Kiss of Fire (6 page)

Her customer looked at her with obvious surprise. “Oh, the books aren't for me.”

Sara had been putting the books into a bag, but stopped. “Did you want them gift wrapped?”

“I don't think that's necessary.” When she hesitated, he leaned closer. “You see, I chose them for you.”

Sara blinked. “For me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Perhaps you don't realize that I own this bookstore?”

“That makes perfect sense, given that you are the Seer.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is prophesied that the Seer and the Smith will be the first partners of the new age.” He reached across the counter and tapped the books. “The sooner you inform yourself, the better.”

Sara knew then where she had seen him before. “You were in Quinn's booth this morning.” He had been arguing with Quinn, if Sara guessed it right.

“That's less important than the books.” Her noncustomer gestured to the books. “You need to read these, particularly Guthrie's volume, as soon as possible.”

“I'm reading a sample of all of the stock….”

“No.” He leaned across the counter and spoke with sudden intensity. That flame was back in his eyes. “You must read Guthrie's book immediately, in order to defend yourself. It's a matter of life and death.”

“Life and death?” Sara echoed. She had an urge to do what he wanted her to do, even though it made little sense.

His gaze fell to the scarf knotted around her neck. “Surely I don't have to tell you that the
Slayer
s will murder you to keep the prophecy from coming true?”

Sara took a step back. “Who are you?”

“I am Erik Sorensson, leader of the
Pyr
. I will do all I can to help you, but you must also help yourself. You are the Seer. Much relies upon you. Inform yourself now, while you can.”

Before Sara could process all of that information, he pivoted and marched out of her store. Sara was surprised how quickly he disappeared—he turned toward Maynard Street, but by the time she got to the door of the shop, he was gone.

Much the way Quinn had quickly disappeared the night before. Her hand rose to her throat, which still ached from her attacker's fingers. Someone
had
tried to murder her. Had it been this Erik Sorensson? Sara didn't think so. He seemed slimmer and taller, and also intent on helping her. So, how had he known about the attack?

Her gaze returned to the books he had gathered. She was surprised to see the mermaid door knocker still glowing on the counter.

She was even more surprised when Quinn burst into her shop right behind her. It was probably a bad sign that she was so glad to see him that her pulse skipped and her knees turned to butter.

His eyes were snapping and his manner was intense.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

Before she could answer, much less ask the reason for his concern, she saw his gaze flick to the door knocker. It was fading to black, as if Sara had imagined its being red and hot, as if it were reassured that Quinn had arrived.

It
had
sent a message.

To Quinn.

The air conditioner whirred to a higher setting even though no one had touched the thermostat.

Sara might have concluded that all of the above was impossible, except what happened next was even more impossible. Quinn came farther into her shop and caught his breath in surprise. He seemed to shimmer in the oddest way, as if his edges were glowing.

Exactly as the mermaid had glowed. His eyes blazed and he became larger.

Much larger.

Just as Sara thought things couldn't get odder, Quinn became a massive blue and silver dragon.

It was the same dragon that had saved Sara from her assailant the night before. She blinked and gaped at him, but he lashed his tail and looked straight back at her.

With eyes of blazing blue.

The scariest part was that things were starting to make sense.

Quinn was caught off guard by the scent of another
Pyr
in Sara's shop. He'd expected some threat when the mermaid had summoned him, and had hurried to get to Sara. The throngs of people had conspired against him and he had been afraid he'd arrive too late.

Again.

But Sara was fine, if surprised to see him. Quinn was composing a plausible explanation for his sudden appearance when he stepped right into the scent of another
Pyr
.

In close proximity to his destined mate.

Who had already survived an attempt on her life.

Quinn had no chance to stop his body's reaction. He had shifted in a heartbeat and he was shocked by his own body's determination to defend what was his own. Usually it took a few moments for him to shift: apparently the presence of his mate changed the time line.

He'd have to remember that.

Sara retreated behind the cash desk to watch him. Her expression was wary and he could almost feel her pulse leaping, but at least she hadn't fainted in terror.

He verified that the other
Pyr
was indeed gone from the shop, not just hiding in a back corner. Then he exhaled, composed his thoughts, and changed back to his human form.

Sara watched him, her eyes wide.

“You want to run for the door?” he asked, trying to lighten the moment.

“You did that last night,” she said, pointing at him. “I did see a dragon and it was you. It really happened and I'm not losing my mind.”

Quinn nodded and held his ground, letting her set the pace of their discussion.

She sat down hard, then gestured to the door knocker. “And it called you, by heating up when that guy came into the shop.”

The air-conditioning unit was blasting out frigid air, but this wasn't the time to suggest to Sara that she conserve electricity.

Quinn nodded agreement again. “What guy?”

Sara took a steadying breath and looked around her shop as if seeking something that made sense. She took a couple of breaths before she answered and Quinn was impressed by her resilience.

“It was the same guy who was in your booth this morning. The one with the leather jacket.” She gave Quinn a hard glance. “He said he was the leader of the
Pyr
. He said some prophecy foretells the mating of the Smith and the Seer and that I should read these books—especially this one—before someone kills me. Does that mean anything to you?”

It was all happening too fast. Quinn folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame. He'd keep his distance for the moment.

“Leader?” he mused, a bit surprised by this news. Quinn had his doubts about the practicalities of formal organization among shape shifters. “If nothing else, it means that my suspicions were right.”

Sara braced her hands on the counter and exhaled. “Okay.” She ran a hand over her forehead, brushing aside a couple of strands of hair. “Maybe we could start off simple. How did you make the mermaid call you?”

Quinn winced. “Well, that's hard to explain.”

Sara's smile was impish. “That's a cheating answer. I thought I was asking the easy question.”

Quinn smiled back at her in relief. “It's not simple. In fact, it's impossible to explain. It's something I learned to do by following my instincts, and I'm not sure how I'll teach anyone else to do it.”

“Why would you have to?”

“Because it's my responsibility to pass my skills to another.”

“Like an apprentice?”

“Yes,” Quinn agreed, thinking it a bit soon to talk about hereditary powers of the son he and Sara hadn't conceived yet. She seemed to be waiting for more, so he continued. “You see, the art of the smith has been considered mystical for a long time, maybe because things are transformed in the forge.”

“Metal is reshaped,” Sara agreed.

“Sometimes other attributes change as well as shape. Steel becomes stronger. So, maybe it makes sense that people believed there was magic involved in transforming iron into weapons with gleaming blades, and that smiths had mystical powers.”

Sara flicked a glance at the door knocker.

Quinn kept talking. It seemed to be his best chance. “The idea is old, and goes back at least to the Greeks. Hephaestus was the smith of the Greek gods. He was supposed to have been lame, but he must have had either charm or magic on his side.”

“How so?”

“He was married to Aphrodite.”

Sara blushed. “The goddess of love. Even I remember that.”

“The goddess of love and beauty.” Quinn paused. “I've heard that magical power was given to smiths by the goddess, in return for faithful worship of the eternal feminine, and that Amazons deliberately lamed smiths because they were so useful. There's an old link between smiths and strong women.”

Sara's cheeks were red, but she held his gaze. “If you believe that sort of thing.”

“Don't you?” Quinn glanced pointedly around him. She had to believe in the mystical to run a shop like this.

But Sara laughed lightly. “Don't be fooled by appearances. I'm Sara Keegan, ace accountant, and The Scrying Glass, well, it's come along a bit early to be my midlife crisis, but maybe it still counts.”

“I don't understand.”

Sara's tone became more definite. “I believe in math. I believe in charts and ledgers and books that balance and spreadsheets that tally. I believe in the right answer at the right time.”

Quinn had a heartbeat to realize that his mate was the least likely person on the planet to believe in what he was before Sara spared a glance to the store. “My aunt Magda, though, believed in everything else.”

Quinn was relieved by this. Psychic abilities ran in families, particularly in the female line. Maybe Sara didn't know what she could do.

“When Aunt Magda died and left me everything, I had the crazy thought that I could ditch my frequent flier cards and have a quiet life instead. It was just a whim, but it sounded too good to ignore.” She shrugged. “I decided to make a change and here I am.”

“So what makes you a great accountant?”

Sara laughed. Her eyes sparkled and he knew she had loved her job. “I was on the deal team for an information technology company. We did outsourcing deals and I was Ms. Math. There were seven of us and we convened in various locations every week to work out proposals. It was my job to make the numbers work, so that we made money and the client got the pricing they needed to save money. It was fascinating and challenging and some of the best work I've ever done.” She spun a pencil. “We were the rainmakers, the dream team who brought home the deals to support the company's growth. It was good work and it paid really well.”

“But you gave it up.”

Sara frowned. “We traveled all the time. Out Sunday, home late Friday night. I can tell you the layout and the shortcuts between gates in every major airport hub in the continental U.S. I had a wad of frequent flier cards and hotel favored-guest cards, but no time to take vacation and use any of them.” She spared him a glance. “I don't know why I'm telling you all of this.”

Quinn smiled. “Because I'm a good listener?” He arched a brow. “Because it was tangible and real?” She sobered at that. Quinn shrugged. “Or maybe because you already know something pretty personal about me.”

“I didn't imagine it, did I?”

“Do accountants hallucinate?”

She laughed and shook her head, then tapped her pencil on the counter. She was self-conscious now, but Quinn wanted to know more.

“Why did you give it up?”

Sara sighed. “My mother had always wanted to go to Machu Picchu but they never had the money. When my father retired from the service this year, I gave them the trip with my points. I was supposed to go with them, but at the last minute, a new deal opportunity came up and I went to Des Moines with the deal team instead.” She swallowed, her brows tightening as she watched the pencil spin.

“What happened?”

“They were killed on that trip.” Sara blinked back tears and straightened. “That made everything seem so pointless, the money and the fancy restaurants and the high-power toys. Then Magda died and my coworker Brian had his marriage go south and my boyfriend bailed and you know, I'd just had it.”

“Fair enough.”

“You think so? Most of my friends thought I was crazy.” She looked at him, her gaze clear. He admired her strength, not only in making a major change in her life but recovering from such a loss.

“Sometimes it takes a lot to challenge our idea of how our lives should be.”

She poked at a shoe box on the counter. “To finally audit the books, you mean?”

“Something like that.” Quinn smiled. “No other family?”