Phoenix Feather (7 page)

Trent lifted the edge of the aluminum wrap to take a peek. “That looks amazing.”

Aidan bit back a smile and looked around at the cozy kitchen with dark green granite top counters and hardwood floors. The cabinets were a dark red wood, the refrigerator black and tacked with post-it notes, a small calendar, and some pictures of kids touring a firehouse. The table had been cleared and set with forest-green placemats and a centerpiece of wood carved into a scene of horses running around a mountain. The kitchen felt masculine, yet sophisticated.
 

“Your place is really nice,” she said, and wondered if she should feel uncomfortable. “Is that hand-carved?”

Trent looked from the stove to the table. “Yes. My grandfather is a wood craftsman. His work has always been popular. And, if you’re wondering, my family is somewhat wealthy because of it.”

Aidan turned and considered him for a moment. He didn’t give the statement as a matter of boasting, nor did he act ashamed of the image his home portrayed; it was a simple fact given to avoid misdirection, yet she could tell that he didn’t want it to influence her opinion of him.

“Do you have more from your grandfather? That carving is exquisite.”

“There are some smaller pieces in the den. The vegetables aren’t quite ready yet. You can take a look around if you like.”

Aidan started with the bookshelf closest to the kitchen. Trent had some classic works, along with a handful of various manuals from computers to firefighting. His music collection was largely country, with a few world albums. He had put up a shelf above the TV and placed several small carvings no more than five inches tall on it. Most of them depicted nature scenes: an eagle perched on a bare branch; a wolf howling; one was a train.

“My grandfather always gave one for our birthdays,” Trent said from the kitchen.

“Does he still?” The works were carefully detailed, each feature distinguished. Many dedicated hours must have been poured into them. She had tried whittling once, long ago, but could never have made anything as ornate.

Trent sounded sad. “Not since the arthritis.”

Aidan looked back at him. “That must be hard on him.”

He nodded. “Yeah. He’s retired though, so my grandmother has been trying to distract him with trips across the country and overseas. They’re in Alaska right now.”

“It’s beautiful up there.”

“Have you gone?”

Once.
Back before a European had ever set foot on this continent, she had gone to the North to see it. The Lights were breathtaking, but a creature such as herself would have had a hard time blending into that world of white. “I’ve seen pictures.”

There was a moment of silence, and Aidan turned to a bunch of framed photographs on corner shelves near the window. There were ones of Trent and his fellow firemen, what looked like his grandparents and his parents. Aidan peered closer at one of Trent and another man. She swallowed a gasp.

“McCain, huh?” she called.

“What?” He came into the den.

Aidan pointed to a framed certificate on the shelf below. “Your last name, McCain. Irish.”

“Yep, but I’ve got a bit of Italian and French in me.” He tilted his head. “With that red hair, I could guess you’re Irish too. But you probably don’t know for sure.”

Aidan forced a smile. “Well, Quinn is Irish, so perhaps I’m not so removed from my adoptive parents after all. Is that your brother?” She pointed to the picture she had been studying.

“Yep. I’d like you to meet him sometime, if I can ever pull him away from work long enough. He’s a cop.” Trent returned to the kitchen.

Aidan took a deep breath. Detective McCain, who was investigating Jenny’s death, was Trent’s brother. Should she say something? Wouldn’t that be a conversation: “Actually, I met your brother; he’s investigating the case of my recently murdered friend.” She shook her head. That was not the tone she wanted to set for the evening. She wanted to enjoy herself, not have a heart-to-heart pity party, especially since she had accepted it and moved on. She would tell Trent later, maybe over lunch, or at least in a more casual setting. Hopefully he would understand why she neglected to say anything tonight. And what would she tell Phoebe? Chris might find it ironically amusing, while Phoebe was still hurting over Jenny’s death, and finding humor in the situation was probably not a good idea. Aidan sighed.

“Dinner’s ready,” Trent called.

Aidan went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table while Trent served them both plates. “It looks and smells great,” she said. It tasted great too. Her dessert had better be good enough to follow this. “Wow, you do know this tastes better than the stuff my restaurant made for your firehouse, right?”

He laughed. “Maybe, but you actually appreciate it.”

Aidan savored another bite. “Do you cook like this often?”

“Sadly, no. It’s just not the same when it’s for one.”

“Maybe I should give you some more excuses.”

Trent smiled. “Definitely.”

They finished dinner, and Aidan cut slices of the dessert she had brought. She had made three layers of pound cake with cherry filling and sliced almonds oozing from each layer. She watched Trent intently as he took the first bite. He chewed and his eyes widened as he nodded with enthusiasm.

“Excellent. I will never doubt your baking skills.”

Aidan smiled in relief. “You’ll have to defend me to Chris since he didn’t get to try any of it.”

“His loss. You want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Trent already had coffee made in a pot, so he pulled some mugs from the cupboard and filled them. “You three seem really close.” He set a mug in front of her.

“We are.”
More than anyone else I’ve ever known.
“They’re like the sister and brother I never had.”

Trent retook his seat. “Family’s great that way, even if it’s not by blood, as you’re proof of. I miss my family sometimes.”

“You don’t get to visit them?”

“Not as often as I would like. A firefighter’s work schedule is steady but draining.”

“You’re not struggling to make ends meet, so you must like being a fireman.”

“I love it. Well, most of the time. It’s not a picnic.”

“No, I imagine not. You deal with people losing everything they have. How do you know who you are when all the evidence is gone?” she mused.

“The only way you can: remember and start over.” His gaze dropped to the swirling liquid in his cup. “It is hard to watch though.”

“You said you became a fireman because you were bored with college, but you must have been interested in it to begin with. Why?”

Trent chuckled. “My brother and I have always had somewhat of a hero complex. He liked clues to finding missing things, and I climbed the tree to get Mrs. Gabinsky’s cat down.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven, and that mean old cat tore me to shreds for my trouble.”

Aidan’s shoulders shook with laughter at the image she had formed in her head of a young, blond-haired boy trying to coax a bristled and hissing tabby out of a tree.

Trent’s tone changed. “We used to go camping sometimes when I was a kid. There’s something beautiful about fire. In nature, it’s destructive for the purpose of regenerating. It’s not malicious, just a way of cleansing a forest so that new growth can occur. People think fire is a bad thing. Often, I think my job is more like keeping a wild animal under control so it doesn’t hurt the encroaching population.” He gave her a small smile and took another bite of cake.

Aidan sat entranced. That’s exactly what fire was; she knew. It destroyed her old body to give way to new life. It was beautiful the way he talked about it. He respected fire, and, in a way he could never know, respected a side of her that was both dark and powerful.

“I’m sorry,” Trent interrupted her thoughts. “A little weird for you?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I agree. It’s very beautiful, just generally misunderstood. You know, some mythologists compare Loki’s personality to that of a forest fire.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Tricky and malicious? Or are you saying the Norse god was simply misunderstood?”

She smirked. “Well, I didn’t say it was my theory.”

“The phoenix is an interesting myth.” He tapped his finger on the side of his mug. “Fire as death and rebirth.”

Aidan forced herself to swallow the bite she’d taken. “Immortality and resurrection.” A sacred symbol in many ancient cultures, but no longer revered or valued. She could now be reduced to a logo on some commercial product, the symbol now more important than what it used to represent.

“One of those universal myths, you called them? Some variations, but generally the same. It lived for a thousand years before bursting into flame and was reborn from the ashes.”

“Yep.” Aidan willed calmness into her voice. He was just trying to connect with her interests; he had no idea how close he was coming to a secret so dark she had sometimes had to kill to protect it. “Some said five hundred years, others fifteen hundred. Phoenix tears could give healing, or turn into pearls.”

“If there’s obvious similarities, how do you account for the discrepancies?” he asked, and continued eating his cake.

“Culture,” she supplied. “Even though the phoenix was a sacred bird, depending on people’s belief systems of the time, they molded what they saw into what they wanted to see.” Humans wanted everything in the world to somehow serve them. That’s why they invented gods made of stone. The human race hadn’t changed that much since the beginning of time. They had just learned how to turn themselves into idols. That was one good thing for Aidan: she never was fond of people worshiping her.

“You know a lot about mythology,” Trent said. “Yet you’re not specializing in it?”

“No. Mythology is great, but too small for me.” She forced a casual smile. “Granted, it goes a long way to explaining motives and influences on people’s actions, but I’m more interested in those actions and what became of them.” She had never carried on a conversation about the phoenix outside of an academic setting, and she found herself feeling uncomfortable—and exposed. She finished her last bite of cake and pushed the plate aside. “You, for instance. One day you climb a tree, and years from then you’re a firefighter.”

Trent laughed. “Yeah, and someone with no past studies history.”

Aidan smiled and tilted her head in admittance. Dessert was finished, and the conversation lulled off, much to Aidan’s relief. She offered to help Trent clean up the dishes, but he refused.

“It was a pleasure,” he said, “and I’m happy to do all the work it required.” He stood and so did she, and here was the defining moment of the evening. To Aidan’s surprise, Trent held his arm out toward the hall and walked her to the door. “Dessert was fantastic, by the way.”

“Thank you for dinner. This was nice.” She linked her hands and waited.

He wasn’t going to ask her to stay, which was the gentlemanly thing to do, and she had been treated thus for ages, yet it was hard to ignore the images and whisperings ingrained in her head from too much exposure to Hollywood. She smiled, and briefly wondered if Trent had been born in the wrong century—or reincarnated.

They stood awkwardly in his doorway for a few moments. Trent put his hand gently on her arm and smiled. His touch was like fire to her already excited blood. He leaned forward slightly, but restrained himself.

“Good night,” he said.

Aidan nodded and stepped out into the cold air. “Night.” She felt him watching as she walked to her car and got inside. She started the car and pulled away. She let the cold air seep through her skin and calm her blood.
How ridiculous. I’m like those giddy high school girls who want to faint just because a guy smiled at them.
But she still hoped he’d call again soon.

Chapter Seven

With midterms finally over, there was a sense of brief relief that yet one more step had been conquered on the road to getting the degree. The book club had taken a two-week hiatus for the event, and Aidan hadn’t seen Phoebe or Chris in several days, which was common during these times of intense academic stress, but it still presented a void Aidan wasn’t fond of. It happened more for the sake of her friends than herself, for Aidan didn’t have to study as hard as other students. She did spend time reviewing her memories of events and reading the research, which always got some fact wrong, and even though Aidan knew most of history pretty well, she was tested on what man thought
he
knew about it.

Now that exams were behind them, however, Chris had called and asked Aidan to come over that afternoon. He had sounded odd on the phone, but when Aidan tried to ask what was up, he simply replied in a playful voice that she had to come over and find out.

Phoebe let her in. She looked antsy, shifting her weight and pursing her lips. “He says he has news, but he won’t tell me.”

Aidan set her stuff down by the couch and heard the shrill whistle of a teapot.

“You want something?” Chris called from the kitchen.

She joined him and looked at the bags of tea laid out on the counter. Chris opened a green tea pouch and put it in his cup. Curious, for he was more of a coffee drinker.