Kissed by Fire (11 page)

“Or chose them,” I reminded him.

“It is possible that the truth of the matter
has been lost to time,” Eddie admitted. “There could have been some
who were born already channeling their power.”

“It seemed like it. They were too young to
have spent the number of years in practice the book indicated. But
let me tell you, the woman was freaked. She killed herself, Eddie.
She kept saying, or thinking, that she couldn’t control the Fire.
There was such ... rage in her, such hunger. To burn. To destroy.”
That was what really freaked me out.

Eddie sighed. “It sounds like she was burning
out. If she was born with the power, she should have had better
control over it, but from what you’ve described it seems she
didn’t. She killed herself to save those she loved.”

“In other words, she was about to go
critical?”

“Yes, indeed.”

Great. That was all I needed. As if the
Darkness weren’t hard enough to deal with, I was now channeling a
power that might make me blow up and take a city with it. Just
dandy.

“But what about this Moon guy? That’s not an
element.”

“Oh, yes, that’s an interesting one.” Eddie
had his lecturer voice on. “The Moon is often associated with
nature worship. Artemis was both moon goddess and nature goddess,
goddess of the hunt. This Iah was most likely able to channel
Earth.”

“That would make sense. So, he was an Earth
Mage and she was a Fire Mage who fed herself to a dragon. And
that’s another thing. She seemed to be friends with the dragon,
despite the fact it killed her. Not exactly the same picture of
dragons Alister painted.”

“Hmm, interesting, let’s see.” More page
flipping. “Ah, yes. It appears that Elemental Mages often had
affinity with supernatural creatures of their element. Dragons are
of Fire, therefore it would make sense for a Fire Mage to befriend
a dragon. Odd choice for friendship, but there you go.”

“So the dragon burned her out of
friendship?”

“Yes, of course.” He seemed surprised I would
doubt it. “The water most likely would not have destroyed her power
permanently. Dampened it maybe, but not destroyed it. You’ve heard
the saying ‘fight fire with fire.’”

Fantastic. I was going to wind up eaten by a
dragon. Then a thought occurred.

“Eddie, I have an affinity with vampires.
They’re not my friends, but ... ” I couldn’t finish the
thought.

“You’re wondering if that affinity has
something to do with the Darkness?”

“Yes.” My voice was small. I didn’t like how
weak and helpless all this Elemental stuff made me feel.

“It’s possible of course, but not necessarily
so. After all, you are a Hunter. Hunters often have affinity of
some nature with their prey. That’s what makes them good at their
jobs.” His voice was hearty and cheering. It made me smile. Eddie
always tried to make me feel better, no matter how bad the news. He
was like a wonderful, crazy uncle with bad fashion sense. I decided
then and there I was going to bring him back something
breathtakingly tacky to wear. Like Union Jack boxer shorts. He’d
love them.

“I really think you ought to talk to Jack, my
dear,” Eddie’s voice grew quieter. “If anyone would know how to
help you, it would be him. He hasn’t seen nine hundred years for
nothing.”

By “help” I knew he really meant “save.” I
must be in a hell of a lot more trouble than I realized. Freaking
fantastic.

“Thanks Eddie. I knew I could count on
you.”

“Always my dear.” I heard the sadness in his
voice under the false bravado. Right then I felt more scared and
alone than I’d ever been. Even on the night I died.

***

I didn’t sleep much the rest of the night.
The idea of having another nightmare combined with the very real
possibility this stupid Fire thing could kill me was enough to keep
anyone awake. Naturally Kabita noticed.

“You look like crap,” she said over the rim
of her coffee mug.

“Gee, thanks. If you don’t stop with the
flattery I might get a big head.” I slapped some butter on a
croissant and took a bite.

“Too late.”

I flipped her off and took another bite of
croissant. My stomach wasn’t feeling pleased this morning. I knew
I’d be hungry in an hour, but bread was the only thing that didn’t
make me feel like hurling.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Her voice held a bit
more sympathy.

“Not so much, no. I had another dream.” I’d
told Kabita about the dreams. She didn’t take them quite as
seriously as I did, but then she wasn’t the one having them. Nor
was she the one channeling weird mystical energies. Or whatever.
Which was something I hadn’t told her.

“You talked to Eddie?”

“Yeah, of course. He was quite helpful.” I
paused. “He wants me to talk to Jack.”

She raised a brow. “Then why don’t you? I
thought the two of you had some kind of thing going on. This
incredible chemistry or whatever.”

“We did.” I couldn’t quite help the sadness
that crept in. “We had amazing chemistry. I really thought we were
going somewhere and then this stupid Atlantean Royal Bloodline
thing and he freaks out and heads for the hills.”

“You want me to show him my ninja junk punch
skills?”

I laughed at that. “Thanks, but no. I’m
trying to make him see sense, not scare the daylights out of him.
Though he was a Templar Knight, so I doubt he’d be all that
scared.”

“He should be.” Her face was calm, her voice
expressionless. She kind of scared
me
when she did that.

“Well, I’ll keep it in mind should my powers
of persuasion not work.” Which so far they hadn’t. I might need her
NJP skills after all.

“Good.” She set down her cup. “What’s on the
agenda for today?”

“Sandra Fuentes invited me to her shop in
Soho, so I thought I’d head over there. I’ve a feeling that woman
knows a lot more than she’s saying. It would be good to have a
longer chat with her.” I tossed the remainder of my croissant onto
my plate. My appetite just wasn’t there.

Kabita nodded. “Good idea. She’s definitely
got more up her sleeve than she’s showing and she appeared to like
you. Goddess knows why.”

I chucked a croissant at her. “How about
you?”

“I was thinking of heading over to Alison’s
place. See if there’s anything useful MI8 missed. I’ve got a
meeting with an old client first, though, so I’ll head over after
lunch.”

“Why don’t I go with you? We can meet up
after you do your meeting thing and my visit with Sandra.” I really
didn’t want her going there alone. She was putting on a brave face,
but I knew her well enough to know this was really hard for her. It
would be hard for anyone.

She looked relieved. “Yeah, that sounds good.
I’ll text you her address and we’ll meet there at two.”

I nodded and headed for the lobby. I still
felt shaky and disoriented from the dream. “Pull yourself together,
Morgan,” I muttered under my breath. “This is no time to fall
apart.”

Not sure the pep talk worked, but as I
stepped out into the sun I felt a little better. I might not know
yet what to do about my fabulous new superpowers, but at least I
was doing something for Alison. Maybe in finding her answers, I’d
find some of my own.

Sometimes when you haven’t lived in a place
for a long time, you forgot the little things that annoyed you.
Hordes of tourists were one of those things.

As I dodged yet another couple stopped dead
in the middle of the pavement to gawp at something or other, I
tried to rein in my temper. Honestly some people didn’t have the
brains the gods gave a turnip.

It was a gorgeous sunny day and Carnaby
Street was packed. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Carnaby was such
a cute little street, crammed with beautiful little shops filled
with all kinds of treasures. Then I saw something that stopped me
in my tracks.

Just ahead of me, headed my way, were two
men. They were tall and well built, but not overly muscular. They
were holding hands, but that was nothing unusual. Soho was known as
the gay Mecca of London, so two men holding hands was pretty much
par for the course. The thing that stopped me was their faces.

Their almost too handsome faces kept
shifting. One minute they wore one face and the next time you
looked they had a different one, their faces moulding and changing
from one incarnation to the next.

No one else seemed to notice, but I did. I’d
seen that phenomenon before. They were sidhe.

The two men drew closer and, as they passed
me, they nodded at me in unison. My heart froze then started
pounding double time. They’d noticed me. For the second time in a
matter of months the sidhe had not only noticed me, they’d
acknowledged my presence with something almost like respect. I
shuddered with the thought. I had no idea why the sidhe were
suddenly taking such a keen interest in me and I didn’t like
it.

It was never a good thing to come to the
attention of the sidhe. They had a way of making life very
difficult. Even if they liked you. They were more likely to dislike
you, and then you were in deep shit.

The sidhe disappeared around a corner.
Suddenly I could breathe easier.

I darted left up Ganton Street and finally
found Sandra’s shop tucked in between a men’s tailor and a shoe
shop. Honestly, you couldn’t miss it. The trim around the front
window was painted a bright golden yellow while the door was a hot,
fiery orange. Orange letters picked out in gold across the window
proclaimed “The Dragon’s Den.” Cute, real cute.

The best thing about the shop had to be the
enormous paper-mâché dragon taking up the entire front window. It
was painted fire engine red with gold and orange accents and yellow
jewels for eyes. It was incredibly impressive and I wondered if
this was another result of Sandra’s own particular brand of magic,
or if she’d actually made it by hand.

A little bell above the door tinkled as I
entered the store, reminding me of Eddie’s shop back in Portland. I
suffered a tiny pang of homesickness. How could a person be
homesick for two different places?

“Morgan Bailey! Welcome to my shop. I’m so
thrilled you’ve come.” Sandra came bustling out from behind the
counter, wrapping me in a perfume scented hug. She might look
nothing like her sister, but she was just as effusive and had the
same sense of drama if her outfit was anything to go by.

Sandra was dressed in a flowing white gown
with a scooped neck and long bell sleeves like something out of a
tale of Camelot. She must have been wearing some seriously good
underwear because her chest was boosted to the sky showing an
enormous amount of cleavage. Gold cords were wrapped around her
waist in Grecian style to match her gold sandals and she was
wearing a crimson cloak, of all things.

A multitude of gold bracelets jangled on her
arm as she waved to indicate the rows upon rows of dragon
paraphernalia. “Isn’t it marvelous? I dreamed about a shop like
this for such a long time. Then my third husband died and left me
quite a lot of money.
Voila!
The Dragon’s Den was born.”

It was quite something. I didn’t think I’d
ever seen so many items to do with dragons in one place in my life.
There were dragon statuettes, paper-mâché dragons, dragon
paperweights and paintings of dragons. An entire wall was devoted
to shelves of books about dragons. There was even a glass case with
a sign that claimed the artifacts inside the case were dragon
artifacts, though it mostly looked like a bunch of old bones and
bits of leather to me.

“It’s great, Sandra. Really amazing.”

She beamed at me. “Why thank you. It really
was a labor of love.”

“Do you sell many dragons?”

“Oh, much more online than in the shop, of
course. But you never know when a person will need a dragon.”

“No, I suppose not,” I murmured. I wondered
what sort of emergency would require a person to hit the streets of
London searching out dragon statues. I also wondered vaguely how to
broach the subject of her abilities.

“I suppose,” she said, leaning against the
counter, “you’re wondering how to broach the subject of my
magic.”

I must have looked startled because she let
out a laugh very much like Cordelia’s. “It was written all over
your face. You’ve a very expressive face, Morgan. You show the
world everything you’re feeling.”

Great. And here I thought I was a badass
vampire hunter with endless emotional fortitude. And calm. Heh.

“Since you mention it, yes, I would like to
know more about your ability. How long have you been able to do ...
what you do?”

“Oh, all my life,” she said. “I was still an
infant when I turned my rattle dragon shaped.”

I found that difficult to believe, but I kept
my face still, trying not to show my doubt. It didn’t work.

“You don’t believe me, of course,” she said
with a smile. “I don’t blame you. It’s not as though I could prove
it. My mother was there, but my mother was a bit unstable so no one
believed her, either.”

This was the first I’d heard of Cordy’s
mother being nuts, but then again it wasn’t something you just
brought up in conversation generally. Cordelia and I hadn’t known
each other that long.

“Cordy didn’t tell you?”

“Uh, no.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure she understood.
We were both very young when Mother died. Still, the fact remains
that my ability has always been with me. I did it again when I was
three, turned a teaspoon into a figure of a dragon. I remember it
clearly. We were at the dinner table and father was furious because
they were silver spoons. Even worse his mother was there and she
was not a fan.”

“Of magic?”

“That. And my mother. Considered her a bad
influence on my father.” She laughed again and it was light and
bright like Cordy’s. “Trust me. My father needed a bad influence in
his life. Anyway,” she continued, “here it is all these years later
and I’m still turning things into dragons.”