Soul of Flame (2 page)

Kellan pounded up the stairs, the rest hard on his heels. The huge man bent forward. “Boss says the dorms in the west wing have all been evacuated,” he said in her ear. “Top floor of the east still has some kids trapped. They’re not sure on numbers yet, still struggling for a head count, but that’s where he wants us to focus.”

With a quick nod, she climbed the stairs, pushing back the flames to clear a safe path. The heat from the fire poured into her, and she welcomed it.

They headed straight to the top floor and commenced a methodical sweep of the rooms. Standing in the center of each room, she called the heat and flames to her, feeding her soul as the others fanned out to check closets and underneath beds. They came up empty again and again, and she frowned at Kellan who shrugged, lifting the mic attached to his protective headgear.

“Boss double-checking the info on east.” He paused to listen. “They’ve got kids from this area unaccounted for, Ceara. We keep searching.” The uneasy look on his face echoed her own doubts, but second-guessing orders got people killed. She respected Matthews, trusted him. He’d proved time and time again the welfare of his crew was his utmost priority.

They pressed on down the length of the corridor, checking every room but finding nothing. They used the stairwell at the far corner to enter the third floor, and Ceara held up a hand to keep the men back. She slipped through the door. Flames surged, hungry to feed on the fresh oxygen. Striding down the corridor, she clenched her fists, drawing down the fire. Pleasure shuddered through her, the intense heat engulfing her senses.
Talk to me. Show me where the source is.
Thick smoked billowed out into the stairwell behind her.

Opening herself wider to the flames, she pulled them into her, sucking the heat into the core of her being. The fire pulled back for the first time, as if drawn to a magnet of stronger polarity. She held her ground. There was no fire in the human realm capable of resisting her for long. Absorbing the heat and flames, she consumed the blaze until the smoke lessened and she could see the team framed in the opening.

At her nod, they entered the corridor, repeating the sweep from downstairs until they came to one room they couldn’t open. She signaled them to hold again. Her nose wrinkled; a faint smell of sulfur lingered beneath the scents of smoke and ash. The door had been sealed with more than just a key. Focusing on the lock, she sent out a tiny thread of flame, using it to unknot the spell holding it secure.

When it at last fell loose, she eased the door open. A group of a dozen or so children stared back at her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Turning aside, she let the team enter, and they escorted the children out, following the cleared path she held in the fire and down the stairwell. Kellen stood in front of her, shielding her from the children’s curious gazes.

“Hey, Blaze. There’s something seriously weird about this room.”

Ceara smiled at the nickname and peered around Kellen’s broad shoulder to get a better view. She frowned. The room lay untouched by fire, not even a smudge of soot on the walls. Heart in her mouth, she stepped inside.

She studied the walls in growing horror. Garlands of sweet, sunny, bright-yellow flowers, knotted together, hung from the walls. She cried out, falling to her knees. A blast of flame flew from her fingers, igniting a pile of books, and the fire spread, eager to consume this new source of fuel.

“Blaze, honey, what’s wrong?” Kellen crouched next to her.

She screamed, scrambling backward. “Get out, Kell! Get out, for the love of the Lord and Lady, you must run! Faebane!”

Ceara shuddered, her control slipping, the floor around her starting to burn. Kellen recoiled from the curtain of heat encircling her. The well of flames inside her twisted, blistering through her veins. She screamed in agony.

“Run, Kell! Run, please!” Sobbing, she fought to hold in the flames.

Boots pounded on the tiled floor, and Ceara counted at a measured pace, battling against the power of the trap. The fire swelled, creating a pressure unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

“Lord and Lady, save them,” she whispered over and over, trying in vain to contain the heat.

Tension eased in Matthews’s gut as his guys appeared, escorting a small group of children. The local police rushed forward and wrapped the kids in foil blankets, herding them behind the safe cordon. His men didn’t hesitate, plunging back inside the burning building. “What’s the head count now?” he snapped at the coordinator, snarling in disgust when the fool hesitated.
Fucking amateurs.
Two more minutes and he would call them back, regardless.

A roar from the east wing drowned out the noise of the crying children. Horror clenched his guts, turning them to water. The fire at the windows sucked inward, the sudden darkness blinding him for a second. The world paused for a single heartbeat before a huge explosion ripped through the wing, blowing the roof off and sending glass and debris flying. A concussive shockwave knocked him on his ass, leaving him gasping for breath.

He struggled to his feet, ears ringing, throat parched and aching. A few ruined timbers stuck up from the pile of debris, the twisted limbs all that remained of the building. A few wisps of smoke twisted into the air, but the flames were gone. Matthews dropped to his knees, tears pouring down his cheeks.
My team!

Ceara huddled in the corner of the ferry, tugging her thick jacket closer around herself. Her teeth chattered from the relentless cold. She hadn’t been able to get warm since waking the previous week in the private hospital ward. The nurses’ whispers about a miraculous recovery made her want to laugh in their faces. Her corporeal form may have survived, but that was all. The fire had vanished, leaving her soul empty, void.

Matthews had paid her a visit and confirmed what she already knew. The entire team had died, killed by her inability to control the fire. He’d asked her what went wrong, but she’d refused to answer. The boss knew more than he should already about the existence of the fae, and she wouldn’t do anything else to put him in danger.

She had lain in the sterile, white room for days without speaking, and Matthews had returned that morning with a ticket and a bagful of clothes and essentials. He’d threatened to dress her himself if she didn’t cooperate. Bundling her into his car, he drove for a couple of hours, heading toward the coast. Ignoring her protests, he shoved her onto the small ferry without explanation.

Ceara had a feeling she knew her destination, although she could not understand how she’d been gifted with a ticket. Wiccan Haus was renowned throughout the para realms. The ferry she rode carried human guests—all paras arrived and departed the island via one of the portals. She looked around at the other passengers who hung from the rail, straining for a glimpse of the island. Chatter about the resort milled through the group. They discussed the classes each wanted to take, but she refused all attempts to be drawn into conversation. Tugging her jacket hood up, she shoved her gloved hands deep into her pockets.

Conversation faded, quieting beneath the blanket of fog enveloping the small vessel. The sun disappeared, the temperature plummeting, and she shivered in earnest. Pain racked her body, and she bent double, squeezing her eyes shut. The cold struck deep, and concerned murmurs about the sudden fog bank rose around her.

The sounds of distress faded once the ferry broke through the wet, dank curtain and the sun blazed again. The cabin emptied, the other guests hurrying to lean over the side rails, gasping and exclaiming at their first sight of the island.

White cliffs rose high, trees dotted the landscape, and the very tips of the Haus could be seen peeking through the woods. A natural harbor carved deep into the cliff held a loading dock, and a few small boats bobbed in the gentle ripples made by the ferry as it edged closer to dry land.

The ferry bumped against the dock. She barely registered the movement as she shuddered in the corner, until a soft touch on her shoulder stilled the pain in her body. Blinking back tears, she stared into a pair of bright-blue eyes. A tall man with flowing blond hair leaned over her, and she recognized him as one of the Rowan siblings, the owners of Wiccan Haus and the island upon which it sat.

“Be well, Ceara. I am Cemil Rowan and you are welcome at Wiccan Haus.” The man wrapped a heated blanket around her shivering form, coaxing her from the cabin to the gangplank leading from the ferry to the pier. She clutched the cozy material close, shuffling along the strip of wood. Cemil followed her, his heavy tread making the plank bounce beneath her feet.

The Haus rose ahead of her, its wooden chalet-style architecture both quirky and welcoming. She followed Cemil on the short walk to reception, keeping her eyes on the path beneath her feet. Although the day was pleasant, Ceara gained no comfort from the sun. She didn’t think she would ever be warm again. The blanket eased the worst of her shivers, but could do nothing to fill the aching cold in her soul.

Cemil paused at the entrance to the Haus, a kind smile on his face. “We will find a way to heal you, Ceara. Have a little faith in us.”

With no time for platitudes, she brushed past him into the foyer. “The Lord and Lady are silent to me, Cemil. My powers are spent, and I am naught but a husk, doomed to eternity with no purpose, no calling. I have heard many stories of the Rowans and your abilities, but some things are beyond your ken.”

She waited at the reception desk, studying the young woman seated behind it who shuffled a pack of cards, her entire focus on them as she dealt four face up before her.
This child may be human but not mundane.
The young woman lifted her head and smiled. Her nametag said “Cyrus” which Ceara found confusing to say the least. The woman brushed her turquoise bangs from her forehead and tilted her head to one side, studying her.

“Well, you are a conundrum, aren’t you? A para without power. Every time I ask the cards for your room number it comes up with something different. I’m not sure what to do with you. My instincts say second floor, but it doesn’t sit well to place you amongst the other paras when you are defenseless. A room number for the third floor comes up two out of three times, but what risk to the human residents should you regain your power and become unstable?” The small woman frowned past Ceara’s shoulder.

“What’s the problem, Myron?” Cemil’s easygoing tone and relentless good nature irritated Ceara.

The small woman opened her mouth to explain, but a deep, growling voice cut across her.

“The problem, Cemil, is you permitted a para to approach the island via the ferry, and you didn’t bother to clue me in.” A huge man, well over six feet tall, folded his arms across his broad chest and glared at Ceara as though all of this was her fault. His deep voice held a lyrical quality, and she surmised he’d once called one of the Celtic lands home. “I’m head of security in case you’d bloody forgotten. How the hell can I be expected to protect the family and residents of the island if you don’t keep me informed?” His voice deepened further, the contained power and grace of his posture screaming shifter.

“She needed our help, Rekkus. Without her powers, she is no threat to the humans. Sage and I discussed it and agreed her need for healing outweighed your rules. Expecting her to travel unprotected through the para realms is unreasonable.” Cemil paused and studied Ceara with a shrewd look. “Her obligation to a human friend is the only reason she came to us. I doubt she would be here without his perseverance.”

Ceara ducked her head, refusing to acknowledge the truth in the Wiccan’s observant words. Another dark-haired man joined the group, and she sighed at the growing audience. She didn’t even want to be here in the first place, never mind be the source of so much unwanted attention. The newcomer resembled Cemil, although everything about him was dark—his hair, his clothing, even the leather gloves he wore.

She moved away from the desk area, giving the staff space to have a heated discussion about security and accommodation. Turning in a slow circle, she examined the rafters of the airy space. Wood surrounded her, the sort of environment that would sing to her powers, rich with sources of fuel, but her soul lay dead inside her. A small blonde woman hurried through the front door, her long skirt billowing. She adjusted a large cloth bag over her shoulder. Smiling sweetly, as though they were old friends, she held out her hands in greeting.

“Ceara, it’s good to have you with us. I’ve just finished preparing your cottage, and I’m sure you will enjoy the location. It’s not far from the meadow, which will be one of the spaces we use for your healing.” Sage—who else could it be, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes so like Cemil’s—waved toward the group at the desk as she hurried to the elevators. “Can one of you get Ceara settled in the stone cottage? I must check the humans are all resting before the portal opens.” With a smile and a waft of lavender and thyme, the beautiful young woman disappeared into the far right elevator.

Cemil grinned and shrugged at the frowning security officer and the silent, black-clad man beside him. “It seems Sage has it all in hand. I’ll take our guest to the cottage. I’m sure you will want to monitor the rest of the para arrivals.”

The big man growled viciously, snatching his clipboard from the reception desk. “I can’t bloody wait to see what surprises come through that damn portal.”

The picturesque path led from the Haus to the meadow, and Cemil, a conscientious guide, pointed out various routes leading from the main pathway—to the south, a wooded area surrounded a lake. To the north lay an orchard, the faint scent of apple blossom traveling on the air. She listened to the information and instructions he gave. They passed a set of gates, which he indicated was the entrance to the meadow, and the path continued up to the northwest, growing steeper. A narrow trail appeared to the left, winding through the trees, and he guided her along it. Just a few paces in, the trees opened onto a delightful bower with a grassed area and a single-story stone cottage on one side, pale gray with a darker slate roof. The door stood ajar.