Flameout (2 page)

“My, my, we have gotten bitter since the infection, haven't we?” There was an almost jovial note in Luke's cool tone. “But then, I guess hunting a killer that is little more than a ghost will do that to anyone.”

“You're no ghost,” I snapped. I desperately wanted to unleash my flames, but it would be a pointless action until I actually had a target. “You're not even immortal. And you certainly bleed as profusely as anyone else when shot.”

“You're right.” His voice was still amused, but the edge of ice was stronger. “I do owe you one for that shoulder wound, you know. And bringing that building down on top of me was
very
impolite of you.”

I snorted. “Next time we meet, I'll make sure the damn building
actually
kills you.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that the next time we meet
will
be the last time—but for you rather than me.”

“Says the man who's currently hiding behind shadows and trees,” Sam said. “Come out and face us if you're so damn confident.”

“I would love to, but, unfortunately, the aforementioned building collapse has seriously curtailed my movements in the short term.”

Which suggested he wasn't actually near. I frowned and glanced over at Sam. He half shrugged and motioned me to keep on speaking.

“I can assure you, Luke, that
wasn't
my intention.”

Sam stepped out of the floodlit area and merged
with the deeper darkness of night. It was a vampire trick, one the virus had gifted him. I wasn't sure if all those infected with the virus got the ability, as few of the madder red cloaks—the ones who had the scythelike brand burned into their cheeks—seemed to use it. Luke
did
have the ability, but even if he were using it, I should have sensed him—unless, of course, he was using some form of magic to distort my senses.

But if he
was
close, why hadn't he said anything about Sam leaving the grave site? Was that exactly what he wanted—me and Sam separated—or was there something else going on here?

“Oh, you made your intentions clear enough.” The last shreds of amusement had left Luke's tone. All that remained was ice and fury. “Now let me make mine clear—”

“We're all
very
aware of your intentions,” I cut in. The quickest way to annoy Luke had always been to interrupt when he was speaking—and when he was angry, he tended to react without thought. Right now, with Sam off in the trees trying to find him, keeping his attention
and
annoyance on me would hopefully mean he wasn't paying attention to everything else that was going on around him. “But history is littered with would-be dictators like you, and each and every one of them was doomed to failure from the beginning. Just as you are.”

“They weren't in possession of a virus capable of infecting the world and making it mine,” he spat back.

“The world would be yours for only as long as it takes to make a cure or a vaccine.” I crossed my arms
and wondered why the hell Sam was taking so long. Surely, given the clarity of Luke's voice, he couldn't be
that
far away.

“By the time
that
happens—if it ever happens—my army will be vast,” Luke growled, “and not even your flames will be strong enough to stop my rampage.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that, Luke. You've only had a very small taste of what I'm actually capable of.”

“Ah, but now that I have, I can work on ways to counter it.”

A chill ran through me. The flames of a phoenix certainly
could
be curtailed, and one of those methods had been employed by the sindicati only a few nights ago. The last thing I needed was a psycho like Luke getting his hands on
that
sort of magic.

“You might want to talk to Parella about how well that worked out for him,” I snapped back, glad my voice was absent of the fear churning my gut.

“Oh, if I ever get near
that
piece of vampire scum, talking is the last thing I'll be doing with him.”

Meaning Parella had better watch his back, because I needed him alive. I had no love for vampires
or
the sindicati, but Parella and I had something of a truce going—he'd agreed to keep his men off my tail until I found Wilson's backup notes. It gave us breathing space—not much, granted, but at least it meant there was one less group we had to worry about. If he got himself killed, there was no guarantee his replacement would keep that agreement.

My gaze swept the tree-filled darkness beyond the floodlight. I still had no sense of Luke, though I was aware enough of Sam's position. His presence reminded
me of a winter storm—filled with ice and the promise of fury. So why was it taking so long to uncover where Luke was—or wasn't?

“Look,” I said, my tone holding a hint of the frustration that swirled through me. “It's been nice catching up with you again, but is there
any
point to this whole conversation? Have you decided to hand yourself in or what?”

He laughed. It was a high, not altogether pleasant sound. He might not be one of the crazy ones, but he sure as hell wasn't far off it, either.

“There is a point to
everything
I do,” he replied. “And you had better remember that.”

I snorted. “Yeah, okay. If you say so.”

He made a low sound that was an odd mix of a growl and a curse. “Perhaps a small demonstration—”

“Oh, don't feel obliged,” I said. “Because we both know it will seriously hamper your domination plans if you lost any more of your soldiers right now.”

“Oh, I have no intention of losing soldiers.” His tone once again held an edge of smugness, and the flames flickering across my fingertips flared brighter. “After all, we both know that if you're incapable of making fire, you're of very little threat.”

And with that, an unnatural force began to unfold around me. It was a wash of energy that stung my skin and had the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end.

Because it wasn't
just
energy—it was magic. The type of magic that could restrict a phoenix's fire.

And not only would it curtail my ability to create fire, but it would also hamper my access to the earth
mother, and the mother was the only force capable of utter and instant annihilation of the cloaks—or anyone else I decided to direct her against, for that matter. She was the heat of the earth, the energy that gave life to the world around us, a power that was dangerous and deadly to even those of us who could call her into being. But the risk was often worth it, especially in a case like this. My own flames, while they burned the cloaks, took longer—and that was never a good thing when fighting against greater numbers.

And I had no doubt that, despite his words, Luke would throw more than a few red cloaks at us. He'd always favored having the odds on his side.

I reached for my fire form, but even as I changed from flesh to spirit, the magic tore at my skin, trying to restrain me, to stop me.

It failed.

I surged up, away from the ground and the net seeking to encase me. Threads of energy briefly chased me then snapped away. I paused and turned, but didn't relax. The magic was still active, even if it couldn't get me right now. What I needed to do was find the source of the damn spell and deactivate the stupid thing.

My gaze swept the ground, but I didn't immediately see anything odd or out of place. I moved out of the floodlit area, my flames casting an orange glow across the ground.

That's when I saw them. Four stones, each gleaming a soft, almost blue-black in the darkness. Spell stones—stones that provided both a base for the magic to latch onto and a means to restrict and control the size of the spell. While the use of stones was common
among witches, the color of these suggested the creator of the spell walked a darker path with his magic. White witches drew on the energy of the world around them in conjunction with the strength that came from within, and the stones they used tended to reflect the purity of that. Those who used black magic—or blood magic, as it was more commonly known these days—often didn't need them, but when they did, their darkness was reflected in the stone's surface.

A twig snapped in the trees behind me. I spun, my flames surging in response. But it wasn't Luke or the cloaks, as I'd half feared. It was Sam.

“Luke isn't here,” he said, his voice vibrating with fury. “He was using a fucking speaker.”

He threw some wiring on the ground, then stopped abruptly as he spotted me. “Emberly? What the
fuck
is going on?”

It was pointless answering, given only another phoenix could actually understand me when I was in my fire form. Instead, I spun and surged toward the nearest stone. I had no idea how the spell was constructed, but I knew it could usually be undone if one of the stones was dislodged.

But even as I moved, figures erupted from the trees behind me. They were twisted, ugly beings with scars that resembled death's scythe burned into their cheeks.

Red cloaks. The
mad
kind.

They didn't run at me. They ran at Sam.

“You always were an untrustworthy bastard, brother dearest,” Sam muttered. With that, he pulled out a gun and began firing. Blood and brain matter sprayed across the nearby tree trunks, but it didn't stop the tide.
There were far too many of them for one man, and one gun.

I cursed and reached for the force of the world, for the mother herself. She answered immediately, her energy wild, powerful, and difficult to contain. Not that I wanted to do that right now. I flung my hands wide and aimed her force at the cloaks. She surged through me and leapt almost joyously into the night, separating into multiple streams of flame that burned with all the colors of creation. Each finger hit one of the red cloaks and wrapped almost lovingly around them. Her flames pulsed, briefly darkening, as if in distaste.

Then she burned.

In an instant, the cloaks were little more than cinders fluttering gently to the ground.

When they were all gone, I released my hold on the mother. Her flames shimmered brightly for several seconds, then dissipated, the energy of them returning to the air and the earth itself.

Weakness washed through me. There was always a cost to calling such power into being, and this weakness was just the start of it. If I ever held on to her for too long, she would drain me until there was nothing left—no heat, no flame, and no life. She would take me into her bosom, into the earth itself, and there would be no escape. No rebirth.

Not
something I ever wanted. I might be tired of the curse that bound phoenixes to endless lifetimes of having their hearts broken, but I wasn't yet tired of life itself.

I spun, dropped to the ground, and, even as the magic surged toward me, sent a lance of fire at the
nearest black stone. Its surface began to glow as my flames hit it, but it didn't immediately move out of alignment. I swore and pushed harder; the color of my flames changed from orange to white, but it seemed to make no difference. Then, just as the magic began to twine around the fiery edges of my spirit form, the stone exploded. Sharp splinters speared through the night and a shock wave of energy sent me tumbling. I hit the ground and skidded along the dirt for several yards, ending up in flesh form and hard up against the trunk of an old pine.

I winced as I rolled onto my back. “That fucking
hurt
.”

“Hitting a tree
that
hard generally does.” Sam squatted beside me. “You okay?”

I opened one eye and glared up at him. “Do I look okay?”

The smile that briefly teased his lips was a pale imitation of the one that sometimes haunted my dreams, but I was nevertheless happy to see it. It meant that, despite the shadows in his eyes, despite the darkness I could almost taste, he was in control.

“You look pale, tired, grubby, and your lovely red hair rather resembles a bird's nest.” His smile grew a fraction, briefly touching the corners of his bright eyes. “But other than all that, yeah, you look okay.”

I snorted and sat upright. His hand hovered near my spine, not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the chill radiating from his skin—another gift of the damn virus.

“If Luke wasn't actually here, how did he know we were? Was there a camera attached to the speaker?”

“No, but there was a microphone.” He rose and offered me a hand. “There must have been some form of alarm in the casket that let him know when we opened it.”

I gripped his fingers and allowed him to pull me up. “But how did he know we were going to be here tonight?”

Sam released me and stepped back. I couldn't help noticing that the hand that had held mine was now clenched, as if to retain the lingering heat of my touch. Or maybe
that
was just wishful thinking by the stupid, deep-down part of me that refused to give up hope.

“He couldn't have. I checked both the perimeter and the cemetery itself before I gave the go-ahead to exhume the body. There was no one and nothing here.”

“Then how did those red cloaks get here so fast?” I tucked my shirt back into my jeans. Thankfully, the magic that allowed us to shift from one form to another also took anything that was touching our skin—clothes, watches, etcetera—with it. Unlike werewolves, we didn't end up wearing rags after shifting shape.

He shrugged. “The virus endows many vampire-like qualities, including speed.”

“Not even Superman could have gotten here on foot from Brooklyn so fast,” I said. “There were barely ten minutes between us opening the casket and them attacking.”

“Maybe he had a small squad of them on standby. There are plenty of drain outlets nearby, and that seems to be their chosen method of moving about.”

That was certainly possible, but part of me doubted it. He had to have known Sam, at least, would be here
tonight. And he would have guessed that curiosity would also drive me here, if only to support Sam.