Fire Study

FIRE STUDY

By

To my parents, James and Vincenza, for your constant support

and encouragement in all my endeavors. You sparked the fire.

By this time you all should know how wonderful my husband, Rodney, can be.

After all, I have thanked him and listed the many ways he supports me in the

acknowledgments of my first two books. However, the writing wouldn’t get done

and the holes in plot logic wouldn’t get filled without him. So once again, thanks go

to him, because I don’t ever want to take him for granted. And thanks also go to my

two little sparks who fire my imagination—my children, Luke and Jenna.

One of the best decisions I’ve made is to attend Seton Hill University’s graduate

writing program. Through this program I’ve learned so much and met a talented

group of writers. Thanks to them all, and special thanks go to my critique partners,

Diana Botsford, Kimberley Howe and Jason Jack Miller, who helped me with this

book. Kim, I hope this reads better than the ingredients on a frozen dinner! I would

also like to thank my Seton Hill mentor, David Bischoff.

First drafts of novels can be pretty rough, but my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey,

has the knowledge and experience to wade in and guide me to calmer waters.

Thanks, Matrice, for all your hard work and the smiley faces on my manuscript.

They keep me going!

Thanks go to my excellent agent, Robert Mecoy, who has taught me so much

about the publishing business and about how important it is to have a knowledgeable

agent on your side. Many thanks to Erin Craig, who turned up the heat for this

beautiful cover.

Researching for a book is always fun, and this time I enrolled in a glassblowing

class. My appreciation for glass art rose considerably as I struggled to craft simple

items from molten glass. Thanks go to my teacher and glass artist Helen Tegeler,

whose patient instruction not only added to my knowledge of glass for this book,

but made the experience a blast.

“THAT’S PATHETIC, YELENA,” Dax complained. “An all-powerful

Soulfinder who isn’t all-powerful. Where’s the fun in that?” He threw up his long

thin arms in mock frustration.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not the one who attached the ‘all-powerful’ to

the title.” I pulled a black strand of hair from my eyes. Dax and I had been working

on expanding my magical abilities without success. As we practiced on the ground

floor of Irys’s Keep tower—well, mine too, since she has given me three floors to

use—I tried not to let my own aggravation interfere with the lessons.

Dax was attempting to teach me how to move objects with magic. He had

rearranged the furniture, lined up the plush armchairs in neat rows and turned the

couch over on its side with his power. My efforts to restore Irys’s cozy layout and

to stop an end table from chasing me failed. Though not from lack of trying—my

shirt clung to my sweaty skin.

A sudden chill shook me. Despite a small fire in the hearth, the rugs and the

closed shutters, the living room was icy. The white marble walls, while wonderful

during the hot season, sucked all the heat from the air throughout the cold season. I

imagined the room’s warmth following the stone’s green veins and escaping outside.

Dax Greenblade, my friend, tugged his tunic down. Tall and lean, his physique

matched a typical Greenblade Clan member. He reminded me of a blade of grass,

including a sharp edge—his tongue.

“Obviously you have no ability to move objects, so let’s try fire. Even a baby

can light a fire!” Dax placed a candle on the table.

“A baby? Now you’re really exaggerating. Again.” A person’s ability to access

the power source and perform magic manifested at puberty.

“Details. Details.” Dax waved a hand as if shooing a fly. “Now concentrate on

lighting this candle.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. So far, all my efforts on inanimate items were for

naught. I could heal my friend’s body, hear his thoughts and even see his soul, but

when I reached for a thread of magic and tried to use it to move a chair, nothing

happened.

Dax held up three tan fingers. “Three reasons why you should be able to do this.

One, you’re powerful. Two, you’re tenacious. And three, you’ve beat Ferde, the

Soulstealer.”

Who had escaped, and was free to start another soul-stealing spree. “Reminding

me of Ferde is helping me how…?”

“It’s supposed to be a pep talk. Do you want me to list all the heroic deeds

you’ve—”

“No. Let’s get on with the lesson.” The last thing I wanted was to hear Dax recite

the latest gossip. The news about my being a Soulfinder had spread through the

Magician’s Keep like dandelion seeds carried by a strong wind. And I still couldn’t

think about the title without a cringe of doubt, worry and fear touching my heart.

I pushed all distracting thoughts aside and connected to the power source. The

power blanketed the world, but only magicians could pull threads of magic from it to

use. I gathered a strand to me and directed it to the candle, willing a flame to form.

Nothing.

“Try harder,” Dax said.

Increasing the power, I aimed again.

Behind the candle, Dax’s face turned red and he sputtered as if suppressing a

cough. A flash seared my eyes as the wick ignited.

“That’s rude.” His outraged expression was comical.

“You wanted it lit.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to do it for you!” He glanced around the room as if

seeking the patience to deal with an unruly child. “Zaltanas and their weird powers,

forcing me to light the candle. Pah! To think I wanted to live vicariously through

your adventures.”

“Watch what you say about my clan. Or I’ll…” I cast about for a good threat.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll tell Second Magician where you disappear to every time he pulls one of

those old books off his shelf.” Bain was Dax’s mentor, and, while the Second

Magician delighted in ancient history, Dax would rather learn the newest dance steps.

“Okay, okay. You win and you’ve proved your point. No ability to light a fire.

I’ll stick to translating ancient languages.” Dax made a dour face. “And you stick to

finding souls.” He teased, but I sensed an undercurrent to his words.

His uneasiness over my abilities was for excellent reasons. The last Soulfinder

was born in Sitia about a hundred and fifty years ago. During his short life, he had

turned his enemies into mindless slaves and almost succeeded in his quest to rule the

country. Most Sitians didn’t react well to the news about another Soulfinder.

The awkward moment passed as a mischievous glint lit Dax’s bottle-green eyes.

“I’d better go. I have to study. We have a history test tomorrow. Remember?”

I groaned, thinking of the large tome waiting for me.

“Your knowledge of Sitian history is also pathetic.”

“Two reasons.” I held up my fingers. “One, Ferde Daviian. Two, the Sitian

Council.”

Dax gestured with his hand.

Before he could say anything, I said, “I know. Details, details.”

He smiled and wrapped his cloak around him, letting in a gust of arctic wind as

he left. The flames in the hearth pulsed for a moment before settling. I drew closer,

warming my hands over the fire. My thoughts returned to those two reasons.

Ferde was a member of the unsanctioned Daviian Clan, who were a renegade

group of the Sandseed Clan. The Daviians wanted more from life than wandering the

Avibian Plains and telling stories. On a power quest, Ferde had kidnapped and

tortured twelve girls to steal their souls and increase his magical power. Valek and I

had stopped him before he could complete his quest.

An ache for Valek pumped in my heart. I touched his butterfly pendant hanging

from my neck. He had returned to Ixia a month ago, but I missed him more each

day. Perhaps I should get myself into a life-threatening situation. He had a knack for

showing up when I most needed him.

Unfortunately, those times were fraught with danger and there hadn’t been many

chances to just be with each other. I longed to be assigned a boring diplomatic

mission to Ixia.

The Sitian Council wouldn’t approve the trip until they decided what to do with

me. Eleven clan leaders and four Master Magicians comprised the Council, and they

had argued about my new role of Soulfinder all this past month. Of the four Masters,

Irys Jewelrose, Fourth Magician, was my strongest supporter and Roze

Featherstone, First Magician, was my strongest detractor.

I stared at the fire, following the dance of flames along the logs. My thoughts

lingered on Roze. The randomness of the blaze stopped. The flames moved with a

purpose, divided and gestured as if on a stage.

Odd. I blinked. Instead of returning to normal, the blaze grew until it filled my

vision and blocked out the rest of the room. The bright patterns of color stabbed my

eyes. I closed them, but the image remained. Apprehension rolled along my skin.

Despite my strong mental barrier, a magician wove magic around me.

Caught, I watched as the fire scene transformed into a lifelike picture of me.

Flame Me bent over a prone body. A soul rose from the body, which I then inhaled.

The soulless body stood and Flame Me pointed to another figure. Turning, the body

stalked the new person and then strangled him.

Alarmed, I tried to stop the fire vision to no avail. I was forced to observe myself

make more soulless people, who all went on a massive killing spree. An opposing

army attacked. Fire swords flashed. Flames of blood splattered. I would have been

impressed with the magician’s level of artistic detail if I hadn’t been horrified by the

blazing carnage.

In time, my army was extinguished and I was caught in a net of fire. Flame Me

was dragged, chained to a post and doused with oil.

I snapped back to my body. Standing next to the hearth, I still felt the web of

magic around me. It contracted and tiny flames erupted on my clothes.

And spread.

I couldn’t stop the advance with my power. Cursing my lack of fire skill, I

wondered why I didn’t possess this magical talent.

An answer echoed in my mind. Because we need a way to kill you.

I stumbled away from the blaze. Sweat poured down my back as the sound of

sizzling blood vibrated in my ears. All moisture fled my mouth and my heart cooked

in my chest. The hot air seared my throat. The smell of charred flesh filled my nose

and my stomach heaved. Pain assaulted every inch of my skin.

No air to scream.

I rolled around the floor, trying to smother the fire.

I burned.

The magical attack stopped, releasing me from the torment. I dropped to the

floor and breathed in the cool air.

“Yelena, what happened?” Irys touched an icy hand to my forehead. “Are you all

right?”

My mentor and friend peered down at me. Concern lined her face and filled her

emerald eyes.

“I’m fine.” My voice croaked, setting off a coughing fit. Irys helped me sit up.

“Look at your clothes. Did you set yourself on fire?”

Black soot streaked the fabric and burn holes peppered my sleeves and

skirt/pants. Beyond repair, I would have to ask my cousin, Nutty, to sew me another

set. I sighed. I should just order a hundred of the cotton tunics and skirt/pants from

her to save time. Events, including magical attacks, conspired to keep my life