Pyro: A Fire Novella Page 4

  "I'm looking for Basil Chaplin, please?"

  "He's rather busy at the moment, may I take a number and ring you back?" Upper-class British accent.

  "Sure. Tell him Saxony Cagney called from Canada, a fire magus who was given his business card by Enzo Barberini."

  I rattled off my phone number, which she took in silence. She then hung up without saying anything else.

  I made a face. All that build-up for nothing. I switched apps to check my emails and a few moments later, my phone rang. The number had the English country code, but it was different from the one I had dialed.

  "Hello?"

  "Mrs. Cagney?" British. Male. Resonant and serious.

  I laughed. "Mrs. Cagney is my mother. Call me Saxony. Is this Basil?"

  "Mr. Chaplin, yes."

  Uptight much? I cleared my throat. "Sorry, Mr. Chaplin."

  "I feel I must inform you that we can track a cell phone call all the way across the world, and we don't take kindly to prank calls."

  My head snapped up and I blinked. "Why would I prank call you? Do you not know Enzo Barberini?"

  "We've spoken briefly over the phone, when he was looking to hire—" he cleared his throat. "You say you are a fire mage?"

  Fire mage? "We're not called magi? Magus for singular?"

  He laughed, sounding a touch more relaxed. "They are one and the same. Magus is the Italian word for mage."

  "Oh, of course," I said, feeling dumb. I could have figured that out. "Enzo recommended that I come and see you, for—" I paused. "Training?"

  "How old are you, Saxony?"

  "I'll be seventeen in a month."

  Basil sighed audibly. The random image of Sherlock Holmes pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance came to my mind. "I see. Would you mind if I called you back?"

  "No, I guess not. Are you going to call Enzo and verify that I am what I say I am?"

  "Precisely."

  We said goodbye and hung up. I sat down in the wooden chair I used to do my homework in when I was younger. It seemed to have shrunk. My knees bounced while I waited.

  My phone rang less than five minutes later. I snapped it up. "Yes?"

  "Saxony?" Totally different voice. Not Basil.

  "Uh, yes?"

  "It's Gage."

  I blanked out.

  "From the soccer game?"

  "Oh, hey." I kicked myself for answering. The guy was cute but I didn't want Basil's call to go to voicemail.

  "About that coffee—"

  "Listen, would you mind if I called you back? I'm just expecting a call right now and don't want to tie up my line."

  "That sounds like a brush off," he said, his voice casual.

  "It's not. What about this afternoon? At Flagg’s? Do you know it?”

  “Yeah, Flagg’s is great. That would be nice!” Gage sounded genuinely pleased.

  “Three-thirty?”

  “I’ll be there.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  My phone buzzed and the screen reported another call coming in. +44.

  “I gotta go, sorry!"

  “No worries. See you this afternoon.”

  “See you.” I switched lines, hanging up on Gage and picking up the other call. "Hello?"

  "Miss Cagney?" It was Basil's voice again, but he sounded different than before, almost excited. "Enzo has informed me that you are indeed a fire mage, and not only that, but that you have endured a forceful burning. Is this true?"

  "It's true," I said, my voice sounding extra rough. I cleared my throat.

  "This is highly unusual, highly. Quite unprecedented. Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have survived? Well, never mind that right now. We would be very interested in working with you, but we don't deal with minors who haven't been previously vetted."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Simply, it means we know their families. It also means they have received the fire genetically. Enzo has informed me that you were given the fire. This is not something we see often." He finally took a breath. "Do your parents know what you are?"

  My pulse ratcheted a notch at the thought. "No," I rasped.

  "Do you trust your family?"

  I blinked at the question I'd heard only yesterday from Raf. "Of course."

  "Then you'd better tell them," he said with finality.

  "That won't put them in some sort of danger?"

  "Miss Cagney, they would be in much greater danger if they didn't know."

  I stood up from the rickety chair and began to pace. "What do you mean?"

  It was silent on the other end of the phone for too long.

  My heart rate increased. "Are you still there?"

  "I don't mean to frighten you, but there are organizations whose sole purpose it is to find supernaturals." He paused, and I knew he was trying to find a suitable word for a teenager’s ears. "And apprehend them."

  This wasn't news to me. It was exactly what Dante had done. "What do they have to do with my family?"

  "Some of these organizations use less than ethical methods to enlist their supernaturals. If your family isn't aware, then they aren't forewarned. Should one of these organizations find you and determine you are a good recruit, and mark my words they would, because a mage who has lived through a burning is rare and extremely valuable, then they may have no qualms about using your family to get to you."

  The blood drained from my face and my vision fuzzed out at the edges. My mouth opened but I didn't know what to say. I closed my eyes. This was my worst fear.

  "Now I have frightened you, which is exactly what I had wanted not to do. Try to relax," he said. "Of all the supernaturals out there, you are most likely not on their radar at the moment, considering where you live and how new you are. My recommendation at this time is to tell your family. Give them a small demonstration of your power. Tell them that Arcturus exists to help, that you aren't alone. We can help prepare you for life as a supernatural. We have been doing so for others like you since before you were born."

  "Arcturus?"

  "It's the name of our organization. Don't look it up. You won't find anything. My next recommendation is to keep a low profile. In all likelihood, there won't be eyes on you right now, but the more active you are with your fire, the easier you make it for them to find you. When you turn eighteen, you can make a decision about coming to join us here for a time."

  My heart sank. Eighteen. More than a year away.

  "We have much we can teach you—at least, I think we do. We don't work with many like you. We would be happy to have you as a guest before you turn eighteen, but you would need to be accompanied by a parent, and I presume that you are still in school?"

  My mind was whirling. "I am." A rush of possibilities ran through my head. I had to get my parents from complete ignorance to accompanying me on a flash trip to England. Curiosity about Arcturus was overwhelming, and I was beyond curious about Basil. "You sound so reasonable."

  "I assure you, many of my students think I'm not," he said brusquely. "But as I said, you are a minor. Why don't you have a discussion with your family. Take as much time as you need. And then call me back when you're ready."

  "Okay. Any recommendations on how to break the news to them?"

  "Gently," he said.

  My lips twisted. How helpful. "Where are you?" I asked. "London?"

  "I am at present, for business. We have an office here. But Arcturus is actually headquartered in another location. One I'll share with you when we make arrangements for you to come visit for the first time."

  "Is it far from London, then?" I pried.

  "Later, Miss Cagney. In time," he said, not unkindly.

  "Okay. Um. Thank you."

  "You're welcome. The most important thing for you right now is to know that you're not alone. You can live a good life with the fire."

  My heart warmed at his words. "That's good to know. I'll call you back soon," I promised.

  "I'll be here. Goodbye, Miss Cagney."

  I ha
dn’t yet parked my bike in the rack just down the street from Flagg’s Café when my phone buzzed. I jammed the front tire between the metal bars and took out my phone.

  Gage: I’m here. What can I get you.

  Me: Peach iced tea, thanks. I’m less than a block away.

  Air-conditioning cooled the sweat at my brow as I entered the old Café. Flagg’s was a favorite hangout for me and my friends. It almost seemed weird to be here without them. A hand flashed at me from the cluster of old couches at the back. I smiled at Gage and went to join him.

  “Thanks,” I said, plopping down across from him. “So thirsty.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gage smiled.

  I took the iced tea and took a big slurp from the straw, the cold liquid soothing my throat. We smiled at each other awkwardly for a second.

  “So, I’ll start then,” I said. “You a born and raised Saltfordite, like me?”

  Gage laughed and shook his head. “Nope. I was born in Britain, but raised in Saltford.” He opened his mouth to say more, when a buzzing sound came from his hip.

  “Your pants are vibrating,” I said, biting my straw and taking another sip.

  “Sorry.” Gage pulled out his phone and looked down at the screen. A deep line appeared between his brows.

  “Everything okay?”

  He sighed. “Sort of not, actually.” He caught my eye. “You’ve been watching the news?”

  “I catch it here and there. These fires are pretty weird.”

  He frowned. “They’re more than weird.” He lowered his voice. “That yacht she lit up in the harbor two nights ago, that was my family’s boat.”

  I jerked upright in shock. “Whoa. Back up. She? You know who it is?”

  He cocked his head from side to side. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Have you gone to the police?”

  He shook his head and raked a hand through his hair, mussing it. “No. My brother asked me to stay out of it.”

  “Your brother? I’m confused.”

  He scanned the café again. “This stays between us, right?”

  “Of course.” I was about to ask him why he was going to trust me because we’d only just met, but then he spoke again.

  “She’s my brother’s ex. He broke it off with her about two weeks ago.” He tilted his chin down and gave me a look filled with meaning. “She’s not taking it very well.”

  “Why is he trying to protect her, then?”

  “He’s not, that’s what I’m worried about.”

  “Okaaaaaay, that didn’t really clear things up for me.”

  Gage took a deep breath. “Calista, my brother’s ex. She’s…not right. I suspected something was off about her when they first started dating. Short fuse, these weird crazy eyes.” He gave me a wide-eyed look to show what he meant. “My brother said they just had a lot of passion, you know?”

  My cheeks colored, my red-headed genes betraying my discomfort. “Sure, sure,” I murmured, as though I knew what he was talking about. Passion, right.

  “But when you’ve got crazy passion like that, you get the other side of it, too. And after he broke up with her, that’s what he got.” He raised his brows. “Her other side.”

  “But, fires?” I whispered. “She could hurt somebody. Don’t you have an obligation to go to the police?”

  “That’s what I told him, but my brother…” Gage spread his palms against one another, long fingers splaying outward. “He’s got his own ideas about how to stop her.”

  “I’m not gonna lie, this is sounding worse and worse the more you say.”

  He eyed me. “Haven’t you ever been asked a favor from one of your brothers or one of your friends? A favor you thought was a bad idea, but you did it anyway because you love them?”

  “Sure, but I don’t think covering for my brother so he can run out and buy ice cream from the street-truck and eat it before dinner falls into the same category.”

  Gage snorted. “No,” he agreed. He raked a hand through his hair again. “What should I do?”

  I put down my iced tea. “Let me ask you this—how would you feel if the next time she lights a fire—”

  “If it is her,” he interjected.

  “—someone dies?”

  He paled. “I’d never forgive myself.”

  “I think you’ve answered your own question,” I said.

  Gage’s phone buzzed again and he looked down at it. He cursed under his breath and looked up at me. “I’m so sorry, Saxony. I have to go. It’s my brother. Seems like the gods are against us hanging out or something.” He got to his feet.

  “I hope not,” I said, looking up at him. “Go. Don’t worry. Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

  “Yeah.” He tucked his phone away. “Can I call you later?”

  “You’d better,” I said. “Even if it’s only to fill me in on how things turn out.”

  He gave a grim nod. “I will. Sorry again. Bye, Saxony.”

  I watched him rush from the café, his back tense. I pulled out my own phone while I sipped the rest of my iced tea. I tapped out a text to Targa.

  Me: Did the Bluejackets get called to the harbor for that burnt yacht?

  I finished my tea while I waited for her response. It wasn’t until I was about to mount my bike and go back home when my phone chirped with a reply.

  Targa: What burnt yacht?

  Me: Don’t you watch the news?

  Targa: Not since I got home. I’ve been busy.

  Me: Someone’s been lighting fires in Saltford. I thought maybe your mom might know something about it.

  Targa: Did the yacht sink somewhere off the coast?

  Me: No, it was in the harbor. Police must have pulled it up onto the beach. That’s where it was when I saw it on the news.

  Targa: The Bluejackets would only get called if there was an underwater wreck.

  Me: Right. Just thought I’d ask. What’s been keeping you so busy?

  Targa: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

  I smiled grimly. She wouldn't believe me if I’d told her what was going on in my life, either.

  Me: Try me.

  Targa: How about I save it til the sleepover? I’d rather tell the story once. It’s… involved.

  Me: Such a tease.

  Targa: *smile*

  I threw my leg over my bike, tucked my phone into my purse, and pedaled for home. As the trees and homes drifted past, my mind went back to my conversation with Basil. Around and around in my mind our conversation went, and his directive to tell my family about what I was. No matter which way I looked at it, a gentle way of breaking it to them wasn’t coming to mind.

  Chapter 7

  That evening, I waited until my family finished dinner before I had screwed up the courage to say anything. I hadn't eaten much and my napkin sat in shreds on my lap. Mom had just put a steaming casserole dish of strawberry-rhubarb crumble on the table when Dad said, "You're awful quiet this evening, Saxony. Everything okay?"

  "You've also barely eaten anything," Mom said. "Honestly, Saxony. I'm concerned. Dr. Jacques says there's no cause for worry, but for the first time, I'm wondering if we need a second opinion." She sat and began to dish out the dessert. "Fellow might be losing his touch," she added.

  Jack's hostile eyes flashed to my face and back down to his plate.

  "I feel fine. For the millionth time, I promise. But there is something that I have to tell you all," I said, clearing my throat. My stomach was nothing but a bundle of snapping nerves.

  Jack's eyes darted back up to my face, brows raised expectantly.

  I took a deep breath. "Something did happen to me in Venice."

  "Oh no." Mom put her fork down and immediately her brow furrowed.

  "I'm all right, Mom. Just let me talk through this without interrupting me. When I'm finished, you can ask me all the questions you want, okay?"

  Her mouth went into a flat line and she looked at my dad, who shared her apprehension. The two of them gra
sped hands over the table.

  I laughed. "I'm not pregnant, and I haven't developed any addictions."

  Jack sat back and crossed his arms. "Both of those might actually be better than what is going on, though."

  My parents’ eyes flashed to Jack and then back to me.

  "You know? He knows?" Mom said. "Why would you have told Jack and not us?"

  RJ, who had said nothing so far, finally said, "The suspense is killing me, here. Can we please let the woman talk?"

  "Thank you, RJ. And no." I shot Jack a glare. "Jack doesn't know; he's been misjudging me since I got home."

  Jack snorted. "Here we go. And I thought we were going to get the truth."

  "You are," I said, my face flushing with anger.

  "Oh really?" Jack shot back, his voice rising.

  "What is going on here?" Mom said.

  "Saxony is the arsonist," Jack blurted, his hostile gaze not leaving mine.

  I closed my eyes and slumped in my seat. So much for avoiding drama.

  "What?!" Dad yelled, his horrified expression turning on me.

  "No, I'm not," I said, slowly and deliberately. "I would never do that."

  "Saxony," Mom whispered, eyes wide and frightened.

  RJ leaned his elbows on the table and put his chin in his hands. His gaze moved around the table from face to face.

  "Would you all just listen to me for a min—"

  "To whatever lies you're about to tell?" Jack got up from the table. "I don't want dessert. Sorry, Mom."

  Frustration finally boiled over. I stood up, thrust my hand out, palm up. A red flame flared up from my hand, illuminating everyone's faces. "Sit down, Jack," I said, biting off the words.

  Mom gasped and leaned back away from the fire, eyes wide, face white. Dad let out a few choice curse-words which I'd never before in my life heard him utter. RJ stared at the fire, body frozen. Jack stepped back, knocking over his chair. It was the fear in my family’s faces that put the flame out, not my choice.

  "I'm sorry," I said, immediately regretful. "I'm sorry, please." I put my hands out to Jack. "Please, sit down. Let me explain everything. I am not the arsonist." Each beloved face was staring and fearful. They were afraid. Of me. "Jack," I whispered, my eyes pleading. "Please sit down."