Page 107 of Playing with Fire

“Oh?”

“Fire. Lots and lots of fire. Phoenix fire, to be specific. You may want to stand back. Thirty feet’s a single phoenix’s blast radius. I don’t think anyone has ever tried to activate two feathers at the same time.”

I loved when people listened to me, but I wasn’t a fan of Quinn’s grandfather reaching his hand into my pocket to take the truck’s keys. “Hey!”

“I’ll move the vehicle to a safer place while you work. I’d rather not have to explain how we killed a CDC representative and three cops.”

With a light, fast stride, the gorgon returned to the truck, hopped in, and fishtailed the vehicle in his haste to get away. After a few hundred feet, the vehicle disappeared into the trees.

“Cowards,” I muttered.

As long as I held the two baby blankets, I would be protected. Part of my certification with the CDC involved handling phoenix feathers, although the feathers had been used with the living bird’s permission, on loan to the CDC for training purposes.

Most students had gotten singed. I’d been one of the few to dodge any burns. Now I could better appreciate the phoenix’s amused ‘don’t die’ since I faced the possibility of resurrecting two of its kind in one fell swoop. Since I had used my magic to locate the gorgon hive, I expected to have my hands full of squirming baby birds soon.

I also expected Quinn would show up—or was already in the gorgon hive somewhere. What else could go wrong? I grimaced at the numerous possibilities. An angel could show up, or an incubus, or a succubus—or all of them.

Ah, I knew: the entirety of Quinn’s family could arrive. I sighed, shoved my shoulder into the front door, and slipped inside. An empty stone entry disappeared into darkness, and the place reeked of gorgons. Surprise, surprise. My footsteps echoed. Relying on the light from the open door behind me, I headed deeper inside.

Why hadn’t I gone to a more traditional school, earned a proper degree, and taken a job as a secretary or something else sane and safe? A few math courses would have helped; I could have determined the potential blast radius of resurrecting two phoenixes.

I should have made a pitstop for coffee on the way. Sighing, I crossed the entry to where it opened into a grand chamber, so large I couldn’t spot the far wall through the gloom. At least the fire would have plenty of places to go.

As long as I held onto the baby blankets, I wouldn’t have to worry about the flames, the heat, or asphyxiating. Setting the glass box down, I regarded the feathers inside. “Please don’t kill me, baby birds. I have a yummy treat of ambrosia in my pocket for you. Please don’t kill me, baby birds.”

All I had to do was hold onto both baby blankets, grip the feathers by their shafts, uncover the vanes, and wait. The knitted yarn would protect me as the temperature went from safe to holy shit on a stick, everything’s on fire. If I ended up with baby birds, I’d have to hold onto them for at least ten seconds until they cooled.

No problem.

I shivered, removed the bundles from their storage container, and slid the box away. When the explosion happened, the last thing I needed was molten glass shards tearing through my skin. “Please don’t kill me, baby birds. Please don’t collapse the mausoleum around my ears, either.”

What sort of idiot brought a pair of phoenixes to a gorgon fight, anyway? Oh, right. The kind who could transform into a fire-breathing unicorn and was banned from having access to napalm. I sighed at my own lunacy, prayed I wasn’t about to die, and began the nerve-wracking process of handling the blankets in the dark so I could locate the shaft and vanes of each feather without uncovering them.

Each feather was a little over two feet long. A full-grown phoenix had primary feathers up to six and a half feet in length, which made the ones I held likely secondary feathers from the wing. Body feathers often burned out fast, surviving a single use before crumbling into a pile of soot.

I wished I hadn’t looked at the tags on the blankets at the police station. Knowing the names of the babies didn’t make things easier on me. Someone had decided to give the blankets to me, respecting the wishes of two fathers bereft of their wives and children. When the phoenixes rose and took the blankets with them, the two men would have, in a sad way, the miracle denied to them years ago.

No one could bring back the dead, not really. When a vampire rose, it never returned to its old life. Everything that made them human died with their mortal body, leaving precious few memories behind. With a phoenix, the lost unborn lived on as a cherished memory rather than in body and soul.

Why had I looked in the first place? It made the blankets hard to hold and harder still to use as a tool so I wouldn’t be incinerated.

Damn it, I was so stupid sometimes. Later, I’d blame Quinn—and stress—for making me cry. I wasn’t supposed to be the sentimental type. It hurt too much.

Yet there I was, crying my eyes out like I’d lost my puppy, not that I’d ever had a pet in the first place, but I imagined the chest-tightening pain had to be similar. If there was ever a next time, I wouldn’t read the tags. That way, I wouldn’t have to acknowledge why the blankets could suppress the magic of a phoenix.

I gripped the feathers below the vanes and took several long breaths to steady my nerves.

Blinding light and warmth erupted beneath my hands, and darkness smothered me. Pain stabbed through my eyes, deep into my head.

Fuck. I had forgotten to close my eyes before handling the blankets. Next time, I’d remember phoenix feathers, much like the birds, had minds of their own. I spat curses at my idiocy. The unlucky became permanently blind without someone with strong magic around to restore their vision. The majority recovered after a few hours to a few days.

Wiggling bodies beneath my hands confirmed my suspicions; I’d gotten two birds with one stone all right. The pain receded, but thunder rolled in my ears. I bet the little bastards squawked, not that I could hear them.

Idiot me had forgotten to request earplugs. Yippee.

“Please don’t eat me, pretty birds. Pretty please?” Oh. I wasn’t totally deaf. “Uh, good morning. I hope you slept well?”

Great. Not only was I an idiot, I sounded like one, too. I shook my head, and through the ringing, I heard disgruntled avian squawks. Yippee, the baby fire birds were unhappy.