Burn for Me

Makarov shoved me back. I let go, and Szenia crumpled to the floor. Thick white foam slid out of his mouth. His legs drummed the ground. Oh no.

Makarov dropped to his knees and slid his demon hand straight into Szenia’s chest. The convulsions slowed. Slowly Makarov withdrew his clawed fingers. Szenia opened his eyes.

“Szivoi to, geroy?” Makarov asked.

The blond man nodded.

Makarov turned to me, looked at my face, then turned to Frida. “I’ve got to talk to you.”

They marched to the other end of the warehouse. I got Szenia a bottle of water from Grandma’s fridge and propped him up so he could drink. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay.” He took the bottle and drank in long, greedy gulps. “That stung a bit. I’ll just lay here for a while.” He lie back down.

Across from us Makarov and Grandma Frida were arguing. Makarov was pointing at me. I strained, trying to hear. Something about “should’ve told me.”

Makarov did an about-face and marched toward me. Grandma trailed him. The Russian closed the distance between us, his jaw set. “You listen to me and listen good. Don’t use this on anyone below Significant level, you hear me? You could kill somebody, and I don’t want their souls on my conscience.”

He picked up his box and walked out. Szenia rolled to his feet and followed him.

Grandma Frida watched him go, her arms crossed on her chest.

“What’s going on?” my mother asked.

Grandma Frida shook her head. “Crazy Russian. Never mind. Just be careful with the shockers, Neva.”

My teeth still hurt. “I wasn’t planning on randomly buzzing people on the street with them.”

My cell phone rang on the table. I never went far without it, even in the house. I picked it up. An unlisted number. Oh goodie.

“Nevada Baylor.”

“I need to talk to you,” Mad Rogan said into the phone. “Meet me for lunch.”

My pulse jumped, my body snapped to attention, and my brain shut down for a second to come to terms with the impact of his voice. I’d slap myself except my mother and grandmother already thought I was nuts, and hurting myself would get me committed for sure.

“Sure, let me get right on that.” Hey, my voice still worked. “Should I bring my own chains this time? Or do you have bigger plans, and this is some sort of freaky murder foreplay”—why did the word foreplay just come out of my mouth?—“and I’ll end up cut up into small pieces inside some freezer at the end? I can just spray myself with mace and shoot myself in the head now and save you the trouble.”

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Just getting started.” I was so brave over the phone.

“Lunch, Ms. Baylor. Concentrate. Pick a place.”

“You seem to be under the impression that I work for you and you can give me orders. Let me fix that.” I hung up.

Grandma looked at my mom. “Did she just hang up on Mad Rogan?”

“Yes, she did. Did you know that Adam Pierce showed up at our house last night?”

Grandma’s eyes went wide. “He was here?”

“She met him outside.”

Grandma swung toward me. “Did you take any pictures?”

My phone beeped. Unlisted number again. I answered it.

“I’m not a man of infinite patience,” Mad Rogan said.

I hung up.

“Pictures or it didn’t happen!” Grandma declared.

I scrolled through my phone and pulled up the shot of Adam Pierce in a Mercer T-shirt. “There you go.”

Grandma grabbed the phone. It beeped. She answered it. “She’ll call you back. Nevada, can I email Adam’s picture to myself?”

“You have to hang up first.”

She hung up and clicked the phone, typing with her index fingers. “Arabella is going to flip.”

My mother sighed.

Grandma passed me the phone. “Here’s your phone back.”

Another beep.

“Yes?”

His voice was quiet and precise. “If you hang up on me again, I will slice your car into small pieces and hang them on your roof like Christmas wreaths.”

“First, destroying my property is a crime, just like kidnapping me is a crime. Second, how exactly is mincing my car into small pieces supposed to convince me to come to lunch with you? Third, if you’re close enough to slice my car, I’m close enough to shoot you in the head. Can you deflect bullets if you don’t know they’re coming?”

“I’m trying to be reasonable,” he said. “Come to lunch with me and we can exchange information or . . .”

“Or what? My mother and grandmother are right here. Shall I pass the phone to them so you can threaten them with terrible things if I don’t agree to lunch?”

“Will it do any good?”

“Probably not.”

“What would make you feel safe?” he asked.

“An apology would be a start.”

“I apologize for kidnapping you,” he said. “I promise not to kidnap you before, during, or after lunch. This is a business conversation. Where would you be comfortable meeting me?”

Comfortable? The memory of his magic was still burning my brain. There was no such thing as being comfortable where he was concerned. I could meet him in the middle of city hall, surrounded by SWAT, and he could nuke them and me without breaking a sweat. But I would have to talk to him. He wanted to meet me, and he would get what he wanted one way or the other.

“Ms. Baylor?”

“Hold on. I’m trying to figure out a place where nobody will recognize us.”

“If you prefer, I can acquire a windowless creeper van, and we can huddle in it and have greasy takeout.”

Huddle? “Tempting, but no. Takara, in an hour . . .”

He hung up.

I rolled my eyes.

“Is this a good idea?” Mother asked.

“I don’t know. He mentioned exchanging information, so he might have something to trade. I don’t think avoiding him will work. He won’t take no for an answer. I can meet him on my terms or on his. I’ve tried his and I don’t like them. Besides, Makarov said not to use shockers on anyone with low magic. Mad Rogan is a Prime.” I made grabbing motions with my fingers.

“Mom?” Mother turned to Grandmother.

“What?”

“She’s going to lunch with her kidnapper!”

“Take a picture for me,” Grandma said.

“This family will put me into an early grave,” my mother growled. “I’m coming with you. Mother, lock the doors and set the alarm. We’ll take the van and the Barrett.”