Chapter Seventeen

Tackling the closest blaze first, we drove to the intersection of Tolmon Creek Road and Siskiyou Boulevard, the main drag they’d closed because of the fire. We parked at Belleview Elementary School, where classes had been cancelled for the day. Police blockaded the road just past the school, with their cars parked near those white-striped orange barrels used in construction. One officer stood waving people to the detour.

I touched the bracelet still tied on my left wrist and mentally urged on that don’t-notice-me spell. Then I checked the gun I’d shoved in my jacket pocket. I didn’t need a jacket in this weather, of course, but I needed to conceal the weapon somehow and didn’t want to rely on the spell. Especially since it was Sheila’s gun, not mine, and I didn’t exactly have a permit to carry it around. Which wouldn’t be a problem, because we were going avoid attracting the notice of anyone official, I told myself.

Tony, Eliza, and Newt had no need for weapons. They were weapons.

We parked in the corner of the lot, making it fairly easy to walk the edge of the school fields and bypass the police officers, who weren’t focused on pedestrian traffic, anyway. Eliza called on the moon and pulled shifting shadows around us, just to make extra sure we escaped detection. We walked in the tree line just off the road, crossing people’s gravel driveways every so often. The air started to get heavier and we were close enough that the smoke burned my lungs.

“How many acres did they say were burning?” I asked.

“Nearly a hundred, last I heard,” said Eliza.

Of course, I didn’t have much concept of the size of an acre. But the smoke pouring into the sky and the massive array of fire trucks on the site proved this was a considerable fire.

An airplane droned overhead, low enough to make my heart race, and passed us on its way to the fire.

Something brushed against my side and I startled, then looked down and realized it was the black Were—Tony. His fur twitched and I snatched my hand back, as if shocked. He turned to look at me with amber eyes and darted slightly ahead.

“Tony,” Eliza called, in a quiet voice, nonetheless loud enough for any Were.

The wolf checked his stride for a moment and glanced back at the group. I saw the fur on the back of his neck stood at high alert. He visibly hesitated, then swung his head toward the fire and gave a low snarl that brought goosebumps to my arms. The next moment, he was gone.

I stopped. “Eliza?”

“Dammit.”

“Eliza.”

“He smells them, Julie. So do I. There’s at least two ’Manders and he’s gone after them. Dammit, he’s more wolf than human. He’ll lose himself completely if he’s not careful.”

Newt’s eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment. “One’s nearby. I can barely read the second.”

I glanced around wildly and put my hand on the gun in my pocket.

“How nearby?” I asked, proud to hear no fear in my voice.

“Not that close. At least one hundred fifty feet. Probably right near the fire line.” Newt reached out and touched me on the shoulder. The warmth of his hand coursed through me and lowered tension I hadn’t even felt in my shoulders.

“Okay. So Tony’s gone after him.”

“Her,” said Newt and Eliza at the same time.

“But—we killed her, the one with the cat eye glasses,” I said, then winced at the baldness of my statement.

“I don’t recognize this one’s scent,” said Eliza. “Must be reinforcements.”

She wheeled toward the two of us and pointed. “You two stay here. Newt, the fire’s yours—get it under control. Take the nearest Salamander if you can. I’m betting Tony’s gone after the far one, from the direction he took. I’m going after him. I’ll try to draw up whatever moisture I can as I run around the perimeter. That’ll help the firefighters.”

“We need to get rid of the Eclipsers. That will help the firefighters,” said Newt.

I nodded, pulled out my gun, and made a show of nonchalantly checking it.

“Be safe,” said Eliza, then slipped into wolf form and disappeared from my sight.

I realized we were no longer cloaked in darkness. The thought must have been transparent, because Newt said, “Hey, we’ve got the bracelets. I can also play with the light a bit, if we need it. No worries, Jules.”

“Right.”

We stayed close to cover and worked our way forward.

“How many more Salamanders do you think there are?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Newt, “I can take them.”

An edge in his voice surprised me and I glanced up at him, then stared. A nimbus of light surrounded him and his freckles looked like burnished copper. His spiky hair stood up, so distorted by heat-shimmer that it almost seemed crafted from flame. The expression on his face looked both labored and exalted.

“Um, Newt? What are you doing?” I asked.

He looked at me with eyes like sunlight on moving water. He smiled—his normal grin immensely relieving at that moment—and said, “I’m pulling heat from the fire and sinking it into the ground. Helps the firefighters. Will be easier when we’re closer.”

“Shouldn’t you wait until we get closer, then? So you don’t exhaust yourself?” I said.

He shook his head and I half-expected to see drops of sunlight thrown off his hair. “No, it feels good. Like stretching. Besides, I need to sink the heat a distance from the fire line so the hot ground doesn’t prevent containment.”

He pointed to the right, away from a fire brigade we glimpsed through the scrub. We climbed the slope of the Cascades now, just outside of town where houses were scant. I spared a moment to be thankful the Salamanders hadn’t started by hitting a major population center, but had thrown these fires toward the outskirts. Although that would change by tomorrow, if we weren’t successful.

Newt grabbed my arm—his hand hot through my jean jacket—and pointed. I squinted, but couldn’t make anything out, just a brown miasma of smoke rising into the air and bright flames piercing the woods. I swallowed hard.

“She’s there,” Newt said. “In that bright spot.”

I looked again and thought I might see a figure.

“Okay.” I switched the grip on my gun and wiped my hand against my jeans before taking hold of it again. “What now?”

“Jules?”

Newt’s eyes seemed to lose that uncanny light as he studied me.

“What?”

“You okay? You’re shaking.”

I tightened my mouth and met his gaze levelly. “I’m fine.”

“Hey. You’re not fine and that’s understandable. Not weakness.” He reached out and rested both his hands on my shoulders. Warmth from his touch trickled through my body. “It’s just fire, okay? You need to respect it, but you don’t need to fear it. Fire can’t hurt you while I’m here, while I’m right next to you. I promise.”

I nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied with whatever he saw on my face.

“Look.” He kept his left hand on my shoulder and cupped his right hand in front of me. His eyes slid out and back into focus and his fingers danced with flames, little orange flames that played over his hand.

I didn’t realize I’d tried to step backward until I felt his fingers on my shoulder holding me still.

“It can’t even burn you. I’ve pulled the heat away—this is just the flame.”

I saw the flickering flames, cradled in his hand. In my mind’s eye, I saw my house, engulfed in fire, and felt the remembered panic rising. Desperation when I couldn’t get through the hall to Carson’s room. The blackness, the searing flames, the heat, the crushing noise. Sheila’s arm, the skin blackened and bubbled.

Newt snapped me back to reality by drawing his hand down my arm until he clasped my hand, forcing my fingers to ease and open. His mouth relaxed in a smile, his gaze fixed on mine, and he brought my fingers to the dancing flames on his palm. I moved to jerk away, and he shushed me, the way I’d quiet Carson.

“The flames can’t burn you. Trust me.”

Our joined hands moved to the orange fire. I braced myself, ready to cry out and snatch my hand back, but I felt nothing—no burn. Barely heat. Just the flames themselves.

My face must have been full of wonder, because Newt laughed; his loose and ready merriment unexpected in the middle of everything.

“You see?” He dropped my hand, although I continued to pass my fingers through the fire. “That’s what I can do when I’m nearby. The fire can’t hurt you with me here. At all.”

A shadow crossed his face and his jaw tightened. “Just wish I’d been closer to Sheila yesterday.”

The flames snapped out on his hand.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” I said. I couldn’t think about Sheila right then, had to clear my head for this fight. I squared my shoulders and gave Newt a decisive nod. “Game on.”

Newt and I skirted the edge of the fire zone, staying well away from the firefighters. Luckily, the Eclipser must have had the same idea, so we were able to move close to her without being near any of the crews. Or at least, Newt assured me we were close and the glaring shaft of sunlight hid her from my view.

“I’d rather not have to kill her,” said Newt, a grim note in his voice indicating he was nonetheless ready for the possibility.

“Okay. So what’s the plan?”

Newt tightened his lips in thought while staring at the Salamander. “I’m going to call flames around her, like a cage. Make it clear she can’t get away. Try to capture her that way.”

I nodded and didn’t ask the obvious questions: how could we keep a fire-calling creature captive for long? Wouldn’t she burn anyone who came near her? If we imprisoned her somewhere, wouldn’t she ignite the building? I full-heartedly agreed—in concept—we shouldn’t kill every enemy we ran up against, but I just didn’t know if we’d have the luxury of allowing her to live.

Newt’s plan would have gone smoothly, if this Salamander hadn’t been more skilled than the others we’d fought.

We closed within thirty feet and still escaped detection, either because of Sheila’s bracelets or because the ’Mander focused on the blaze. Newt gave me a nod, his eyes once again brilliant blue-white, and called up vivid purple flames to encircle the ’Mander. In the midst of the fire, I saw her: a dark shadow suddenly apparent against the glare. She froze within the flickering prison, then moved to face us. The noise of the fire surrounded us, and more distantly, the fire crews working—background to our confrontation.

Newt grinned. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and the air danced around him, but he stood there with arms relaxed at his sides and a keen look on his face. He walked forward and I made haste to follow him with my gun up and ready.

We approached the fiery cage. Heat leapt from the flames to batter me and I fought trembling muscles tensed to flee. Newt wouldn’t let the fire hurt me, I reminded myself and remembered the tickle of those small orange flames on my fingers. Only the most skilled Salamanders could call this type of flesh-searing blaze, so I tried to take comfort in the demonstration of his skill.

This close, I saw the ’Mander plainly. She appeared to be in her sixties, with gorgeous steel-gray hair cut short: sleek and stylish. Her eyes were dark and outlined with a strong line, her lips painted a clear red, and everything about her exuded confidence.

Newt spoke in a voice pitched to carry. “I don’t want to kill you. But I will.”

The corners of the Salamander’s mouth curved up in a smile, and I felt my heartbeat speed in response.

Newt continued. “If you pledge on the sun not to harm us, I will drop the fire.”

“Not necessary, dog-lover.” Her voice rang out deep and rich; she wasn’t our so-called Ma’at.

Almost before she finished spitting the last words, she raised her hands and threw fire—purple fire, hers nearly fluorescent. The flames streamed in a blinding bundle straight at Newt.

“Shit!” I yelled. I leapt away from Newt, crashed right into a nearby tree, and fell. Pain lanced through me as I landed. Everything happened at once: I looked at Newt just as the fire reached him.

He held up his hands and caught the purple flames. I gasped, waiting for him to scream. The woman’s fire wreathed his hands then slowly, slowly blanched to white and bled into orange flickers that raced up and down his arms and disappeared.

I picked up my gun and spun around to focus on the woman. Newt’s cage of fire had disappeared—he must have lost concentration—and I looked around wildly to find the Eclipser.

Fire bloomed in the branches near me and I screamed, scrabbling in the pine needles to push myself away. The fire guttered and Newt stood at my side. He put one hand on my shoulder, heat radiating from his skin into me.

“You’re okay.” He gave me the smallest of shakes. “Jules.”

I pushed myself up on my knees and took a deep breath. His body was warm beside me, like a hearth in the winter. It quelled some of the shaking in my gut.

“Where did she go?” I asked, once again steadying my gun.

His eyes narrowed and purple flames shot up to our left. I trained my gun on the area.

“You’re good,” Newt called in a strong voice. “I’ll give you that. But I’m better. And this is your last chance.”

She lobbed flames and fire fountained in the tree next to us: orange and red. Newt gestured impatiently and snuffed the fire down. The flames around the other Salamander rose taller and deepened into indigo.

Purple fire spat out in our direction and I realized the woman could only call flames with a touch; that was why she threw it at us, while Newt could call fire at a distance to appear around her. As he drained the new flesh-searing flames—this time not losing focus on the prison he created—the other Salamander lobbed bright globes of white fire over our heads. I heard a tremendous crack and roar. I twisted and saw dark, rushing movement framed by white flames. I think I shot my gun. Then Newt was there, sweat pouring down his face. He pushed me hard and then something slammed me into the ground.