Light My Fire (6 page)

“But changed for the better, no? Now you see all the
possibilities.”

I smiled. Amelie was the first one who’d told me to
look beyond the obvious into something she called the “possibilities”—which I’d gathered meant that anything
that could be, might be. It was all very quantum physics,
and I did my best to try not to think too hard about it, just
accept that there were things existing that I had never
thought possible.

“Oh, look. There, do you see? The man at the end of
the bar, next to the troll.”

I squinted through the smoke and tried to pinpoint the
figures Amelie was indicating. “There’s a troll here? The
kind with green hair and stumpy legs and a big pot belly?”

She gave me a look like I had suddenly sprouted
antlers. “What are you speaking? No, of course a troll
does not have green hair and a pot belly. The woman in
the Birkenstocks and patterned capri pants. That is the
troll—her name is Trade. She comes from Bavaria. But
that is not who I want you to see—it is the man next to
her.
That is Peter Burke.”

“And Peter Burke is . . . ?”

“He is said to be a most powerful mage. And one of
the ... what is the word? Contenders? For the position of
Venediger,
hein?

“Ah.” I looked at the man she indicated. He turned at
that moment and looked directly at me. I smiled. He
frowned and looked away again. “He doesn’t look like a
powerful mage. He looks like ... well, kind of Alan Alda-
ish. Placid, almost.”

“You are not seeing the possibilities within him,”
Amelie said dryly.

I admitted that was so and, clearing my mind, swung
open the door to my powers and released them in order to
really look at the mage.

As it always did, everything seen through my super-
Guardian vision looked so much brighter, so much sharper,
as if the everyday world was slightly grayed out and
blurred. I moved my eyes along the people in G&T, noting that a woman who sat apparently alone with two men
actually had a spirit shape hovering protectively behind
her. The woman Amelie named as the troll had a faint
sparkle of something all over her skin—it reminded me
of mushroom spores. My gaze shifted to the man next to
her, and I jerked as his head turned once again to me. For
the space between seconds a black tendril of power
seemed to snake off him, but it was gone so quickly that
I wondered if I had imagined it.

“Huh. Interesting. I’ve never seen that before, but I don’t see anything that screams mage. Then again, I’ve never met one. Maybe there’s something about them I
don’t know to look for.”

“He is not a popular man,” she said quietly.

“Really? If there’s such a powerful mage all ready to
step into the Venediger’s shoes, why on earth would any
one want me to fight for the job?”

“We do not know who he is. No one knows for
certain.” Amelie leaned close so I could hear. “But it is
rumored his power comes from a dark source.”

Something bothered me about Peter Burke, but I
couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Perhaps Amelie’s forebodings were getting to me. “Hmm. I can see why
people wouldn’t want someone with one foot in Abaddon
in control of the Otherworld, but if you want to get tech
nical, I am a demon lord, so that should let me off the
hook, too.”

She shook her head. “Everyone here knows about you
and Jim. You are not a prince of Abaddon, nor do you
have ties to them.” Her gaze shifted across the bar to
where Peter Burke sat. “The same cannot be said about
others.”

“Hey! I sensed an insult in that statement!” Jim said,
looking up from the bread sticks I’d given it. We both
ignored the demon.

“Well, it’s a moot point. I can’t take the job.” I continued my perusal of the room, greatly enjoying seeing be
neath the surface of the denizens of the Paris Otherworld.
“Wow. This is fascinating.”

“I wish you would think about it... oh, dear.”

“Oooh, there’s a faerie over there. She has translucent
wings that are almost invisible even to my supervision. Cool.”

“Ash, you’re going to be sued if you keep it up.”

I ignored Jim. It always exaggerated. My gaze shifted
past the faerie and her companion (also fey), wandering
around the room, enjoying seeing people in their true
forms. A little ripple of excitement caused everyone to shift, a wave of cool air curling through the crowds as a
hush descended over everyone.

“That’s odd. I wonder who’s causing that
...
oh, no!”

“Aisling, you must stop now. This is getting out of
hand,” Amelie said.

“It’s Fiat,” I groaned, recognizing the man at the door
way of the club. “Damn. I was hoping to avoid him.”

“Ash, you may want to drop the menu before it burns
you.”

“Hmm?” I looked from where Fiat was gliding his way
down the steps, two of his guards in tow, to the menu I
still held in my hand. It was on fire.

“Criminy dutch!”

The mental door slammed shut as I dropped the menu
on the floor and stomped on it a few times to put the
flames out. I looked up to apologize and explain to Amelie that although as Drake’s mate I could pull on
his dragon fire, I had yet to really learn how to control
it, but the look on her face as she gazed around the room
stopped me.

Every menu in the place was alight. People stood
silently with them burning where they had dropped—on the tables, the floor, and the bar itself. To a man, they all
turned to look at me.

“I see you have made your presence known in your own distinct manner.” A smooth voice with an Italian
accent floated from the far side of the room. “Welcome
back to Paris,
cara.”

₄

“Aisling Grey,” the dragon who stopped in front of me
said, a smile touching his lips. I ground my teeth together.
A name, as I have learned, has power, and the emphasis Fiat put on my name made it seem as if he had some sort
of hold over me.

In his dreams.

“Sfiatatoio del Fuoco Blu,” I said, deliberately using Fiat’s full name. He ignored that and clutched my hand,
pressing his lips to the back of it, nodding to Amelie
when I introduced her.

He pulled out a chair without waiting for an invitation.
“Cara,
it has been so long. What, two weeks since we
have last been together?” Fiat’s cool fingers trailed across
the back of my neck. I shivered and scooted to the side,
aware that I was being less than polite. The blue dragons’
element was air, and Fiat always seemed to be a good ten
degrees cooler than his environment. “An eternity.”

“Yes, two weeks, although you could hardly say we
were together. You were trying to disrupt the peace con
ference, and I was there supporting Drake.”

“Such a fierce defense of him. What fire you have.” He
reached out and tucked an unruly strand of hair behind
my ear. I fought down the desire to smack his hand and
told myself he was purposely trying to rile me. I wouldn’t
give him the satisfaction of giving in to the temptation.
“And yet, I have heard that all is not well with you and
your mate. You have been living in the States while he re
mains in Europe, no?”

“No,” I said firmly, smiling at the waitress when she
brought our drinks. She brought Fiat a dusty dark green bottle and small aperitif glass as well, clearly a standing order. I lifted my glass and touched it to Amelie’s, then acknowledged my manners and did the same with Fiat.
“
Santé
.”

“Santé,”
Amelie murmured, her eyes wary as she
watched Fiat.

“I had also heard that you were moving to London to
be nearer your mentor.” Fiat sipped at his drink, some sort
of golden wine. “Is Drake accompanying you? Or are the
rumors true, and you are at odds with your mate?”

I said nothing but ground out a smile. It was pretty
insincere, but it was a smile nonetheless. Although I
wanted nothing more than to tell Fiat what I really
thought of him, I held my tongue. This wasn’t just about
me now—I had the green dragons to think of. Drake
wouldn’t thank me if I insulted Fiat so greatly that the
blue dragons refused to cooperate at any further peace
discussions.

Fiat’s eyes narrowed. He leaned toward me, sniffing.
“Why is it you smell different?”

“I really don’t think a discussion about my choice of
deodorant or bath powder is at all enlightening, but if you
really want the names of both, I’ll be happy to give them
to you.”

“No,” he said, suddenly lunging at me until his nose
was buried in the crook of my neck.

“Hey!” I said, trying to push him away. Minding my
p’s and q’s was one thing—full frontal sniffage was an
other! “Knock it off! Um.
Please
knock it off.”

“You want me to rip him a new one?” Jim asked.
Amelie looked confused.

“Of course not. Don’t be silly,” I said, trying for a light,
dismissive laugh. The last thing I wanted was for anyone
to get bent out of shape, even though this really was over the line. “Fiat is just overly impressed by my perfume. I’ll
have to write the makers a testimonial letter.”

Jim snorted in disbelief.

“It is not perfume or chemicals you have applied to yourself that I smell,” Fiat answered, finally giving in to
my (polite) shoves. He sat in his chair for a moment, his
fingers stroking his chin as he watched me. “It is some
thing about you that has changed. Some . .. chemical
change in your body.” Crystalline heat flared to life in his
eyes. “Are you breeding?”

“What?” I squawked, in so loud a voice that several
people looked over at us. Amelie smothered a much more
quiet gasp.

Jim wasn’t anywhere near as subtle. “Now. Let me rip
him to shreds now. Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Everyone ignored the demon.

“Are you breeding Drake’s child? Are you pregnant?”

It took me a few minutes to get myself under control.
“You know, I think I’m just going to pass on answering
that question. My personal life, my relationship with
Drake—anything that doesn’t have a bearing on the peace
between the dragons—is not going to be a topic I will dis
cuss with you.”

Under the table, out of sight of Fiat, Jim leaned over and drooled on his expensive, shiny shoes.

“Hmm.” Fiat’s finger tapped on his chin as he contin
ued to inspect me as if I might sprout a
baby on board
sign. “You are human. Drake is a wyvern
...
no. You are
correct. Any dragonkin you have will not have a bearing
on the future. They will not become wyverns.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re seeing it my way, but I’ve got
to say I don’t see Drake as an old man handing over con
trol of the sept to anyone but a child of his—not that
we’re having any, but as long as we’re being hypothetical,
I think you’re wrong. He certainly would want one of our
children to be wyvern after him.”