Into the Fire Read online

  Book Description

  Samantha Kane is struggling with this thing called ‘her life’, and how it can be completely turned upside down in the span of one week. Her partner and mentor is hospitalized, followed quickly by her father, who slips into a coma, her teenage brother decides now is the perfect time to rebel, and her mom lays the guilt on thick as molasses every chance she gets. Work isn’t much better. Recently promoted to detective, her job is suddenly in jeopardy, and the cops she’s worked with for years, no longer respect her or want her around. Not to mention the fact that Ghosts, Vampires, and Werewolves are real, and apparently want her dead.

  Why?

  According to a crazy man who showed up out of nowhere, Sam was never meant to be a cop. She’s supposed to be a Wizard.

  Smashwords Edition – 2016

  WordFire Press

  wordfirepress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61475-493-0

  Copyright © 2016 Patrick Hester

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design by Janet McDonald

  Cover artwork images by Galen Dara

  Art Director Kevin J. Anderson

  Edited by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  Book Design by RuneWright, LLC

  www.RuneWright.com

  Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers

  Published by

  WordFire Press, an imprint of

  WordFire, Inc.

  PO Box 1840

  Monument, CO 80132

  Contents

  Book Description

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Epilogue

  The End

  About the Author

  If You Liked …

  Other WordFire Press Titles

  Prologue

  November 1st

  It’s such an odd thing, dying. I don’t recommend it. My mind reels at the mere thought of it, yet here I am lying in a pool of my own blood, my body mangled, beaten, broken, and useless. Add a blazing mansion raining fiery death down all around me, and the situation gets dire pretty fast.

  My fault, really. I should’ve thought ahead, should’ve made a real plan and not just rushed in like, well, like me. That’s what got me into this in the first place, rushing in where angels fear to tread. He tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. I never listen. If I live through this, I’ll totally work on that. Hear me, God? I swear it …

  The heat and smoke stifle. My lungs are doing the best they can. But I think more than one of my broken ribs has punctured a lung, which means blood and fluids are pouring in, limiting how much air I can get. Even on a perfect day with clear skies and clean air, I’d be screwed. Trying to breathe smoke and soot and ash?

  I’m fucked.

  For a few glorious seconds, I let myself believe maybe someone will rescue me. I’m a damsel. Damsels get rescued. I’ve read about it. I think there’ve been a couple movies based on this very premise. There’s at least one guy who should be here right now. He’s even on my side. He could rush in, scoop me up in his arms, and make it to the hospital in the nick of time just like any Hollywood blockbuster I’ve ever seen.

  Yeah. That would rock.

  But the seconds pass quickly, and I know he isn’t coming. He has his hands full. I ordered him to fight an army of Werewolves by himself with a fucking sword! Who does that? Who carries a sword around with them? For all I know, his bullet-riddled body is in a ditch somewhere. Like I’m going to be soon. And yes, Werewolf soldiers carry guns. Big guns. Fully automatic, we’ll-shred-you-where-you-stand guns. Cheating fuckers.

  Vision swimming in darkness now, I wonder what I could’ve done differently. How could I have avoided this ignoble fate? (Hey, I went to college; I know big words.)

  “I don’t think anyone could have possibly predicted that one stupid, irrational girl could cause so much trouble in just one week.”

  The voice startles me. I know that voice. My brain confirms it, though the details are as hazy as the air around me.

  I try to push myself up so I can see who it is, hands slipping and sliding in my own blood. Progress is slow. One of my arms is broken, the pain causing my vision to slowly pulse with every beat of my heart. My teeth and toes tingle in unison. Other arm is probably broken too, but not as bad. At least, it doesn’t hurt as much. Actually, I can’t feel it at all, like it’s not even there anymore. I can see it, watch it move, but there’s no sensation partnered with what my eyes relay to my brain, or however that works. Probably not good.

  “I really should thank you. You have done more to further my agenda than anyone actually in my employ at the moment.”

  I mumble something about Blofeld because his voice draws images of the James Bond villain, complete with bald head, facial scar, and strange yellow-gray suit. If he had a cat, too, the image would be complete. I still can’t see what he actually looks like, but I know that voice. I met him a week ago when all of this started.

  When I found out who and what I really am.

  A Wizard.

  Chapter One

  Day One

  October 27th

  There’ve been a lot of days in my life where I’ve stopped and asked myself, Why? Why did I even get out of bed? Why didn’t I listen to that little, nagging voice in the back of my head telling me to stay home, snug in my fuzzy slippers and warm kitty pajamas? The same voice telling me all the signs were there, the planets had aligned just so, and today, Samantha Kane, today was going to be a bad day.

  “Sit down!”

  That voice was always right.

  I winced. Not just because of the shouting, although that’s bad enough; I’m actually used to people shouting at me (it’s a long story called my life).

  No, my captain had just kicked open his office door like a scene out
of a bad ’80s movie, letting it fly back and crash into the bookshelf behind it. A few little things I’d never noticed before came crashing down and scattered across the floor. Why did he have a Tony Romo bobblehead? Or a Garden of the Gods kissing camels sculpture? And don’t get me started on the wild honeysuckle aromatherapy candle.

  I carefully stepped over everything and followed him into the office, one of the few with a window on this floor and with a fairly decent view of the Rocky Mountains. Only the lightest dusting of snow up there. In late October, you expect to see a bit more powder, but we’d had a dry summer, and the winter didn’t look to be much better. At least, that’s what the too-cheery blonde girl had just been saying on the television out in the squad room.

  “Shut the door!” he bellowed.

  I complied quickly, closing the door in one quick, smooth motion and sliding into the wooden chair in front of his desk. I don’t do meek—at least, not well. Can swing faux penitent well enough to fool the nuns and priests back in my parochial school days, but that’s about as far as those skills go. Still, I clasped my hands together in my lap. Honestly, I didn’t know what else to do with them. After a second, I gripped the armrests instead.

  My brain flashed on times when I’ve been in trouble: sneaking out with Jenni to see a concert or hit a party after curfew; the frat boys we went skiing with; the “incident with the squad car,” as my dad called it. None of which compared to this. This time, a man might die. A good man. A friend and mentor. All because I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t walk away.

  Captain King stared out the window and began mumbling something. The serenity prayer? Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.…

  Thomas King was easily twenty years my senior. Gray just starting to come in at his temples, the rest of his curly hair remained as dark as his skin, which revealed nothing of his age. Not a line, wrinkle, or crack. He stood at least a head and a half above my five-nine self, with a barrel for a chest, long legs, and thick arms that belonged on a professional wrestler. He remarked once how he kept in shape by chopping wood for himself and his neighbors. Staring at those biceps, I could believe it.

  Which brings to mind another thing that damages my calm: those muscles were perfect for crushing Sam to death. I’ve never considered my Captain a particularly violent man, but the bookshelf could sing a different tune. Plus, the sudden image of him dressed in an outfit similar to Triple H’s and coming at me with a chair raised above his head didn’t help.

  Stupid brain.

  That’s me, by the way—Sam. Samantha Kane. Detective with the Denver Police Department, celebrating my third week as a detective, sixth year wearing the badge. Started off on patrol like my father, following in his hallowed footsteps to protect and serve. More on that later.

  Captain King, my captain, the man who used to give me piggyback rides in my parents’ backyard, paced behind his desk. No more praying. His face turned a darker color with mottled splotches, either in anger, frustration, or a combination of the two. I had that effect sometimes. Okay, a lot of times. There’s a long list of people who have found themselves frustrated or angry as a result of their interaction with Samantha Kane. My father tells me I push too hard and people don’t like it, don’t like being challenged constantly. I’m surprised there’s not a support group or club or something. Maybe a Facebook fan page. “The Samantha Kane Survivors Club” or something. I should probably look it up.

  A twinge pulsed up my arms. I’d taken a death grip on the wooden chair’s armrests the moment Captain King stopped praying. Easing my grip caused a sharp pain to shoot through my fingers. Fingers covered in dried blood. I turned them over, shaking. Blood beneath my nails. Splatters of the stuff on my jeans. My shoes. My shirt. It was in my hair, too; I could feel it like a weight pulling me down. My partner’s blood all over me. My—

  “Sam,” said the captain, voice softer than I expected.

  I shuddered and turned. He’d come around the desk and reached out to take my hands in his rough and calloused hands. This close, he smelled of Old Spice and sweat. His eyes held conflicting emotions. This man has known me all my life. He wanted to take care of me and wring me out all at the same time.

  “I need you to focus,” he said.

  I nodded.

  With a very small smile surely meant to reassure me, he released my hands and moved back to the window. “Sam. Can you explain to me what the hell you were doing in that apartment building last night?”

  I’d expected yelling. I’d expected rage. Instead, I got a soft, almost gentle tone from him. Somehow, it made it all so much worse.

  Words wouldn’t form. My mouth went dry as the Sahara. I coughed and tried again. “A lead,” I said. “Lead came in. Suspect sighted there. We decided to check it out.”

  “We, huh?” he asked. He turned, arms crossed. A couple steps forward and he leaned against the desk, looking down his nose at me.

  The urge to jerk away crept up from my toes, and I fought it hard.

  “A lead. On a case you were no longer working? Did the fact you’d been reassigned somehow slip your mind? Or Jorge’s? You had no reason to be running down any leads on that case. Log them for the detectives actually assigned to it; that’s your job. Your only job, Rookie.”

  Every word jabbed my heart and made me wince. All of it true and accurate.

  “I know we were reassigned,” I said slowly, “but the tip came in, and who knew how long the guy would be there? Time wasn’t on our side.” The more I spoke, the faster the words spilled out. “I went to log it into the computer; I did, but the computer kept giving me an error, and no name came up, so I couldn’t actually call the detective on the case. No one in the squad room knew who’d taken it over. The guy could vanish again, and maybe he’d killed the cashier or maybe he knew who did or saw something, and Jorge agreed, and so we went. And he was there, and—”

  “Stop,” he ordered. “Just stop.”

  A knock at the door made me jump.

  A man walked into the room without being invited and closed the door behind him. A smoky, acrid scent followed in his wake and tickled my nose. Like someone out of a very old movie, he wore a dark brown trench coat and matching fedora, the former bundled up all the way to his neck despite the unusually warm weather. Between the coat collar being up and the brim of the hat down, his features were pretty well hidden in shadows.

  From the crook of his arm, he produced a couple of thick folders and said, “Tom,” in a gruff voice that spoke of too much whiskey and cigarettes.

  “Jack?” my captain asked, his voice faltering.

  I turned. All the color had drained away from his face.

  “What—” he began, then cleared his throat. “What brings you down here?”

  Wait, was he scared? Giant Captain Thomas King with a pro wrestler’s physique, scared of scrawny Jack?

  “Transfer,” Jack answered. He handed over the folders and waited.

  Curious about anyone who could make Captain King uncomfortable, I studied him. He returned my gaze steadily. I could make out his face now—angular, with a sharp nose and keen, dark eyes. Day-old stubble covered his chin, a bit lighter in color than the bits of brownish hair escaping from the edges of his hat. His face told the tale of someone painfully thin: sunken eyes, hollowed-out cheeks, and very pale, if not outright pallid. Pale enough to easily be mistaken for someone with the plague, and thin enough to drive the idea home. Maybe he had a cold? It would certainly explain the coat. And the scarf around his neck. The smoky scent radiating from him mixed with something else I couldn’t quite place.

  He smiled.

  I didn’t smile back.

  “What if she declines?” Captain King asked.

  His smile deepened.

  They were talking about me? Eyes wide, I turned back to my captain. “Transfer? What?” I asked. I don’t think I could’ve gotten more attention if I’d j
umped up on the desk and started singing “Mamma Mia” from the musical. Neither man paid me any attention. They were too busy staring each other down and discussing me as if I weren’t in the room.

  I hate that.

  “Signatures from the chief of police, the mayor, and the governor, Jack?” Captain King whistled through his teeth. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I like to have all my ducks in a row,” Jack said.

  “A two-person task force?” Captain King snorted. “You work alone, Jack. Always have.”

  “Not entirely true. I have a team of civilians who work with me. But there’s enough work now for another cop. This is the easiest way to go,” Jack said. “She gets to keep her badge, continues to get paid and call herself a cop, but she works for me and does what I tell her to do.”

  “Wait a second—” I said, heart hammering in my chest. Did he just imply—? I know I screwed up, but they couldn’t fire me … could they?

  Captain King’s eyes said they could. They would.

  “I have a responsibility to my officers, Jack,” he said. “To protect them.”

  And he would, too. Protect me. Even if it meant his own neck.

  “You and I both know the powers that be will want a head to roll for last night’s … incident. If she’s with me, they’ll consider the matter closed. I can protect her in ways you can’t.”

  There had to be another way. “Look, Jack, is it?” I asked. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but—”

  “I don’t know, Jack,” said my captain as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “I promise you, Tom. She’ll be safe with me.”

  “Hello?” I asked, waving my hands in the air between them.

  My Captain took a deep breath and blew it out again. “Samantha Kane, meet Jack Mayfair.” He didn’t even look at me. “Your new boss.”

  Mayfair smiled and nodded. “You’ve been reassigned, Detective Kane. You’re with me now. I trust you were done here, Tom?” he asked. He held his hand out for the folder to be returned.

  “Wait a minute. My partner?” My voice went into high-pitched girl stratosphere zone. Blushing, I took a breath and tried to calm down. “My cases?”