Page 40 of Tin God

Brigid snapped her fingers, brought the fire to her hands, and carefully fed it to the next trail of straw.

“You’re already improving.” Oleg stood at attention, watching her with his hands clasped behind his back. “Perhaps, though the world would be a slightly better place if more women and children expressed their anger.”

It was the thought of a man who had probably never been vulnerable to anything. “That would be nice. It would be cathartic to rage and yell and scream, wouldn’t it?” She carefully nudged her fire from the first pile of tinder to the next, coaxing it with amnis. “But we can’t do that, Oleg. The world punishes our rage.”

Oleg lifted his chin. “Perhaps that is your problem.”

“What?” Fuck. The fire went out again before it reached the next tinder. Brigid tried hard not to be angry. It seemed like the fire in her responded to explosive energy or nothing.

Apparently her aunts had all been correct: subtlety was not in her DNA.

Oleg walked carefully over to the pile of ash that marked her last failed attempt. “Your rage has never had a voice, so your fire must always protect you. Your fire cannot serve you if it is always protecting you.”

Brigid blinked. “That actually makes sense.”

Oleg leaned back on one booted foot and smiled a little. “I cannot help you with that, Brigid Connor. Only you know how you must give your rage a voice. But I think that only after you do that will your fire be able to work for you.”

ChapterNine

The heavy churn of the water pressed against the cold hull, rocking Carwyn back and forth in a fishing boat heading north. He closed his eyes and tried to roll with the waves of the North Pacific, keeping his mind on his mate and on the problem at hand.

Find Brigid.

Find Zasha.

Kill Zasha.

Scream at Brigid for leaving him.

Don’t puke.

“I hate you,” Ben muttered from across the cabin he and Carwyn had been assigned.

“I told you I wasn’t going to follow along after you like a puppy.” Carwyn tried to focus on the metal of the boat, which was part of his element and provided some comfort.

Ben spat out, “I fucking hate boats.”

“Huh. I do too.”

“Useless pieces of crap with no air. No light.”

“Light’s not good for you these days.” Carwyn kept his eyes closed, wondering when Ben was going to figure out the very obvious solution to his predicament.

“Horrible food,” Ben continued. “I was stuck on a freighter from Shanghai once when I was human and?—”

“Benjamin.” Carwyn had heard enough. “Just fucking float.”

“We are floating. That’s the problem.”

Carwyn picked up a thick copy ofBirds of the Puget Soundand chucked it at Ben’s head.

“What was that for?”

“Fucking! Float!” Carwyn pointed at the ceiling. “In the air, you idiot. You’re a wind vampire. Float in the fucking air so you don’t feel the boat rocking. It’s a very simple solution.”

Ben was silent, but he immediately floated up to the top of the cabin and floated a foot or two from the top of the room. “That’s better.”

You think?