Fused in Fire

“Helping you helps me. It was the least I could do.” I pulled the door closed and stomped on the gas. I needed a big dose of forgetful juice.

The next day I nursed my hangover with more alcohol and ignored texts and calls from the dual mages. I even ran around the graveyard, popping out from behind large gravestones and scaring tourists. Boy did they get a fright. One couple took off running without getting a solid idea of what they were running from.

When night came, I got lucky and caught some wannabe witches trying to call a demon.

“Oh no, a demon!” I staggered out from behind a gravestone. Their supplies randomly combusted, spraying fire in all directions. That was my doing, of course, but it looked totally legit.

“The devil!” a woman shouted.

“Different guy, actually.” I waved that thought away. The fire roared higher. “Oops.” I went with it. “You’re right! The devil!”

The woman hitched up her black skirt and ran away like an Olympic sprinter being chased by a tiger. The rest weren’t far behind, screaming and yelling.

“Shhhh,” I called after them. “People live around here!” I stared after them for a moment before shrugging, then bent at the waist, swaying, to look at the satchel they’d left behind. “What are these, weeds?”

“Since when are you so animated when you scare away the tourists?”

Startled, I jumped and spun. The clump of weeds went flying.

My neighbor No Good Mikey leaned against a gravestone down the way.

“Either you are very quiet, or the rushing in my ears is very loud.” I picked up a small pot they’d also left, and sniffed the contents. “Smells lovely. Can’t be effective. And to answer your question, they weren’t tourists.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Oh no?” I could’ve sworn it had been. Then again, whatever he’d said had already sunk into the black hole of my memory.

I staggered out from the rubble, pausing as something crunched under my boot, before grabbing my bottle of Jack from behind a gravestone. I held it out for No Good Mikey, but he shook his head. His loss.

“Question.” I pointed at him, just in case he wasn’t clear on who I was talking to. “What would you do if a bunch of demons had knowledge about you that they couldn’t have? Would you, A, hide for as long as possible, work at getting better with your…weapons, and fight when they finally found you? Or B, take the fight to them so they couldn’t tell anyone. Now, before you answer…” I burped and held my finger in the air. I wasn’t sure why. “If you hide, then when they show up to take you, they’ll probably kill a lot of people. So your blood would be on their hands. Wait. Their blood. Your hands.” I paused to regroup. I’d confused myself. “But if you go to the demons, they might’ve already gotten to your father, so really, it would be a suicide mission. Except only you would be screwed, instead of a bunch of innocent people with deaths…on hands.”

I leaned forward, blearily staring at him with one eye closed so I could focus. His face was still too blurry for me to read his expression.

“Well?” I prompted.

“You’re drunk as shit.”

“Yes. It has been an incredible bender, I must say. I bet Roger is pissed. A were-badger doesn’t run as fast as the wolves, did you know that? Not fast at all. I nearly had him. If I could’ve gone in a straight line, I would’ve. But…” Up went the finger. It was like it was operating on its own. “You did not answer my question. I’m not so drunk that I did not notice that.”

“Are you in trouble or something?”

“Wow. You’re great at sussing out the big picture. Bloody good show,” I said in a British accent. “Yes, I am, in case the sarcasm wasn’t clear. British accents do always sound jolly, so the mistake is…”

I didn’t know how to end that sentence, so I just let it hang. I hadn’t had a proper conversation in hours. This was why.

He took a deep breath and shifted. “You’re talking crazy, so I’ll just say this. Even if you were the type of gal to sacrifice people for her own benefit, you’re not the type to wait around and get snatched.”

“That is true. I usually do the snatching, after all. It’s what I live for. To help unfortunate mer-folk like yourself. Poor souls…” I held up a hand and shook my head. “My bad. Sometimes Little Mermaid songs come out instead of words. Sorry. Unless you want to have a sing-along. Then I’m so in.”

“Are we done here?” Mikey asked. I couldn’t be sure, but his voice might’ve sounded pained.

“So you’d chose B. Take the fight to them.” I nodded. “Yeah. But I really don’t want to.”

He motioned me toward him. When I got there, I realized it was so he could take my arm and walk me home, like I was an old woman. I couldn’t tell if he was doing it to help me, or the neighborhood.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you need help, ask.” He stopped in front of my porch.

“Well, I could really use a karaoke partner who can sing. I got booed earlier. Besides that, you can watch my house, and if I don’t come back, take whatever you want.”

He nodded slowly. “Let me know when you’re going…wherever you’re going.”

“Underworld.”

“I can watch your stuff. But you’ll come back…from wherever you’re going—”

“Underworld,” I repeated. It didn’t seem like he could hear me.

“—because a chick like you, as mean as an alley cat and as crazy as they come—you’ll come back. Ain’t no one able to keep you down.” He spat off to the side. “I’ll watch your stuff.”

“Aw. That’s nice. I should probably mention, though, just off the cuff.” Where was my finger going now? “This is all up in the air. I don’t even know if the rumors are true. This could be all for nothing. The booze, the worry, the chasing of the shifters…all for nothing.”

Mikey stared at me for a moment before shaking his head and stepping away. He muttered something that sounded like the Lord’s name in vain. “You need to go to sleep.”

I held up the nearly empty bottle. “Almost there. Then tomorrow, after a miserable hangover, I’ll get an answer, good or bad.” I sighed and wobbled. “It’s going to be bad. I know it’ll be bad. Ain’t that a bitch?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Yes it does. It does sound like it. Oh, how’s Smokey?”

“He’s fine. Home. Not up to prowling the neighborhood yet, but it’s just kidney stones. Not like he got stabbed.”

“Remind me not to ask you for sympathy.” I tripped on the first step and splayed across the rest. My bottle of Jack bounced before rolling, spraying liquid as it did so.

Mikey didn’t bend to help, or even laugh. He grunted, turned, and headed off down the street.

“No, no, I got it,” I called. “I don’t need any help.”

“Amateur,” he yelled back.

If only he knew how much I’d drunk, he’d be saluting me.

I grabbed the bottle, groaned at the realization there was only a drop left, and made my way inside. In twenty-four hours the wait would be over, and the most dangerous journey of my life would surely begin.

Chapter Seven

“Reagan, you look terrible,” Dizzy said as I made my way to the circle in the middle of the warehouse. Darius stood where he had a couple days before, watching me without comment or expression.

“I wrestled a couple bottles of whiskey and didn’t fare so well. I got through it.” I halfheartedly raised my hand. “Yay.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Callie said, compassion on her face. “Then we’ll plan what’s next. You’re not alone in this, Reagan. You’ve got us, and we know people. Even if they don’t want to help, we’ll make them. I have dirt on at least a dozen powerful mages.”

“Oh yes, my wife keeps track of those sorts of things. She can really call the troops when she needs to.” Dizzy patted me on the shoulder.