I had secretly thought Devin a child pyro sociopath. Instead he was really a fully grown, older salamander. As we watched, he changed shape again and became his missing grandfather, Charles Healy, the one who had escaped from the prison, eleven years ago, when Devin was born. Was Devin really Healy, hiding in the form of a child he had killed? And then Devin shifted back to Justin. The face and form settled and firmed. Simon slid to the ground nearby, watching, his own form wavering into indistinct features and blued skin.
One of the women at Devin’s side shifted into Clarisse, Devin’s mother, and shook herself like a dog as her form settled. Another leaned down, sat, and curled up in his lap. Her face altered and she became Sonya, who supposedly died in the fire. Sonya, who was Devin’s aunt. I realized that the creature who had lived for years as Devin had a life and a culture far beyond anything I could imagine, and it appeared that he had been taken as mate to a harem.
I went back through my bullet point timeline. Devin had never once been on-scene at a shooting, though he had been present when Sonya supposedly died. Devin, the child Soul had saved from fire, was our fire assassin. And I was almost willing to bet money that the nanny could shape-shift into a male, and that she was the shooter.
Occam rumbled, “I need to shift.”
“No,” Soul said, putting command into the word. “You need to be able to fire the AR-15 and take out as many salamanders as possible.”
“Why take them out?” I asked. A flash of bloodlust raced through me. Salamander blood, all that rich blue blood. I swallowed the bloody thoughts down, away, but they were there all the same, eager. I finished, “Especially the juveniles. The tadpoles.”
“They are having a party,” Soul said, her tone biting, “around the dead body of Justin Tolliver, whom they are eating. I accept full responsibility for this raid and the salamander deaths.”
Light burst around her body and was snuffed. Her body wavered from human to something nonhuman and back. A sound like bells ringing in the distance sounded before being abruptly cut off. Then Soul stood there again, wearing her armor, though this time it was in shades of blue camo, not the purple of before. Soul was about to lose control of her arcenciel shape. Bells rang again, soft and tinkling. “The human woman we will save,” she said, “if she is truly human and if she lives. But anyone who shifts to lizard will die.” Her words sounded odd, tinkling and chiming, not at all human.
Soul, assistant director of PsyLED, had just condemned sentient beings to death. And then small things came together for me. Soul, who should have been in DC or at Spook School, training new agents, was in Knoxville, on what should have been a relatively simple case. Soul, who nearly shifted when she first heard the word salamander. Soul, who was acting out of character. Soul, whose ancestors had fought a war that decimated the salamanders. Genocide.
I said, “Arcenciels and salamanders hate each other, don’t they? You’re still at war with them.”
Soul’s eyes narrowed. “No. The war ended six thousand years ago. The salamanders were wiped out.” Lights illuminated her face and pearled teeth began to grow from her mouth, long and serrated and wicked-looking. “There can be no salamanders,” she hissed.
“But there are salamanders,” I said. And then I understood. Soul’s worldview had just changed, like what would happen to the members of God’s Cloud of Glory Church when life was found on other planets. Soul had been taught that her ancestors had wiped out the salamanders and yet, here they were in her own backyard and she hadn’t even recognized what they were. “That makes this case personal to you. When it’s personal you have to withdraw. PsyLED regulation . . . I don’t remember which one, but it’s a regulation.”
“I will not withdraw.” Her body began to lose its human contours, drifting and wavering.
“Senior Special Agent LaFleur,” I said, wondering if I was in danger of having my head bitten off by the assistant director of PsyLED. It was probably not very smart, but I went on. “I formally request that Soul be removed from command position and sent back from the front lines.”
“You dare,” she snarled.
“Tomorrow is the first day of the full moon,” I said, holding my ground. “Are arcenciels moon-called?”
Soul reared back, her body glowing, elongating, shifting to her native light dragon form. Wings spread to either side. Her face was terrible.
“Problems,” Rick said over the comms system.
“I noticed,” I said. I was holding my service weapon on the assistant director of PsyLED. Though it was likely that she could bite me in two before I could squeeze the trigger. Occam was trying to shift, or struggling to not shift, stumbling into the shadows, probably pulled into the change by magics in the air and the nearness of the full moon. I was alone with Soul in a tizzy and salamanders riled. “I really noticed.”
“They must have heard you or seen the light show,” Rick said. “Baby salamanders are crawling out of the pool and heading your way. The ground is smoking behind them. Soul. You are formally relieved of command. Probationary Special Agent Nell Ingram, you are now in charge of Mission Salamander.”
“Oh. Oh. Dagnabbit,” I cursed.
Soul shot into the sky, bellowing a challenge.
From the pool, flames surged.
The dead trees above us, offering us scant shelter, burst into fire. I ducked away. Soul whirled and dove. Light blared out, blinding. Her dragon wove itself in the space between trees. Occam was on the ground, also shifting. Over the comms, Rick was growling, rumbling.
Things occurred to me in overlapping images of understanding. We were about to have a bloodbath. Soul and the cats were losing whatever humanity they possessed. JoJo was getting all this on film from the RVAC overhead. The werecats were catty and contagious. And I was now officially, though nominally, in charge—nominally because the chance of anyone listening to me and following my orders was pretty much nil. I was on my own.
Fir trees, dead and dying, exploded in fire, purple-tipped orange flames licking and leaping from tree to tree. Heat blasted over me. I ducked and ran. Wrapped an arm around my head, racing back toward the road, my flesh scorching. The wooden siding on the guesthouse burst into flame. Slender slick forms sped from the pools, crawling like racing snakes. I lunged between the remaining trees as they flared into flashfire. Fire devils whirled into the air. Wind leaped high, roaring with the flame tornadoes. JoJo was shouting in my earbuds, but I couldn’t hear the words over the howl of the fire.
From the sides of the property, the woods awoke.