“I just want to check everything’s cool.”

“I don’t think now is the best time,” Ryan hedges.

“There’s nothing to keep fighting about. It didn’t work.”

“It could have,” he interjects. “Worse, it could’ve killed her.”

“Or me, if she’d had her way.”

Something connects with the door, and I jump away from it.

“They could hurt each other.”

“Your naivety is a welcomed treat,” he claims. “This will end as it always does when two people are meant to be together. There will be a fight, then they’ll make up from that fight.”

I scrunch up my nose.

He laughs softly. “What does passion smell like?”

“Forest fire,” I wheeze out. “So gross.”

He laughs harder, leading me from the door.

I rub circles with my index fingers and thumbs. Thin door separating me from the Tally/Barry Porn Parade? No, thank you. “I’m going for a walk.”

I’m looking for fresh air and sunshine. What do I get? Cold air and rain. Ah, Buenos Aires June. Taking cover under a large canopy, I let my feet slosh around in the groundwater.

“Sheyla Tierney of the Fire, why’s a pretty lass sittin’ in the rain?” poses a thickly accented voice not of Portuguese descent.

I squint to get a clearer view. “Have we met?”

“I didn’t expect the pleasure. ‘Tis grand, this be,” the stranger muses.

“Won’t take you long to realize pleasure’s a subjective term when it comes to me.”

“They call me Flint O’Shea.” He bows. “I assure ye, ‘tis strictly a pleasure.”

“Who are they?”

“Folk, in general, I suppose.”

“You’re not from here.”

“Not from here, she says.” He grins. “What gave me away? Was it the dashin’ good looks? I’ve turned quite a few eyes. Have I turned yers, then?”

“Scotland?” The shameless flirting needs a redirect.

“She breaks me heart, she does.” He dramatically places his hand over his heart. “Ireland, the one and only.”

“I was close.”

He clicks his tongue and sits next to me, forgoing standard permissions due to my slight to his heritage. Point to the Irishman.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Not the best of seasons,” he commiserates the weather. “She’s a wee less cluttered with tourists in winter, though.”

“I’m used to the rain.”

“Aye.” He lifts his chin. “Same.”

“Can I help you?” Social niceties aren’t my default setting. I’m pushing my capabilities here.

“Right to it, we’ll get,” he agrees. “A chance meet ‘tis surely a miracle true.”

“That might be the first time anyone’s ever referred to me as a miracle.”

“Go way outta that. Full of feelin’, aren’t ye?” He pats me soundly on the back. “None of them grand, it seems.”

I frown.

“I’ll spare ye the odds and ends of it, but I’m needin’ somethin’, Miss Tierney.”

“Most people do,” I remark. “What do you need?”

“Not that I’m after bein’ like the lot, but I’m in a wee bit of a bad way.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be in the vicinity of Hotel Looking Glass unless you were here to see Matthew, and even then, you wouldn’t need help from me,” I reason. “Rebel army troubles?”

“Bang on,” he confirms. “It wasn’t so banjaxed at first, mind ye, but ‘tis gettin’ more than I’m after.”

“You want out?”

“Aye, I’m a tad worse for the wear. Melted to boot, which I sense ye know all about.”

“What is it you want me to do?”

“What ye do best,” he states enthusiastically. “If the words spillin’ out ring true, ye be the happy end. And though one such as ye has entertainin’ to do with better than the likes of me…” He takes a steadying breath. “I’ll ask ye all the same if the rumors ring true, and if they do…” That million-dollar grin again. “I’ll ask that ye let me free from this wicked curse.”

“What element are you?”

His grin turns mischievous, and I bite back a reciprocal one. Barely. “Fire, Miss Tierney.”

There aren’t many Solathairs of the fire variety, so I’m assuming a Fire Sumair is equally rare. No doubt, I’ll have to justify this reversion to Tayte. There’s no way to hide it from him. He’ll know the second a drop slips through the grates. Honestly, I’m surprised he left me enough fire fuel to accomplish it. Guess I have Tally and Barry to thank. Tayte tore out of his office so fast to avoid their domestic dispute that he didn’t seal the valve.

“Tell me briefly what it is you can do. I need an anchor point,” I encourage him.

“I’m a beacon bright and true.”

“A light beacon? For what?” That’s what my family made me out to be. How does it work for him? Is it wise to snuff out a light that could make a sufficient replacement for me once I leave?

“Ye want more specifics, but let’s just leave it as a promise this lighthouse isn’t callin’ the right ships to shore.”

He’s helping them grow the army by drawing in Sumairs. We don’t have the luxury of time to argue the matter. I can give him what he wants or refuse him. This is an easy yes. “Are you ready now, or do you need to prep?”

“Should we leg it to someplace less public?”

“There aren’t any magical light shows associated with reversion,” I inform him.

I close my eyes, taking his hand in mine. Unlike Tally’s endless thread line, Flint’s has a distinct beginning, middle, and end. I easily find the division between his Sumair status and humanity, separating the two. After a quick snip, I wind the magical thread into a spool, tucking the end to keep it from unraveling. Into my hope chest it goes, right alongside what’s left of Gundy’s spool. I release his hand, patting it gently.

The poor lad seems disappointed over the lack of fanfare. “That’s it, then?” he chirps.

“They can’t convert you back. It’s a one-way trip on the reversion train. Secret side bonus: you’re immune to their mental magic from now on, too. Not sure about the physical magic. Didn’t test that.” After reverting Derry, my emotional manipulation no longer worked on him. I haven’t shared that tiny tidbit with Tayte. I’m not planning to, either.

“Can I offer ye anythin’ in turn, lovely Sheyla Tierney of the Fire?” he coos. “Mind ye, I’m not discountin’ me charm as a reward, but I suspect ye need at least a barter for the act.”

I shake my head. “We’re cool.”

“If ye think of anythin’, call on me,” he declares. “I owe ye me life. That’s the truth of it.”

I smile, the first real smile I’ve had since Brody died. I’m taking their joy and filling up the empty expanse of my tinder heart. No, not taking. I’m not taking their joy. I’m sharing it. Reversion feels good.

“Best be off,” Flint clips. “We’ve an audience lookin’ none too pleased.”

Tayte’s standing in the entryway. He doesn’t say a word as he rips what’s left of my fire fuel from me, pointing inside. I don’t care. Helping Flint was worth whatever consequence comes from this infraction. Bring it on, Tayte. Bring. It. On.