Pyromancist (8 page)

He stopped a step away from her so as to not
intimidate her, aware of the difference in their height. He felt
like a giant next to her. This in itself should have scared the
magic out of his bones, as he had never felt particularly
charitable toward his ‘suspects’ before. She lifted her head and
blinked up at him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything as he
stared down at her. She was too damned delicate. Too damned
perfect. She was like a Japanese bird with skin as white as the
inside of a shiny oyster shell, and her eyes were dark pools of
frightened innocence that brimmed with salty tears. Her nose was
delicate and small, her features beautifully proportioned, but it
was the quivering of her full, bottom lip that caught and held his
eye.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Resisting
the urge to reach out and trace her lips, wipe her tears with his
thumb and taste the salt of her sadness and fear, he kept his hands
by his sides.

The SUV pulled up in the road behind them,
and Maya Martin, the team’s hydromancist, got out of the vehicle,
weapons concealed under her jacket.

Painfully aware of time running out, Josselin
said to her in French, “Clelia d’Ambois. You should have been
called Clelia of the fishermen, not Clelia of the brewers.”

His words somehow seemed to upset her,
because her expression was wounded.

“I’m surprised you didn’t call me Clelia the
witch.”

“Ah, yes. I remember you, little witch.” His
eyes travelled over her. “But you’ve grown up.” When she didn’t
reply, he said, “Do you remember me, Clelia?”

“I know who you are,” she said.

Her answer didn’t please him. He wanted her
to say his name, to hear how it sounded on her angelic lips.
Shocked by his thoughts, he frowned, and she must have read
something menacing in his expression, because she took a cowering
step back.

He tried to keep his voice reassuring when he
said, “I need you to come with me. I need to ask you some questions
about the fires.”

“Strange coincidence,” she said, her voice
accusing. “You’re the second one this morning.”

He didn’t like that statement either. “Who
was first?”

“A journalist from a Paris newspaper. Am I to
take it you work for a television station?”

He let the sarcastic comment slide. Anyway,
he could see it was all bark and no bite, although, he had to
admire her courage for putting up the show. No one else from his
team had made contact before he had, and the fact that someone else
had approached her was worrisome, but Josselin merely had time to
deepen his frown and his concern before Maya walked up.

In her typical no-beating-around-the-bush
kind of way, she said, “There’s another fire, Joss. Île de la
Jument. Boss wants you at the site. Details will come through in a
sec.” She nodded in Clelia’s direction. “I’ll take her back to
base.”

Josselin had a second to register the unease
he felt at leaving Clelia.

“Boss said on the double,” Maya said, giving
him a questioning look.

He nodded. “Take her to base and don’t let
anyone near her until I arrive.”

Maya already had her hand on Clelia’s arm.
“We’ve made arrangements for ground transport when you land on the
island. You better go by helicopter. It’ll be quicker.”

Josselin nodded again. He looked at Clelia’s
wet hair and legs, her injured knees, the cuts and bruises on her
hands, droplets of water still running from her thin jacket and
pooling by her small, red boots.

“Make sure she gets dry,” he said, surprising
himself more than Maya, who stared at him with unconcealed
astonishment.

With another quick glance at Clelia, he
turned and pressed on the link in his ear to cut off the noise from
the blades.

“Don’t kill the engine, Bono. We’re up again.
Île de la Jument,” he said.

“Got it, Joss,” Bono said, his voice happy.
Bono was always happy, but never as happy as when he could fly.
“Got the blades rolling. This baby’s spinning and ready for
you.”

* * * *

When she saw the dream unfold in front of
her, Clelia’s first sentiment was relief. Josselin was unharmed.
After that, panic hit. She could have made a run for the forest,
but then the journalist appeared in the path and a black vehicle
pulled up in the road. Both her escape routes were blocked. Defeat.
She was trapped. It wasn’t as painful as the defeat she felt when
the beautiful woman stepped from the vehicle. This had to be the
woman Josselin brought home.

For the month that the dream tortured her,
she willed herself to see the end of the scene, the outcome, but it
never transpired. How could she have been so foolish? What she saw
for the end was only the beginning. It had only just started. The
fear of the realization froze her. As in the dream, she couldn’t
move.

It hurt so bad that he didn’t remember their
kiss. He only recalled her as a child, nicknamed a witch, and he
called her the daughter of a fisherman to remind her of the
difference in cast–he from royalty, she from nothing. To add insult
to injury, she was being kept captive by Josselin’s woman.

The house they were keeping her in was close
to the harbor. She still didn’t know the woman’s name, but the
other man in the house was called Lann. He had greeted them by the
door. He was very tall and of slender but muscular build, with
long, straight blond hair and yellow cat-like eyes. With his
slightly elongated ears, he looked like an elf. While everything
about his appearance seemed gentle, Clelia wasn’t deceived by his
good looks. He wore a midnight blue dress shirt and black tailored
slacks. His shoes were polished shiny. The nails on his long,
supple fingers were neatly trimmed and filed, and he wore a gold
thumb ring on his right hand and a pinky ring with a ruby on his
left. He spoke English with a heavy Russian accent, asking if
Clelia wanted a cup of tea, which she declined, before he busied
himself with a kettle and a mug while the woman handed her a
towel.

Clelia removed her wet jacket and bundled it
into her backpack. Clutching the towel to her chest, she sat down
in the chair by the kitchen table as they had told her to. She was
desperate to come up with a plan of escape.

The woman turned to her now, her head
slightly tilted as she scrutinized Clelia. Her skin was a beautiful
brown–a smooth, spotless cappuccino that made a striking backdrop
for her green eyes. She had high cheekbones and a prominent nose.
Her lips were lush, painted a dark shade of red, the same color as
her long fingernails. Her dreadlocks fell over her shoulders down
her back. A red tank top and stretch pants showed off her perfect
curves and full breasts, eliciting Clelia’s envy. Around her neck,
she wore a huge, purple pendant–maybe an amethyst–and she had the
same stone in a pear cut on her index finger.

“I’m Maya,” she said, her tone unfriendly.
“You’re Erwan’s granddaughter.”

It was a statement, not a question, so Clelia
remained quiet.

“If you answer a few questions, we’ll
consider letting you go. Understand?”

Clelia regarded the woman who seemed cold and
distant.

“Where’s Erwan?” Maya said, walking to stand
in front of Clelia, her hands on her hips.

Clelia looked at Maya and recognized the
determination in the other woman’s eyes. She would do anything to
get her answers, and Clelia knew she wasn’t going to go anywhere
until Maya had those answers. She bit her lip, but didn’t say
anything.

Maya narrowed her eyes. “He’s not even your
real grandfather, so why protect him?”

“Who are you? What do you want from us?”

“I’ll ask the questions. Now, where were we
before you so rudely derailed my train of thought? Ah, yes. I’ll
repeat it for you.” She brought her face closer. “Where is he?”

“He’s innocent,” Clelia whispered. “He didn’t
do anything.”

“His DNA is all over every crime scene.”

“He visited each of the burnt houses. Plenty
of people did. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“If he were innocent, he wouldn’t have run. I
won’t ask you again. Where is he?”

Clelia stared at Maya. No matter what they
did to her, she’d never betray Erwan. He loved and protected her
when everyone else would have cast her out. How could they think
for even a second she’d give him up? She saw Maya’s face become
rigid, her expression tight, and before she could contemplate the
move, Maya’s arm lifted and the back of her hand came down hard
over Clelia’s face.

Maya’s bulky ring connected with Clelia’s
mouth, the sharp edge of the gemstone cutting her lip. The blow
sent Clelia’s head flying backward, and only the wall at her back
prevented her chair from toppling over. Clelia tasted the blood in
her mouth. She could feel her lip pulse as if it had a life of its
own.

Unmoved by the damage she’d caused, Maya
grabbed Clelia’s arm and jerked her and the chair upright. “I asked
you a question and I expect an answer.”

“Maya,” Lann said softly from the counter,
“gently.”

At that moment, the backdoor opened,
momentarily blinding Clelia. It was Josselin’s tall figure that
blocked out the light. He stood very still for a second, taking in
the scene in front of him, and then he took a deadly step forward
and slammed the door, causing the wall to shake.

“Let go of her, Maya,” he said. His voice
carried a threat.

Maya looked at him in surprise. “I’m
questioning a suspect.”

He closed the distance between them and
stopped in front of Maya. “I won’t tell you again.”

When Maya released her grip on Clelia’s arm,
Josselin said, “If you ever lay as much as a finger on her, ever
again, I’ll cut if off.”

Maya’s eyes widened, and she retreated as if
from an invisible push. She all but spat fire, while Lann sipped
his tea and appeared indifferent, as if watching a boring
spectacle.

With Maya at a safer distance, Josselin
turned his eyes on Clelia, his gaze fixed on her bleeding lip. His
finger traced the line of her lip, wiping away the blood, and
slowly, as if a scene were replaying from her past, he brought it
to his mouth and licked it clean.

“Why is she bleeding?” he said, his voice
calm but his cloudy eyes wild.

“My ring caught her lip,” Maya said.

“What was your ring doing in her face?” he
said, without looking away from Clelia’s mouth.

“It’s not the first time that we’ve used ...
firmer methods ... to extract information from our suspects. What’s
your problem, Joss?”

“Maya,” Lann said, “this is Joss’
territory.”

“So now you’re suddenly territorial?” she
said with a sneer. “Maybe you should go around and piss on every
tree.”

Clelia could see Josselin’s body tense. He
flexed his fingers and inhaled slowly. “Back off, Maya. Or find
yourself another team.”

“I don’t see–”

“I said, back off.” Josselin didn’t look at
Maya. “I’m your team leader, is that clear? Or do we have a
problem?”

There was a short pause, after which Maya
lifted her hands. “All right. I’m off.”

“I asked you a question, Maya,” Josselin
said.

“Yes, we’re clear. There’s no problem. But I
think Lann and I deserve an explanation. What exactly is going on
here?”

Instead of answering, Josselin studied Clelia
until she started fiddling with the frayed hem of her shorts. His
expression suddenly softened. Only then did he turn to Maya.

“If I had seen your arrogant face in the
state I was just in, I would have whipped your ass. You have no
idea how close you came to detention. If you ever lift your hand to
her again...” He left the threat hanging.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was suddenly as
tough as raw abalone. Josselin seemed to control himself with much
difficulty.

“I think I should make us all some tea,” Lann
said.

“Fuck the tea,” Maya said. “I think Joss
needs something stronger.”

Josselin opened his mouth but Lann lifted his
hand.

“Hold on,” Lann said. He touched the
apparatus in his ear. “Do you have your links on?”

Both Josselin and Maya reached for their
earpieces.

“I’ve got comms coming in.” He listened for a
moment and then he turned to Josselin. “It’s Cain. He’s flying
in.”

Josselin’s eyes seemed to simmer. “He’s
what?”

“He wants us to keep her until he gets
here.”

“Cain is coming in?” Maya looked at Josselin.
“Then this shit is bigger than we think.” Her gaze shifted to
Clelia. “If the boss is coming in, her old man is screwed.”

“Quiet, Maya,” Josselin said, concern etched
on his forehead. “I don’t know who’s screwed, but I get the feeling
it’s us.”

“Based on what?” Lann said.

“Don’t know,” Josselin said, “just an
itch.”

“I agree with Joss. I don’t like the feel of
this,” Maya said.

Lann leaned back against the counter. “Why
would Cain–” he started, but before he could complete his sentence,
the mug in his hand exploded.

Clelia watched in confused shock as a window
in the opposite wall shattered less than a split-second later.
Everything happened very fast. Lann, despite his docile appearance,
ducked behind the center island counter and lifted an automatic
rifle from an open duffle bag on the floor to his shoulder, aiming
through a telescope. Maya had dived, rolled, and ended on her feet
behind stainless steel storage shelves, withdrawing two pistols
from holsters on her hips, aiming them in the direction of the door
and the windows, while Josselin jumped, taking Clelia and the chair
to the floor in the process, covering her body with his. He
softened her fall with his arms behind her back, one big hand on
her head. Once they were flat on the floor, he stretched out on top
of her to shield her.

“What the fuck?” Maya hissed.

“Lann?” Josselin said.

Lann’s answer came from behind them. “I’m
fine. Got the back window and hallway covered.”