Breathing Fire (Heretic Daughters) (7 page)

I looked at him a little warily.
 
“How is he?” I asked seriously.
 
My question made the other druids shift with agitation and hostility.
 
I
really
didn’t have the right to ask.

He had no doubt, of course, which
he
I meant.
 
His mouth tightened, all good humor leaving his face.
 
“He’s powerful.
 
After you left, he reached his potential and it was even more than any of us bargained for.
 
Killing Declan promoted him younger than any Arch in remembrance.
 
My father couldn’t have been more pleased if it was his own son.”

“Is he happy?”
 
My voice was more fragile than I preferred.

He shrugged.
 
“He’s busy.
 
He’s not as angry as he used to be, but I worry he’s just pushed all of that rage below the surface.
 
He dates a new girl every night.” I tried not to wince visibly.
 
“Though he’s been seeing Siobhan again.”
 
I don’t think I hid the wince very well for that one.
 
“No, I can’t say he’s happy, but who is?”

Well, that was a depressing question that I certainly didn’t have an answer for.

I stuck my wrist out grudgingly.
 
“Get it over with.
 
I hate those things.”

Collin chanted a surprisingly quick spell on the geas, then attached it to my wrist with the utmost courtesy not to lay so much as
 
a finger on me.
 
I appreciated his good manners.
 
Politesse with an outsider was not a common druid trait.

The druids finally let me leave, and I beat it fast.
 
Two days.
 
So short a time before I had to face the man who’s memory I’d been running from for seven years.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Emo Prom

DAY 3

I awoke to the smell of burning bed again, and started cursing before my eyes had opened.
 
I had relocated to one of our guest rooms, on account of the bed I’d burned to cinders the night before.
 

I was relieved to find the damage was minimal when I examined the bed.
 
I might even be able to sleep on it again.
 
Maybe.
 
Yippee.
 
My bed burning rate wasn’t quite one a night.
 

I just stared at my reflection this time.
 
There were no loud outbursts, I swear.
 
The good news?
 
It was straight and smooth like it was supposed to be.
 
The bad news?
 
It was a pale but vibrant purple.
 
Violet?
 
Lavender?
 
I glared at my reflection and decided to just ignore the color until it went away, like the damned curls had.
   

I showered and dressed, trying to ignore the geas around my wrist.
 
I strode downstairs with a bad attitude.
 
Lynn and her entourage were having some sort of gathering in the living room.
 
I was torn between curiosity (Lynn always kept things interesting) and a desire to avoid having to socialize in any way.
 
I ate some of their party food before giving in to the curiosity.
 

“A party at ten in the morning?” I asked as I leaned into the doorway.
 
A few dozen goths lounged in various stages of emo around the room.
 
Lynn was in rare form today.
 
She was reclining on a large, intricately carved, high-backed silver chair.
 
Or rather, a throne.
 
I’d never seen it before.
 
When had Lynn picked up a throne?
 
Gods only knew.
 
“Some of you kiddos must have very early curfews indeed.”

“
Madame Noir
does not accept anyone under eighteen into her following,” one sniffed at me disdainfully.

“None of us have curfews,” another cried out.

“
Madame Noir
?”
 
I looked in Lynn’s direction.
 
She was decked out in full-on, black latex, dominatrix gear.
 
“You’re french now?”

She nodded slightly, smiling just a little.
 
“
Oui
.
 
I was just telling my
Adeptes
about the
horeur. Pardon,
in english you say the french revolution
.
 
I was just telling them how my whole family went to the guillotine.
 
When did you dye your hair cotton candy purple,
ma soeur
?”
 

“Don’t change the subject.
 
Wow.
 
Your
whole
family, huh?”
 
I raised a brow at her ruefully.
 
“I thought you were a viking.”
 
Everyone in the room was glaring at me.
 
Except for Lynn, of course.
 
I was more than half convinced that she pulled this shit just to make me laugh.

“Oh,
oui
, I was a Viking before I was French,” she said, as though she’d forgotten.
 
And as though it was perfectly natural to switch your nationality.
 
“Memory can be a tricky thing, as the centuries pass you by.”

“Amen, sista.”
 
Her last statement was actually pretty true, though I knew very well that she hadn’t forgotten that she had never been even a little french.
 
Sure, she’d spent some time there, but certainly not during the revolution.
 

I was starting to notice that everyone in the room was a little more decked out than normal, even for them.
 
“What’s the occasion?
 
Did I miss my invitation to emo prom or something?”
 

Lynn choked on a laugh.
 
“The Renaissance Fair is in town,”
 
Lynn explained.
 
“We’re setting up a tent there.
 
It’s nice, on occasion, to visit reminders of the past.”

“Ohh, that.
 
Hmm, I might have to give Christian a call, so that we can come laugh at you.
 
How long will you be there, O’ Mistress of Black Eyeliner?”

“All day.
 
We’ll be set up somewhere in the fortune-teller court.
 
Big black tent.
 
So what’s with the lavender hair?”

“Awesome,” I said with a grin, completely ignoring her question about my hair.
 
“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Did you lose a bet?” she tried.

I sighed.
 
“A bet with god maybe.
 
I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Is there something I can bribe you with to make you talk?”
 

I thought about it.
 
I was always at least a little susceptible to bribery.
 
Especially if it was jewels.
 
Or any kind of treasure, really.
 
Of course I loved to hoard treasure.
 
Name me a dragon who didn’t.
 
My kind were somewhat famous for it.
 
There was always some truth to every legend, and that particular legend was
all
truth.
 
“I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”
 
I started to walk away, then remembered.
 
Shit on shingles,
 
I’d almost forgotten.
 
I raised my wrist, showing her the geas there.
 
She raised a brow at me in question.
 
“I ran into Collin yesterday, and ended up with this thing on my wrist.”
 

She rose.
 
All of her flunkies rose with her.
 
I rolled my eyes as she waved them back down.
 
“We need privacy, in the kitchen.”
 
She swept from the room, and I followed her.

I told her the short version, then she got me to spill the long version, which wasn’t much different.
 
She, in turn, told me about her more than interesting last few days.
 
Our most dangerous ally, Caleb, had come to town, with tales of some major shit about to go down.
 
And she had met a guy, a mysterious guy, who had placed some kind of enchantment on her.
 
A love enchantment, she thought.
 
I didn’t like that, especially considering the timing.
 
I told her so.
 
She was equally disgruntled by the entire affair.

“Well, shit.
 
If Caleb’s in town, it’s bad.
 
He only shows up for the really nasty stuff.”
 
I let loose a fluent stream of cursing.
 

“We need to move?” she asked, after I’d finished.

I shrugged.
 
“I‘m not sure.
 
The geas pretty much means I’m screwed, but I have a plan.
 
Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Yes, I have a plan, kinda-ish.”

“Ish?”

“Ish.
 
Worst-case scenario, I’ll have to go see Dom.
 
But I should have it under control.
 
Ish.”

“Your confidence is inspiring-ish.”

“I do need a favor though.”

“Sure, what?”

“You know how crappy I am at shielding.
 
Can you do something for me, to cover the bruises?
 
Just for a day or two.”
 

She nodded, pulling a small relic from around her neck, and placing her hand on my forehead.
 
She chanted for a bit, paused to ask, “You don’t want to heal at all?”
 

I grimaced.
 
“Maybe a touch.
 
I need it to look
bad
, though, under the glamour,” I explained, and she continued.

She paused, studying her work.
 
I knew from experience that it would be perfect.
 
Shielding and glamour were her specialties.
 
And my weakness.
 
Our magics had some similarities, but more differences.
 
Hers was subtle and powerful.
 
And very dangerous to find yourself on the wrong end of.
 
She was a master of illusion and subterfuge.
 
You’d never see her coming.
 
Me, on the other hand,
not
so subtle.
 
I was more likely to blow the door up on my way in.
 
Oh, and I’d probably blow the roof off on my way out.
 
“So is that why your hair’s been wigging out?
 
The strain of shielding?”

“That’s as good a guess as any,” I lied.
 
Those problems had been going on since long before I’d been shielding.
 
But I didn’t want to worry her.
 
Now was not the time.

She studied me, looking worried.
 
“You sure you got this under control?”

I shrugged.
 
“Ish?”

We grinned at each other.
 
“You take care,” she said quietly, as I walked her back to her undead ball.
 
I waved at the room full of sullen faces.
 
“Have fun at the fair, Conformists.
 
Take care,
 
Mistress Emo.”
 
I took off before they could respond.
 
I could have sworn that I heard one of them putting a curse on me as I walked away.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Renaissance Fair

As it turned out, Christian was available, so we went to the Renaissance Fair together.
 
He picked me up at the house, tossing me a pink t-shirt when I opened the door.
 
I curled my lip at him.
 
“Huh?”

He grinned, shrugging.
 
“I had it made after last year’s fair.
 
I thought it would be cute.
 
Nice hair, by the way, Barney.”

“Thanks, candy ass.
 
So, what are you gonna give me to wear this?”

“Look at it before you reject it out of hand.”

I unfolded it.
 
I couldn’t keep an embarrassingly girlish giggle from escaping my lips.
 
It had black lettering above an obnoxious cartoon.
 
It looked like a blond, shirtless, anime version of Christian.
 
The lettering read, “Dragonslayers have giant swords.”
 

“No way.” I threw it at him.
 
He flipped it, showing me the back.
 
It read “Dragonslayers do it dragon style.”

I raised a brow at him.
 
“You must have some present for me, if you think you can bribe me into wearing that.”

He bent down, flipping up his pant leg.
 
He unlatched an extremely badass looking ankle sheath.
 
“It’s been blessed by a holy druid.
 
It grows hot against your skin when evil draws near.
 
And the knife hilt is studded with rubies.
 
I know how you and Lynn like your jewels.”
 

I took it from him, studying it closely.
 
It was beautifully made, and I did love gems.
 
“I’ve been called evil myself, but it’s not hot against my skin now.”

“Rather, someone that means to do evil to you.”
 
He flipped open his button up shirt.
 
Underneath, he wore his own pink T-shirt.
 
Hot pink.
 
He was secure, I supposed.
 
It had the same cartoon as mine, but his had a hot blond anime chick kneeling at his feet.
 
Me?
 
I threw up a little in my throat.
 
It read, ‘Level 140 Dragonslayer = Hot Chick Magnet.’
 
I looked from his shirt to the knife.
 
I really, really liked the knife.
 
I had a weakness for ankle sheaths and he knew it.
 
I already had a small gun strapped to the inside of my left ankle.
 
My jeans hid it completely, as they would this knife.
 
“I bet you got that knife at the same time you got those T-shirts made.
 
You’ve been planning this for a year?”