the door. “She’s trouble, that one. Maybe there’s a reason she kept to herself all those years and never joined a triad. You should be takin’ her scrawny ass straight back to Greece.”
Bela drew a careful, slow breath, then disengaged her fingers from Duncan Sharp’s face. She didn’t detect any change in his pulse or his breathing. So far, so good. Figuring she could risk a minute or two away, she turned to better face Mother Keara—and made sure to put a little earthy rumble into her response. “Dio’s mine, old woman. Don’t insult my air Sibyl or my judgment.”
Mother Keara rubbed her wrinkled chin as she laughed. “You never do what you’re told, do you? If I’d known you as a baby, I’d have found yer fire. Why yer mother set you to shakin’ rocks and dirt, I’ll never understand.”
“Me neither.” Bela started for the sinks but found she didn’t want to go much farther away from Duncan, in case his terrible pain came charging back. She hesitated near the foot of his bed. “I’ve never been much good at the whole earth-moving trick.”
Mother Keara shrugged. “Who needs terrakinesis? Lots of shake, rattle, and roll, for what? Can’t rightly use it in a full-pitch battle without tearin’ down whole cities.”
A little flame issued from Mother Keara’s right knee, and she stared at it like she might be divining the future in its red-orange depths. “You’re a first-rate terrasentient, great at readin’ what the earth has to tell you. That’ll be good for our Camille, since she’s got a measure of pyrosentience. Readin’ objects with fire, that’s almost a lost skill at Motherhouse Ireland—and it needs developin’.”
The tiny flame disappeared, and when Mother Keara looked at Bela, she seemed sad on top of fatigued. “Camille’s never been the best at pyrogenesis—fire makin’. She took a lot of guff from her sister Sibyls over it, comin’ up.”
It was Bela’s turn to shrug. “Camille did well enough firing up in DUMBO when we had to have her help. I can live without the smoke and sparks the rest of the time.” Though in truth, she missed the crackle of fire energy in the air, and worried a lot about Camille’s physical and mental health because of that absence. Fire Sibyls cut off from their inner heat suffered in ways Bela didn’t even want to consider.
Mother Keara scratched the side of one braid, setting another bit of her hair on fire and putting it out, all in the same motion. “It’s in her, the full measure of fire talent. It’s just lost in all her grief and guilt. One day, the right spark, and—” Mother Keara didn’t need to find a metaphor. She just opened her palms and let the flames burst upward to char the stone ceiling of the treatment room.
“Bela?” Camille’s call from outside the main laboratory door was tenuous, but Bela could tell by her tone that she had important information.
“Go ahead,” she said. “And you can come in if you want. He’s stable for now.”
There was a whisper of footsteps, and Camille came to stand in the door of the treatment room. Framed by the bright yellow walls and door facing, she seemed even more petite and withdrawn than usual, and the absence of smoke and fire on her person was baldly obvious in such close quarters with the heat blazing from Mother Keara’s every curve and angle.
Camille’s long auburn hair was pulled into a ponytail that hung over her shoulder, and the curling tip of it nearly reached her slender waist. Her nervous aquamarine eyes went from Bela to Mother Keara, then quickly back to Bela again as she dug at the leg of her jeans with chewed, ragged nails. “The Occult Crimes Unit notified One Police Plaza,” she said. “I told them to stay clear until we understand whether or not his wounds are contagious, but they wanted an update in no less than fifteen minutes. It’s been about that long.”
Mother Keara gave no response, and Bela knew the old woman was trying not to
Bela drew a careful, slow breath, then disengaged her fingers from Duncan Sharp’s face. She didn’t detect any change in his pulse or his breathing. So far, so good. Figuring she could risk a minute or two away, she turned to better face Mother Keara—and made sure to put a little earthy rumble into her response. “Dio’s mine, old woman. Don’t insult my air Sibyl or my judgment.”
Mother Keara rubbed her wrinkled chin as she laughed. “You never do what you’re told, do you? If I’d known you as a baby, I’d have found yer fire. Why yer mother set you to shakin’ rocks and dirt, I’ll never understand.”
“Me neither.” Bela started for the sinks but found she didn’t want to go much farther away from Duncan, in case his terrible pain came charging back. She hesitated near the foot of his bed. “I’ve never been much good at the whole earth-moving trick.”
Mother Keara shrugged. “Who needs terrakinesis? Lots of shake, rattle, and roll, for what? Can’t rightly use it in a full-pitch battle without tearin’ down whole cities.”
A little flame issued from Mother Keara’s right knee, and she stared at it like she might be divining the future in its red-orange depths. “You’re a first-rate terrasentient, great at readin’ what the earth has to tell you. That’ll be good for our Camille, since she’s got a measure of pyrosentience. Readin’ objects with fire, that’s almost a lost skill at Motherhouse Ireland—and it needs developin’.”
The tiny flame disappeared, and when Mother Keara looked at Bela, she seemed sad on top of fatigued. “Camille’s never been the best at pyrogenesis—fire makin’. She took a lot of guff from her sister Sibyls over it, comin’ up.”
It was Bela’s turn to shrug. “Camille did well enough firing up in DUMBO when we had to have her help. I can live without the smoke and sparks the rest of the time.” Though in truth, she missed the crackle of fire energy in the air, and worried a lot about Camille’s physical and mental health because of that absence. Fire Sibyls cut off from their inner heat suffered in ways Bela didn’t even want to consider.
Mother Keara scratched the side of one braid, setting another bit of her hair on fire and putting it out, all in the same motion. “It’s in her, the full measure of fire talent. It’s just lost in all her grief and guilt. One day, the right spark, and—” Mother Keara didn’t need to find a metaphor. She just opened her palms and let the flames burst upward to char the stone ceiling of the treatment room.
“Bela?” Camille’s call from outside the main laboratory door was tenuous, but Bela could tell by her tone that she had important information.
“Go ahead,” she said. “And you can come in if you want. He’s stable for now.”
There was a whisper of footsteps, and Camille came to stand in the door of the treatment room. Framed by the bright yellow walls and door facing, she seemed even more petite and withdrawn than usual, and the absence of smoke and fire on her person was baldly obvious in such close quarters with the heat blazing from Mother Keara’s every curve and angle.
Camille’s long auburn hair was pulled into a ponytail that hung over her shoulder, and the curling tip of it nearly reached her slender waist. Her nervous aquamarine eyes went from Bela to Mother Keara, then quickly back to Bela again as she dug at the leg of her jeans with chewed, ragged nails. “The Occult Crimes Unit notified One Police Plaza,” she said. “I told them to stay clear until we understand whether or not his wounds are contagious, but they wanted an update in no less than fifteen minutes. It’s been about that long.”
Mother Keara gave no response, and Bela knew the old woman was trying not to
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