Fire Water (2 page)

In the center, a square table was surrounded by four metal chairs with seats covered in apple-green vinyl. The linoleum underneath was worn but clean. “There's two bedrooms up and another room in the walk-out basement that could be a bedroom or storage room. Laundry's down there, too.”

She took me through a short hall off the kitchen, which led to a bathroom and a bedroom. Aged hardwoods covered the floors in the bedroom, and a large window let in streams of cheerful sunshine. A painted iron bed was covered in a multicolored quilt. It was light-years away from my normal style, but I was instantly charmed. “Does the furniture come with the place?”

She shrugged. “You'd have to ask Tanner, but I assume it's negotiable.”

I nodded. “Can I see the rest?”

She flicked her arthritic fingers toward the door. “Suit yourself. I'll be in the kitchen if you have any questions.”

I walked back out and continued into the den. There a denim-colored couch and plaid armchair were both angled toward a small TV on a stand that wasn't made from wooden boards and cinder blocks like the one in my current apartment. I turned to see Baba in the doorway.

“Isn't it odd for the front door to be in the kitchen?”

She crossed her arms. “The front door used to be there”—she jerked her thumb toward the side wall of the den—“but the previous owner wanted more space. So they turned the side door into the front.” She shrugged. “Worked out since the house is on the corner.”

Where the front door used to be, there was now a dining room table. I didn't host any dinner parties, so I figured it would make a good place for the kid to do homework. I paused, realizing it was a good sign if I was already picturing our lives in the house.

I checked out the bedroom on the other side of the main floor. It was small but perfectly fine for a ten-year-old boy. Back through the den, I found a set of stairs leading down to the basement. Unlike most houses, there wasn't a door separating the living area from the basement. Baba explained this was because the downstairs had been converted to be part of the living space of the house.

Downstairs, the laundry room turned out to be just a hallway with a washer and dryer shoved under a couple of narrow windows set high into the wall.

A door separated what Baba had called the third bedroom from the rest of the basement. The bedroom was larger than the ones upstairs. A built-in desk lined one wall and a twin bed was shoved into the opposite corner. There weren't any windows to add light to the space, so a row of track lights hung from the ceiling. One door led to a tiny bathroom, which was extremely basic but serviceable. Another door led not to the closet I was expecting, but to a large storage room. At present the only things stored in there were dust bunnies, but it was large enough that I could cancel my rental on the room at the Store-A-Lot, which would save me about a sixty bucks a month.

The back door was next to the laundry space. The walk-out basement setup was due to the fact that the house was situated on a slope, but just outside the door the yard leveled off. A couple of steps down led to a patio area, and beyond that a dilapidated garage hinted that there used to be a driveway. I went to the garage and pushed the door open. The sudden sound of flapping wings greeted my arrival. When no other critters came running out of the darkness, I stepped inside.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, so my other senses kicked on. The air was cooler in there, like a cave. The air smelled of old gasoline, paint thinner, and wood shavings. It was a comforting, solid perfume. It spoke of Sundays spent doing yard work while Danny played in the tree instead of listening to the freakhead neighbors having another fight.

My eyes finally adjusted enough to see a workbench set against one wall. A row of solid wooden shelves stacked above the work surface. Someone had lined up rows of jam jars containing screws and nails and other items commonly used in do-it-yourself projects. It was a space dedicated to fixing things, and I loved it instantly.

A shadow filled the open doorway. I turned to see Baba huffing from the exertion of descending the basement steps. “Well? What do you think?”

I took in a deep breath of the garage's perfume and smiled. “I'll take it.” I moved forward to shake her hand. In my excitement I held out my left hand instead of my right.

Baba froze and looked down at my extended hand. “Hold on—you're a Lefty?”

I jerked my hand back. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought. No use lying now. “I am.” I put my chin up and dared the old woman to make an issue of it.

“Tanner don't much like Lefties.”

“And you?”

Her face crinkled into a smile that made her wrinkles dance. “I'm a witch.”

I groaned inwardly. I hadn't known many human witches in my life, but my few experiences hadn't been great. While Adepts got all the credit for being able to wield magic, there were some Mundanes capable of harnessing magical energy, as well. Granted, they were incapable of harnessing as much power as an Adept and their power was strongest in groups, but it was there nonetheless. Mostly Wiccans and solitary witch practitioners specialized in hedge or kitchen magic—basic herbs and rituals using everyday items. Their magic wasn't categorized as either dirty or clean as an Adept's might be, but there was some movement in certain communities to regulate Mundane magic the way Adept magic had been.

“Oh,” Baba said when I took too long to answer, “you're one of those.”

I frowned. “One of what?”

She pointed at me. “One of them Adepts who think Mundane magic users are posers.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

She raised a white brow. “Hmmph.”

“Look, I would really appreciate it if you don't mention to Mr. Tanner that I'm an Adept. I promise I'm just looking for a safe, clean place where I can raise my little brother. We aren't troublemakers.”

She shot me a skeptical glance. “I dunno. I'm not sure I want a bigot next door.”

I raised my hands. “Give me a break. You have no idea how much discrimination I've had to deal with, lady. The last two places I tried to rent denied me because of being an Adept.”

“You sure that's why? Not because you throw wild sex parties?”

I held up my hand in a fake scout's-honor gesture. “I haven't even had sex in three years.”

Her mouth fell open. “Jesus, Mary, and Jerome, girl! That's no way to live.”

I shot her a bemused look. “No shit.”

She laughed out loud.

“So”—I drew out the word—“does this mean you'll help me with Tanner?”

She blew out a breath and shot me what she probably thought was an intimidating look. “I need to think about it. Had a newlywed couple come by just this morning.”

My hopes dipped. “Well, I'd appreciate any help you could give us, ma'am.”

“And don't call me ma'am, either. Everyone around here calls me Baba. Got it?”

I fought my smile. “Got it.”

The next morning Cap'n was in an even worse mood. “Ugh, you again.”

“Good morning.”

“Thought you'd give up after yesterday.”

I'd kept to my promise and not said a word the entire four-hour ride the day before. Mostly the patrol consisted of him listening to baseball stats on the radio while he made laps up and down the river. A couple of times, he'd stopped to warn someone going too fast in a no-wake zone or untangle trash from a buoy. Not exactly the exciting life I'd imagined when I'd signed up to become a cop. Still, I kind of found myself enjoying the breeze through my hair and the slower pace despite the constant stench of pollution and the dying wildlife.

“I'm just trying to do my job.”

“Hmmph,” he said. “Well? Come on.”

The water under the boat boiled as he turned on the engine. I hopped on board and headed toward my designated seat.

“Go grab that line, will ya?” The request was so unexpected I froze. “You ain't deaf, are ya?”

I shook my head and hopped toward the railing. The line he'd mentioned was the rope tying the boat to the dock. I basically knew nothing about boating, but I was pretty sure him asking me to help with anything counted as a victory. For the time being, Cap'n had decided to tolerate my presence on his vessel.

I unwrapped the line and was careful to coil it into a neat pile like I'd seen him do the day before. Once it was done, I turned to give him a thumbs-up. He shook his head at my enthusiasm and turned to pull the boat from the dock.

It was another sunny day. After the harsh Babylon winter, the sunshine and warm temperatures felt like a miracle. I even spied a few sunflowers peeking out from the piles of trash lining the shore along the lake. I smiled and chose to see them as a sign that my life would be in full bloom soon, too. I just prayed I'd hear soon about the house.

“Sit,” Cap'n ordered.

I took a seat without a word. The boat chugged along the river for a few moments before I realized we'd gone a different direction than the day before. “Where we headed?”

My seat was actually a bucket shoved just outside the cover provided by the boat's wheelhouse. The position allowed me to enjoy the sun on my face, but also gave me a view of Cap'n's profile. When I spoke, his lip curled like he'd just smelled something rotten.

“Thought I told you not to talk.”

I rolled my eyes. Surely he didn't expect me to stay quiet the entire week. I crossed my arms and turned toward the rail. If he wasn't going to tell me where he was going, I'd just try to learn by watching.

We were headed upriver, away from Lake Erie. Eventually the river would fork off into two branches, but for now it was a single, wide, polluted channel. As if to prove my point, a large hunk of wood floated past carrying a rat as large as a dog eating a bloated fish. I shook my head. At some point, something really needed to be done about the river. Everyone in Babylon knew that the rule was that if you fell into the Steel River, you went straight to the emergency room. Over the years the steel industry and lack of regulation had turned it into a dumping ground of chemicals, petroleum, and trash. Every now and then, you'd see a large bubble of air popping on top of the sludge, as if even oxygen couldn't wait to escape the dying waterway.

I sighed and settled onto my bucket for another boring day with my crotchety mentor, with only my dreams of the future to entertain me.

That afternoon I reported to the police academy training center. Even though the bulk of my academy training was complete, there was a team-building exercise scheduled for my recruit class.

I'd been late getting off the boat, so I'd had to hightail it to make it in time. I was still pulling my hair back into the required bun as I walked in. Several of my classmates were already inside warming up and chatting about their experiences shadowing officers in the different departments.

No one greeted me when I walked in. I didn't take offense. They'd never greeted me during the academy classes, either. I went to an empty vinyl mat and started stretching.

A few of the guys nearby were chatting about their experiences on probationary duty. “I'm telling you, man, vice is where the action is.” The speaker was a meathead named Bruce Batson. He was the kind of guy who joined the BPD because he wanted to get paid to swing his dick around.

“Nope,” said Chuck Garza. “Busting Sinisters is way more fun. The Arcane division puts those freaks in their place.”

I froze in the process of stretching my hamstring and shot the asshole a glare.

Chuck cleared his throat. “No offense, Prospero,” he said in a resentful tone.

Sinister
was a term Mundanes often used for Adepts. A lot of people who weren't born with the ability to work magic were suspicious of those of us who could. The slur was offensive, but apologists said the slur came from the fact
sinister
meant “left” in Latin and all Adepts were left-handed. According to those people, anyone who took offense was just being overly sensitive. No doubt, the three men staring at me like they expected me to start crying fell into that category.

Instead of letting it upset me, I just went back to my stretching.

“Anyway,” Bruce said in a patronizing tone, “it's too bad we have to serve time on patrol before we can do the exciting stuff.”

A whistle blew, cutting off any chance of response. I jumped up from the mat and fell into line with the rest of my class. There were twenty of us in the group—sixteen men and four women. I was the only Adept in the bunch.

“All right, everyone. Today we're working on team building.” The sergeant in charge of the drill was a hard-ass named Reams, who, according to gossip, was the first female to reach that rank in the department. She was six feet tall with a shock of spiky blond hair and permanently narrowed eyes. “You're going to divide into groups and cover each other as you work your way through an obstacle course filled with targets. Each group will have an appointed leader.”

According to Reams, the goal of the lesson was to learn to work with a team in tactical situations. She counted off the teams. Naturally, I ended up with Batson and Garza, as well as two other meatheads. Next, Reams read off the names of the leaders. “Group three's leader is Prospero.”

Male grumbles greeted the announcement. I ignored the pitch in my stomach at the news. I wasn't any happier than they were because I knew any mistakes on my part would be blamed on either my sex or my being a Lefty—or both. I pushed my shoulders back and girded myself for what I expected to be a frustrating afternoon.

“Split into your teams and head outside.”

I turned toward the men, but they'd already started jogging toward the door, leaving me to follow. I cursed under my breath and double-timed it. I caught up with them just before the door, which I barely caught before it slammed in my face.