Wildfire Phoenix Read online

  Buck’s impassive expression didn’t flicker. “You sure about that?”

  She squared her stance, meeting his narrow-eyed stare head on. “If there was anything that might compromise the safety or effectiveness of the crew—or anyone else—I’d tell you without hesitation. If you can’t trust that, you might as well fire me now.”

  Buck held her gaze for a long moment. Whatever he read in her eyes seemed to satisfy him, because his jaw unclenched. With a sigh, he went over to the fridge. To her surprise, he pulled out two bottles of beer, and held one out to her.

  “Where’d this come from?” Blaise took the bottle, cracking the cap off with her bare hands. “Thought you didn’t approve of booze on base.”

  “Picked it up while Zeph was shopping for clothes. Had a feeling we both might need a drink tonight.” He raised his own beer, tipping it toward her. “Here’s to new beginnings.”

  “And a new fire season.” Blaise clinked her bottle against his. “With lots of overtime working big, boring jobs a long way from home.”

  “Ha. I’ll drink to that.”

  Uncomfortable silence fell, thick as smog. Blaise wasn’t sure whether to down her beer as fast as possible, or make it last in order to have an excuse not to talk. She and Buck normally got on like a house on fire. It was a new and entirely unwelcome thing to feel awkward around him.

  At least Buck looked equally ill at ease. Although he’d been the one to instigate the conversation, he didn’t seem to know what to do next. He fidgeted with his beer bottle, rolling it from hand to hand.

  “I do trust you,” Buck said abruptly. “Hellfire, you’re one of the best crew members I’ve ever had. But he’s my family, Blaise. My only family. I won’t see him hurt.”

  Blaise realized how hard she was gripping her beer bottle and forced her fingers to relax. “Me neither. Nothing’s going to happen, chief. You have my word on that.”

  “I’m not asking you to make a promise you can’t keep. I’ve seen how you motherloving shifters get around your mates.” Buck shot her a glare as she opened her mouth. “Don’t waste your breath. I’m not an idiot, and I won’t be treated like one. You two have practically got doves circling your heads crapping out heart-shaped confetti.”

  Blaise winced. “Look, I’m doing the best I can, okay? I didn’t want this either.”

  Buck’s eyes narrowed even further. “You saying there’s something wrong with my nephew?”

  “No!” Blaise yelped. “That’s not what I—hang on, whose side are you on, anyway? I thought you’d want me to keep my distance.”

  “I do. I think. I don’t know.” Buck rubbed his forehead. “Shit. Look, Blaise. Zeph felt something when you two locked eyes. Maybe it was just that damn psychic connection thing that you freaks have going on with your better halves. But maybe it wasn’t.”

  Her heart moved sideways in her chest. “The Thunderbird? But it’s dead. Zeph said so.”

  “I know, and apparently he hasn’t felt so much as a twitch ever since.” Buck fixed her with a look that was a long way from his usual glare. On anyone else, she would have said it was pleading. “I just got him back, Blaise. I can’t lose him again.”

  “You won’t,” Blaise said. “Seriously, you don’t have to worry. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing between me and Zeph, and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it stays that way. Now, can we please never talk about this ever again?”

  Buck’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment. Then he shook his head and drained the last of his beer.

  “Sounds like we’re on the same page, then.” Buck tossed the empty bottle into the trash, heading for the door. “Let’s go. Zephyr’s got something he wants to ask the whole squad. And Blaise?”

  She followed him out of the kitchen. “Yeah?”

  He kept his back to her, not looking round. “If it had to be anyone… I’m glad it’s you.”

  Buck strode away before she could even begin to figure out how to respond to that one. He rejoined the group at the fire pit, taking a seat next to his nephew.

  Disconcerted, Blaise went to the other side of the circle, finding a spot as far away from Zephyr as possible. She’d been worried he’d try to chase her down again, but he’d gone back to his conversation with Diana.

  Whatever they were discussing, Callum didn’t seem to like it. He was sitting on Diana’s other side, listening without comment. His expression, always forbidding, had gone downright grim.

  “No,” he said.

  “Callum.” Diana laid a gentle hand on her mate’s knee. “We have to at least think about it.”

  Callum shook his head, his jaw tight. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

  “What’s this about?” Blaise muttered to Edith.

  “Zephyr was telling us how he became the Thunderbird,” Edith whispered back. “Apparently he did some kind of ritual. Diana wants to try it.”

  “What?” Blaise said, too loudly. Everyone looked at her, but she was too busy being horrified to care. “Diana, are you crazy?”

  Diana tilted her chin up. “This is my birthright. My mother was a member of the Storm Society, along with his parents. I’m thunderkin, just like Zephyr.”

  “Yeah, and look what happened to him,” Joe said. He shrugged apologetically at Zephyr. “No offence, bro.”

  “I’m with Blaise.” Rory shook his head. “It’s too dangerous, Diana. I can’t believe you’re even considering it.”

  “If there was any other way to stop Uncegila, I wouldn’t.” Diana looked pale, but determined. “But there isn’t. The horned serpents can’t be allowed to emerge unchecked. They’ll devastate the ecosystem, and eventually work up to people. I can’t sit by and let that happen. Not when there might be a way I can help.”

  “But you’ve got a—” Blaise very nearly said mate. “A family. Beth’s not even two yet. She needs you, and so does Cal. You can’t abandon them. You just can’t.”

  “If all goes well, I won’t,” Diana replied. She looked at Zephyr. “You said the transformation isn’t meant to be permanent?”

  Zephyr nodded. In the firelight, his face was a mask of light and shadow, making it difficult to interpret his expression.

  “The ritual is never without risk,” he said. “That’s why it isn’t performed except in direst need. But according to our oral histories, some of the Thunderbirds’ chosen were able to ride the storm without being lost.”

  “But not all,” Blaise said. “You didn’t. What went wrong?”

  Zephyr stared down at his clasped hands. Even with his uncle sitting on one side, Diana on the other, he seemed painfully alone. Blaise’s fingertips ached to touch him.

  “I didn’t have anyone to hold me to this world,” he said. “The ritual is in two halves, you see. The supplicant must go alone to a high place, but their community is supposed to gather while they climb. Family, friends, elders. People who love you, and who you love.”

  “Pack,” Fenrir rumbled.

  “Yes, I suppose you could call it that.” Zephyr laced his fingers together, like a net. “You need people who connect you to this world. So you can stay grounded when you open yourself to the lightning. So that the storm doesn’t sweep you away entirely.”

  “But you had people who cared about you,” Edith said. “I suppose Buck didn’t know, but why didn’t your parents do the other half of the ritual?”

  “They were both thunderkin too,” Zephyr replied. “People with thunderkin blood can’t anchor each other. It would be like tying one kite to another, and letting them both go into a tornado. The Thunderbirds would have taken all of us, and then we’d all have been lost.”

  “Zephyr.” Buck narrowed his eyes at his nephew. “There is no motherloving way that your mom would ever have agreed to let you turn yourself into a giant glowing bird. Not if she could do it herself.”

  Zephyr let out a hollow laugh. “You’re right. It was supposed to be her. By that point, Uncegila had nearly wiped out the Storm Society. A
s far as we knew, only myself and my parents were left. We knew we had to call the Wakinyan to fight the horned serpents. My mother was determined to be the one to do it.”

  “Even though she knew that she would be lost,” Rory said. He was hunched on his log like a watchful lion, eyes reflecting green-gold in the firelight. “She was going to sacrifice herself to protect you.”

  “To protect everyone.” Zephyr stared into the glowing fire. “And she said… she said she wouldn’t be lost, even without a community to anchor her. She said that nothing could ever stop her from coming back to us. To me.”

  “But you couldn’t let her take that risk,” Edith said softly.

  “I was fifteen, and scared, and stupid.” Zephyr’s clasped hands tightened. “I couldn’t bear to think of losing her. And I thought I was special. I thought all the warnings and restrictions didn’t apply to me. I thought I could control the storm, all on my own. So I snuck out one night, a few days before she was going to make the attempt. Without telling anyone. Without even saying goodbye.”

  For the first time, Zephyr’s voice cracked. He fell silent, head bowing. Buck put an arm around him, awkwardly. The fire snapped and hissed.

  “And that was the night the demons attacked.” Zephyr rubbed at his eyes, looking up again. “Maybe, if Uncegila hadn’t killed them, they would have found a way to call me back. Maybe they would have come after me, transforming themselves too. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now. I was wrong. I wasn’t strong enough to ride the storm alone.”

  “You didn’t have anyone to call you home,” Diana said. She took a deep breath. “But I do.”

  Callum’s expression was tightly controlled, but Blaise had known him long enough to see the agony behind those green eyes. “Diana—”

  “I trust you. I trust us. You’ll bring me back.” Diana squared her shoulders, turning back to Zephyr. “We need the Wakinyan. I want to attempt the ritual. Can you teach me?”

  “Yes,” Zeph replied. There was an odd note to his voice. Blaise couldn’t work out whether he sounded relieved, or regretful. “And if we devoted every hour of every day to intense mediation and training—and if you turned out to be very talented—you might be ready in six years. Maybe five.”

  Pure relief shattered Callum’s impassive facade. Diana’s face fell.

  “We could be neck deep in horned serpents by then,” she said. “There’s no way to speed things up?”

  “Diana, that would be fast.” Zephyr spread his hands. “It took me a lot longer than that, and I was raised from birth in our traditions. You can’t jump straight to the awakening ritual.”

  “Not that I’m endorsing this plan in any way, but why not?” Seren asked. “I understand true mastery can only be obtained through time and dedication, but we are in dire need.”

  “Right,” Joe said. “Fake it ’til you make it. In my experience, you can get a long way with nothing but flair and grit.”

  “I have you as a guide,” Diana said to Zephyr. “Couldn’t I just copy you, even if I don’t really know why we have to do each step? Follow along by rote?”

  Zephyr blew out his breath. “I don’t doubt your courage or your strength of will, Diana. But this is truly not something that you want to do without taking all proper precautions. You have to have learned how to open yourself to the spirits first. You must have full confidence that the Wakinyan will come when you call.”

  “Why?” Darcy asked. “I mean, if the Thunderbirds don’t answer, then Diana’s just left standing there feeling silly, right?”

  “No.” Zephyr’s expression was unreadable. “Because the ritual is very simple, in essence. You climb to a high place. You offer yourself to the storm. And then you jump.”

  “Welp,” Joe said, into the silence that followed. “We’re screwed.”

  “I can’t train someone else in time to stop Uncegila.” Zephyr’s gaze sought out Blaise. “But perhaps it isn’t necessary. I’ve felt… something, a few times. Maybe the Thunderbird isn’t truly gone. Or perhaps it’s possible for me to call it back.”

  Blaise flinched as everyone else looked at her too. She had a sudden newfound sympathy for Edith’s aversion to direct eye contact. She hid behind her half-empty beer, aggressively ignoring the unwanted attention.

  “Well,” Rory said, when the silence had become unbearable. “At least you’re awake now, Zephyr. Thunderbird or not, it’s still good to have you here.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’ll do now that you’re back?” Edith asked. “If the Thunderbird really is gone, I mean.”

  Zephyr hesitated. “I… did have some thoughts on that, actually. Though it’s just a possibility. I’m not sure I should mention it yet. And of course, it’s only if no one has any objections.”

  “For the love of dog, kid, stop beating around the bush and spit it out.” At Zephyr’s side, Buck folded his arms, glaring round indiscriminately. “Zeph’s thinking of joining the crew. Anyone got a problem with that?”

  “That’s a wonderful idea!” Edith’s hands fluttered in excitement. “Of course you should join.”

  “I second the motion!” Joe fist-punched the air. “All in favor?”

  Buck rolled his eyes as every hand shot up. “What do you think this is, a motherloving democracy? I wasn’t calling for a vote. I’ll make the final decision, thank you very much. He still has to pass training and the fitness tests.”

  “If I could manage that, I’m sure Zephyr can,” Seren said, with a small smile. She gave Zephyr a slight bow. “I’d be happy to help you train.”

  Even Callum was smiling. “We all will.”

  Alone in the circle, Blaise sat frozen. The babble of congratulations and enthusiasm washed around her, but she barely heard it.

  To see Zephyr every day… to work with him, eat with him, train with him… to have him there at her side, and never, ever touch…

  I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do this.

  The fire snarled higher, flames clawing at the sky. Through the whirl of sparks, she realized that Zephyr was watching her.

  The rest of the squad might as well not have existed. He paid no heed to the overlapping congratulations and offers of help. His dark gaze rested on her steadily, like she was the only person in the world.

  “No,” Zephyr said—not loudly, but in a clear tone that cut through all the other voices. He looked around at the squad. “Like I said, it was just an idea. A passing thought. I appreciate your kind offer, but no. I won’t be joining your crew.”

  Chapter 7

  Zephyr emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel, and froze.

  “Uncle?” he called, as softly as he could manage.

  Buck’s voice drifted up from downstairs. “Yeah?”

  “Why are there unicorns on your bed?”

  He heard a muffled, indecipherable curse, followed by heavy footsteps pounding up the wooden stairs. A second later, Buck appeared in the doorway with an armful of bedding and a deep scowl. One of the unicorns pricked up its ears, letting out a high, happy whicker.

  “I was wondering why there was glitter all over the couch.” Dumping his burden on the end of the bed, Buck fixed the unexpected visitors with a ferocious glare. “Have you two been sneaking in here every night that I’ve been gone?”

  The unicorns exchanged distinctly guilty glances. There were two of them; one about the size of a yearling deer, the other much smaller. From their coltish legs and stubby horns, Zephyr assumed they were both juveniles. Then again, for all he knew, they could be a hundred years old. He was hardly an expert on unicorns.

  Buck folded his arms. “And I suppose it’s a complete coincidence that all the Pop Tarts have mysteriously gone missing? Anyone have anything they want to tell me about that?”

  Each unicorn promptly pointed its horn at the other.

  “Er,” Zephyr ventured. “You seem remarkably unsurprised by this situation.”

  Buck let out a long-suffering sigh. “Honestly, I’m only surprise
d that the whole damn herd isn’t in here. Motherloving unicorns. Let them in once, and you can never get rid of the damn things again. Worse than cockroaches.”

  Equine faces weren’t built for expression, but somehow the unicorns managed to turn matching looks of deep betrayal on Buck. The smaller one drooped, her head hanging.

  Buck sighed again, even more deeply, and reached out to ruffle the smaller unicorn’s mane. “It’s all right, Leaf. I’m not really mad. I didn’t tell you girls not to come round while I was away, after all. At least you and Flash wipe your hooves and tidy up after yourselves, unlike half the motherloving rabble I have to call crew.”

  The little unicorn—Leaf, Zephyr presumed—perked up, nuzzling at Buck’s hand. The bigger one, Flash, snorted and poked Buck with her horn, demanding a share of attention too.

  Zephyr watched his uncle scratch behind Flash’s ears. “I remember a unicorn herd that had warded off part of a mountain, hiding it from the human world. Is that where these two are from?”

  “Yep. Whole herd ended up moving to Thunder Mountain. Wasn’t much left for them back in California, after…” Buck hesitated, flashing him a sidelong look. “Well, you know.”

  He did. He’d been there, after all.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the young unicorns. “I’m the one who started the fire. It’s my fault that you lost your home.”

  Little Leaf stood up, hopping off the bed. Standing on all four tiny hooves, she barely came up to his knee. She pawed at his foot until he finally got the hint and kneeled down so that they were face to face. Her eyes were a pale purple-pink, like crocuses in spring. She regarded him solemnly for a moment, then, very gently, brushed her velvet muzzle against his cheek.

  “Leaf’s right,” Buck said gruffly. “Blame the goddamn demons, not yourself. From what the crew told me, the unicorns had a literal hole to hell smack in the middle of their metaphorical living room.”

  Zephyr nodded, remembering how the stench of corruption had drawn the Thunderbird far outside its normal range. “Whatever magic the unicorns used to protect their home had the side effect of thinning the barriers between worlds. Uncegila was able to send her brood to exploit that crack, even though it was a long way from her usual sphere of influence. The whole area was tainted by their touch.”