Ember's Kiss (27 page)

Liz didn't want to think about that night. Still her chest was tight, as if her body would remember what her mind preferred not to recall.

It had been her fault.

She knew that she'd been ducking that night's memory and understood that her period of grace was over. She had to accept the truth before her own challenge began.

Liz held the pendant, pressing it between her palms and folding her hands together as if to pray. She dropped to her knees and touched her forehead to her index fingers.

And for the first time in fourteen years, Liz let herself remember.

She was weeping when she heard her mother's voice in her thoughts. That was when she realized she had been giving Brandon the advice she'd been hearing all her life. She spread her hands and looked at the pendant. One tear fell and shone on the silver—one tear for the anguish of seeing her mother killed.

“You have a gift,”
her mother whispered in Liz's
thoughts, her words filled with familiar conviction.
“You were born the third daughter of the third daughter, the one who can pierce the veil between the worlds. Like us, you can see the dead and the gods. Like us, you can see the fantastical beings whose worlds intersect our own. But only you can move between magic, death, and life to heal. That is the power of the Firedaughter.

“Three by three, your gift is strong. You are strong, my Elizabeth. Your gift will frighten you with its power. But like all ghosts with purpose, it will not be denied. It will summon you, and if you do not reply, it will fetch you. If you fight it, it may abandon you in one of those other realms and seize your innate ability to pierce the veil. If you turn your back upon it, you can never be what you were born to be. If you mean to survive, if you mean to fulfill your destiny, you must learn to use your gift. Embrace it, for it is the only thing that can ensure you survive the test.”

After her mother's death, Liz had lived in denial. Until coming to Hawai‘i, she'd thought she was winning against the powers that had once shaped her life. City concrete had kept the voices of the elements at bay. Working in solitude had diminished her connection to others and dulled her sensitivity. A rigid focus on science and intellect, at the expense of magic and emotion, had made her feel that she was in control.

But her gift had only been slumbering. Embers glowing in the ashes, awaiting only a breath of wind to be kindled again.

Or maybe a firestorm.

Now she would face her own test, when she had so much to lose.

Liz had no more time to weep. She pulled the chain over her head and her mother's pendant settled between her breasts. The weight of it was reassuring. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw the diamonds Maureen had mentioned dancing in her eyes.

If the prize was a future with Brandon, Liz was ready to take the test. If her son's life hung in the balance, Liz was prepared to fight any force that came against her.

First, she had to ensure that she had sanctuary. There wasn't time to protect the entire island. She'd focus on this room so that she and Maureen would have a haven. She needed salt to mark the perimeter and secure the openings, and Liz was pretty sure she could find some in the kitchen.

There wasn't much time before the party.

She had better get to work.

Jorge manifested on a deserted cliff, then flung Brandon into the dirt. Brandon had time to recognize Ka‘ena Point; then the
Slayer
shifted shape and fell on him with claws extended.

Jorge wasn't missing any scales.

Brandon shifted shape to his dragon form to defend himself, figuring he had a better chance against a dragon even though he was missing scales.

Jorge wasn't taking any chances this time that Brandon might survive. The
Slayer
tore at Brandon's
chest, ripping open his flesh so that the blood flowed. Brandon bit deeply into the
Slayer
and tore off his other wing, spitting it into the dirt. The black blood flowed copiously, burning Brandon's hide wherever it touched. Jorge snarled and bared his teeth to breathe either fire or smoke, when Brandon had an idea.

Jorge's wings were destroyed.

He decked the
Slayer
, then snatched him up, racing out over the ocean. He flew fast and hard, ensuring that the island was left far behind them. If he left Jorge with no choice, maybe the
Slayer
would disappear.

If he left Jorge with no strength, maybe the
Slayer
would have no ability to disappear.

Brandon hovered in the air with Jorge in his clutches and deliberately breathed a long, slow stream of dragonsmoke. He had never put much effort into mastering this particular skill, but he found it came fairly easily to him. He coaxed the dragonsmoke to unfurl and wind its way toward Jorge. He drove it into one of the injuries he'd given the
Slayer
and immediately felt a surge of power move through the conduit of smoke.

Jorge must have felt it, too.

“No!” he screamed, struggling with new vigor.

Brandon breathed slowly and evenly, the power he was gaining from Jorge helping him to remain easily at the same altitude. Jorge struggled and bit. He slashed at Brandon's belly in a frenzy. Brandon soared high into the sky, carrying Jorge to the clouds.

Then he dropped him. He descended after the
Slayer
, keeping pace with his fall and ensuring that the ribbon of dragonsmoke remained intact.

Jorge thrashed in the air, obviously trying to fly. His instincts were stronger than his knowledge of his situation. He flailed, his black blood spraying in every direction. He swore. He tried to fling a tendril of dragonsmoke toward Brandon, but evidently the stress of plummeting toward the ocean ruined his concentration. His dragonsmoke was like a string of hyphens, a line broken at regular intervals.

Brandon could feel the
Slayer
weakening, just as he could feel his own strength growing. Jorge looked like he was trying to summon that power to move through space and time, but only a faint flicker passed over his silhouette.

“Save me!” Jorge cried when the choppy surface of the sea was close.

Brandon laughed. “Save yourself,” he retorted.

Jorge screamed as he splashed into the ocean, dozens of miles from the coast of O‘ahu. Brandon dove into the water after his opponent and watched the
Slayer
sink toward the ocean floor. Jorge rotated between forms, transforming from a man to a dragon and back again repeatedly, but he kept sinking.

When the darkness of the ocean's depths obscured the sight of him, Brandon returned to the surface in triumph. He soared out of the sea, glad of his dragon's power, and turned his course toward Kane‘ohe.

And Liz.

By the time Liz was dressed for the cocktail party, she had reviewed every spell and charm she had ever learned. She'd forced herself to recall the wording of the incantations and the tone of voice, the mood, and the gestures. She wasn't entirely sure what powers she'd need, but she wanted her entire arsenal at hand.

No wonder she was also buzzing with adrenaline. Trouble could strike at any time. As soon as she stepped outside of this protective circle, she could be attacked. There was no word from Brandon, which made her fear that he was in danger. She should never have left him in Hale‘iwa with Chen. Pele was right: it was Liz's task to heal Brandon.

She'd brought a sleeveless black dress that always made her feel confident. It was fitted through the waist and flared around her knees. She slipped on a pair of black sandals and wound up her hair. She wore a pair of jet and silver earrings that had been her grandmother's, and put her mother's pendant inside the dress. Only the chain was visible. A stroke of lipstick across her lips, Marco's crystal in her evening bag, and she was ready to go.

She eyed her reflection in the mirror. Here went nothing.

Maureen came into the room and must have misinterpreted Liz's expression, because she laughed. “It won't be so bad,” she chided, then produced a vivid pink hibiscus bloom. “For you,” she said with a smile,
and tucked it behind Liz's ear. “Left side means you're single,” she whispered. “Now go on and have fun.”

“You probably think I should have a drink right away.”

“Can't hurt,” Maureen said, heading for the bathroom. “I'll be there in ten, and your wineglass had better be half-empty.” She shook a finger at Liz from the threshold to the bathroom. “If I find you in a corner, I'll introduce you to the most boring man in the room and you'll be stuck with him for hours.”

Liz laughed, knowing Maureen would be good to her word. “There's a threat.”

“Negative enforcement,” Maureen said cheerfully, and shut the bathroom door. “Works every time.”

Liz tugged the lanyard with her name tag over her head and headed out, as ready for war as she could be.

The party was exactly as Liz had expected. This was her world and she should have found comfort in it.

Instead, she was jittery.

Several of the visiting scientists had apparently miscalculated the effect of alcohol on their jet-lagged constitutions. This was providing entertainment. The sober ones wanted to talk about work, and Liz wondered which one of them was the boring man Maureen had threatened to introduce her to. There seemed to be a number of candidates.

She could see the auras of everyone in the room, which was less disconcerting than it had been the
night before. She was getting used to seeing them again and using the information they provided. The auras were all mellow hums of blue and green with the occasional shimmer of gold or pink.

Except for the one woman in the corner. She was Asian and dressed in a tight-fitting red Chinese dress. Her heels had to be five inches tall and they were as shiny and red as a candy apple. Her lipstick matched her shoes perfectly. She looked completely incongruous, and although people glanced surreptitiously at her, no one spoke to her. She didn't initiate any conversations herself, either, just stood against the wall and sipped what looked like a glass of juice.

She had no aura.

And she was watching Liz as hungrily as a hawk.

She had to be some kind of supernatural being. Was she a
Pyr
? Weren't the
Pyr
all men? Liz wasn't sure. Maybe some other kind of being had been attracted to her firestorm—or her powers. She kept her distance from the woman, resolved to letting her make the first move.

There was a lot of conversation about the earthquake that morning and an exchange of stories from those who had experienced it and those who had arrived after it was over. Everyone had a story of disrupted plans to tell, but no one had been injured. There was also excitement over the volcanic eruption in the Ko‘olau range earlier that day. A prominent scientist had been interviewed on the news and had
speculated about a rogue vent being opened by the earthquake. This theory was hotly discussed.

No one, interestingly, blamed dragons, dragon shape shifters, or an infuriated goddess named Pele. Certainly no one talked about Firedaughters. Liz knew she should have been relieved by that. Instead, she felt as if the other scientists were missing the point.

“Dr. Barrett!” a plump woman exclaimed as she evidently read Liz's name tag. She offered her hand. “What a pleasure to meet you. I'm Hazel Wentworth.”

Liz shook Dr. Wentworth's hand with enthusiasm, knowing her by reputation. “Yes, of course. You're at UC, aren't you?” This could be the opportunity she sought. She was sure that Dr. Wentworth was on the advisory panel that reviewed applications to do research at the Papahānaumokuākea Marine National Monument.

Hazel nodded. “Yes, and we're very excited about your findings with regards to coral disease and the emergence of tumors on certain species.”

“I was intrigued by the research I saw linking specific algae species with the emergence of coral disease,” Liz said, mentioning the name of the marine biologist responsible for that research.

“Yes, he's done excellent work,” Hazel agreed with enthusiasm. “But your tentative link between pollution and the susceptibility of certain species to genetic mutation as a result of exposure opens an exciting
new realm of possibilities in ensuring the welfare of the reef.”

They entered an enthusiastic and technical discussion, exactly the chat Liz had hoped to have. She could only halfway attend the conversation, though, because her sense of being watched was so very strong. Each time she glanced over her shoulder, that Chinese woman's gaze was locked upon her.

And her smile was unfriendly.

The only person Liz knew without an aura was Chen, and that was because he wasn't a person—he was a
Slayer
and a dragon shifter. Could this be Chen? The hair was practically standing up on the back of Liz's neck with her awareness of the woman's steady gaze. When Maureen arrived and nodded approval at her nearly empty glass, Liz decided she couldn't stand it anymore.