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Rory
All I have to do is shift and I break right through the debris. I guess I might if there were lives at stake, but all of the civilians are already safely distant from the building. There’s no way to save this shop without shifting. All I can do is hope the owners of the place have enough insurance to get through the aftermath of the fire. “What’s the call, Papa Bear?” Anthony shouts from behind me.
“Just soak it, Little Kitty,” I say.
Anthony is probably my best friend. Calling him a little kitty makes less sense than him calling me a papa bear. He is neither little nor a kitty. Well, he’s a lion shifter but he’s no kitten. He’s also not little. A lion in the wild is a big cat, a very big cat. Nearly every variety of shifter is far bigger in animal form than the natural (what a terrible word because shifters are part of nature) animal. So, his lion is about the size of two regular lions. As for me, I’m not a papa at all, not yet. I am a bear, though. Still, most people would never call a polar bear by Papa.
Of course, most people think polar bears are just cute and sweet. This is because people don’t have the slightest idea what the fuck a polar bear is. We’re the only carnivorous bears. All the rest are omnivorous. We eat meat. That’s it. We’re also the most dangerous of bears. Grizzlies kill more people but that’s only because there are a lot more times grizzlies and people are in the same place. A human is far more likely to be killed encountering a polar bear. This is because polar bears in the wild rarely, if ever, encounter human beings. All a polar bear sees is meat. We have no established fear of people. That makes us absolutely unique. Well, it makes wild polar bears unique. We shifters don’t assume a human being is a food.
And you thought all we did was look cute on soda cans.
“There’s nothing we can do to save the place,” I say. “We have to soak it.”
“Damn,” he says. He turns the valve on the hose and I feel the water rush through from where I hold onto it behind him. HisDamnis well-said. This is a bookstore. Given the price tags on some of them, these are rare books. Paper products represent one of the few sets of goods more susceptible to water damage than fire damage. Even if the owner is compensated, the loss of culture involved is terrible. “Hang on!” I say.
The water flow cuts off and as he shouts, “What?” I run to a display. There’s an old book there with drawings that look like something out of the Middle Ages. I carefully close the book and then carefully open my jacket. I slip the book into my shirt and rebutton my jacket. I’m breaking protocol but maybe this one book will give the owner of the shop a reason to rebuild.
“One of these days, shit like that is gonna get you killed!” Anthony snaps.
“Not today,” I say and resume my position behind him.
When the fire is out, Anthony leads the other men in a walkthrough to ensure no one else is missing or hurt inside the building. I head over to the owner and his wife, who stands a safe distance away with bleak expressions.
“No hope, huh?” the owner says.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, sir. The fire was too established by the time we arrived. We didn’t manage to save the books.”
He nods and does his best to put on a brave face. His wife is less successful and buries her face in her hands.
I feel a wave of compassion for them and retrieve the book from my jacket. When I hand it to the owner, he exclaims, “TheTextus!You’ve saved it!”
Upon hearing the name of the book, the owner’s wife looks at him, then at the book, then at me. In the process, her expression goes from grief to shock, to elation, and finally to gratitude. She throws her arms around me and says, “Oh, thank you!”
I hold her for a while before gently disengaging and saying, “The medics are going to have a look at you, okay? After that, you’re free to go.”
They nod and the wife once more thanks me. I smile in response and head back to the engine where Anthony and the other firefighters are already ready to leave.
When we arrive at the station, I head immediately for the showers. A stunningly beautiful redhead is standing at the front desk. As soon as I walk in, she says, “Ah! Rory Eise, correct?”
I nod and say, “I have to shower,” then head away.
She steps in front of me and says, “Before you go, I need to see your equipment usage reports for the past quarter.”
I ignore her and push past on the way to my showers. I continue to ignore her as she calls angrily after me. Yeah, maybe that’s rude but so is insisting on inspecting a minor piece of paperwork when I’m about to shower after putting out a fire.
God, I hate inspectors.
Apparently, I’m meant to be tested today because when I’m showered and dressed in clean clothes, the redhead woman is standing at the foot of the stairs, her expression fiery. I notice in spite of my frustration that she is drop-dead gorgeous.
“Excuse me,” she says, “How dare you ignore me?”
“No,” I respond.
“No?” she replies.
“No, I don’t excuse you,” I respond. “I don’t jump when my captain says jump. I’m sure as hell not going to jump because some arrogant, pushy inspector accosts me moments after I put out a fire and demands to be the most important thing on Earth.”
She recoils as though slapped but before she can retort, Anthony calls over, “Hey, Rory, your shift is over now, right?”
