Firebug (8 page)

Ryan stuck his hand out. “Ava's
boyfriend
,” he added.

Ezra feigned surprise. “Why, Ava, you sly dog.” He slid into the seat next to Ryan, ignoring his outstretched hand. Instead, he slid his arm around the back of the booth and got up-close and personal. “Well, aren't you the looker.” He grabbed Ryan's chin. “Isn't he just the end, Lock? So very pretty.”

“He
is
pretty,” Lock said. “Would you say eyelashes to die for, Aves?”

Ezra gave Ryan's chin a little shake. “I could just eat you up.” The light caught Ezra's eyes, and they shone. He suddenly became very serious. “I really could.” Ryan shrank away from him, and I could tell he'd caught the oddly implied threat. Then he realized what he was doing and straightened his shoulders, chest out.

By then, bouncy Ezra was back. “You simply must tell us all about yourself.”

“Aves hasn't mentioned a boyfriend,” Lock chimed in, “and we're just dying to hear all about you.” Liar. My friends were filthy lying sadists. Lock grabbed Ryan's hand off the table and shook it, winking at him conspiratorially. “She's fond of her little secrets, aren't you, cupcake?” He chucked me on the chin. He actually took his knuckles and gave my chin an affectionate little push. Between that and the use of “cupcake,” I think Ryan was experiencing some sort of aneurysm. I know I was.

Dead. The bastard was dead. I didn't care how pissed Lock was that I'd tried to keep Ryan a secret.

Ryan looked thrown by the whole thing. He was used to being the one who started the trouble, who stirred things up. What he didn't know was that he was a small-town amateur next to Ezra. On some level, he recognized that he was outclassed, and he didn't know what to do.

Why had I kept him from my friends? I'd tried to tell them once, but it had felt strangely like I was betraying Lock. I wasn't supposed to keep secrets, though, not from him, and he was hurt, so he was pushing me into hot water with Ryan. Ezra was just in it for the fun.

Mostly I'd kept Ryan to myself because it was nice to have one corner of my life not touched by the Coterie. So much for that. Besides, it felt weird and almost juvenile to call up Lock and gush about my boyfriend. I wasn't that kind of girl and he knew it.

Apparently neither of us was being terribly understanding about the other's foibles at the moment, if our mutual glare was any indication. I briefly considered setting Lock's hair on fire just to teach him a lesson. There was enough product in there that it would only take a spark. I put my closed fist up by my forehead and pushed my fingers out like an explosion. “Snap, crackle, pop,” I sang softly.

“Don't you dare.”

All the fun must have left the situation for Ezra because he was no longer doing his part of the flirting. In fact, he appeared slightly alarmed. “Where are my manners?” He surged out of the booth and damn near shoved me into it. “You guys must be ready to gnaw the leg off a buffalo, am I right?” He laughed a little hysterically. Before I could reply, he'd called over some waiters and told the group that it was, of course, on the house. The last was meant to mollify my companions, but all it did was take me from hot water to molten lava. Now I was going to have to explain why I was getting star treatment in a restaurant that no one at the table had ever been in and that I had tried avoid. Gah. This is why I hate surprises.

I should have feigned Ebola and stayed home.

4

F
OR
S
AFETY'S
S
AKE,
H
IDE
THE
C
UTLERY

I
MET LOCK
and Ezra about a year after I showed up on Cade's doorstep. That's the time the Coterie gave me, and it wasn't out of softheartedness. It wasn't for mourning purposes either. They wanted my powers to finish developing. You could almost choke on their goodwill, right? Venus showed up at our cabin, all glamour and manicured nails, to tell us how lucky I was to be joining her organization.

During the conversation, two things became evident. First, my mom hadn't been exaggerating when she said firebugs are rare. I've met a handful during my lifetime, but then again, we wandered all over the fifty states and occasionally had to seek help from other supernaturals. Statistically speaking, we were bound to trip over a few of them. But as Venus sat at our table and shoved her deal down my throat, it clarified for me how valuable I was to her. Venus was the head of the Coterie organization. For her to do this personally was like the president showing up at an army recruitment office in Dingle, Idaho.

I slouched in my chair and looked at her. Venus's face was friendly, unlike the stony faces of her guards outside, or the creepy face of her sidekick, who'd been introduced as Owen. She wasn't taking any chances on losing me by sending henchmen. The way she'd lost my mother. I interrupted her spiel about the benefits of Coterie life (protection, safety, power, and cement shoes for anyone who tries to leave) with a question. Well, it was more of a statement, really.

“You killed my mother.” I said it matter-of-factly, because everyone there knew it was true. I wanted to get it out into the open air, to test it and see how it felt.

Venus assessed me with her emotionless eyes. I've seen warmer expressions in the eyeballs of
carp
. I'm not sure what she saw; I certainly wasn't intimidating at the age of fourteen. Almost fourteen. I was all elbows and knees and big hair, but for whatever reason, she decided to go with the truth.

“Yes,” she said simply. “Though her death was not my intention.”

Nope, just garden-variety kidnapping and enforced-labor. “Still your fault,” I said. The anger in my voice didn't even touch her. We could have been discussing my shoes or the annual rainfall in Switzerland.

“That little snafu cost me greatly. I appreciate your saving me the trouble of executing my team by doing so yourself.” Venus pulled out a cigarette in one of those long holders you see in pictures from the 1920s. She placed the stem between her lips and waited only the slimmest of seconds before the tip lit. Behind her, Owen smiled. “Ava, I'm going to cut right to the thick of things, since you seem to be a girl who appreciates honesty. My offer? Not really an offer. It is, however, a choice. You may go through the blood-pact ceremony and join the Coterie, or start buying burial plots for any humans or pets you hold dear. ‘No'
is
an option, but it's a terrible one.” The cherry of her cigarette brightened as she inhaled. “I will destroy everything and everyone you've ever loved. I will raze this whole town if need be. I will salt the earth so that nothing, not even the smallest weed, can come back, and I will not lose any sleep over it.”

She meant it too. That much was clear. Under the table I reached over and grabbed Cade's hand. He wrapped his fingers around mine and held tight.

“Or,” she continued, “you can live a relatively normal existence. Happy in your”—she looked around the cabin, her amusement at our provincial life evident—“home. You work for me on an as-needed basis. I keep you safe, because believe me when I say there are others who want your services, and they won't be nearly as concerned with your happiness and welfare as I am.”

So my choice was death for anyone in a twenty-mile radius, or life under her thumb. Cade squeezed my hand again, and I knew he'd support any decision I made. He would go on the run with me if I wanted. I felt the gentle warmth of his hand and knew that wasn't going to work this time. I thought the world of Cade, but he was human. Fragile. And to Venus, expendable. He'd be dead in six months. If we stayed in Currant, at least I could keep an eye on Venus and the Coterie. I could keep Cade safe. I desperately needed to do that. He was the only person left who loved me, and I would do anything to protect him. Even if it meant working for the person who killed my mother.

There really wasn't enough therapy in the world to make the situation okay.

 

 

AT FIRST
Venus tried to schedule training sessions with Owen at the Inferno. I like to think of Venus and Owen's relationship as akin to that between sea anemones and clown fish. Apart, they don't amount to much. Together, they form a perfect symbiotic relationship. The anemone provides a safe home for the clown fish, which is immune to its stinging barbs. In return, the clown fish chases away butterfly fish, which would eat the anemone. The clown fish's poo also feeds the sea anemone. Nature—it's both amazingly complex and totally disgusting. Just like Owen and Venus. They protect each other, they benefit from each other, and there's a lot of crap involved, metaphorically speaking.

Owen's training sessions were a disaster, much like the Chernobyl accident was “a bit of a spill.” The end result was someone pulling a shrieking ball of me off of Owen while somebody else hit me with the spray from a fire extinguisher. The cold white foam did nothing to stop my spot-on banshee impression. Owen was laughing, which made me kick at him again before they removed me completely. I connected with a meaty
thunk
, but he just laughed harder. Totally not gratifying.

I was still screaming curses and verbal bile while I was carried out of the room by my waist. I must have been a charming sight—spit flying from my mouth, my face red, snot dripping from my nose, and the rest of me completely covered in whatever that flame-retardant stuff is that comes out of fire extinguishers. Whoever had me didn't speak, and I was too out of it to care until I was bumped through the kitchen door and thrown into the area where the big rubber kitchen mats were hosed down. Then the hose was turned on me. The tile smelled, the water was ice cold, but I sat there until I was thoroughly drenched. Gone were the snot, white foam, and my red face. I was a Popsicle, but a calm one.

A skinny dark-haired guy serenely coiled up the hose and replaced it on the wall hook. He seemed to be only a few years older than I was, and while his manner was cool, he looked pretty dorky. Too much floppy emo hair and overtly hipster clothing to do him any good, and I'm not even going to get into the ironic mustache. It should, in fact, never be mentioned. Ever.

The other guy, the one still holding a fire extinguisher, looked like an angel had decided to slum it here on earth. His features had an Asian cast to them, but his hair was full of strange russet highlights and his whiskey-amber eyes looked lined in kohl. Somehow, through the whole ordeal, he'd managed to stay clean. Hipster Mustache, however, hadn't.

“Feel better?” Mustache said, leaning against the wall.

I nodded, shivering.

“Good. Let's get you a towel, then.” He got me dried off as best he could while I was still in drenched clothes, and then they took me back to Owen. Out of the two of us, Owen definitely seemed to have come out better in the fight. When I entered, Venus was—I kid you not—stroking his hair like he was a dog. Owen, sitting in front of her divan, didn't seem to mind.

Venus gave him a final pat, then rose and sauntered toward me. Her perfect mouth quirked as if trying to restrain a smile, and her eyes damn near twinkled. As I got older I'd learn that when Venus was like this, she was to be feared more than usual. She was at her most dangerous when she was feeling whimsical.

Leaning close, she whispered in my ear, “You're dripping all over my nice carpet, my lovely.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. I didn't feel particularly sorry, but I said it anyway.

“Yes, you are,” she said, her hand lovingly caressing my face. “Take them off.”

I blinked at her. “What?”

“Your clothes,” she said. “Take them off. I don't want your wet rags saturating my wonderful things.”

“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. “Show me where to—”

She cut me off and pointed down. “I'm not letting you puddle down my hallways just to give you the gift of privacy. And it is a gift, Ava. Every basic right you enjoy is a present from me.” She patted my cheek.

The fight and the hose-down had been bad enough. No way was I stripping down just to please her majesty. “No.”

I don't even remember her hitting me. I just went from standing to on the floor in an instant. The scrawny emo kid was looming over me, gently nudging me awake. His gray eyes were clouded, and his brow was knitted so tightly that his eyebrows could have reached out and high-fived each other. He helped me up carefully, and I was very proud that I only swayed a little as I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. I noticed the other guy was still with us too, on my other side.

My vision blurred as I tried to get a lock on Venus. She was back on the divan, lounging like Cleopatra, Owen standing behind her. There were more people now, her entourage having swelled while I was unconscious. Fifteen or so total, all seemingly completely at ease. I'm sure some of them were brought in as punishment and were just faking their composure. I eventually learned that when it comes to torture, Venus was a multitasker.

“I believe I gave you an order.”

I knew better than to argue again. If I did, next time I woke up, the audience would have tripled. So I pulled off my cold, wet jacket and let it drop to the floor. My face was blank, my movements unhurried. I knew that the more I reacted, the more pleased Venus would be, and the last thing I wanted to do was make that twisted harpy happy.

My fingers were frozen, and I was shaking too much to undo my shirt buttons. The emo kid touched my shoulder gently until I looked up and gave him a nod. My useless hands at my sides, I let a strange boy undress me in front of other strangers and felt only relief. At least with his help it would be over quickly.

The pants were the hardest. They were stuck, so I had to hold on to the pretty boy's shoulders while the emo one yanked the soaked jeans off my shaking legs. By the time my underwear hit the carpet I wasn't even embarrassed anymore. Just tired and cold and ready to go home.