Chapter 6
Fire is a magnet that stirs the deep recesses of the mind. Transfixed by the bonfire’s dancing flame, the world fades, and I’m beckoned inward to the meditative void, a place my mother used to call the soul’s abyss.
When I was young, she would make my four brothers and me name ten gods from the pantheon every night before bed. On new moons, she’d dress us in hooded robes and drag us into the woods for nights of ritual worship. Back then, she hoped one of us would feel the Dark Mother’s calling and take the mark of the devout, but she was disappointed by all of us.
As her youngest, I had the privilege of watching her last spark of hope dim and die with me. Five sons and we all took after our father, worshiping at the altar of capitalism and turning our backs on the mysteries and mysticism of our mother’s deeply held religion.
I never told her, but there were nights when I felt I don”t know what. Something. Not the burning, and I never heard Mother Darkness’s voice. But on nights like tonight, I connected with the fire. I traveled inward and found something primal and alive. It danced in me back then the same way it dances in me tonight, the tongues of flame syncing with the beat of my heart.
I am alive.
The logs settle with a crash and a burst of sparks, and I return from the void. Blinking, I look around. Sofia is no longer standing at my side, and an uncomfortable pang shoots through my chest. My hand automatically rises to rub the spot.
She’s gone. Loneliness echoes through me.
“Welcome back.” I turn to the sound of her voice. “You were gone a long time,” she says. She’s hunkered down under a blanket, shivering, but there’s a blissed-out smile half-hidden behind a steaming mug. My insides leap at the sight of her.
Sofia has made a seat out of a log, and I join her on it, dropping down so close, our knees and elbows bump, and the little touches chase away the lonely echo.
She smiles up at me, her face glowing, and my head swims. I smile back. Her radiance and the flickers of happiness in her eyes are as warm and transfixing as the fire.
This is not good. I’m supposed to be executing my new game plan tonight, but honestly, I don’t have one. I’ve come up short. Offering her money didn’t work. Seduction didn’t work. I’m not about to threaten her. That’s low and unseemly. What’s more, I can’t seem to summon the will to think up a new scheme right now.
If there really isn’t a way off this mountain, then I’m stuck here until the roads open. Humans lie at the drop of a hat, but if they have to carry the lie for longer than, say, a single conversation, they tend to crumble, and Sofia hasn’t slipped even once. So, there it is. I’m stuck here. I wait for the panic and fury to set in, but they don’t. I glance at the bonfire, then back at Sofia. Where is my impetus to be gone from this place? I am mired by a soul-deep contentment I couldn’t have anticipated finding tonight.
“Where do you go when you get caught up in the fire?” she asks, nudging me with her shoulder.
I catch a whiff of something herbal and savory steaming from her mug, and my stomach grumbles. “Somewhere without food,” I say, easily dodging another of her personal questions, and she laughs.
“We have caldo de pollo, chicken soup, in this one, and champurrado, the best kind of hot chocolate, in this one.” She holds up two thermoses, but that’s not all there is. She’s turned the empty sled into a table, and on it sits an assortment of treats in red tins. She names them for me, “All the holiday favorites: bu?uelos, pan de polvo, y caramelos.”
When did she have time to make all this? It took me three hours just to wash the clothes I’m wearing right now.
She pours me a mug of soup. I take a long inhale of the delectable steam before I sip. It tastes of rich stock and herbs. Divine. The woman has a gift.
Time slipped away while I was in the void, and the night sky has gone inky black. Our seven-foot bonfire has burnt down to a third of its size. It still casts light and warmth, but the flaming tower is long gone. We consumed it.
“I haven’t done something like this in a long time,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence, but if I were being completely honest, I’d have to say I’ve never done anything quite like this. Sipping soup by a fire all cute and cozy? Never.
“Yeah,” she says with a wistful sigh. “It’s been a while for me too. When I was a kid, we did this all the time. It was our Christmas Eve tradition. Back then, most of my family worked at the Emberlight Resort, still do actually, so they’ve never had holidays off. It’s the busy season. My grandma would bring all the grandkids up to the cabin, twelve of us with sleeping bags,” she chuckles. “And we’d have a bonfire every Christmas Eve. I always thought there was a special meaning behind it. It felt like an old tradition, but one day I asked her, and she said it was just a way to tire us out. We’d gather and chop wood for hours, so excited for the big bonfire, but it was just a trick.” She laughs, but I catch a note of disappointment.
“What about your family?” she asks. “Aren’t they missing you for the holidays?”
More personal questions. Humans are notoriously blind to their own intrusiveness. It’s just who they are. They bump into a complete stranger and exchange fifty personal details like it’s nothing. And online, holy depths of hell, they shovel their personal information out there like they can’t post it fast enough. But demons know better. We never give anything away for free.
“Are we still doing a question for a question?” I ask. I should negotiate for better terms, but I’m feeling generous and soft because of her glowing face and the general sense of fondness burnt into me by the fire. Plus, she did make this delicious soup. And cookies. I pick up a small cookie, pan de polvo, and pop it into my mouth. “Fuck me, they’re good,” I mumble. Sweet and spicy with a crumble that somehow melts in a very satisfying way.
“Sure, a question for a question,” she says with a lopsided grin. Her big, dark eyes are blinking slower than usual, like they would if she were very relaxed or inebriated. Firebliss is a thing, but only for demons as far as I know, yet Sofia has the shine of it all over her. It’s beautiful.
“No one is missing me yet,” I say, answering her question.
Nobody loves Christmas more than demons. It’s a season marked by a frenzy of unchecked spending, an orgy of commercial desire, and a symphony of cash registers ringing in the season. But when it comes to observing the holiday and its odd assortment of traditions, we don’t.
“But if I’m not home on True Ember’s Day, that’s New Year’s Eve for you, I’ll definitely hear about it.”
“From your wife?” she asks, her words a little mumbled.
I turn to give her a look, but she’s staring intently into her mug of soup, and so I study her profile. If she were fae, she’d have the dainty, smooth features everyone raves about. But Sofia has pronounced features, prominent cheekbones and a full mouth. The angles of her face catch light and cast shadows. There are depths to behold, and for a moment, I’m lost in them.
“That counts as another question,” I say, snapping out of it. “I don’t have a wife. My mother is devout, a strict observer of the Silent Hour, and she expects me home every year.” I feel another unexpected flash of fondness as I picture my mother’s table set for the traditional feast held at full dark on True Ember’s Day. What is wrong with me tonight?
Two days ago, I’d all but decided to skip holidays with the family to stay in town for the Festival. The Truthfire Festival is to Winter Bliss, Idaho, what Mardi Gras is to New Orleans, Louisiana, only more seismically spectacular. It’s a melding of the secular New Year and the religious True Embers Day celebrations. The Festival organizers orchestrate a volcanic eruption every year at the stroke of midnight. It’s said to be an epic show of demon magic. Before I landed on this mountain, I’d been thinking that I might stick around for the spectacle. Tonight, I don’t know how I feel. Different. Nostalgic. And a little raw, but there’s nothing pulling at me. I’m good just being here.
I glance at Sofia again, and I’m struck by a poetic thought—she has the beauty of a natural wonder, a brooding storm, or a windswept canyon. Even a violently erupting volcano would pale in comparison to her.
“Are you cold?” she asks. I hadn’t really noticed, but now that she’s mentioned it.
“I’m a bit chilly,” I say.
“I’m happy to share.” She lifts her arm, extending her blanket towards me and revealing her awful wardrobe of layered plaid that, by some trick of the firelight, looks more inviting than awful right now.
I scoot close and pull the corner of her blanket to wrap my shoulders. Warmth moves between us. Not heat. Warmth. There’s a glow in my chest that grows brighter as she presses in at my side. My arm circles her and there’s a pulse of warmth everywhere we touch. Her head comes to rest on my chest, and the glow that was already too bright threatens to blind me. I should be concerned, but instead, I’m overwhelmed by a desire to squeeze her. So, I do. With both arms, I pull her in as tight and as close as I can, tucking her against me. It feels amazing.
She gives a contented little sigh. “You’re very warm,” she murmurs against my chest, and considering I had my tongue inside her last night, this shouldn’t feel particularly intimate, but it does. My body sinks into the moment the way teeth sink into a marshmallow, with ease and giddy delight. It’s mildly alarming, but even as I try to take stock of the profound coziness, my cheek comes to rest on top of her head. We’re practically strangers, but tonight we’re as comfortable as old friends. How did this happen?
Her shiny black hair catches the flickering orange glow of the fire. She smells of smoke and faintly of citrus and berry. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Her scent fills my nose then travels deeper, imprinting on me, and I know that if I tilt her chin up and kiss her, her taste will imprint on me too. It’s a bad idea, but I want to do it anyway.
“Who pushed you out of the helicopter?” she asks, and the hand I was about to lift stays put at my side.
“Hush. It’s not your turn.” I say, and she snorts a little laugh, but now I’m stalling. I need a minute to let go of the need to kiss her. This night is masked in mildness, but there’s a thread of intensity just below the surface, and I keep plucking it. It’s just the fire, I tell myself again, but I’m not reassured. I’ve been to countless bonfires in my lifetime, but I’ve never done this. I’ve fought, drank, prayed, sang, danced, screamed, and fucked by a fire, but I’ve never cuddled with someone. It’s strangely potent.
She nudges me with her knee. “Hurry up and ask your question so that I can ask mine.”
“Right,” I say with a little shake of my head. Talking is a good distraction. “Who’s Ryan?” I ask. It’s a question I’ve wanted an answer to all day.
She stiffens. “Ask something else.”
“No. You got to hear all about my failed venture. It’s your turn. Spill.”
She’s quiet for a while, and when she does speak, she’s cryptic, but Ryan’s a fiendish asshole. That’s about the sum of it. I figured as much, but it’s worse than I’d imagined. I’d assumed he’d talked her into entering the venture with too little funding, a tale as old as time, but no, Ryan had the money; he just didn’t see it through.
“He backed out on a deal?” My teeth grind over the words, and my temper flares, burning holes in the hazy cloud of coziness. I want to hurt him. “Give me his address, and I’ll pay him a visit.”
“What would that change?” she says, and there’s not even a sliver of steel in her voice.
“The shape of his skull,” I say, and it’s a promise. A bargain is sacred, and if I break some of his bones, Ryan will remember that next time. “He really didn’t give you any reason for backing out?” I ask, bewildered.
She’s quiet.
I rephrase my question. “He just left town and didn’t say anything?” It’s hard to comprehend. “Are you sure he wasn’t murdered?” That seems more likely. “Have you checked the morgue?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question,” she says. “I want to know about the helicopter and how you got yourself dumped onto my lake.”
“Would you like the full story with all the details?” I ask.
“I would,” she says with a firm nod. I take a finger and lift her chin until our eyes meet, and again, I’m fighting a desperate urge to kiss her. Instead, I give her a look, and it takes her a second, but she catches my meaning.
“Fine,” she rolls her eyes. “We got drunk one night celebrating some very good news, and one thing led to another. We started to fool around.” As she speaks, the color in her face rises, but not in a lusty, fun way. She’s embarrassed. “Up to that point, our relationship had been strictly professional, and we should have kept it that way. When our clothes started coming off, he—” She clears her throat. “He stopped things and left. The next thing I knew, he was backing out on our partnership.”
“He’s married,” I say. It’s so obvious.
“No.”
“No? Did you laugh at the size of his dick?”
“No! We didn’t get that far.”
“You had to have done something.” I insist.
She grits her teeth and refuses to answer until I nudge her and then with a salty side-eye she says, “He didn’t find me attractive, ok?”
“Bullshit. You’re as fuckable as they come.” It’s not flattery. It’s the truth.
“You haven’t seen me completely naked.”
“Is that an invitation?” My arm circles further around her, tugging at her waist. “Because if it is, I accept.” There’s a note of teasing in my voice but, “I’m dead serious. I’d love to see you naked.” Half-naked wasn’t enough, but that’s so much worse than a kiss. What am I doing?
She looks up at me. Her eyes are narrowed, but she’s trying to hide a smile. Her mouth twists to one side, and it’s not working. She’s doing a terrible job.
“Now it’s definitely your turn to answer. Tell me about the helicopter. Feel free to omit a detail or two, just to keep things fair,” she says.
I’m not actually sure I do owe her an answer. I’ve lost track. It’s very unlike me, but nevertheless, here we go. I take a deep breath, and for a split second, I consider lying. She’d never know. I’m not above lying to keep the details of my life private, but a question for a question is as straightforward a deal as they come. And unlike Ryan, I don’t back out on deals. That’s not to say that they always go as planned…
“I had a deal lined up, a solid new venture, very promising,” I begin. I tell her briefly about my months of market-gap research, the vetting steps I took to evaluate my potential partners, and all the other various due diligences I checked off prior to arriving in Winter Bliss. There’s something satisfying about laying this part out, like I’m stating my case before a jury, proving beyond any shadow of a doubt that I did everything right in the lead up. I was calculating and shrewd. Nobody can say I wasn’t.
She nods, not interrupting, and as I talk, something strange happens. A weight lifts, and I’m soothed by the outpouring of private details I should be carefully guarding. There’s no anxiousness, no worry about exposure. Bizarre. I keep going, adding details I’m not strictly obligated to share per our agreement, but my instincts are being overridden by a new urge to—vent. Holy Mother Darkness, forgive me. It’s such a despicably human thing to do.
“I didn’t trust some of the other people at the table. So, before coming, I convinced my would-be partner to take me on as the sole investor. It meant assuming more of the risk, and I had to front a lot more cash than I’d planned to, but I’d done my homework. The potential for a substantial payday was there. It was justified.”
She continues to nod. The jury is clearly on my side, but I pause because I’m embarrassed to share what comes next. She must sense it. Her hand slides over mine, the one I’ve tucked in at her waist. She laces our fingers together, a small gesture, but I like her hand wrapped around mine immensely. Not good. I’ve seen scenes like this play out before; a human reaches out to touch another human’s hand or shoulder, and what follows is a horror show. A dam breaks. The person cries while verbally vomiting all over them both. Disgusting. I will never do that. I refuse.
I meet her eye as suspicion forms. She blinks back at me innocently, but I’m not sure I buy it. I’ve always assumed humans have no magic, but what if they have a diabolical form of magic that pulls secrets from the soul? It’s a terrifying thought. But also—what a devilishly good trick. Fuck. My estimation of humans keeps rising the longer I’m around Sofia. I’ll have to acquaint myself with lesser humans when I leave this place so that I can go back to thinking of them as unsophisticated and unremarkable beings. I prefer that.
“When a new partnership is formed between demons, initial investments are almost always delivered in cash. It’s symbolic and a sign of respect,” I tell her, and I explain that what’s deeply disrespectful is showing up with the wrong amount of cash. “The officiant accountant said I was short. I still don’t know how it happened, but it doesn’t matter. It was an unforgivable offense. My partner was rightly outraged. He tore up our contract and set the table on fire.”
“And then he threw you out of a helicopter?”
“No, that wasn’t him. He’s probably gone back and reopened negotiations with some of the other potential investors.” I can’t keep the pang of frustration and hurt out of my voice. I should have followed him and groveled. Instead, I went to the bar and then the casino.
“I don’t know who the idiots with the helicopter were, but I know what they were after. I left the cash for my deal in my hotel room, and I may have drunkenly mentioned it to someone that night. A stupid slip-up. Not surprisingly, I was jumped as soon as I stumbled out of the casino.” She gives a gratifying little gasp. The jury is eating out of my hand.
“They wanted my money, but I refused to give it to them. I assume they thought dangling me out of a helicopter would change my mind. I’d guess they didn’t mean to drop me until I’d told them the code to my room, but I’m heavier than I look. And as I said before, they were idiots.”
“At least you’re fine. Not even a sprained ankle. And your money is safe, right? They didn’t get it.”
I shrug. “I doubt they gave up after the helicopter. They probably headed right back to the hotel to see if they could find a way into my room.”
“But you locked it up, didn’t you?” she asks. She reminds me that there are safes in every hotel room at the resort, and very cutely, she says she thinks they’re good ones, like I don’t know a Mammon Strongbox when I see one. They’re not just good. They’re top of the line with cutting-edge technology. Theft-proof and impregnable. There is no safer place to keep cash or valuables than inside a Mammon Strongbox.
“I left the money on the bed in a leather travel bag, partially unzipped. If the helicopter hooligans made it into my room, they have it. If not, a snooping maid could have walked off with it by now.” I was a dozen drinks deep by the time I dropped the bag off and headed to the casino. I was angry, embarrassed, drunk, not thinking. It’s no excuse.
“No!” Her hands fly to her mouth, and she stares at me with a mix of incredulity and pity. I flush all over with shame, and my stomach turns. I’ve been an idiot many times over. I’m not sure what I’ll find when I get back to the resort on Mount BZB, but as uncomfortable as the worry and shame is, it’s not consuming me tonight.
There’s not much else to say. I can’t think of anything, and neither can she. No more questions to exchange. So, we sit in silence. She cuddles up tighter at my side and offers me more soup, but I’m not hungry.
“Champurrado? I slipped some rum in it.” She shakes the thermos and winks at me.
“No, thank you.” She wraps my hand in both of hers and snuggles her head against my shoulder.
At midnight, she jumps up and says it’s time to put out the fire. There’s not much of it left, only one intact log, and I think we should let it burn out. She grabs a pail and starts heaping snow onto the dying flames. It’s an ignoble death for such a magnificent bonfire, and I refuse to help.
“Just let it die naturally,” I say.
“No. It’s time,” she insists.
We walk back to her cabin in silence except for the jingling of silver bells, and I find my eyes drawn skyward. It’s been a strange night, and I can’t seem to shake the feeling that the stars are unnaturally close, pressing in. But when I look up, they recede back into the heavens, as impossibly far away as always.
“Sofia,” I say her name, and she turns to look at me with an expectant half smile. “Nothing, never mind.” I just wanted her to look at me, and when she does, I feel better, like I’m staring into a fire again.