her when the men appeared . . .”
She straightened, disregarding the man’s insinuation that somehow all of this was her fault, and focused on the last word he’d said. “Appeared?”
“According to the surviving witnesses, yes,” the man said, nearly babbling now with nerves. “Two men ‘appeared out of nowhere,’ killed the tower guards and showed up in the prison yard.” He cleared his throat and added, “Witnesses swear the two men were covered in flames.”
“Flames?”
He heaved a sigh. “Yes, ma’am, that’s one thing everyone agrees on. The two men looked like pillars of fire.”
“I see.” She inhaled sharply, but kept her voice cool, despite the shock of this news. She remembered the reports from the first attempt to apprehend Shea Jameson. Supposedly a man made of fire had swept her away. Who was he? Where did he come from? And how in heaven could a man of fire be tracked?
Was there more than witches to be concerned about? she wondered. What other kinds of magic might there be, still waiting to be revealed?
“Very well,” she said abruptly. “Do everything you can, use whatever resource you need, but I want Shea Jameson found, do you understand?”
“Yes, but—”
“And make no mistake, I want her unharmed.” Cora wasn’t interested in hearing more of his apologies or his whining. “I’ll be notifying BOW. They’ll be in contact with you. Give them everything they require, Mr. Salinger.”
“Of course, Madam President, but I don’t think they’ll be able to find her. Not as long as this . . . man is with her.”
“You’d be surprised what properly motivated people can do, Mr. Salinger. Keep me informed if anything changes.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will—”
She hung up and let her fingers trail across the surface of the telephone. She shifted a look around the Oval Office she’d worked so hard to reach. She wouldn’t allow Shea Jameson to disappear into the underground. She needed her. If they were going to make the necessary changes to society and the world at large, the two of them had to work together.
Whether they wanted to or not.
Chapter 18
Traveling by fire was disconcerting, to say the least.
Torin could travel only so many miles in brilliant bursts of flaming energy. So at the end of every jump, Shea looked around quickly to see where they were. Beach, jump. Freeway, jump. Parking lot, jump. Middle of an intersection—shriek and jump.
By the time they “landed,” Shea was shaken and just a little bit nauseous. She let go of Torin, took a breath and bent at the waist, letting her head hang down as she fought to settle her stomach. Not easy since she thought sure she’d left her stomach behind two jumps ago.
“You all right?”
“I will be,” she said, more steadily than she felt at the moment. “The important thing is I’m out of that prison.”
“No,” Torin corrected. “The important thing is to keep you out. We’re not safe yet. We have to keep going.”
Shea straightened up and whipped her hair back out of her eyes.
She really was inside a completely different world now, Shea thought. Traveling by fire. Sending a friend to a sanctuary. As she quickly considered her new reality, she also acknowledged that she had been relieved to hear about the sanctuaries. Witches were organizing to save themselves and others. They, like she, had decided not to lie down and die with a whimper—and knowing she wasn’t alone in her fight made her feel stronger somehow.
Turning to look up at him, she said, “Just give me a second to get my stomach back where it belongs before you do that fire thing again, okay?”
He gave her a slow smile. “Didn’t like it?”
“It was . . . amazing,” she admitted, though her insides were still a little shaky. “But not looking forward to doing it again real soon.”
He shook his head as he stood there like some fallen avenging angel, his gray eyes sweeping their surroundings, constantly vigilant. Finally, he looked at her. “No. From here, we’ll drive.”
“Thank God.” At least a car she understood.
“We have to keep moving,” he said. “BOW and the MPs will be looking for you. We have to get lost. Quickly.”
Then he took her arm and dragged her behind him across a well-lit parking garage. He stopped in front of a sleek black sports car that looked so fast, so powerful, she half expected it to growl at her in greeting.
“Get in.”
“Are we stealing somebody’s car?” she asked, even as she headed for the passenger side. “Don’t we have