Page 14 of The Fire Went Wild
I lean over and pick up Charlotte’s soiled panties and then toss them in my laundry hamper. They’re mine now. Then I dig around in the suitcase to pick out a new outfit for her to wear: a yellow ‘50s-looking sundress, clean underwear that I don’t let myself dwell on, and the lone bra in the suitcase, which is nowhere near as sexy as her lacy black panties.
I’ll take them to her in the morning, when the sun rises.
Charlotte’sstill going at it, but at least her racket is quieter when I’m downstairs. Just a dull, rhythmic thumping overhead. Easy to ignore.
I’m antsy. Agitated. My gods are quiet, not bothering to give me any direction except the occasional sharp reminder that I can’t kill Charlotte. I pace around the downstairs rooms, weaving between the formal parlor and the dining room and the kitchen, watching the darkness outside. I just don’t know what to do.
More than once, I consider calling Sawyer and telling him everything, but something stops me. If Sawyer finds out she’s here, he’s going to tell Edie. But Edie’s human, just like Charlotte, and she’s going to want to make sure her friendis okay. And that means explaining to Charlotte that Sawyer Caldwell isn’t dead, that he’s not even human. He’s a Hunter, and I’m a Hunter: beings designed to kill for centuries at a time.
It’s a whole can of worms, and I don’t want to be the one to open it.
It would be easier to take care of this issue on my own. But Idon’twant to deal with it on my own.
I decide to call Ambrose.
Of the three of us, Ambrose is the oldest. He’s been around, Hunting, since the 1800s. He found me in the ‘90s, a few years after I went MIA during my first tour of duty. Well, after I got shot in the desert and buried myself in the sand and revived eight months later and the war was over. A lifetime ago.
He’s usually got decent advice, though.
When I call him, he answers on the second ring, barking out a harsh, “I’m busy,” instead of a hello.
“I’ve got a problem,” I tell him, figuring that will get him to listen.
I can practically hear him scowling on the other end of the line. “A real problem or a Jaxon problem?”
“Asshole.”
“Seriously.” It sounds like he’s outside, the wind howling around him. “I’ve got my eye on a target. What’s going on?”
“Why the hell did you answer, then?”
A pause. The wind sounds like static. “Bored,” he finally says. “I’m just watching him. Is this a real problem?”
I take a deep breath. Charlotte’s losing some of her steam. She’s still thumping around, but the thumps are slower and quieter and more half-hearted. “Yeah,” I say, and then I tell him everything. When I finish, he’s quiet for a long time.
“Fuck,” he finally says. “You’re sure she’s looking for Edie?”
“She had her picture on her car dashboard.” And I have the picture tucked inside her cigarette case. I think she’d be mad if I destroyed it.
“You never should have painted that stupid fucking sigil.”
Anger bristles through me. I’ll paint my gods’ sigils anywhere I want. “Sawyershouldn’t have let a human girl wander around his place.”
“On that, we can agree.” Ambrose sighs. I can picture him in his dusty Oldsmobile, leaning back in the bucket seat. That fucking car is almost as old as I am. “But it’s too late now.”
“Think we should tell him?”
“No.” Ambrose says it fast. “He’s not thinking clearly about any of this shit.” He pauses. “Are you sure you can’t just?—”
“No.” The word explodes out of me, heat buzzing in the back of my head. “It’ll piss off the gods. And Sawyer.”
Ambrose is quiet. He’s more willing to believe in the gods than Sawyer is, even if he doesn’t pray to them the way I do. But he understands my devotion. “Sawyer wouldn’t have to know,” he finally says.
“I’m not doing it.” I squeeze the phone, my heart thudding. “And I’m not letting you do it, either.” The thought of Charlotte draws the gods out of the Abyss until they’re squirming like snakes through my thoughts, making me sick to my stomach at the idea of her death.
Ambrose sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Just—keep her there for now. Like you’re doing. Is she secure?”
“Of course. This isn’t my first time.”