Kate Elliott - Cold Fire

We came to a clearing around a circular pool filled to the brim with water as intensely blue as James Drake’s eyes. Next to the pool rose an unwalled shelter, just a roof thatched with dried fronds that shaded a table and bench. He sat me on the bench and gave me a second gourd of rum.

“What’s this for if it won’t cure me?”

“It’s to numb the pain and the fear. We don’t know each other, Cat Barahal, but you’re going to have to trust me.”

“Why does it matter if I trust you? I’m going to die. There’s no cure, and every bitten person dies.” Shaking, I took a long swallow of the rum. It was better than thinking.

A pot and several baskets hung under the eaves. He took down the pot, filled it with water, and hung it from a tripod. Then he put his hand on the wood beneath it. His lips parted, and flames curled up.

“You’re a fire mage,” I said, intelligently I am sure. I was finding it challenging to put words together because, between the rush of alcohol and fear to my brain, words wriggled away as soon as I had them in sight. “But fire mages all burn up when their fire runs out of control. Unless they learn the secrets of the blacksmiths.” I pressed my fingers to my brow, trying to reel in my scattering thoughts lest I start babbling secrets. “That drink went straight to my head.”

He came over, caught my chin with a hand, and looked me over carefully. “My apologies. I’m going to have to ask you to kiss me.”

“Kiss you!”

He offered a rueful smile. “As you so astutely observed, I’m a fire mage. If I press my lips to yours, the contact will allow me to know if the teeth of the salt plague have gotten into your blood.”

“Because you’re a fire mage, you can tell if I’m infested with the salt plague if you kiss me?”

“That’s right. And if I catch it quickly enough, I might be able to heal you.”

“ Heal me!?” I sucked in a shocked breath, mouth parted, heart pounding, blood pulsing through my veins and horrible, horrible death spreading through my blood. “Don’t mock me. There’s no cure.”

“In Europa they believe there’s no cure. Here in the Antilles, we know better. Healing is one of the gifts of fire mages. There are certain diseases we can heal by killing them within you before they kill you.”

If he was lying, I was no worse off than before. But what if he was telling the truth!

I leaned into him, and I kissed him on the mouth. He returned the kiss decisively, his lips warm at first, and then his kiss turned hotter until its heat coursed like sun through my body. I forgot I was dying and felt quite astoundingly alive.

He released me abruptly.

Panting, I sank back, hands propped behind me on the bench to hold me up. I was very confounded, warm and tingling all over. The liquor was making my head swim.

He stared at me as intently as if he saw something odd.

My bodice had been pulled askew, exposing half of my left breast. Blushing, I straightened the cloth. I could not catch my breath, and there was a part of me that badly wanted to kiss him again, as if his kiss or his magic had roused a slumbering beast within me.

He carefully eased my torn sleeve back and with a finger traced the bite mark. The jagged wound had gone pink at the edges, with ragged clots of darkening blood and clear oozing plasma. “It broke the skin.”

“Can’t you help me?” I whispered. I grabbed for the gourd of rum and drained the last of it.

“I can’t quite tell…but if I had your permission to try again…”

Why not? The last thing I wanted now was to be alone. When I nodded, he caught me close with another kiss. He was fire, and I burned into the core of me because I was being caressed by tendrils of sweet flame along my skin, and within my skin, and against my lips. Was this fire magic? For as it twined through my body, I wanted nothing more than to run my hands along his back and do more of this kissing; much more; much, much more. He broke off the kiss.

“Cat! Your claws are out.” He grinned. “Desire suits you. You’re all flushed.”

“I was bitten by a dying man with a rotted mind. Of course I’m flushed!” I was sure my bosom was heaving, because I still couldn’t catch my breath. “Can you really heal me? You’re not just saying that to take advantage of me? Offering me one chance to live before I die?”

His gaze narrowed, as if a spark of anger flared in his eyes. Drawing back, he released my arm. “Is that what you think this is? Let me tell you a few things about the salt plague. If a person is bitten by a salter, that person will become infested with what we call the teeth of the ghouls. They’re so tiny they are hidden from sight. At first, the bitten victim is harmless to others. But inside, they’re slowly deteriorating as the infestation grows within their blood. On the day the infestation flowers, they forget everything they ever knew except that they have to drink warm, living blood because their own is dried up. Now they bite. It’s all they live for. It’s all they know. In time, they become like salt, unmoving. Morbid. Worse than dead, for they crave and can never be satisfied, trapped in a pain-wracked, paralyzed body.”

“Stop! Please, stop!”

He softened. Pressing a finger under my chin, he held my gaze. “Cat, you have one chance. You’ve been bitten. But the teeth of the ghouls haven’t yet caught in your blood. If I can burn out all the teeth before they catch and hook in your blood, then you won’t become a salter. But we have to do it right now. It’s like a snake’s venom. I have to burn it out before it’s too late to stop it.”

The water he had set over the fire was boiling. I heard its burbling chatter, and the titter of birds in the trees, and the pulse of the sky like blood in my ears. My head floated as on clouds.

“Of course I want to be healed! Why are you waiting?”

His lips lifted into a faint smile as he brushed a hand lightly along my shoulder, pulling the fabric of my shift down just enough to expose the curve of a shoulder. Where his fingers touched my skin, desire purred into me. “A fire mage’s healing is called the kiss of life. I have to be much, much closer to manage it. My lips to your lips. My bare skin to your bare skin, all of it. For me to find and burn out all the teeth of the ghouls swimming your blood, there must be no barrier-none-between us. It’s the only way I can heal you.”

I could not think. But oh, Blessed Tanit! I wanted to live.

So I just said, “Yes.”

I woke with my bitten arm throbbing and my hair in my mouth. Sitting up, I wiped the strands plastered across my cheek off my face so I wasn’t chewing on them. The movement of my arm across my breasts made me realize I was stark naked. My bare skin to your bare skin, all of it.

Blessed Tanit! I had really done it. And it had been pretty nice.

By the sour feeling in my stomach and the woozy way the world smiled on me, I was sure that not only had I been drunk but I was still a little drunk.

Proud Astarte! No wonder Rory behaved the way he did, wanting to be petted all the time!

I found my cane under the bench. My drawers, shift, bodice, and jacket lay discarded across the table. I sat on the ground on top of the remains of my overskirt and petticoats, spread open like unfurled wings to provide a blanket of a sort. The jagged tears in the fabric made me wonder what manner of teeth could shred tightly-woven wool challis and fine linen quite so spectacularly. I brushed a leaf off my bare hip and flicked an ant off my ankle. Despite the drink, I had a clear memory of how the clothes had come off and the rest of the events had proceeded. And although I was a little sore, I otherwise felt good.