watched with interest as he returned it to the fire. When it was heated again, Quinn worked the perimeter, creating what looked like the bronze mirror of an ancient princess.

Erik nodded in approval and admiration. “Your prowess grows daily.”

“It's not done yet,” Quinn said, shoving it back into the fire again. “But it should be done enough to serve your purpose.”

Erik caught his breath in sudden understanding. “You want me to scry with it.”

“I need to know about the safety of Sara and the boys if I come.” Quinn looked Erik in the eye. “There can be no doubt.”

Quinn knew that Erik's integrity was beyond question and that he could believe whatever Erik told him. He hauled the metal from the fire and pivoted so that he held it before Erik. Sara stepped forward, holding Ewan close.

Erik straightened, keeping his hand on Garrett's dark head. There was no need to hold the boy back; the next Smith understood the power of fire. Garrett's eyes were round as he watched the pair of them.

Erik leaned closer and his gaze danced over the cooling surface. Quinn saw the marvel light his eyes and knew he'd been right about this piece.

He'd give it to Erik when it was done.

“The mates and children are not at risk,” Erik said with finality.

“Mates?” Sara echoed, and Erik looked up at Quinn.

“I would not ask you to undertake this quest alone.”

So Erik thought Quinn's presence was so critical that he was prepared to take Eileen and Zoë, his own partner and only child, to the site of the firestorm. That reassured Quinn a great deal.

“What about you and me?”

Erik's lips tightened, his gaze locking with Quinn's. “There is always danger for those who respond to the touch of darkfire.”

He was right. Being
Pyr
was not without risk. There were no guarantees.

“Brandon and his mate?” Sara asked.

“I don't know. I fear the tinge of this darkfire, though.” Erik shuddered. “It feels portentous.”