Fire Storm (12 page)

“You don’t think they’ll figure out what happened to the first group of vamps in Italy?”

“How could they? None of the four survived, and I didn’t use the fire with the later groups. My secret should still be secure. I just don’t know for how long.” She watched the trees whiz past as they entered the Black Forest. “From what you’ve said, I assume there’s another fire witch in this area.”

“Oh, yeah, two as a matter of fact. Warlocks. Gerhard and Warin Kirsch. Handsome devils, but way too full of themselves. Gerhard’s tolerable, I suppose, but Warin can be a real pain in the ass. They think they’re better than everyone else.” She shot Ari a speculative look. “I can hardly wait for you to meet them.”

“Is that likely to happen?” Arrogant or not, they’d be interesting. And who could be more arrogant than the vampires she hung around with? She’d always wanted to meet another fire witch and talk about the different forms of magical fire. The finger fire was easy, but there were so many things she didn’t understand—the mind shield and the ancient fire spirits for starters. They’d protected her more than once, but she didn’t really know how or why they worked.

“You can count on meeting them. Every witch for a hundred miles will be visiting us to see the American fire witch. I, ah…” Sophie laughed. “I guess we mentioned you a time or two after we returned from Riverdale.”

Ari scowled in dismay. “You talked about me? Then the O-Seven may have heard about my fire abilities.”

Sophie snorted, reminding Ari of Lilith. “Like any of our people talk to the vampires.” Giggles came from the back seats. “Don’t worry. You’re only notorious with the witch clans.”

Ari looked out the side window and absently rubbed at her arms again. What if Sophie was wrong? OK, what if she was? It was too late to do anything about it now except go home, and she wouldn’t do that. She slumped in silence for the rest of the ride. She could only hope she hadn’t already lost a tactical advantage.

* * *

Four hours later, Ari sat on a log enjoying the warmth of a bonfire, pretending to listen to the many stories being told by the witches gathered around her. As Sophie had predicted, word of her arrival and the attack in Italy had spread quickly. A dozen or so witches were already gathered when they parked the vans in front of the coven’s woodland base: a main house and a dozen out-lying smaller buildings scattered at the edges of a clearing.

The encampment had been well concealed. The vans had followed a narrow lane through the tall, dense trees canopying the camp and protecting the witches from prying eyes. Since Sophie’s witches were a warrior coven, fighting the vampires was their full-time job, and they all lived at the site through funding provided by the league. Most of them had little contact with the outside world. Sophie’s return had been a sufficient excuse for a gathering.

Ari stretched her arms, relieving tense back muscles. She was drained from the long trip and the stress of answering the witches' long list of questions. What happened in Italy? Was she really dating a vampire? What had he done to make the O-Seven so angry? What was it like to be a witch in America? Did she really have close friends that weren’t witches?

The questions had kept coming until she’d finally pleaded a headache, grabbed a glass of wine, and retreated to the campfire. Voices still chattered around her, but most of the conversations had grown quieter as the news sank in about the losses in Italy. Ari had welcomed the opportunity to drop out of the discussion.

The coven’s forest home felt secure, nestled among the tall pines. An owl hooted in the dark, telling her all was well, and the fresh smell of burning pine was soothing. She yawned, her whole body heavy with exhaustion. The firelight flickered on the wooden buildings peeking through the trees and warmed them with a subtle glow. It was a comfortable, back-to-nature life the witches lived, if you didn’t think about the vampires. The bloodshed kind of ruined the idyllic atmosphere, and what had all the years and centuries of plotting and fighting really accomplished?

They’d survived.

In a way, that was what life was all about. And living with the hope of making things just a little bit better for the next generation. Wasn’t that what kept her motivated to be a Guardian? Making a difference.

The thought brought an frown to her face. Was she still a Guardian? Would she be allowed to return to her duties when this was all over?

She slipped off the log, walked over to several wine bottles propped up in the grass, and poured her glass half full. A suntanned, masculine hand thrust another glass at her. She filled it, then looked up to find a handsome warlock smiling at her. She’d seen him and a second warlock create quite a stir when they arrived fifteen minutes earlier. Since they were almost identical—over six foot; pale blond, windblown hair; green-gold-flecked eyes that glinted with mischief; enviable muscled abs—she assumed they were the fire witch brothers.

“Gerhard Kirsch.” He widened his lady-killer smile. “You must be Arianna.”

“Ari.” She corrected him automatically. No one consistently called her Arianna, except Andreas, and she liked to keep it that way. “It’s nice to meet other witches with the gift of fire.”

“We are rare, more so in this part of the world.” His tone was matter-of-fact. He gestured toward the campfire. “Would you like to sit and talk?”

Well-aware of the envious glances tossed in her direction, Ari settled on a log with the warlock beside her. Contrary to Sophie’s warnings, Gerhard proved to be a charming companion, moving easily from topic to topic, from more questions about her life in the States to movies, past and present. He was a 007 fan and had seen every film, providing a lively critique of the various actors who had played James Bond.

“Sean Connery is still my favorite,” he confided. “Ah, I see my brother approaches.” He raised his voice slightly. “I should warn you to be suspicious of half of what he says. And, the rest are outright lies.”

“My brother is up to his usual antics, trying to cut me out with the most interesting woman.” The newcomer studied her with open curiosity. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Gerhard?”

“I’m not certain I should.” Gerhard gave her a negligent tip of his head. “I apologize in advance for anything he says. This is my brother Warin.”

Ari studied the new arrival. Even their voices were similar, but up close, she could see minor differences between the two men. Warin’s face held sterner lines, his expression more closed, even wary. “Are you really that bad?” she asked him.

“Probably worse,” was the laconic reply.

Gerhard laughed with what she thought was a mocking note. “My brother has no filter on his mouth. Many find it disconcerting.”

“Bluntness isn’t always bad. I’ve been accused of it a few times myself. Have a seat, Warin. We’ve been discussing movies. Are you a film buff too?”

“Hardly.” Warin sat on the opposite end of the log from his brother. “My pursuits are more of a literary and scientific nature. I’ve published treatises on the genetic origin of magic abilities in various witch families. Do you know your own genetic history?”

“I have the Calin family Book of Shadows.”

“No, no, no. That is just superficial information like names and events. I’m talking true science. DNA.”

“Never been tested. I’ve never even thought about it,” she said doubtfully. “What could I learn about myself from DNA? I’ve only used it to identify the bad guys.”

“A common usage by police, but its true value is in research.”

Unlike the social Gerhard, this brother was more like a college professor, and in some ways he brought Claris’s boyfriend Brando to mind, only Warin was stuffier, less socialized. Brando was a wizard, and as a child he had participated in various escapades with Claris and Ari. As an adult, his main pursuit became magically enhanced medical research, and he hadn’t always been around to take part in the fun. His immersion in science had almost ruined his relationship with Claris, until he’d finally realized what he was risking. He’d done a quick turnaround. She doubted if Warin ever would.

She stifled a sigh at thoughts of the wedding. She was missing all the plans. Brando and Claris were finally going to take their vows, and where was their best friend? In Germany. She should be helping to make cute little decorations. Or at least cheer Claris on. How awful it would be if she missed the whole thing. Claris might understand, but still.

Why was it so quiet? Ari looked up and straightened. Warin and Gerhard were both looking at her, obviously waiting for her to say something. “Um, what do you hope this research will do?” It must have been an appropriate question, because Warin continued with his lecture.

“It will open up vast possibilities. Just think about it. What if we could isolate the gene that gives us the fire ability?” Warin clasped his hands tightly in enthusiasm. “Perhaps we could pass that ability to others by an injection of appropriate cells.”

“That sounds too much like cloning,” she said.

A brief scowl. “A very unenlightened attitude. I expected an American to be more progressive.” He seemed to settled on the log for a long discussion.

Gerhard abruptly stood. “If you’re going to bore her with facts and fiction from your scientific research, I’ll find other companionship. I’ve heard it too many times already.” He arched a brow at Ari. “My sympathies. You’ll understand why I say that very soon. When you’ve reached saturation, just wave a hand, and I’ll rescue you.” He winked and sauntered away; she watched him join another group.

Ari didn’t agree with messing with genetics, but she was interested in Warin’s research. “Can you put your theory in layman’s terms? Why isn’t it cloning?”

“Because that would be an atrocity. I’m talking about adding or enhancing a single ability, like choosing blue eyes.” He launched into a long and often meandering discourse. The basics seemed to be that magic was a cosmic anomaly, an unintended variation, that science could exploit.

She finally interrupted him. “But why should I care how it originated? Magic is a fact of my life. Isn’t it more important to spend our time learning to use and control it rather than delving into its origins?”

“An apt hypothesis. Although it is too elementary and restrictive.” His tone was patronizing. “To control a power, you must understand it. Without its history, there is no understanding.”

Hypothesis? All she’d done was ask a question. Ari frowned. She was growing tired of the subject and his irritating manner. She peeked sideways to see if Sophie or someone else was near enough to provide an excuse to end the conversation.

“Am I boring you?”

“Oh…” Ari’s startled gaze jerked to his face. “I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day.”

His eyes held the first hint of the amused charm that was so obvious in his brother. “That’s all right. You’ve tolerated it longer than most.”

“I have a wizard friend, Brando, who would love to talk with you. He’s fascinated with the scientific side of magic.”

“Brando is an unusual name. Is he an American doing some type of medical research?”

“Yes, have you met him?”

“Perhaps. At one of the Witches & Wizards Scientific Conferences.” He frowned in thought. “Do you know if he attended the most recent one in Boston?”

“I can’t keep track. He goes to so many. But I guess that will be changing now.” She smiled thinking about Brando and the coming wedding.

“How so?”

“He made a promise to his fiancé to spend more time at home.”

They chatted briefly about Brando, his pending nuptials, and Ari’s responsibilities as maid of honor. Warin seemed interested in her American hometown, and she gave him the basic spiel he could have read on the Riverdale website. They eventually parted when Sophie approached and offered to show Ari to her room. The visitors were beginning to thin, and Ari searched the remaining guests, hoping to spot Gerhard and arrange a time to discuss their shared fire ability. She didn’t see him and wondered briefly if he’d gone off with one of his female admirers. It would fit with his reputation.

She covered a yawn with one hand and followed Sophie to a small guest room in the main house. “When do I get to see the vampires’ stronghold?”

“Not ’til we have a plan ready. I’d like to keep your arrival in our forest a secret from outsiders as long as we can.”

The priestess had a good point, and Ari was too tired to argue. She kicked off her shoes and jeans and crawled into bed. Closing her eyes, she lay motionless for several minutes, reaching out for Andreas’s magic. All she could find was that one small spark, but she clung to its reassuring message that he was still alive.

* * *

Ari woke near dawn to the sounds of an already scurrying camp and peeked out the window. The witches were training in the clearing in front of the main house. Much like a military boot camp, they were engaged in calisthenics, hand-to-hand combat, and running hurdles that had been brought in from somewhere. On the far side of the training grounds a smaller group was target shooting with handguns and rifles. Beside them was an archery course.

Ari dressed quickly, found the coffee in the kitchen, and wandered outside with a mug in hand. The clearing was heavily shaded, keeping it chilly at this time of day, and she was glad for the hot liquid to warm her hands.

“Guten tag,” Sophie called. She didn’t pause in performing jumping jacks. “That’s good morning in German. I didn’t want you to forget where you were. Join us if you like.”

“Not today.” Ari shook her head. “I think I need a good run to get the kinks out. Maybe tomorrow.” She would have joined in the hand-to-hand training except for her unfair advantage. The coven wouldn’t know her guardian powers gave her added strength—a lot of added strength—and increased speed. Not to mention her high pain threshold and rapid healing. The only sparing partners she used at home were vampires and certain lycanthropes, like the wolves.

After returned the empty coffee cup to the kitchen, she ran five miles through the woods, enjoying the brisk autumn morning and the solitary activity. By the time she returned to the witches’ camp, most of them had gone into breakfast with only stranglers left on the gun range. She walked over to try her hand. It had been a while since she’d used firearms other than her derringer.