Liquid Fire (58 page)

“Yes, I’m sure,” Jewel said. “I never wanted to admit to myself what was necessary to get this done. I have to take responsibility for my actions. But I’m not turning myself over to them, Dakota. I’m turning myself, and my liquid fire, over to you.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’d never have accepted the rule of any court telling me not to do this,” Jewel said bitterly, staring out over the valley. “I told myself it was wrong for Pele’s spirit to be lost in the ether, that it was right for us to help her hatch, that it was our right to retake the island.

“But there’s no law for this,” she said. “I mean, sure, no vandalizing national parks, but, seriously, what if I’d found a true source of liquid fire, or if I’d convinced you of the rightness of my cause? We could have done this in daylight. We could have even gotten a permit.

“The only thing that could have stopped this, maybe, is you,” she said, staring up at me. “You, and your ‘Magical Security Council.’ You would have investigated the hatchsign, put out warnings, taken control of the situation. Stopped it before it got started—”

“How? I can’t police the world,” I said. “You put too much faith in me—”

“You hatched a dragon, Dakota Frost,” Jewel said, extending her hand to the valley. “I believe you can do anything. And I believe you could have, should have, stopped me. Someone, sometime has to be the first person to take it on the chin for your Council. That will be me.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “Don’t do this for me. This will be hard—”

“Oh, God,” she said. “They’re not going to let me spin, are they?”

“No,” I said quietly. “They won’t let you spin. Not fire, anyway.”

She stared out over the valley. Her bottom lip trembled. Then she nodded.

I squeezed Jewel tight. The wind picked up, the billowing clouds whipping back and forth—and then a Shadowhawk helicopter appeared, a dark Shamu shape barely visible in the dim moonlight, barely audible against the rumblings of landslides out over the valley.

A spotlight pinned us, and I waved my hand forward, wincing at the sudden light. Soon, three Shadowhawks had settled around us—one on the road above us, one on the hill behind us, and a third still in the air, hovering a few dozen yards back from the Jeep Cherokee.

Philip ran up, eyes widening at my wounds. He saw me holding Jewel, and paused. Jewel and I both turned, and I put one hand on her shoulder. Philip raised an eyebrow, and then, feeling like Judas, I extended my other hand, first to Jewel . . . then to the shattered hillside.

“I’m seizing this location,” I said, “on the authority of the Magical Security Council.”

Philip froze. “So . . . is that national now?” he said, with a forced laugh.

“Yes. These people are under arrest for performing a hazardous summoning, and the ringleader,” I said, placing my hand on Jewel’s shoulder, “has turned herself over to me. The damage was beyond their imagining, and she plans to cooperate with our investigation.”

Philip stared at her, then at me. “What do you want me to do, Dakota?”

“Arrest them all for reckless endangerment of human life, and possible misuse of magic,” I said, motioning him to step toward me. Philip stepped up close to me, and I whispered in his ear, pointing with my free hand, “And prove my trust in you. Secure
that.
”

Philip turned toward the Range Rover and the eerie glow emanating from its trunk. He stepped back slightly, then whirled to look at me. “Is that . . .”

“It is,” I said. “And this valley is full of it, which is why I’ve seized it. There’s no telling how much could be recovered, which is why I need you to secure the crater. But that cauldron is the property of the fireweavers, and if you know anything about asset forfeiture—”

“They kidnapped you,” Philip said. “Almost certainly it will be seized—”

“And auctioned off by the U.S. Marshal Service? Philip!”

“You really think the DEI is better?” Philip said quietly.

“The DEI may have a bad history, but it’s not bad now. Is it?”

Philip didn’t answer, just stared off into the distance.

“No,” he said at last. “And what choice do we have?”

“Confiscate it, sit on it until I can go get a U-Haul, or . . . pour it out.”

Philip looked at me sharply. Then he motioned to an agent, who ran up.

“Miss Frost needs you to
disappear that,
” he said, pointing at the back of the truck. The agent turned, did a double take at the cauldron, then ran off to the Shadowhawk, shouting. Philip looked at me, then turned back to Jewel. “We’ll hold it for you until you’ve paid your debts.”

Jewel drew her breath, then nodded.

“I’m ready,” she said.

———

Those beautiful, delicate hands were cuffed behind her back. Then he led her away.

63. Your Chopper is Waiting

I stood on the brink of the disaster, watching an army of people clean up the mess.

They’d moved the command post to a ridge overlooking Haleakala caldera. After a nearly week-long delay, FEMA had finally provided a half dozen modular office trailers, and the DEI had moved them as close as the U.S. Geological Survey team would let us.

Now, I finally had a good overview of the site . . . just as I was leaving.

Across the slopes of the caldera, debris and rock made a fantastic jumble. Below us, the crater that had been Pu’u o Maui had collapsed in on itself, leaving only a steaming rubble that sometimes belched smoke, sometimes belched fire—and sometimes belched pure magic.

But wherever the ground was firm enough to stand, wherever liquid fire had fallen, new life blossomed. In places, the vegetation had burned itself up, but in others, it was a luxurious green carpet, dotted with spiky, orange-gold flowers waving a yard high.

They called it Pele’s Protea, and it was too soon to say whether this new species was a simple genetic mutation, or whether in the depths of their magic-twisted cells there was a process that generated liquid fire. Even my new magic-touched eyes couldn’t tell me that.

But I wondered whether this was how firecaps had started.

“Miss Frost?” asked a curt voice.

I turned toward this new official, a slightly pudgy Hawaiian with stylish square-rimmed glasses. He didn’t have insignia on his coat, and I cursed inwardly. The disaster had become such a jurisdictional
mess.
There was an endless parade of officials from the DEI, the Park Service, FEMA, the National Guard of Hawaii—Army and Air—and even the NOAA, which supplied a whole contingent of serious-looking, well-armed young men and women in blue SWAT-like uniforms to guard the site. I wasn’t even aware that the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration had a military arm . . . but I was learning. And not just about agency soup.

“I’m sorry,” I said, extending my hand. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced—”

“Department of Homeland Security,” he said, taking my hand. He looked out over the sweep of the wrecked caldera and the green-gold magical growth, and let out his breath. “Damn. I know we have a whole agency devoted to magic, but I never really believed in it. Until now.”

“Kind of hard to keep your head in the sand when the sand’s all blown away.”

“Yeah,” he said. In the glass, I could see his reflection—and his frown. “Ma’am, I’ve spoken with the MIRCdrakes, the DEI’s disaster response action corps. They’ve recovered a lot of magical equipment. More than would have been needed to hatch the thing—”

“Pele didn’t need our help hatching,” I said flatly. Of course, I had a very good idea about what he was talking about—the components of Jewel’s infinity lens—but staring out at this devastation left me paranoid about talking to anyone about liquid fire.

“Still,” he pressed, “are you sure they weren’t trying to do anything . . . else—”

“I
am
sure that they were—I was there,” I said, turning fully toward him, and his eyes tightened at my healing cuts and bruises. “But if someone was willing to blow up a mountain to do it . . . don’t you think that should be need to know?”

“Miss Frost,” he said, “my agency needs to know—”

“I know,” I said, raising my hands. “Put in a request to the Magical Security Council. We’re working out with the DEI just what we can release, and with all due respect, we haven’t been introduced. I don’t know you’re with DHS just because you said so—”

“Steve Baker,” he said, pulling out his ID. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” I said, inspecting it; not that I could spot a fake ID. “I understand that you’re trying to find out whether what happened here is an active threat, but we need to control this evidence to do that. Make sure the MIRCdrakes turn everything over to MIRChold—”

“What’s that one?” he said, taking his ID back. “
Magical Incident Response Center—
”

“Uhh . . .
Hazardous Objects Logistics Department,
I think,” I said, shaking my head.

“Damn alphabet soup,” Baker said, staring out over the devastation. “What a mess.”

“You’re telling me,” I said.

“Well,” he said, glancing over my fading bruises, “at least we had you there.”

“Miss Frost?” asked an agent. I looked over to see a sharp young man from the DEI—the same one Philip had put in charge of the cauldron—standing by the door . . . with a briefcase handcuffed to his arm. “You’ve been cleared to go—and your chopper is waiting.”

“Great,” I said, texting Cinnamon to let her know I was on the move—then I stopped, frozen, as the words sank in.
My chopper was waiting.
Jesus. It was just taking me to the airport, to San Francisco, then home to my daughter . . . but still, I wasn’t ready for all this.

Finally, I looked up, a forced smile on my face.

“Mr. Baker, it’s been a pleasure working with you,” I said, extending my hand. “For all of five minutes. I’m, uh, out of cards, but the DEI can get you in touch with the Magical Security Council . . . and, well, the MSC will make sure that you have what you need.”

“You’re joking, Frost,” Baker said, waving at the crater. “We’re in the middle of both disaster recovery
and
an investigation, and you’re the hinge of both. In all seriousness . . . we
need
you, and not just for your expertise. You can’t just leave—”

“You’ll find that I can. That wasn’t Hawaiian airspace he was talking about—I’ve been cleared to leave by the US Attorney, and I’m going. When I say things like
I have a twitchy weretiger waiting at home who needs her mother
, I’m just describing the facts—”

“I’m sure,” Baker said impatiently, “you can get someone to sit for your daughter—”

“I’ve been here weeks,” I snapped. “I’m not letting it stretch to months—”

“This,” Baker said, “is one of the most historic disasters ever—”

I laughed. “We dodged that bullet,” I said, thinking of Krakatoa, “but even so . . . the cleanup will be going on for years. And if I let you people have your way, you’ll keep me here, staring out of this trailer, until the whole damn valley is cleaned up. Well, no sir. I have a daughter at home, and I am
not
missing her
goddamn birthday—”

“You’re leaving a
dragon hatching,
” Baker said, “for your daughter’s
birthday party?
”

“Yes—no; look, it’s complicated.” I sighed, deciding what to tell him. “Full disclosure—Cinnamon’s birthday isn’t until October. I’m going back to San Francisco, on business that bears on the dragon’s hatching. First, one of the fireweaver’s victims is still in the hospital. And second, I need to make sure this”—I waved at the crater—“won’t happen again.”

Baker’s eyes tightened. “How?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Damn it, Frost—”

———

“There was another group of fireweavers,” I said. “Excuse me, my chopper is waiting.”

64. Well, I Hope You’re Happy

“Well, I hope you’re happy,” Alex said bitterly, as I climbed the steps of the Valentine Foundation. I stopped as he began to rant, “It got out that I passed you fireweaving knowledge. Jewel’s been deposed, I’m going to be censured, if not expelled from the Order—”

“Do you know why I’m here, Alex?” I asked.

“To gloat? To bust my chops? To pick up a fat paycheck made off the backs of—”

I raised an eyebrow. It was almost ten days, but still, everyone I’d met since we’d left Hawaii had asked me about nothing other than the disaster on Mount Haleakala.
What happened on Maui? Were you a witness? And did a dragon really hatch?

But Alex was all absorbed with his own problems. Maybe they were real problems.

“Here, as in San Francisco?” I said. “For my friend Nyissa. She was horribly burned when the fireweavers kidnapped me. After the doctors in Maui stabilized her condition, the DEI airlifted her back here so the San Francisco vampires could try to save her life.”

“The pale, pretty vamp?” he said. “Hit by magical fire? That’s horrible. I’m sorry.”

“Do you know why I’m here, Alex?” I asked, stopping two steps beneath him. “Here, as in alive? Because of the files you gave me. You helped me crack a mystery, avert a greater disaster, save thousands of lives—and prevent a war which would have split Hawaii off the union.
Relax,
Alex. I am here to pick up a check, and maybe to bust your nuts over that video. But not to gloat, Alex. If you paid a heavy price for me . . . it’s just one more thing I owe you.”

Alex brought me inside, to the same small conference room. I filled him in on what happened—he was in the Magical Security Council, after all—while he plugged in a laptop and pulled up a video. After I was done briefing him, he showed me the promo videos.

None were as bad as the one that had leaked, but I still got hot under the collar, and Alex took careful notes. At first, I wanted to tell Dennis off in person, but I gathered Alex had decided to insulate me from the rest of the crew as a way of protecting them, and it was a wise move.