Fire Water Read online

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, so my other senses kicked on. The air was cooler in there, like a cave. The air smelled of old gasoline, paint thinner, and wood shavings. It was a comforting, solid perfume. It spoke of Sundays spent doing yard work while Danny played in the tree instead of listening to the freakhead neighbors having another fight.

  My eyes finally adjusted enough to see a workbench set against one wall. A row of solid wooden shelves stacked above the work surface. Someone had lined up rows of jam jars containing screws and nails and other items commonly used in do-it-yourself projects. It was a space dedicated to fixing things, and I loved it instantly.

  A shadow filled the open doorway. I turned to see Baba huffing from the exertion of descending the basement steps. “Well? What do you think?”

  I took in a deep breath of the garage’s perfume and smiled. “I’ll take it.” I moved forward to shake her hand. In my excitement I held out my left hand instead of my right.

  Baba froze and looked down at my extended hand. “Hold on—you’re a Lefty?”

  I jerked my hand back. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought. No use lying now. “I am.” I put my chin up and dared the old woman to make an issue of it.

  “Tanner don’t much like Lefties.”

  “And you?”

  Her face crinkled into a smile that made her wrinkles dance. “I’m a witch.”

  I groaned inwardly. I hadn’t known many human witches in my life, but my few experiences hadn’t been great. While Adepts got all the credit for being able to wield magic, there were some Mundanes capable of harnessing magical energy, as well. Granted, they were incapable of harnessing as much power as an Adept and their power was strongest in groups, but it was there nonetheless. Mostly Wiccans and solitary witch practitioners specialized in hedge or kitchen magic—basic herbs and rituals using everyday items. Their magic wasn’t categorized as either dirty or clean as an Adept’s might be, but there was some movement in certain communities to regulate Mundane magic the way Adept magic had been.

  “Oh,” Baba said when I took too long to answer, “you’re one of those.”

  I frowned. “One of what?”

  She pointed at me. “One of them Adepts who think Mundane magic users are posers.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She raised a white brow. “Hmmph.”

  “Look, I would really appreciate it if you don’t mention to Mr. Tanner that I’m an Adept. I promise I’m just looking for a safe, clean place where I can raise my little brother. We aren’t troublemakers.”

  She shot me a skeptical glance. “I dunno. I’m not sure I want a bigot next door.”

  I raised my hands. “Give me a break. You have no idea how much discrimination I’ve had to deal with, lady. The last two places I tried to rent denied me because of being an Adept.”

  “You sure that’s why? Not because you throw wild sex parties?”

  I held up my hand in a fake scout’s-honor gesture. “I haven’t even had sex in three years.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Jesus, Mary, and Jerome, girl! That’s no way to live.”

  I shot her a bemused look. “No shit.”

  She laughed out loud.

  “So”—I drew out the word—“does this mean you’ll help me with Tanner?”

  She blew out a breath and shot me what she probably thought was an intimidating look. “I need to think about it. Had a newlywed couple come by just this morning.”

  My hopes dipped. “Well, I’d appreciate any help you could give us, ma’am.”

  “And don’t call me ma’am, either. Everyone around here calls me Baba. Got it?”

  I fought my smile. “Got it.”

  The next morning Cap’n was in an even worse mood. “Ugh, you again.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Thought you’d give up after yesterday.”

  I’d kept to my promise and not said a word the entire four-hour ride the day before. Mostly the patrol consisted of him listening to baseball stats on the radio while he made laps up and down the river. A couple of times, he’d stopped to warn someone going too fast in a no-wake zone or untangle trash from a buoy. Not exactly the exciting life I’d imagined when I’d signed up to become a cop. Still, I kind of found myself enjoying the breeze through my hair and the slower pace despite the constant stench of pollution and the dying wildlife.

  “I’m just trying to do my job.”

  “Hmmph,” he said. “Well? Come on.”

  The water under the boat boiled as he turned on the engine. I hopped on board and headed toward my designated seat.

  “Go grab that line, will ya?” The request was so unexpected I froze. “You ain’t deaf, are ya?”

  I shook my head and hopped toward the railing. The line he’d mentioned was the rope tying the boat to the dock. I basically knew nothing about boating, but I was pretty sure him asking me to help with anything counted as a victory. For the time being, Cap’n had decided to tolerate my presence on his vessel.

  I unwrapped the line and was careful to coil it into a neat pile like I’d seen him do the day before. Once it was done, I turned to give him a thumbs-up. He shook his head at my enthusiasm and turned to pull the boat from the dock.

  It was another sunny day. After the harsh Babylon winter, the sunshine and warm temperatures felt like a miracle. I even spied a few sunflowers peeking out from the piles of trash lining the shore along the lake. I smiled and chose to see them as a sign that my life would be in full bloom soon, too. I just prayed I’d hear soon about the house.

  “Sit,” Cap’n ordered.

  I took a seat without a word. The boat chugged along the river for a few moments before I realized we’d gone a different direction than the day before. “Where we headed?”

  My seat was actually a bucket shoved just outside the cover provided by the boat’s wheelhouse. The position allowed me to enjoy the sun on my face, but also gave me a view of Cap’n’s profile. When I spoke, his lip curled like he’d just smelled something rotten.

  “Thought I told you not to talk.”

  I rolled my eyes. Surely he didn’t expect me to stay quiet the entire week. I crossed my arms and turned toward the rail. If he wasn’t going to tell me where he was going, I’d just try to learn by watching.

  We were headed upriver, away from Lake Erie. Eventually the river would fork off into two branches, but for now it was a single, wide, polluted channel. As if to prove my point, a large hunk of wood floated past carrying a rat as large as a dog eating a bloated fish. I shook my head. At some point, something really needed to be done about the river. Everyone in Babylon knew that the rule was that if you fell into the Steel River, you went straight to the emergency room. Over the years the steel industry and lack of regulation had turned it into a dumping ground of chemicals, petroleum, and trash. Every now and then, you’d see a large bubble of air popping on top of the sludge, as if even oxygen couldn’t wait to escape the dying waterway.

  I sighed and settled onto my bucket for another boring day with my crotchety mentor, with only my dreams of the future to entertain me.

  That afternoon I reported to the police academy training center. Even though the bulk of my academy training was complete, there was a team-building exercise scheduled for my recruit class.

  I’d been late getting off the boat, so I’d had to hightail it to make it in time. I was still pulling my hair back into the required bun as I walked in. Several of my classmates were already inside warming up and chatting about their experiences shadowing officers in the different departments.

  No one greeted me when I walked in. I didn’t take offense. They’d never greeted me during the academy classes, either. I went to an empty vinyl mat and started stretching.

  A few of the guys nearby were chatting about their experiences on probationary duty. “I’m telling you, man, vice is where the action is.” The speaker was a meathead named Bruce Batson. He was the kind of guy who joined the BPD because h
e wanted to get paid to swing his dick around.

  “Nope,” said Chuck Garza. “Busting Sinisters is way more fun. The Arcane division puts those freaks in their place.”

  I froze in the process of stretching my hamstring and shot the asshole a glare.

  Chuck cleared his throat. “No offense, Prospero,” he said in a resentful tone.

  Sinister was a term Mundanes often used for Adepts. A lot of people who weren’t born with the ability to work magic were suspicious of those of us who could. The slur was offensive, but apologists said the slur came from the fact sinister meant “left” in Latin and all Adepts were left-handed. According to those people, anyone who took offense was just being overly sensitive. No doubt, the three men staring at me like they expected me to start crying fell into that category.

  Instead of letting it upset me, I just went back to my stretching.

  “Anyway,” Bruce said in a patronizing tone, “it’s too bad we have to serve time on patrol before we can do the exciting stuff.”

  A whistle blew, cutting off any chance of response. I jumped up from the mat and fell into line with the rest of my class. There were twenty of us in the group—sixteen men and four women. I was the only Adept in the bunch.

  “All right, everyone. Today we’re working on team building.” The sergeant in charge of the drill was a hard-ass named Reams, who, according to gossip, was the first female to reach that rank in the department. She was six feet tall with a shock of spiky blond hair and permanently narrowed eyes. “You’re going to divide into groups and cover each other as you work your way through an obstacle course filled with targets. Each group will have an appointed leader.”

  According to Reams, the goal of the lesson was to learn to work with a team in tactical situations. She counted off the teams. Naturally, I ended up with Batson and Garza, as well as two other meatheads. Next, Reams read off the names of the leaders. “Group three’s leader is Prospero.”

  Male grumbles greeted the announcement. I ignored the pitch in my stomach at the news. I wasn’t any happier than they were because I knew any mistakes on my part would be blamed on either my sex or my being a Lefty—or both. I pushed my shoulders back and girded myself for what I expected to be a frustrating afternoon.

  “Split into your teams and head outside.”

  I turned toward the men, but they’d already started jogging toward the door, leaving me to follow. I cursed under my breath and double-timed it. I caught up with them just before the door, which I barely caught before it slammed in my face.

  Once we were outside, I clapped my hands. “Okay, guys, round up.” They ignored me and continued to the course. A field next to the training center held the obstacle course. Cargo nets were suspended from poles; walls without ropes to climb up, crawling obstacles, and other stations were spread across the field.

  “Gather ’round,” Reams shouted in a take-no-prisoners voice. Everyone complied immediately. I joined my wayward team, but none of them would step aside to allow me to stand beside them. “Each team will have to assist each other through the course. You’ll all have paint guns, which members of the team will use to ward off attacks by training officers. The point is to work together and protect your team. Fastest time wins. Got it?”

  After that, everyone broke out to strategize. My team circled up near the front of the course. “All right,” Batson said, “Garza and—”

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’m the leader of the exercise.”

  A shitty smile turned up his lips. He crossed his arms. “By all means.” His tone was patronizing as hell, but I gritted my teeth and focused on the mission.

  “All right,” I said, “it looks like our most vulnerable obstacle will be the wall. We need two people to get over it first. I think we should station Batson at the bottom for cover and I’ll help the others up.”

  Garza snorted. “Who’s going to help you up?”

  That’s pretty much how the rest of the discussion went. I laid out a reasonable plan and one of the guys would contradict me. In the end we ran out of time when our group number was called.

  I spent the next seventeen minutes and thirty-four seconds getting shoved out of the way or cursed at. The men on my team totally ignored my plans, choosing instead to bicker their way through the course.

  In the end, we got last place.

  “Thanks, Prospero,” Batson said after the times were announced. “Way to lead out there.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I told you we shouldn’t have taken that formation on the wet obstacle.”

  My mouth fell open. The maneuver he referenced had been his idea. But before I could call him on it, Batson stormed off. The others followed in his wake, but a few choice words blew back toward me on the breeze.

  Later, Sergeant Reams found me sitting on a bench in the women’s locker room. I had my clothes on, but couldn’t find the energy to grab my bag and head home.

  “Tough day, Prospero?” Reams wore a white tank top and green cargo pants. She leaned back against the lockers and grabbed the ends of the towel around her neck. I nodded and stared down at the blisters on my hands from climbing the obstacles. “The problem is you’re trying too hard to make them like you.”

  I looked up. “Shouldn’t a team get along?”

  “Teamwork doesn’t require friendship. It requires everyone to do their jobs.” She pointed at me. “It requires trust and confidence that all members will hold their own when shit goes down. And no one, especially male cops, want a polite chick around when that happens.”

  “None of them wants a chick around, period,” I grumbled.

  “Hey,” she said, “it’s not easy but it can be done. I’ve been on the force for twelve years now.”

  Being reminded that it was actually possible to rise up through the ranks helped me calm down a little. “How did you do it?”

  She smiled, but there wasn’t any warmth to be found there. “You want to fit in as a cop, you gotta make them forget you’re a chick. The last thing a man wants to worry about when he’s under fire is his ingrained instinct to protect a woman. You got to prove to them you can hold your own. Actually, more than that, you got to prove you could kick any of their asses.”

  I snorted. “That means I have to be better than all of them.”

  “Pretty much,” she said. “But that’s not all. If you’re gonna succeed you have to figure which one you are.”

  “Which what?”

  “A woman in law enforcement has three choices. You can be a dyke, a slut, or a bitch.”

  I blinked at her. “That’s all? Those three?”

  She nodded.

  “Which one are you?” I had a guess, but I didn’t want to assume and end up insulting her.

  She laughed out loud. “You really need to work on your poker face, too, Prospero. It’s no secret I’m a big old lesbian. My partner and I have been together for eight years. She’s an EMT.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Well, I’ll leave that one to you then.”

  She eyed me up and down. “Regardless of which option you choose, you’ll still have to be faster, smarter, and a better shot than most of them men on the force in order to get noticed. And Lord help you if you ever cry or say one goddamned word about your period.”

  I hesitated. “Okay.”

  “I’ve seen your test scores and you’ve gotten high marks from the cops you’ve been shadowing. You’ll do fine out there as long as you keep your head and don’t let all the dick swinging distract you from the job.”

  “Understood.” I can’t say the talk made me feel better, but at least I had more insight in how to navigate the good-old-boy system than I’d had earlier. I blew out a breath and rose. “Thanks, Sarge.”

  “Hey, I heard you pulled river patrol duty.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “How’s Cap’n?” There was an amused fondness in her voice, as if she knew the old man well.

  “Salty,” I said. “He’s forbidden me to spea
k.”

  A laugh escaped her lips. “That’s Cap’n, all right. Don’t let him give you too much shit. He’s mostly bluster.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said, thinking of the way he’d yelled at me that morning for accidentally dropping a line into the river.

  “It’s too bad,” Ream said. “Back in the day he was one of the top cops in the Cauldron.”

  I frowned. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Back before the accident.”

  I frowned. “I thought he was put on river patrol duty because of his age.”

  She shook her head. “He took a bullet during a raid of the Arteries.” The Arteries was the nickname for the abandoned subway tunnels that ran under the Cauldron. The project had been stopped before completion, and now the underground labyrinth was the domain of the Sanguinarian Coven and magic junkies looking to get their fix. Every cop in the city knew going down there was bad news. “It was about ten years ago,” she continued. “Mayor decided to clean up the tunnels and sent a group down to round up the potion freaks. But I guess someone tipped off the Sangs. Cap’n took a bullet to the leg.”

  I blew out a breath at the thought of him lying injured and vulnerable in the rat-infested darkness.

  “He was never the same after that. He was given a choice between a desk or river patrol.”

  I nodded. “I can’t imagine Cap’n stuck behind a desk pushing paper.”

  “Right,” she said, pushing off the lockers. “He seems to enjoy the patrol, but I don’t think he ever recovered from the injury. The brass is just letting him serve out his time there until he can collect his pension.”

  Hearing the story made me more sympathetic to the crotchety old guy. “Thanks for telling me.”

  She held up her hands. “Do yourself a favor and don’t bring it up. Cap’n’s a proud man.”

  I nodded. “Thanks for the advice, Sarge.”