Wildfire Phoenix by Zoe Chant

Chapter 10

Blaise couldn’t have said whether it took hours, or no time at all. Maybe both. Time skipped and stretched, impossible to grasp. That, more than anything else, convinced her that this truly was a dream.

Not just a dream, though. There was no ‘just’ about it. None of this was actually happening, but there was no doubting that it was real. The weight of her tool, the burn of her muscles, the smell of smoke—they were all real.

Tooreal.

When she drove her Pulaski blade into the ground, her bones resonated with more than just the impact of that single blow. The smoke wasn’t just from this fire, but all fires, every one she’d ever worked. The bare earth of her fire line was the ochre red of Arizona, the bleached tan of northern California, the dark loam of Montana; all of them, all at once, and yet separate.

It was a dream. And like a dream, it was more real, more true, than the waking world.

Was it always like this for him?She spared a glance at Zephyr, who she’d tasked with raking dry grass and cut roots away from the hungry advance of the fire. Every moment weighted with meaning, lasting both a lifetime, and no time at all? Is this how he lived, in other people’s nightmares, for fifteen years?

She’d felt sorry enough for Joe. Compared to this, occasionally getting visions of the future seemed like a bed of roses.

Yet Zephyr had still wanted to try to bring back his Thunderbird. He’d been willing to give himself up to it again, without hesitation, to protect others… despite knowing full well what that would cost. That it would mean losing himself again. Returning to this.

And… he had returned. However he’d traveled into Buck’s dream, she didn’t think he’d intended to do it. He definitely hadn’t meant to bring her along for the ride.

Yet here they were.

That uneasy thought gnawed at her, but she didn’t have the breath to ask Zephyr about it. Cutting line with nothing but hand tools was hard work at the best of times, let alone in the middle of a literal nightmare. She concentrated on the job, hacking through turf and beating out spot fires, while the inferno snarled like a beast, clawing for freedom.

But they beat it. Side by side, they drew a collar around the monster’s neck, a line of bare dirt the furious flames couldn’t cross. The fire seethed and darted, looking for any gap, any weakness, but didn’t find one. Slowly, resentfully, it burned out.

Buck leaned on his Pulaski, chest heaving for breath. Soot and sweat blackened his face, but his eyes were at peace at last.

“Ha,” he rasped. “Take that, you motherlover. Whipped you at last.”

“Yes.” Zephyr’s gaze rested on her rather than the sullen embers, and his voice was soft with wonder. “You did it. After all this time, it’s finished. Look. The sun is rising.”

The storm clouds had melted away. Smoke still hazed the air, but it was thinning, dissolving into dawn. Pink and orange streaked the sky; windborne ash and dust, the fire’s wrath transfigured into luminous, haunting beauty.

Bathed in that gentle light, Buck looked at Zephyr. “Hey, kid,” he said, without the slightest trace of surprise. “Ready to go home?”

Blaise’s shifter hearing caught Zephyr’s slight hitch of breath. When he spoke, though, his voice was steady. “Not yet, Uncle. There’s something I need to do. But you’ll be all right now. Go on ahead without me.”

“Okay, but don’t be too long. I’m making pancakes.” Buck shouldered his Pulaski. “You take care of my boy, Blaise. Make sure he gets home safe.”

“I will, chief.” Blaise gave the Superintendent a gentle punch on the arm. “We’ll see you soon.”

Buck nodded and turned away. Moving with loose, easy strides, he headed for the tree line. With every step he took, color leeched away. The smoldering house, the woods, even the ground—they all faded, like an overexposed picture.

“Shit!” Blaise grabbed for Zephyr as everything dissolved into gray, curling mist. She couldn’t even feel the ground any more. “Now where are we?”

“The space between dreams.” Zephyr, at least, was still solid and real. His hand closed over hers, tightening in reassurance. “Come on. We have to get you back.”

He started to walk, with total confidence, as though this eerie nothingness was as familiar as his own house. Blaise stumbled after him, trying not to crush his fingers. Her stomach was deeply unhappy about the lack of horizon, while her inner ear was having a violent disagreement with her feet over the question of whether or not she was falling. Blaise liked to think of herself as a no-nonsense, take-charge kind of person, but this was pushing even her limits.

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the urgent, clashing alarm signals from her body that everything was very, very wrong. “Back where?”

“To your own dream.” Zephyr paused, cocking his head like a dog hearing a whistle, and changed direction. “Bear with me. I’m not sure how to do this.”

“Well, that’s less than reassuring,” Blaise muttered. “I thought you knew how things worked here.”

“So did I.” He cast her a rather strained smile. “Evidently not. No one’s ever come with me between dreams before. Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

“Why, what’s—whoa!” Blaise staggered, as her boots abruptly crunched down onto sand. Salt wind hit her face, along with a blaze of sunshine. “Oh, thank fuck.”

“Blaise?”

Callum stood a little way off, holding a large tray of cocktails garnished with a truly ridiculous amount of fruit. Oddly, his pegasus stood at his side, solid and separate. Their two shadows overlapped, merging into one.

“How did you get to Shifting Sands?” Callum said. His pegasus snorted, stamping a hoof. “The plane’s grounded. Bad weather on the horizon.”

Zephyr glanced around the tropical beach and shook his head. “Wrong dream.”

“But I like this dream,” Blaise said plaintively. “This is a great dream. Can’t we stay here?”

Callum’s pegasus laid back its ears. It spread one flame-red wing over Callum, as though to shield him from rain, though the sky was clear. Only a few gray clouds smudged the horizon, far out to sea.

“No.” Zephyr’s grim expression was entirely at odds with the idyllic surroundings. His hair streamed back from his face, tugged by the breeze. “We have to go.”

Blaise cast a wistful look at Callum’s tray as Zephyr pulled her away. Her throat was still scratchy from smoke. “Can I at least grab a drink first?”

From the way Callum clutched his cocktails, anyone would have thought she’d asked for one of his arms. “You can’t have any. They’re for the turtles.”

“When I wake up, you and I are going to have a talk,” Blaise informed him, as the world dissolved into gray mist again. “Oh, crap. Zeph, just so I know, is it bad to throw up in someone else’s dream?”

“You aren’t truly sick,” Zephyr said absently. He was looking around again, though to Blaise’s eyes the gray fog was totally impenetrable, no direction different from any other. “Your body is still back in the physical world. Your mind is translating your soul’s discomfort into a familiar sensation, that’s all.”

“Well, my soul is going to spew if you keep bouncing us around like this. How the hell did you spend fifteenyears in this godawful nightmare?”

“I told you, this isn’t a nightmare. It’s just the space between dreams. You get used to it.” Zephyr paused, frowning. “Hm. Maybe this?”

He did nothing that Blaise could see—not even take a step—but another place popped into focus. A riot of clashing smells assaulted her nose—new leaves, animal musk, wet earth. The scents were so strong she could practically taste them, coating her tongue. It should have been disgusting, but instead she found herself breathing deeper, captivated. It was like drinking a symphony; a thousand separate notes, weaving together in a complex blend of meaning and emotion.

Zephyr’s eyebrows rose as he too sniffed the air. “Well, that’s certainly interesting. But unless I’m very much mistaken, this isn’t your dream either.”

“No kidding.” Blaise stared around. “This definitely doesn’t come from my brain.”

They stood in an open meadow, a sea of wildflowers stretching out as far as the horizon. Every blossom was pale and muted, rendered in weird shades of brownish-gray. The grass was gray too, and so was the sky. Blaise grinned, getting it at last.

“Bet you ten bucks I know who’s dreaming this.” Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she blew out a sharp whistle. “Hey, Fenrir!”

Long grass rustled. A familiar black shape padded out from between the long stalks. A much larger creature followed it, silent as a shadow. Two sets of eyes—one pair copper, the other filled with fire—fixed on them in curiosity.

*Fireheart,*Fenrir’s telepathic voice growled in her mind, sounding perplexed. *Come to join the hunt?*

“Just passing through.” Blaise dropped to one knee, hugging him round his furry neck. Glad as she was that he’d found his true self, she’d secretly missed this side of him. “Hey, do you always look like this in your dreams?”

*Don’t know.*Fenrir’s head tilted in consideration. Behind him, his hellhound let out a low, rumbling growl, smoke curling from its jaws. *Is this a dream?*

“Apparently. Don’t ask me to explain. I have no idea what’s going on.” Blaise side-eyed Fenrir’s hulking hellhound, which was still staring at her in a way that wasn’t entirely comforting. “Zeph? I can see Fenrir’s animal. Callum’s was separate from him too. Is that normal?”

“Yes. That’s how it seems to work here, for shifters. I suppose it’s to do with the dual nature of your—” Zephyr stopped, looking at her sharply. “Wait. Where’s your animal?”

Fenrir’s hellhound lifted its huge head, nostrils flaring. Fur bristled down its spine. It growled again, louder.

*Storm coming,*Fenrir said urgently. The wind was picking up, rippling the grass into rolling waves. *Go, Fireheart. Not safe here. Go.*

Zephyr hissed something that Blaise assumed was a curse, though she didn’t recognize the language. Without warning, the gray-brown grass became the blankness between dreams.

“Ugh.” Blaise clenched her teeth. The bile in her throat might be imaginary, but it certainly tasted real. “Zeph, I’m going to need a minute here.”

“We don’t have a minute.” Zephyr raked a hand through his windswept hair, staring around as though expecting something might lunge from the swirling fog at any moment. “This is its home. It can find me faster, here.”

“What can find you?”

Zephyr ignored the question. He focused on her again, eyes narrowing. “Your animal. That’s the key. Where is your phoenix, Blaise?”

“I told you, I have to keep it locked up. You should be glad it isn’t here.”

“But it must be somewhere.” Zephyr started to lift a hand, then hesitated. “I’m sorry. May I touch you?”

A shiver ran down her spine; part unease, part anticipation. “If it will help get us out of here, then be my guest.”

Blaise had kind of expected him to touch her forehead, since that was what people with psychic powers always did in movies. Instead, very gently, Zephyr laid two fingertips in the hollow of her throat. She swallowed hard, hoping he couldn’t feel the leap of her pulse.

“Ah,” he breathed. “Yes. I see it now.”

Blaise looked down and blinked. She could see something too; the thinnest thread of black fire, curling up from her skin to wrap around Zephyr’s wrist. He took his hand away and the line stretched, unwinding like a fishing reel, keeping them connected.

Reflexively, she touched her own throat. The churning line of energy tangled in her fingers, hot against her skin. “What is that?”

“A strand of your soul.” Zephyr turned his hand, examining the blackness encircling his wrist like a delicate bracelet. “Or rather, your phoenix’s soul. I think this is why I inadvertently brought you here. Your animal has bound us together.”

Blaise groaned, slapping herself in the forehead. “Oh, fuck. It’s the damn mate bond.”

He looked up at that, eyebrows rising. “But we haven’t, ah, mated. I’m fairly certain of that.”

“Believe me, you would have noticed if we had.” Blaise tugged at the black thread, but it didn’t break. “But there’s still a connection between us. My animal recognized you. Even if neither of us ever acts on it, you’ll always be my mate. Shit. This is going to keep happening, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps it will,” Zephyr murmured. He fingered the line of energy around his wrist. “Perhaps this will be enough after all.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He let out an edged breath of laughter, like something was darkly funny about the situation. “In all likelihood, we won’t have to worry that I’ll pull you into dreams like this again. If that’s our biggest problem in the future, everything will have turned out remarkably well.”

“Okay. That’s not your first ominous, cryptic statement.” She folded her arms, fixing him with a glare. “What’s going on, Zeph?”

“I wish I had time to explain.” He held out a hand to her. “I think I can find your animal now. Please, Blaise. I need you to trust me.”

She took his hand, reluctantly. “When we wake up, I’m going to have a lot of questions.”

He smiled at her, sadly. “I know. I hope I’ll be able to answer. One last step, Blaise.”

She stepped forward—

Into fire.