Cold Fire (Spiritwalker 2)

He grunted, but although I had slapped him hard, he’d barely been staggered.

I thought: That wasn’t very effective. So I slugged him, right beneath the curve of his ribs. He doubled over, gasping and—strangely—gurgling as with choked amusement. As a shocked murmur spread out like a ripple, he said, “Your mama taught you to hit, did she? Oof?!”

His laugh was a booming chortle whose mirth made me want to strangle him. Gracious Melqart! James Drake! If he had seen me, he would come out. I did not want Vai humiliated by the whole world—or at least every man now staring at me—seeing me with Drake. When in doubt, attack.

I shoved up to the bar, heedless of the men I elbowed aside, and tweaked Bala’s sleeve. “I have to go back and check the wounded. Wait for me. I don’t want to go home alone.”

His interested smile sharpened gratifyingly, and I smiled, for he really was an appealing fellow, but I had to get past that door before James Drake walked out of it, so I hopped over the bar, grabbed a shot glass clear with white rum and drank it down in one swallow, then sidestepped the surprised bartender and thence past him through the still-open door. I shut the door behind me to see a long room filled with shapes lying all a-tumble on the floor or atop long tables on which, on kinder nights, folk might dine and chatter on about politics and batey. Tonight I heard only moans.

By lamplight, Drake bent over a man whose stomach had been opened by a gash, its gaping lips revealing the moist mire of intestines. An old woman with blood splashed across her apron and a serious-looking Taino man whose age I could not guess worked side by side at another table, she sewing shut a gaping shoulder wound with needle and thread while he pressed the ragged flesh together with steady hands. For a moment, I was sure I saw sparks trembling at his lips and a smear of ember light, but when I blinked, I realized I was just reeling. I braced myself with a hand on the door, in case any cursed fool tried to barge in after me.

“This one can’t be saved, for I give you my oath his spirit is already one step out of his flesh,” Drake said.

The Taino man said, “Take him, then. How many can you save with him?”

“One, for certain.” He indicated a man whimpering with the bleats of a person trying to be stoic in the face of unrelenting pain. What appeared at first glance as a kerchief was a leaking mat of blood and, beneath it, the white flag of exposed skull. Drake spread fingers over the wound.

Heat swamped the room, sticky and sumptuous, like sweet pudding that coats the lips until you must lick them clean for the sake of your craving. A kernel of desire swirled in my gut. I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a sighing exhalation.

The woman glanced at me, then at Drake. Blessed Tanit! A skin of glowing fire, not flames but a gleam like coals, washed down the body of the man with the belly wound. His chest arched up, although his mouth made no sound. Drake’s hand, on the other man’s bloody scalp, turned white-hot, and then I blinked, for it was too strong a light. Had I only imagined it? The first man now lay as if dead, life burned out of him.

Drake removed his hand. “He will live.”

I groped behind me for the latch, for I wanted nothing more than to get out of this room with its ashy stench of death and hope. But Drake was as fast and determined as a shark. One moment he stood halfway across the room with his gaze turned to me, as if to decide whether I was worthy prey, and the next he had crossed the space between us and taken hold of my hand. The candles flared. The other two looked up, but none of the wounded men did, and I thought: Maybe they’ve been drugged so they can’t know some men are being killed to save others.

“So here you are. I have been looking for you for weeks now, Cat.”

I twisted my hand out of his. “I haven’t been looking for you!”

“Why, Cat, I think you are drunk.”

“I don’t like you, Drake. I just came here to say that.”

Was that twitch amusement or anger? “That’s not what you said before.”

“I was drunk before.”

A curling warmth crept up my arm as he smiled. “Where are you staying?”

“Why do you think I mean to tell you?”

“You had better tell me after all the trouble I’ve gone to for you!”

All the burning wicks snapped out. Just like that.

“Ah,” whispered Drake, and he smiled.

Out in the common room, the buzzing conversation ceased as if it, too, had been doused.

The Taino man cursed against the darkness, and a single candle feebly wavered to life, just as, beyond the wall, men started talking all at once and in heightened voices.

I pressed my free hand against my blouse, feeling for the locket’s curve. I found the thread of him along the chains that bound us. He was nearby on the street, and it belatedly occurred to me that he had gotten home and they had told him where I had gone and this was the inevitable result.

Drake still had hold of my elbow, pouring into me a fierce forceful need that was the fire of his magic. Never let it be said I lacked ways to extricate myself from any awkward situation, for I knew exactly what Bee would do in this one.

“I’m going to throw up!” I pretended to gag.

Drake released me and jerked back.