Page 36 of The Flame Game

Seven

Does that really say cindercorn under species?

Cop cars filled our driveway and somewhat blocked my view of the house, but I could tell one important thing.

My favorite of the rose bushes, the one with beautiful big red blossoms, had been scorched to ash with a few straggler branches left.

I wanted to cry over its loss, and Quinn kissed my cheek. “It’ll be okay. Yeah, the bush isn’t going to recover from that, and some of the others don’t look good, either, but the house is okay, and we’re going to be moving anyway. We couldn’t realistically take the bush with us. I’ll get you new roses.”

“But that one was special.”

“I know. You looked like you wanted to eat every last blossom on it the first time you came home to me. I know what variant it is, and I even know who the grower is. I can probably get the same strain. It’ll just take some time to grow is all. I’ll ask my grandfather to come over and see if he can do anything for it. Maybe we can transplant what’s left of it in a pot and take it with us. If anyone can help a rose plant survive that, it’s an angel.”

Quinn parked in front of the cordon blocking part of our street to make sure the fire truck and cops had access without curious folks getting too close. Heaving a sigh, I got out of the car and strolled over to the blockade.

I didn’t recognize any of the cops barring the way to my house.

“Sorry, ma’am, nobody can come closer.”

I debated my options, grabbed my badge out of my pocket, and flipped it open, showing him my shiny new identification card. Then, as I could be a mature adult when I wanted, I waited.

The cop read my badge, and he raised a brow. “Does that really say cindercorn under species?”

I checked my card, and sure enough, I was listed as a cindercorn in addition to being human. “Oh, cool. Sam, Sam! Somebody put cindercorn on my badge.”

“Yes, Bailey. That’s because you’re a cindercorn.” My husband pulled the same trick I had with the badge.

“You’re both Chief Quinn?” the cop blurted.

I spotted Chief Barfield, stood on my toes, and waved at him. “Peter!”

He waved back. “Let them through, Benjamin. They’re the real deal. Mrs. Chief Quinn just joined the force. We nabbed her from the CDC, and she’s our new top bomb specialist.”

The cop held up the cordon tape. “Sorry about that, ma’am.”

“I have trouble believing it, too, so don’t worry about it.” I ducked beneath the tape and strolled to Chief Barfield, pocketing my badge before holding out my hand to shake with him. “See Quinn’s new jacket?”

“I do. It’s damned nice. I know because I helped buy it. I also contributed to your gift card.”

I laughed. “Bulletproof!”

“You get to be the guinea pigs on the leather jackets with the Kevlar and anti-theft stuff built in. Well, sort of. When we heard about them, we decided to check out what the civvies were getting. Those things are nigh indestructible, so it’s likely all of our undercover cops will be getting them. We’re in talks with the company to have special designs for law enforcement.”

“Did the commissioner put you up to that?”

“He really did.”

“Nice. I lost count of the number of them Quinn bought because once he realized they were bulletproof, I needed them all. I made him buy the same number for himself, hoping to deter him. That backfired. Thanks, though. It’s really nice.”

“You’re welcome. So, here’s what we know. A white male, a little taller than you, dark hair and eyes, parked in your driveway, got out, and looked to knock at the door. We aren’t sure if he actually knocked or if he was doing a ruse. He splashed gasoline over the front of the house and the bushes, returned to his vehicle, and did the same with three more cans of gasoline. Your neighbor noticed because she was coming home from grocery shopping. She spotted him right as he lit a match and tossed it on. He ran for it, and she blew through three fire extinguishers in the time it took the fire department to arrive.”

I scowled, got out my phone, and hit the internet to pull out a picture of my human father. “Was it Valorie?”

I could see Valorie, a ripe seventy going on sixteen in her mind, diving right into trouble and handling the problem herself. Of all our neighbors, I liked her the most.

She always came over with a rose and an apple when she spotted me out and about as a cindercorn.

“Yes, it was Valorie.” Chief Barfield took my phone and whistled for one of his cops, who came over. “Run this over to Mrs. Valorie and ask if this is the man she spotted lighting the fire.”