Pyromancist (23 page)

Bono laughed. “You can put as much icing
sugar on it as you want. He’s fucking in for it head over heels.”
His smile was broad and warm. “He’s jealous.”

“He’s got his reasons for reacting so
harshly,” she said.

“Hey, you don’t have to defend him. I would
probably react the same around any woman I considered mine.”

“Just for the record, I’m not his, and I’m
still sorry you had to take the brunt.”

“Forget about it.” He squeezed her shoulder.
“It’s nothing.”

She smiled. “Feeling better?”

He nodded. “The movement definitely
helps.”

“I’m going to walk around the deck for a
bit.”

“Good idea. Important to keep up some
exercise.”

“Well, I wish you deep roots someday,” she
said.

He nodded, his brow pulled into a frown, and
then she realized that her words carried like a farewell and she
quickly walked away, before he had time to interpret its underlying
meaning.

It was only lunchtime, a long time still
before she could put her plan into action, so she sat on a
deckchair, watched the sea, and wondered about her future. Her plan
before Josselin came along was to hand herself over to the
authorities, but it wasn’t such a good plan any longer—not after
what Josselin had said about people like her being secretly
eliminated. If she could get away, hide out for a few months until
she knew it was safe to return for Erwan, they could think of
something together. What she didn’t yet dare face was what she was
going to do if the fires started again.

“I have to go to the mainland after lunch,”
Josselin said behind her back.

She didn’t jump because she had sensed him
before he spoke.

“Do you need anything? Maybe some personal
things?”

She turned in her chair. “No, thank you.” She
offered him a smile, as she wanted their last hours together to be
beautiful.

Instead of evoking a smile from him, he
frowned. “I don’t like it when you smile so sadly.”

“Josselin, what will you do when you catch
your firestarter?”

“My mission will be complete. I’ll move on to
the next one.”

“Are they all that matter? Missions?”

“Yes. It gives me something worth living
for.”

“You’re a good man, Josselin. I wish you
could see yourself as you really are.”

“I wish I could see what you see too, Cle,
but I only see the truth.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t see what isn’t there, or what isn’t
possible, just because I want to.”

“Do you keep your promises?”

“I do.”

“Then don’t forget the one you made me about
my animals.”

He tensed. “I didn’t promise anything.”

She looked at him to remember his older face.
So much had happened in his life, and he deserved none of it.
Suddenly, an overwhelming urge to feel his lips one last time came
over her. She got to her feet and stood on tiptoe, giving him a
soft kiss, one in which she poured out all of her love.

“One day you will see the truth, Josselin de
Arradon,” she said.

She turned from him, but he grabbed her
wrist. “Why are you talking like this?”

She blinked back the tears. She couldn’t risk
giving her plan away now, just because she was getting
emotional.

His mercurial eyes shined dangerously. “Are
you planning on hurting yourself, Cle?”

“No,” she said honestly, “I’m just suddenly
... sad.”

He folded his arms around her and kissed her
hair. “Come inside. I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Maya said she’s cooking,” she said in an
attempt to escape his embrace, wiggling in his arms. She wasn’t
sure she could be with him for much longer without bawling
uncontrollably.

“Maya tends to burn food, and her rice is
soggy. I make a much more appetizing seafood pasta.”

She knew he was trying to cheer her up, and
it actually worked. Conjuring a picture of him in her mind,
Josselin in a kitchen surrounded by pots and pans cooking her a
meal, made her feel all fuzzy and warm.

“I can’t picture the descendant of a Count
slaving away in the kitchen, Josselin from Josselin.”

There was a village in the Morbihan region
named Josselin, after the son Josselin of the first Viscount of
Morbihan, Guithenoc, and she mentioned it teasingly because she
knew how endearingly embarrassed he got about his name. Everyone
knew the Josselin Castle, dating as far back as 1020, was still
owned by the descendants of the original Viscount Josselin de
Arradon. She was staring at the latest Josselin in the long line of
heirs.

“Sometimes I forget about that title. I hate
to hear it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not worthy of it.”

“You are,” she whispered.

“I’ll be in the kitchen. You can join me if
you want. Otherwise, I’ll call you when lunch is ready.” He
turned.

“Josselin?”

“Clelia?”

“Thank you for the clothes.” She felt a
renewed flush heating her body at the thought of him selecting her
underwear.

He watched her closely, measuring her with
his gray eyes that now didn’t seem so cold, and then he smiled a
rare gesture that lit up his whole face.

“You have no idea how much pleasure shopping
for you gave me.”

He left her with this statement, not looking
back as he made his way to the kitchen.

* * * *

Maya and Josselin had left after lunch to go
to the mainland for whatever it was they had to go and do. Cain
walked around the deck after lunch, asking if Clelia needed
company, but she declined. She stood at the rail and watched the
sea for a very long time. Then she went to the cabin and removed
the bullet she had taken from Josselin’s revolver from the pocket
of her denim jacket. Josselin had said that Maya had patted her
down for weapons the day they had taken her from the jetty, after
Josselin had injected her with a tranquilizer, but Maya obviously
hadn’t gone through her pockets. She slipped it into the front
pocket of her denim shorts and removed her shoes. The bullet would
be her reminder of him, of his first kiss, of what could have been,
of the fragility of life. She took a deep breath. She wasn’t
supposed to wander around because the yacht wasn’t moving. Her
heart beat furiously as she went back to the deck. It was time.

The sun was setting behind the island. Lann
came to greet her because they had anchored.

“You’re not supposed to move around when the
engines aren’t running,” he said. “I’ll escort you back to the
cabin, or to the lounge if you wish.”

“I’m feeling queasy,” she said, silently
praying for forgiveness for the lie. “Maybe you can just stand here
with me until we move again.”

“I’ll start up the engine soon. We’re just
waiting for Joss and Maya to come aboard.”

“Where did they go?” she said, not expecting
him to answer, and not really wanting to know. She simply tried to
kill time.

“To put out some fires.”

Her heart jumped. “There was another
one?”

Lann smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. That
was a bad joke. I meant it figuratively, but I guess my pun wasn’t
in good taste. They went to deal with the media.”

“What did they tell them?”

A motorboat appeared in the distance, the
noise of the engine interrupting their conversation.

“Speak of the devil,” Lann said,
grinning.

Clelia gave him a stern look.

“Sorry,” he said, “another bad pun.”

He really had a very sensual mouth. His lips
were full and wide, complimenting his square jaw. When he smiled,
his eerie golden eyes didn’t light up, but his slightly pointed
ears lifted, and Clelia got the impression that he really meant to
be nice, even if he appeared frightening.

The boat pushed against the side of the
yacht. Clelia saw Maya, and then Josselin, step onboard, but she
only had eyes for Josselin. He looked around, and when he saw her,
his shoulders visibly relaxed.

Lann followed her gaze. “I guess now you can
ask him yourself what he told the press.”

Josselin maneuvered around the deck, and when
he reached them, he said, “What is she doing outside when the boat
isn’t moving?”

“I watched her,” Lann said. “She’s not
feeling well.”

Josselin’s hand went to her cheek. “What’s
wrong?”

Clelia felt the blood rushing to her face.
She lied to Lann and got away with it, but Josselin would know she
wasn’t telling the truth. He knew she didn’t get seasick because
she told him so herself.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Start up the engines,” Josselin said to
Lann, keeping his eyes on Clelia.

Lann nodded, and with a polite inclination of
his head in Clelia’s direction, left to do as he was told.

Clelia leaned against the rail. She had
placed herself deliberately in front of one of the gates that gave
access to the gap where a stepladder could be hooked. She saw
Josselin taking stock of her clothes.

“You need a jacket. The wind is cold.” He
looked concerned. “And you should wear shoes. You could slip.
You’re not feeling well?”

Instead of answering, she only smiled.

Emotions swam in his eyes. “If you were a
bird,” he said, “you would have flown away now.”

The minute he said it, his demeanor changed.
He blinked a few times, as if trying to recall a memory.

They had started moving again. From the
corner of her eye, she saw the rock formations of Île aux Moines
coming into view. She turned her head to survey the surroundings.
The engine was running at full speed now. They would circle the
island and let the yacht run into the sea for several miles before
cutting the engine and drifting in the Gulf until the morning.

She made a few quick calculations, biting her
lip. One wrong move... Behind her back, she felt for the latch to
open the gate.

“I have to give Cain a report,” he said.

“I’m going to stay here to enjoy the sunset.”
She bit the inside of her cheek not to cry.

“First go and get a jacket and shoes.
Please.”

“Just another minute.” She prayed he wouldn’t
push the issue, or her chance would be lost.

Josselin nodded and walked in the direction
of the lounge. He had to have sensed something, because at the
door, he paused and turned back, staring at her. As he studied her
with a frown, fear and desperation slowly took over his worried
expression. As if drawn by an invisible warning, Cain appeared in
the door of the lounge. Clelia took everything in very quickly.
Lann was at the wheel, out of view. Maya was on the bridge, looking
down. Bono was nowhere in sight.

Cautiously, as if he tried not to scare away
a bird, Josselin lifted his hand, palm up, open. It wasn’t a
command, it was a plea. Clelia released the latch and let the gate
slip open. The force of the wind created by the speed at which they
cruised flattened the swing-gate to the side of the boat with a
clang audible above the rush of the water and the engines.

Cain and Maya looked like statues. Jumping
would be suicide, and they knew it. Maybe that’s what they would
think. When Josselin took a step forward, Clelia pushed herself
into the opening in the rail. He stopped. She watched him bravely,
trying to convey all the love she felt for him without words.

A few more seconds, and she’d have to let go,
or it would be too late. But she could never let go of Josselin.
Never. She suddenly wanted him to have something of her, something
concrete, something symbolic of leaving her heart behind. It wasn’t
as much for him as for her. The idea soothed her. She’d leave him
with the knowledge of her love, of what had passed between them in
the ancient cemetery. He needed the reminder more than she did.
Every time he looked at it, she wanted him to remember that his
life was worth living.

Clelia slipped her hand into her pocket and
almost lost her footing in the strong wind.

Josselin shouted her name, lifting both arms,
but she inched back more and felt her heel sinking over the side.
Josselin froze.

She removed the bullet, lifting it up to him,
seeing his face change from confusion to shocked understanding. She
let the bullet slip from her hand. It dropped on the deck. She had
to let go, or she would miss her chance. The misery she felt at
knowing she might never see Josselin ever again was almost
unbearable. No amount of mental affirmation of her decision to run
could have prepared her for the moment. And as the powerful feeling
of despair ripped through her, she felt heat growing inside of her,
warming her organs. She had never felt anything like it before.
While Josselin, Cain, and Maya watched, a tiny ball of fire erupted
at her feet. She didn’t move her eyes from Josselin, and she
recognized the shock in his that mirrored her own. Now he knew. She
was the prey.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, the sound not
reaching her lips, before she took the step to freedom.

Chapter
Fourteen

Behind them, the water moved in lines of
foam, cutting parallel surfs across the ocean. The water was deep
and black, a vastness of weight and element that could swallow and
bury a person like a secret, kept forever.

Josselin shuddered as he watched Clelia’s
delicate form against the backdrop of the menacing sea. He wanted
her to move away from the rail, back to him. She stood vulnerable
while the wind whipped her face with her hair. The look he saw in
the dark pools of her eyes was one of compassion, and it frightened
him. He would have preferred anger or hatred. Anger or hatred was
alive, unresolved and therefore continuous, but compassion was the
result of closure that came with letting go. Compassion was the
end.

She moved. Nothing in her stance indicated
that he should be worried, but then why did his gut wring into a
ball that caught alight in his stomach? The intensity of the
feeling burned a hole through his heart. He slowly extended his
hand, palm up, a silent invitation, because she stood too far away
from him to command, or to grab. One step backward... She tilted
her head and gave him the smile he knew she was going to and didn’t
want to see. There was no blame. Blame would have been good. Blame
kept one going. Not to blame was the end of the road.