Pyromantic Read online

  On the phone, Alistair cleared his throat. “Did you hear me?” He was almost shouting now. The Inferno, the restaurant and club that the Coterie operated out of, was also getting an overhaul. Probably because I had blown up large chunks of it. Allegedly.

  “Yeah, sorry, I got distracted. What’s so urgent?” I only asked this as a formality. We both knew I’d go. Although Bianca was Alistair’s real second in command, we were pretending that I was, for the sake of appearances. Bianca did better work if she could use her skill set, which was sneaking. Whereas I was a loud, mouthy distraction with a known history of playing muscle. Basically, I seemed scarier than Bianca, so I was on display. This would lead to more treks to Boston, though I suspected that lately he’d been fobbing some jobs off on other teams to give me time to heal. He’d glossed over that, however.

  “Shouldn’t be too big of a deal—just something I want to nip in the bud, so to speak. I’ll send the files to your new tablet—” I must have made a sound, because he stopped and sighed. “What happened to the new tablet, Ava?”

  “It’s not my fault!” The words came out rushed, no doubt confirming to Alistair that it was entirely my fault. Alistair was trying to whip the Coterie into shape—running it like an actual business instead of something out of a supernatural Goodfellas. And as part of that, he’d given me a fancy tablet and a new phone to “facilitate communication.” He was supposed to send me files and stuff on it. I’d tried to learn how to use it, and Sylvie had talked me into dipping my toe into social media. Some nonsense about me being more like a normal teenager and less like a deranged technologically challenged hermit. So I did. Naturally, the first thing I did was friend Lock. Which meant that the very first image I saw on my tablet was one Bianca had posted on his page. Her and Lock cheek-to-cheek at some café. The camera had caught him midlaugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his entire face alight. I hadn’t seen him laugh like that in weeks. In fact, I barely saw him at all. Only for work, and then he was all business and so was I because we were both auditioning for the Most Awkward Person Ever Award. It made my stomach clench. I felt bad for Ezra, who was stuck in the middle. So to see that smile with Bianca rubbed salt into an already raw wound. Then the image crashed, and I noticed the smoke and the burned-plastic smell. I’d melted the casing. Luckily, Sylvie had been busy shelving and hadn’t noticed me peeling the brand-new tablet off my hands and throwing it away.

  I could almost hear Alistair rubbing his face with his hand out of frustration. “Is it repairable?”

  “It has gone to see the great tablet in the sky.” I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to yell at me. Venus would have threatened me until I pretended to lose cell coverage and shut off my phone. And then she would have carried out those threats. “I’m sorry?”

  “No you’re not. Not really. Look, this is probably my fault. I should have taken your … issues into account. We’ll get you something else. Something warded for someone of your particular talents. In the meantime, if your phone happens to follow in the footsteps of your tablet, please go get a new one. In fact, you should carry a backup in your bag. Top of the line—no bargain-basement stuff, Ava. Keep the receipt and I’ll reimburse you.”

  “My phone is a business expense? Does the Coterie have an accountant now?”

  “It had one before. An underutilized hobgoblin named Zet. Venus wasn’t even keeping receipts. How she ran this place … Anyway, you’ll be seeing a lot of Zet. Don’t lose your receipt. He bites.”

  Of course he does. “So … tonight?” I asked, shelving another book.

  “I’m sending someone to pick you up. Don’t worry—it’s someone you like.”

  There was a click as he ended the call. Didn’t anyone say good-bye anymore? And who was he sending—Lock? If he sent Lock, did that mean Bianca would be coming, too? A spark flitted from my left hand, and I jerked it away from the shelves. They were heavily warded and spelled against fire, but the books weren’t. Bookseller probably wasn’t the best job for a firebug. But I liked it a hell of a lot better than the job my talents actually qualified me for. I shelved the rest of my stack, then went to find Cade to tell him he had to call in Sylvie. I needed the night off.

  The Coterie is more clandestine crime family than employer. I don’t get performance reviews, there is no time clock, and I can’t quit. Being a firebug makes me an impressive and efficient enforcer, and the last boss couldn’t pass that up. To stay alive and to protect what little family I had left—Cade—I signed a contract with a hired blood witch, handing myself over to the Coterie. I am essentially an indentured servant for them until I die, or until I find another blood witch willing to cross the Coterie to break my contract.

  I’ll probably die first.

  We used to joke that it was a crappy job but at least we had nonexistent benefits. We couldn’t make that joke anymore. Alistair signed us up for medical, dental, and vision insurance. I think 401(k)s are next. So far Alistair is a best-case scenario for new boss, but I keep wondering if that’s an act. He certainly seems to be keeping to his word that I’m going to be more of a threat than an out-and-out assassin, but he could just be trying to pacify me. Power corrupts, right? Alistair has power. How long until he’s ordering me around the way Venus did? Pushing with my feet, I spun the chair at the front desk around until I was dizzy. I kept thinking about this like it mattered. Like I could actually do something about any of it. I flopped back into my chair and watched the ceiling spin.

  The doors chimed, and Sylvie bounded in. Sylvie always bounded. I’m pretty sure she is part puppy.

  “Ava! Look what I made to go with the fancy new store.” She continued to dance about as she brandished something in front of me.

  “Sylvie, it’s awfully hard to be sufficiently in awe of your skills when you’re bouncing around too much for me to actually see what you’re holding.” She stopped and put her hand in front of my face. She had knitted a cat collar. With a little bow tie.

  “Bow ties are cool,” she said, her tone solemn.

  Horatio would absolutely hate it. He hated collars of any sort. “Good luck,” I snorted.

  Undaunted, Sylvie went off to find our resident feline. Her voice filtered in from the back. “So you’ve got a hot date tonight?”

  “Yup, that’s me, social gadabout.”

  Sylvie walked up, Horatio a purring mass of orange fur in her arms, his bow tie firmly attached. Apparently Horatio thought bow ties were cool, too.

  “Ugh, that’s disgusting. I bet he didn’t even scratch you. If I tried to do that, my arm would be mincemeat.”

  She smiled at me, her cheek snuggled up against his fur. “You should try asking him nicely. He’s a very well-mannered feline if you treat him with courtesy.” She scratched under his chin, and he stretched out further to give her better access. “So, no date, then?”

  “None. Nyet. Negatory, milady.”

  “Thanks for your freakishly thorough answer.”

  I saluted her from my seat.

  She put Horatio gently on the floor. “You act like it’s a crazy question. If you’re not careful, you’ll miss your opportunity with Lock. Or is this a Ryan thing? You can’t stew over that mess forever.” She flopped into the chair next to me.

  “Who says?”

  “I say. The honorable and much beloved Queen Sylvie has decreed it.”

  “You’re not royalty,” I said.

  “Yet,” she said firmly. “I’m not royalty yet.”

  What Sylvie didn’t know was that I wasn’t really mourning the loss of Ryan—I was grieving the idea of Ryan. As it turned out, our entire relationship was based on lies and betrayal and make-outs, and I only liked one out of three of those things. Before that, though, he’d represented the possibility of a normal life for me. Now that ideal had died a whimpering death. No white picket fences and whatnot for this girl.

  And yet I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for what Ryan had lost. Once, he’d been bright, cheerful, popular, and s
moking hot. He’d had what I thought was a perfect life that I envied to my inner core. Now he was more of a hot mess. I tried to avoid him as much as I could, but Currant was a small town. The awkward bump-into-each-other was inevitable.

  Sylvie rolled her chair into mine. “Any minute, some nice boy will walk through those doors, and a whole new chapter to your life will begin.” We both stared at the doors, waiting for her words to be prophetic.

  “I don’t know what annoys me more,” I said. “That you’re an optimistic romantic, or that it appears to be contagious.”

  Horatio leapt into Sylvie’s lap, telling her quite plainly that she wasn’t done petting him. “I’m not sure if I’m either of those things, but I don’t think they’re as bad as you think they are. All I’m saying is that we deserve as much of a shot as anyone when it comes to matters of the heart.” She batted her eyes at me coquettishly.

  “Please never do that again.”

  The growling rumble of a motorcycle cut off whatever response she might have had. Sunlight glinted off the chrome as the rider parked. Though the motorcycle itself gleamed, with its black paint job setting off the silver accents and making it look new, the riding leathers and saddlebags were broken in and worn. This was not a new toy, but a seriously loved bike. Once the motorcycle was parked, the rider dismounted, his body turned away from us. On the back of his jacket was a logo I recognized—a beat-up cartoon jackrabbit with the stub of a cigar in his mouth. I wasn’t surprised to see shaggy brown hair when the rider took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. Apparently my ride had arrived.

  Sid turned, taking in the new storefront with a grin. There’s something mischievous in Sid’s grin. I can’t quite place what it is exactly, but it’s like he’s always thinking of something funny at your expense. He looks like that all the way up until he knocks your lights out, too. There were probably several blades hidden on his person; there usually were. He didn’t exactly look dangerous, though. Especially now—brown eyes squinting against the light, his wiry frame lined in leather and jeans. He looked boyish and friendly. And he was, to a point.

  Sylvie looked at me, her eyes hooded. “I thought you said you didn’t have a date tonight.”

  I blinked at her. “What—Sid?” I laughed. “He’s too…” What? Old for me? How old was Sid? “He’s too Sid,” I finished lamely. His grin widened when he caught my gaze through the window, and he gave a little wave as he hopped up the steps. I gave a weak wave in return.

  “Well, if it’s not a date, that’s a travesty. He’s cute.” Sylvie tilted her head, considering. “Is he single?”

  The bell chimed as Sid pushed the door open and came over to lean on the counter we were seated at. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “You’re not,” I said. “Sylvie here was just talking about how cute you are. And I had to agree—cute as a soft, cuddly bunny.”

  Sid lost all his humor, and his right eye twitched. Were-hares are incredibly sensitive about what they turn into, and I knew Sid especially took offense quickly if he thought you were making fun of him. The funny thing is, I like Sid. So why was I going out of my way to annoy him? Maybe I’d been sort of hoping my team would show up, Ezra and Lock, just like old times, and the fact that they didn’t chafed. Still, not Sid’s fault.

  I took a deep breath, blowing it out my nostrils. “Sorry, sorry. Don’t know what got into me.”

  “You’re just being your natural, charming self,” Sid said with the appropriate amount of disdain. “Maybe it’s a defense mechanism? You know, the lady protesting too much? You can’t deny that there was a little spark between us in the past, hmm?”

  Geez, you accidentally set a guy on fire one time, and he never lets you hear the end of it.

  Sylvie looked between us, trying to figure out the subtext that was obviously there. I could see her filing it away mentally to chew over later. “Yes, well, I was just asking Ava if you were single.” She scratched Horatio but kept her gaze on Sid. “Are you?”

  Sid blinked. “I guess I am. Why?”

  Sylvie placed Horatio gently on the floor. “I’ve had to retire my recent crush, which means I have a position open. It’s a big spot to fill, but you might be a possibility.”

  “Don’t you dare turn any of that into innuendo,” I said, jabbing a finger at Sid. “The only person allowed to corrupt Sylvie is me.”

  Sylvie handed a bemused Sid a card. “Here’s my calling card. Text me and we’ll talk.”

  He tucked it away carefully in his pocket, then grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. Somehow Sid can manage to be both courtly and impish at the same time. “As my lady wishes.” He stepped away with a flourish before turning to me. “Ready, you harpy? Your chariot awaits.”

  “You’re a terrible human being,” I said, snagging my jacket from the back of my chair. “Let’s get this freak show on the road. Thanks again for covering for me, Sylvie.”

  She pulled out a large tote bag from under the counter. “It’s cool. I brought my knitting.”

  Sylvie had been knitting sweaters for a charity. She was a fair knitter, but it had seemed to me that the cardigans she’d been churning out were sized a little oddly. When I’d commented on it, she’d said quite curtly that they were done to very particular specifications. Since I didn’t really care, I’d let it go. I gave her a final thank-you, and then we were out the door.

  Sid handed me a helmet and a leather jacket that had the same logo on the back as his did. “I brought Ikka’s spares for you,” he said. “The jacket might be a bit big. You can stow yours in one of the saddlebags for later.” He put on his helmet. “Is she always like that?”

  “Sylvie? Yeah. I mean, the calling cards are new. She’s been reading a lot of Jane Austen. And what’s wrong with my jacket?” I loved my beat-up old army jacket. Not stylish, no, but amazingly functional. I had all kinds of things in the pockets and sewn into the linings.

  “If we take a spill, do you want to be in leather or in that?”

  “Is not crashing an option?” I asked, but I did as instructed and put on Ikka’s leather jacket.

  Since my butt was not accustomed to long rides on the back of a motorcycle, Sid pulled off at a diner halfway through. Sid and I both eat like binging termites. Like many weres, Sid has an incredibly fast metabolism. I don’t, but I do burn fuel when I make fire, and calories are fuel. Once I run out of that energy, my body will start burning fat, and then muscle. If firebugs don’t watch their food intake, and if they’re not careful with their fire, they will literally burn themselves up. So, if at all possible, I keep a few extra pounds on at all times. I’m probably the only teenage girl in America not trying to slim down for swimsuit season. To be fair, I don’t think I’d be that kind of girl anyway. If people don’t like me because I don’t meet some sort of skewed body measurement, they are welcome to find different company. I even have a list of suggested activities for them, starting with “suck it” and ending with “nude alligator wrestling.”

  Sid and I each ordered appetizers and entrees, and he preordered dessert for us, even though it was clear that the waitress thought he was being optimistic. Or she was just having a bad day. Four loudmouthed guys—either drunk or just obnoxious—were keeping themselves busy yelling at one another and her. Judging by our waitress’s generally frazzled demeanor, she was not having a good time. Sid offered her his wide, devil-may-care grin, which is a doozy. I don’t think anyone is immune to it. She wasn’t. A hint of a smile flitted across her face in return as she tucked her notepad into her apron pocket.

  Once she was in the back, Sid quietly got up and walked over to the boisterous table. I couldn’t hear what Sid said to them because he was talking softly. The ruckus from the table was cut short as if someone had suddenly dialed down the volume. I looked up just in time to see Sid coming back, the same grin on his face, the same attitude. Huh.

  “I don’t know what you did,” I said, “but I’m glad you did it. I can now hear myself think.”


  Sid shrugged nonchalantly at me as he slid back into his chair. “I just gave them their options, is all.”

  The waitress went back to the now-quiet table, and by the time she came over to us, she was beaming.

  “You guys need anything,” she said, staring at Sid, “anything at all, you just let me know.”

  Sid propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands, his expression too innocent to be believed, at least by me. The waitress totally bought it, though. She dropped her gaze, filling up our water glasses as she did. Her cheeks were rosy, and I could see the pulse in her neck flutter. Just like that, Sid had earned her worship. It’s amazing what one nice gesture will do.

  My phone buzzed. I ignored it. It buzzed again.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “It’s rude to check your phone at the table.” I believed that. But I was also being a filthy, filthy coward.

  “Still ignoring Lock?”

  I slid down in my chair. “How would you know? Are you guys best buddies now or something?” I tried to keep the jealousy out of my voice, but it didn’t work.

  Sid picked up his butter knife, spinning it in his fingers. “Hardly. I’ve nothing against your boys, but we haven’t picked out our matching tattoos yet. We’re at the Inferno a lot, though, and people talk.”