Page 6 of Fevered Fury
He moved toward the door, and I followed. There’s something about walking behind a man built like an ancient warrior statue that makes you feel simultaneously safe and incredibly small.
At the threshold, he paused, turning to face me. Before I could parse the look in his eyes, Riker leaned down and pressed his lips against mine—a brief, searing touch that sent shockwaves through me and left a taste of power and danger that was undoubtedly addictive.
“Stay safe,” he murmured, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Safe as houses,” I replied, once I found my voice, although the breathlessness of that kiss made me wonder exactly how safe a house was when it was on fire.
“See you on the field, Fury.” With a last intense look, he stepped out into the parking lot and was gone, leaving a trail of charged air and an echo of my rapidly beating heart.
The door clicked shut behind Riker, and I was left with an afterimage of his smoldering departure. For a moment, heat lingered on my lips and in the air.
I turned to Elijah and Helen, who were perched on the edge of their seats like two fabulous bookends.
“Okay, lovebirds,” I began, clapping my hands together as if to extinguish any remaining embers from Riker’s kiss. “We have a fire djinni that’s playing hot potato with our city’s fountains.”
Elijah ran a hand through his floppy blond hair, his stoned expression giving way to focus. “I suppose asking it nicely to chill out is off the table?”
I shook my head. “We need to get to some more of those fountains, see the scorch marks for ourselves, and talk to anyone who’s seen more than they bargained for.”
Helen stood up, her bouffant hairdo not budging an inch. She flicked an imaginary speck of dust off her immaculate sleeve. “Witnesses,” she mused. “You think someone caught a glimpse of our fiery friend?”
“Could be,” I said. “Fire tends to attract attention—like a drag queen at a church picnic. Or a Texas library.”
Helen mock-gasped, but her eyes twinkled with mischief.
I scrolled through the information Riker had sent me.
“First stop, Klyde Warren Park,” I announced after a moment. “That’s where the first fountain went up in smoke—literally.”
This time Helen’s gasp was real. “The Nancy Best fountain? The one kids are allowed to play in? Oh, God. Was anyone hurt?”
I shook my head. “Apparently not. Thank goodness.”
“Time to hit the pavement then,” Elijah chimed in, standing up with a stretch. “Maybe we’ll find a trail of burnt breadcrumbs.”
“Or just regular crumbs,” Helen added, grabbing her oversized purse. “Because you never know when you’ll need a snack.”
“Or a bullwhip,” I reminded her with a grin, thinking of her weapon of choice.
“Always,” she affirmed, patting her bag with a wink.
With that, we bundled up our respective quirks and set out. Dallas greeted us with the usual hustle and bustle. We wove through crowds, hunters stalking prey, ready to pounce on any scrap of information.
As we approached the Nancy Best Fountain in Klyde Warren Park, the scent of charred stone teased my senses. It was a peculiar aroma, one part destruction, two parts mystery. The fountain stood lonely and unmoving, now marred by black streaks and an aura of lingering warmth.
“Here we go,” I murmured, stepping closer to examine the damage. “Let’s split up—cover more ground, talk to more people. Remember, casual. We’re just curious tourists fascinated by local pyrotechnics.”
“Got it,” Elijah said, already meandering off toward a group of people.
“Be back here in thirty,” I instructed, watching as Helen sashayed away with the confidence of a queen entering her court.
Alone, I traced the edges of the scorched stone, the texture rough against my fingertips. There was power here, a raw, elemental force that hummed with the promise of revelation—or destruction. I glanced around, searching for faces that held stories waiting to be told.
“Excuse me,” I asked a woman sketching nearby, “have you noticed anything strange around the fountain lately?”
She looked up, shading her eyes against the sun, and nodded. “You could say that,” she said, her voice tinged with a wariness.
“Tell me everything,” I urged, my pulse quickening with the knowledge that we were drawing closer to the flame—figuratively, but also literally.