Master of Fire (13 page)

It would be so easy to get Terrence in here and turn him loose. If she timed the bombing for shift change, he could take out three-quarters of the deputies and all of the department’s administration, up to and including the sheriff.

It was definitely something to think about.

She let herself imagine it: the roiling smoke, the screams of the dying, the blood and missing limbs, men turned to hamburger in the blink of an eye.

God, she was so tempted.

But no. It was much better to try a surgical strike first. Otherwise, it might not be clear to Arthur that their true objective among all those dead cops had been his precious son.

And she wanted him to know.

 

 

Terrence put his
cell back on its belt clip, a smile of anticipation on his face. Finally! He’d been going out of his mind with boredom stuck in this hotel room, waiting for the client to let him know when she wanted him to make another attempt.

Generally, he did not allow those who hired him to dictate how he did his job. But this one was paying him a great deal extra to indulge her.

Now she’d given him permission to carry out the kind of deadly artistry that was his forte.

Better yet, this one would be a challenge. He’d never tried to combine an arson with not just one but a series of bombs. Bombs designed specifically to take out first responders.

Dead cops. Dead firemen. A sense of power rolled over him, exhilarating and arousing. Terrence hardened behind his zipper in a rush of heat and swelling lust.

His mind raced as he started considering the possibilities. First, though, he’d need to find a house he could burn to provide the setup he needed.

He contemplated whether to arrange civilian fire victims. It was a tempting idea, but perhaps a little too ambitious. If he tried to plant devices while the victims were at home, the chances of getting caught were just too great. Armed homeowners, someone calling 911—

Definitely too dangerous.

So he’d look for a place whose occupants were on vacation. Somewhere there were no neighbors, or the other residents were gone during the day. It would take time to find a place like that, and still more time to design and plant his devices.

He’d have to work like a dog to get everything ready, but he should be able to finish his preparations by Friday.

A cold smile playing around his lips, Terrence picked up his notebook and digital camera and headed for the door.

 

 

Smoke dozed, eyes
half-closed, under his favorite azalea. He’d walked his usual warding spell around the yard, so it was safe enough. The ward would wake him if anyone tried to cross its boundary.

He rather hoped someone would. He was looking forward to sinking his fangs into the bastard who was tormenting Giada and Logan.

“Smoke!”

He jerked fully awake at the low hiss. “Giada?”

Skimming out from under the bush, he found her looking miserable as she stood on the house’s brick front steps. She wore jeans and a wrinkled inside-out T-shirt that looked as if she’d donned it in the dark, and her face gleamed with silver tear tracks in the moonlight. Alarmed, he demanded, “What’s the matter?”

“Let’s move away from the house.” She sniffed and headed for the woods at the edge of the backyard. “Logan’s asleep, and I don’t want to wake him.”

Worried, Smoke trotted after her. When he judged they’d put enough distance between themselves and the house he asked the obvious question. “What’s the boy done now?”

“It’s not him.” Her lips trembled. “It’s me. I had sex with him! I tried not to, but I just couldn’t stop.”

The story emerged in a whispered rush, nasal with tears. Smoke looked up at her, his tail tip twitching in suspicion. There was something wrong with this story. Smelled like a spell to him.

“I’m coming up.” He gathered himself and jumped. She caught him automatically and drew him into a cuddle. He suspected the hug was more for her comfort than his.

As she continued her tearful self-flagellation over her lack of control, Smoke gave her a thorough but unobtrusive sniff.

The child definitely smelled of magic other than her own. The alien scent led right to the emerald pendant around her slender throat. One more good sniff, and he recognized the dark blend of musk, cinnamon, and magic.
Morgana’s been a busy girl—again.
“Where did you get that necklace?”

Giada glanced down at the stone and sniffed again. “Morgana gave it to me. It’s supposed to enhance my powers during the day. Works, too.”

That’s not all it’s doing
. He flicked the end of his tail, thinking. It would make Giada feel better if he told her she was the victim of a spell, but then she’d promptly dump the necklace. He wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. Morgana was arrogant and often too ruthless by half, but on this particular occasion, she was also right.

It was past time Logan became a Magus.

Even the boy knew it. The only unknown was why he was stalling. His fears obviously had something to do with whatever had happened when he was fourteen. The cat huffed, irritated with Logan’s uncharacteristic secrecy.

“What am I going to do, Smoke?” Giada moaned. “I can’t let this happen again. But how can I prevent it, when I don’t even understand why I lost control this time? The need—I’ve never felt anything like it.”

The cat winced at the prick of unaccustomed guilt. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, child. Logan wants you, and he can be very seductive.”

“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t want anything to do with me if he knew I was Magekind.” She frowned, head down, studying the leafy ground in front of her sneaker-clad feet. “I wonder if I should tell him.”

“God, no. Arthur ordered you not to, remember?”

“He also told me to stay out of Logan’s bed. Maybe I should tell
him
what happened and ask him what to do.”

“He’d hit the ceiling.” And Gwen would take one look at the necklace and spot Morgana’s fine hand at work.

“And then he’d rip a strip off my hide.” Giada sighed. “But I deserve it. Might as well open a gate and get it over with . . .”

Alarmed, Smoke realized he had to nip this in the bud—fast. “I think not. Now that you’ve experienced the effect, I’m sure you can fight it.”
Not likely.
“Go back to your own bed and try to get some sleep. It takes at least three exposures to trigger the Gift, remember? Logan will be fine.”

“Are you sure?” She frowned, concern drawing a line between her blond brows. “I really think I should report in.”

You certainly should
. But since that didn’t suit Smoke’s plans at all, he lied without twitching an ear. “There’s no point in getting Gwen and Arthur stirred up over this. You won’t let it happen again.”

“But Smoke, you don’t know what it’s like!”

He had a pretty good idea. Giada didn’t stand a chance. “I have faith in you, child.”

Actually, he did. Of all the females he’d met in Avalon, Giada was the most perfect for Logan. And since the boy was no fool, it wouldn’t take him long to realize it.

Of course, after Logan became a vampire, there would be a royal row—literally—when the truth came out. Smoke would have to take his share of the blame, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to disappear until tempers cooled. They’d eventually see he was right and get over it.

It took some coaxing, but he finally got Giada to go back inside. He slipped back under his bush with a sigh of relief.

 

 

It was close
to dawn when he heard his name whispered again. “Smoke!”

Logan. He was surprised it had taken the boy so long. Poking his head out from under his bush, he glowered up at his friend. “What?”

Logan crouched and studied him with a frown. “Is Giada a Maja?”

Oh, gods and devils, Smoke had been afraid that question was coming. “No.” It was distasteful lying to the boy, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice.

“Damn.”

Smoke flicked an interested ear at the mutter. “I thought you didn’t want to become a Magus.”

“I don’t.” Logan sank onto his butt in the grass and folded his long legs tailor-fashion. “But I’d rather Giada wasn’t mortal.”

Suddenly Smoke felt much better about taking so many liberties with the truth. “Like the girl, do you?”

“She’s perfect.” He grimaced. “Except for the whole getting old and dying thing. And I can’t stay mortal for much longer. Dad needs me.”

“He’s needed you for years, boy.”

“But not if it means taking my fucking head.”

Smoke flicked his ears forward and stared. “What skull worm do you have now?”

Logan lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Same one I’ve had for years.”

“And isn’t it time you tell me about it?”

He didn’t answer for so long, Smoke began to wonder if he ever would. Finally the words emerged in a frustrated growl. “What if Morgana’s wrong about me being able to handle the Gift? She’s been wrong before.”

Smoke studied him, eyes narrow. “Who was she wrong about when you were fourteen?”

“Jimmy Cordino.” Logan looked off across the yard, staring blindly toward the dawn. “He was one of Kay’s descendants. You know how Dad was about Kay.” Kay, Arthur’s foster brother, had been a courageous, capable warrior, one of the original Knights of the Round Table. He had been killed in an air strike during World War II. Arthur had been heartbroken.

“Everybody said Jimmy even looked like Kay, who was his great-grandfather. That summer, Dad took Jim under his wing—teaching him sword-craft, how to ride, shoot—everything he thought a Magus should know.” Logan’s smile was very faint. “I hated Jimmy’s fuckin’ guts, and it was mutual. I was jealous of how much attention he was getting from Arthur, and he was jealous of me being my father’s son. Then he got the Gift, and it all went to hell.”

 

The Pendragon Home, Avalon, October 15, 1991

Logan jerked awake
to blink at the ceiling in dazed confusion, wondering what had pulled him out of sleep.

The creak of the stairs under someone’s weight. Probably Mom or Dad, home at last. They both kept vampire hours, something he had yet to adjust to this early in the summer.

Yawning, Logan rolled out of bed and padded, barefoot, into the hall. “Hey, how did it . . .”

Jimmy Cordino stood there, pale blue eyes wild, pupils shrunk to black pinpoints in the hall light. Blood smeared his face and splattered his white shirt and faded jeans. Even his blond hair was matted in red, sticky clumps.

“What the hell happened to you?” Logan demanded. “You look like shit.”

“I killed her.” Jimmy didn’t even sound like himself. His voice was too high, more like a kid’s than the twenty-one-year-old he was.

Which was when Logan’s sleep-stunned mind began to catch up to the situation. A chill spread over him. “Killed who?” He took a step back—and froze as a sudden horrifying thought shot through his alarm. “My mom? Is my mom okay?”

“Not her!” Jimmy sneered, his lifted lip revealing inch-long fangs. “The Maja. The Maja Arthur set me up with. The one they told me to fuck.” He laughed, his voice spiraling into a chilling giggle. “Well, I definitely fucked her.”

Sweet Jesu, he’s gone blood-mad.
Logan licked his lips. “You’d better get out of here. Dad’s on his way home.”
I hope
. Despite years of combat training from the time he could walk, Logan knew damned well he was no match for a blood-mad vampire.

There was that chilling laugh again. “You better pray he is, you spoiled little fuck.”

Okay, that was
defi nitely
his cue. Logan whirled for his room, planning to lock the door behind him. If he could only delay Jimmy even a few minutes, Dad would . . .

The vampire was on him before he even took half a step, clamping a forearm across his throat. Logan gagged at the vicious pressure.

“Logan!” Arthur roared from downstairs, his voice shaking with a combination of rage and fear Logan had never heard in it before.

“Up here, ‘Dad.’ ” Jimmy’s breath reeked with the smell of blood as it gusted against Logan’s face. “Come talk to your itty bitty boy. And
me
.”

“You even nick that boy with a fang, and you’re dead.” Arthur’s voice sounded so flat and cold, even Logan felt the chill. Booted feet rang on the marble floor in long running strides.

“I’m dead anyway.” Jimmy’s bitter laugh had a sobbing edge.

The vampires appeared at the foot of the stairs. Logan’s knees went weak with relief. Arthur and his best knights—Lancelot, Galahad, Tristan, and Gawain, moving like silent wolves at his back. They all wore identical expressions, faces frozen, eyes narrow and icy with a terrible rage.

“Let the boy go, Jimmy,” Arthur said, starting up the stairs in a slow stalk. He carried Excalibur naked in his hand, the sword glowing with boiling energy as it reacted to his fury.

Jimmy shrank back as the arm around Logan’s neck began to shake. “Don’t kill me!” The naked plea was shocking after all those cocky threats.

“You killed
her
.” Arthur’s black eyes burned. “Left her with her throat ripped out in the bed where you’d made love.”

“I didn’t mean to! I lost control. I was just so”—his voice cracked—“hungry.”

“I know.” A faint hint of compassion warmed Arthur’s eyes. “Don’t compound your mistake, Jimmy. Let the boy go.”

Jimmy’s arm only tightened, hauling Logan off his feet, to choke helplessly as the young vampire retreated down the hall. “You’ll kill me.”

“We can’t let you murder again, Jimmy.” Arthur’s voice softened. “And I don’t think you want to. Do you?”

“But I didn’t mean to!” It was a wail, a boy’s pitiful cry of anguish and fear. He braced a shoulder against Logan’s bedroom door as if his knees had gone weak. “I won’t do it again! I swear it! Just give me a chance!”