Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (80 page)

Had she even arrived?

Lorenzo couldn’t recall.

He knew he had waited at the door, watching for her. He had a vague memory of a limousine pulling to a halt outside, but even as he thought of it, the scene faded from his mind.

As if it had never happened.

When had he come back into the theater? Why? And why had he chosen to fall asleep here, instead of returning home? Why hadn’t anyone called him? Lorenzo pulled out his cell phone, only to discover that it was turned off.

He frowned. He never turned it off.

He turned it on and the display was instantly flooded with messages from Cassie, as well as some from the foreman. There was one from Maeve, forwarded from Cassie, regretting that she had to cancel their interview.

Had she really not arrived? Lorenzo was sure he could smell a strangely troubling perfume, one that hadn’t been in the building when he arrived in the morning. He had an odd sense, too, that he was forgetting something, although he couldn’t have said what it was.

Was this what it felt like to be beguiled?

The idea was chilling.

But how could a human have beguiled him? And why? It was ridiculous, even though Lorenzo couldn’t entirely shake his unease. His phone rang then, the sudden sound making him jump, and he answered it immediately.

“Where are you?” Cassie demanded, her concern clear. “Are you all right? Where did you go after Maeve canceled?”

“I stayed here, at the theater,” Lorenzo admitted, the truth sounding more plausible as he gave it voice. “I fell asleep.”

“And lost track of time,” Cassie said. “While I’ve been losing my mind with worry.” He heard Bart give a bellow in the background, and Cassie audibly soothed the boy. “I guess I would have been awake anyway with this tooth coming in,” she said. The sound of her exhaustion filled him with guilt, and a determination to make it up to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You’re probably just worn out.”

“I’ll be home in a few minutes,” Lorenzo said. “And you can sleep all day tomorrow. I’ll take the boys so you can have a break.”

“But you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted and almost believed it. “I’ll be home as quickly as I can.”

Lorenzo strode through the construction site, that perfume making him see things he knew weren’t there.

Black shoes with stiletto heels and red soles.

An unexpected kiss chilling him to his marrow.

Secrets spilling forth, secrets he had no right to share.

He shook his head. It must have been a bad dream. A nightmare. Nerves, due to the pending re-launch of his career and the final battle of the
Pyr
. Erik sending him disapproving looks.

Maeve, after all, hadn’t shown up.

* * *

Sloane looked through the microscope at the blood sample as Sam practically bounced with anticipation beside him. He was careful and confirmed the results in multiple samples, even as relief nearly took him to his knees. “You’re right. It’s gone,” he said to Sam, and she let out a whoop of joy.

She threw herself at him and he hugged her tightly, more than ready for her HazMat suit to be unnecessary. Her eyes were shining with triumph, and he smiled down at her. “You did it.”

“
We
did it.” Sam exhaled happily. “I could never have solved the riddle without the
Pyr
and without the Dracontias.”

“So, you have your cure.”

“And a lot of work to do.” She stepped out of his embrace, and he could practically see her thoughts flying. “There will have to be clinical tests, of course, and I’ll have to go back to Atlanta to manage them. We could start with volunteers…”

“The nurse who tended Ronnie on her admission to the hospital might volunteer.”

“You’re right. She was still in the latent phase when I left, and they’d moved her to Atlanta. And there will be others, I’m sure. Once word gets out, we’ll have people clamoring at the door. The challenge will lie in manufacturing enough antidote quickly enough, if it does succeed in the trials.”

Sloane smiled at her omission, which he thought was telling. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned on the bench. “Not in convincing the CDC to use an antidote concocted from
Pyr
blood and the Dracontias?”

Sam winced. “You’re right, of course. I’ll have to think of a better story.” There was a glimmer of humor in her eyes. “No one will believe the truth.”

“I’m surprised you do,” Sloane noted.

Sam sighed and blushed a little bit. She looked younger and unexpectedly uncertain, so her words surprised him. “Well, sometimes you have to abandon pre-conceptions in order to move forward. Sometimes you have to admit you’re wrong to even be able to see the truth.” She lifted her gaze to his and her voice turned husky. “Sometimes you’re lucky enough to have help with that, maybe even help you don’t deserve.”

Their gazes clung for a hot moment. “No regrets,” Sloane murmured.

“None,” Sam agreed. “Except for what comes next.” She sighed. “I’ll be leaving. Again.”

Sloane didn’t want to dwell on her departure. “And your name will go down in the history books as the doctor who cured the Seattle virus. Maybe they’ll name the antidote after you.” He was sure this was what she wanted, a kind of immortality based on her medical achievements, but Sam didn’t seem very excited.

“I guess it will,” she mused. “I’ll probably get a chair at a university, or a research position for the duration, and my career will be secure. My job will be less demanding.”

Sloane was confused by her temperate reaction. “Isn’t this the fulfillment of the dream?”

Sam frowned. “A year ago, I would have said that it was, but now it feels lacking.” She considered him. “Empty, because I won’t have anyone to share it with.”

This was the conversation Sloane had been dreading ever since Sam had learned about the firestorm.

“You’ll find someone. Another scientist probably.”

“I’ve tried that before. I’m thinking that differences add spice. I like how you’ve challenged my assumptions and shown me that more is possible than I’d believed.” She swallowed. “I haven’t just found pleasure with you, Sloane, or even just healing. I’ve learned a lot from you.” She fell silent, then continued. “That must be why I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Sloane had to avert his gaze from temptation. He knew he could lie to Sam about the future by making promises he might not be able to keep. Honesty was in his nature, though, and he had discovered that he was as romantic as his father. “I know what you want me to say,” he said. “But I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. I think it’s for the best if we part now.”

Sam’s lips tightened, but she wasn’t surprised. “Because you don’t know when you’ll have a firestorm.”

“No. But when I do, it will be more important than anything else in my life from that point onward. I don’t want to ever hurt you, Sam.” He cleared his throat. “And I also think that having another child might be part of your healing process. I can’t give you that child.”

“People adopt.”

“It’s the same thing, though. I could have to leave, suddenly.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed as she watched him and her voice was husky when she continued. “What makes you think you’ll have your firestorm before I die?”

Sloane surveyed the bench, not really seeing the samples and syringes there, then gave voice to his deepest fear. “Something is going to change for us when the node of the moon changes in September, after the end of the Dragon’s Tail Wars. There might not be any more
Pyr
, because the prophecy declares that only
Pyr
or
Slayers
will survive.”

“But don’t the other
Pyr
have children? Children are the future.”

“If we lose, they’ll either die with us or be hunted to extinction.”

Sam shuddered and he knew she was thinking of Jorge. “Aren’t the
Slayers
diminished in number?”

Sloane nodded. “Although they seem to have figured out how to create more. It’s not obvious that we’ll win.”

“And if you do, you’ll still wait for your firestorm.” Sam didn’t even question his speculation, much less challenge his belief in a prophecy. Sloane knew that showed the change in her perspective and her trust in him. She considered what he’d told her, then looked him in the eye, as decisive as ever. “I have to say that I don’t like the idea of you being killed in September.”

“Thanks. It doesn’t work for me either.”

“I also don’t like that you as the Apothecary are always surrendering yourself for the greater good.”

“It’s my role,” he said with some weariness.

“I hope you
Pyr
have a plan for the fall.”

“We’re working on it.”

“I hope you win.”

“Me, too,” Sloane admitted.

Sam bit her lip. “Walking away from you to administer this clinical test, knowing that it might be the last time I ever see you, will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Sloane couldn’t resist her then. He pulled her into his embrace and she came readily. She felt so good in his arms that he didn’t want to let her go.

Sam rested her hood against him. “How about this: you go and tell Drake and Ronnie the good news. I’ll clean up and meet you upstairs.” She tipped back her head to meet his gaze. “I’ve heard how you
Pyr
like to celebrate and I’m thinking this is a victory worth a celebration. Let’s say goodbye with style.”

“I’ll bring wine,” Sloane promised.

“No, I have to get to work right afterward.” Sam’s smile turned mischievous. “Just be naked and don’t be late.”

* * *

Sam was feeling both serene and excited. She and Sloane had made love slowly and thoroughly, and it had been wonderful. She didn’t want to leave him, but she did want to get this antidote into production. She knew what she had to do.

The CDC was sending a helicopter to pick her up at the airport, a condition she’d made to keep Sloane’s location hidden. She didn’t think her cover story about finding the cure was very compelling, because she was a lousy liar, but Isaac was so relieved to have progress that he wasn’t asking many questions. They’d almost certainly come later. She was packing antidote, samples and serums with care in HazMat containers in Sloane’s lab. She’d have to make a case and her results would have to be replicated before the testing could begin, but she was optimistic.

The
Pyr
had made the solution possible, which meant that there
were
good dragons and bad dragons.

Sam had a definite favorite in the herd.

She could hear Sloane talking to Ronnie, although she couldn’t discern his words. Drake had gone to pick up Timmy, and Sam halfway wished she could witness the happy reunion between mother and son.

It would be better, though, to head out and save more sons sooner.

She thought of all the obstacles facing Sloane and his kind and knew she wasn’t the only one who felt the odds were too long. What if she could do something to help ensure the survival of the
Pyr
?

The Magician created new realities.

The Magician changed the world.

Could she save Sloane? She sure wanted to do whatever she could.

Sam’s gaze slid to the last refrigerator in the lab. It was one at the end with a stainless door and a lock. There was a key on a shelf at the opposite end of the lab and since nothing else had a lock, Sam had guessed which lock it opened.

It was easy to recall Sloane’s confession. The
Slayers
were being replicated or even cloned and he had one of them here in the lab. What determined that a dragon shifter was
Slayer
? It had a physiological manifestation in that black corrosive blood.

The Dracontias was perched on the bench.

Sam wondered just how much it could cure.

It was an impulsive, impetuous, intuitive thought, but once she had it, Sam acted upon it. She trusted her instinct in this, as she never had before.

“Sloane!” she called as she picked up the stone. “Sloane! I have an idea. Come quickly!” Too impatient to wait, Sam marched down the lab to get the key.

“What is it?” he called. He was up in the house, but his voice carried to her from the distance.

She shouted again, to make sure he heard from the other side of the airlock, but couldn’t wait. This idea was too exciting. Sam opened the fridge, then stepped back in shock, even though she’d anticipated its contents.

Sloane had said that the
Slayer
wasn’t dead, but this man clearly was. Maybe he’d died in the fridge. He had fair hair and was dressed conservatively in a jacket and trousers, although he wore no necktie. There were icicles hanging from his nose, chin and earlobes, and his skin was faintly blue from the cold. There was dried blood on his shirt and it looked as if the fabric had stuck in a wound across his chest.

It was a deep gash, like the kind Sam imagined would be made by a dragon’s talon. It hadn’t healed, which hinted that the Elixir hadn’t been able to repair this injury.

Did the
Pyr
and
Slayers
solve all disputes with violence? She couldn’t reconcile that with Sloane’s nature. Did the
Pyr
have courts or a justice system? Sam was suddenly aware of how little she knew about Sloane and his kind.