Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1)

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Joss called when she took a step back.

She stole another glance at the man in the brown leather jacket. Joss kept the message in his eyes clear as he targeted his gaze on the man. Walk away and keep your mouth shut. The man with the brown jacket was probably a holidaymaker, an early riser who was curious about the helicopter. As if sensing the danger, the stranger turned the other way and walked briskly in the direction of the square. Good.

Joss stopped a step away from Clelia. Even if he was supposed to take her, he wasn’t going to deliberately intimidate her with his larger physique.

Lifting her head, she locked eyes with him. Her skin was as pearly as the inside of an oyster shell and her eyes were dark pools of melted chocolate. Her nose was delicate and small, her features beautifully proportioned, but it was the pout of her upper lip fitting like a pretty little bow on the fuller bottom lip that held his gaze. The younger Clelia had always been cute, but she’d grown into a knockout. Not that he should notice. One, she was their hostage. Two, he had unfinished business with the woman from last night.

The SUV came to a stop in the road. Maya Martin, the team’s hydromancist, got out of the vehicle, weapons concealed under her jacket. The small amount of time he had alone with Clelia was running out.

He addressed her in French. “Hello, little witch. It’s been a while.” Nine years, to be exact.

A wounded expression flickered in her eyes before she managed to conceal it. Her words were cutting. “I’m surprised you remember me at all.”

Did he insult her by mentioning her nickname? He would’ve thought she’d be long over that. “Oh, I remember you.” How could he not? She’d followed him like a puppy. It was sweet how she’d thought she’d been careful enough for him not to notice. “No words of welcome for me?”

“What do you want me to say?” She took a step back. “Welcome home?”

He tried to keep his voice reassuring. “I need you to come with me. I have to ask you a few questions about the fires.”

“Strange coincidence. You’re the second one this morning.”

He didn’t like that statement. “Who was first?”

“A journalist from a Paris newspaper. Am I to take it you work for a television station?”

He let the sarcastic comment slide. Anyway, it was all bark and no bite, although, he had to admire her courage for putting up the show. No one else from his team had made contact before he had, and the fact that someone else had approached her was worrisome, but he merely had time to deepen his frown before Maya walked up.

In her typical no-beating-around-the-bush way, she said, “There’s another fire. Île de la Jument. Boss wants you at the site. Details will come through in a sec.” She nodded in Clelia’s direction. “I’ll take her back to base.”

Joss glanced at Clelia.

“Boss said on the double,” Maya said, giving him a questioning look.

He nodded. “Take her to base and don’t let anyone near her until I arrive.”

Maya gripped Clelia’s arm. “We’ve made arrangements for ground transport when you land on the island. You better go by helicopter. It’ll be quicker.”

Clelia’s hair and clothes were dripping wet, probably from being caught in the rain. A small puddle had gathered around her boots. She had to be cold.

“Make sure she gets dry,” he said, surprising himself more than Maya, who stared at him with astonishment. With another quick glance at Clelia, he turned and pressed on the mic in his ear to cut off the noise from the blades. “Don’t kill the engine, Bono. We’re up again. Île de la Jument.”

“Got it, Joss,” Bono said, sounding happy. Bono was always happy, but never as happy as when he could fly. “This baby’s spinning. We’re ready for you.”

Whatever this was, Joss wasn’t sure he was ready.Chapter 6When Clelia’s dream unfolded in reality, panic hit for several reasons. First of all, there was the dream itself. She’d thought after seeing Joss last night the way things had happened in the dream had been wrong. The fact that the scene had still played out like in her dream was all the more disturbing, because last night hadn’t been the beginning and end of the story. Last night was nothing but a preview. A warning.

Secondly, there was the journalist who’d followed her. He’d blocked her only escape route. She could’ve made a run for the forest if he hadn’t appeared in the path. A black vehicle had already pulled up in the road, eliminating that option, effectively trapping her. She’d considered screaming, but it was clear from the journalist’s quick retreat he wasn’t going to help her.