And yet this was the world they lived in. Until the Humans First and Last movement started a war with the Others, most of the terra indigene had paid no attention to the humans who crowded together on the land they were allowed to use. Now all the terra indigene paid attention, even in an unremarkable place like Sproing.
Except Sproing wasn’t unremarkable anymore because Vicki DeVine had unwittingly begun to restore a terra indigene settlement called The Jumble, and that one decision had attracted all kinds of potentially dangerous interest in this little village and the people who lived here.
Which circled back to the reason Ilya Sanguinati had come in to talk to him. Men with weapons had entered The Jumble. Yorick Dane might say the two men were there to protect the humans, but what could an armed man do against a sink full of water that suddenly took the shape of a hand and choked a woman? You couldn’t shoot it. And taking potshots at any of the shifters . . . He’d seen the pictures of how the terra indigene responded when someone did that.
“I guess I should go out and take a look at those men.”
The station door flew open and Osgood ran in. “Sir! A couple of flatbed trucks hauling construction equipment are heading for The Jumble!”
“You need to stop them before any of that equipment touches the access road,” Ilya warned. “I told Dane yesterday that the access road wasn’t part of his property and he couldn’t do anything to it, or use it for anything but personal vehicles, without the terra indigene’s consent.”
“Could someone have given consent? Maybe someone who wasn’t actually authorized?” Didn’t seem likely, but it was possible Dane had dangled the right bait in front of a shifter and gotten an agreement, figuring if he worked fast, the deed would be done before anyone could object—if you ignored the fact that Elementals like Air and Earth would be aware of the transgressors the moment those humans set foot in The Jumble.
If this underhanded way of doing business was typical of Dane and his pals, it made sense they would need security—and need men who also belonged to their special club.
Grimshaw checked his service weapon and made sure he had a couple of extra clips. Then he headed for the door. “Osgood, you keep an eye on things in the village. I’ll be at The Jumble.”
“I’ll be in my office for a while if you should have need of counsel,” Ilya said.
Grimshaw ran to the cruiser, tossed his mobile phone on the passenger seat, and drove away, lights flashing and siren wailing. Probably should have waited on the siren. He hadn’t gotten past the village boundary when Julian called.
“Trouble?” Julian asked.
“Not if I can stop it.” He ended the call and focused on driving. But his mind circled around the timing of all of this.
First Dane showed up in Sproing and his friends showed up at The Jumble for a long weekend. By Sunsday, Vicki DeVine was evicted from the home and livelihood she had worked months to renovate. Two days later, two men in the security business arrived, swiftly followed by construction equipment, which must have been brought in from Hubbney since he doubted any construction company in Bristol or woo-woo Crystalton would have taken a job at The Jumble right now. Which meant Dane and his pals must have arranged for the arrival of men and equipment before they took possession of The Jumble.
He saw the flatbed trucks. They had to see him. But just as the first truck made the turn onto The Jumble’s access road—where did the fool think he could go?—Grimshaw saw one of the trees next to the access road fall.
“No,” he breathed. Dane had hired someone to cut down trees?
He reached for the cruiser’s mic, intending to call dispatch in Bristol and request backup for a potentially lethal situation. He didn’t know how many men were out there cutting trees. He didn’t know how many men were in the flatbed cabs. And he didn’t know if any of them were carrying.
He was almost on top of the second flatbed truck, so he pulled into the other lane to make sure the driver saw him. That’s when he spotted the horse and rider. He didn’t recognize the rider, but when he saw the red hair with the yellow and blue tips, he took his foot off the gas and tapped the brakes, wary of getting any closer.
One moment Grimshaw saw the horse and rider. Then next moment, he saw the tight funnel of a fire tornado heading right for the flatbed trucks at a horrific speed. He put the cruiser in reverse and stomped on the gas, praying to Mikhos that he could get far enough away before the tornado hit.
The concussion of tornado hitting flatbed trucks and the heavy equipment they carried, followed by the explosion of the gas tanks a moment later, lifted the cruiser off the pavement. Grimshaw held on to the steering wheel, as if he had some control while airborne.
The cruiser’s tires hit the pavement, and Grimshaw breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t felt any worse than going over a speed bump too fast. Before he could think to apply the brakes, the cruiser rolled to a stop.
He stared out the window. The trucks were burning. The trees were burning. And the fire tornado had vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.
Grabbing the mic, he called Osgood. “Call out the volunteer fire department. I need firefighters, EMTs, doctors. We’ve got a mess here.” He hesitated. “I need you too, Osgood. And Julian Farrow. And call the Bristol Police Station for backup. We need CIU, firefighters, cops— we need everything they can send. You escort Ms. DeVine to Ilya Sanguinati’s office, then you hightail it out here.”
“Yes, sir.” A pale sound, but Osgood would be there.
He pulled the cruiser onto the shoulder of the road and ran toward the burning vehicles, but the fire burned too hot for him to get close enough to determine if anyone had survived. He hoped not.
“Anyone out there?” he shouted. The crews in the flatbed trucks were gone, but the men who had been felling trees might have seen the funnel in time to run.
Sirens. A lot of sirens. Too soon for any help from Bristol, but they would be coming. Captain Hargreaves would see to that.
The volunteer firefighters arrived first with the fire truck and a water tanker, followed by the EMTs and Dr. Wallace. Officer Osgood and Julian Farrow brought up the rear. Osgood stumbled out of the passenger side of Julian’s car and stared at the fire, making Grimshaw wonder if a potentially good cop had seen too much too young.
Then Osgood shook his head as if to clear it and ran to where Grimshaw waited.
“Take the cruiser and go down the road,” Grimshaw said. “Block it off. I’ll have Julian block off the road at this end.”
“Yes, sir.” Osgood stared at the fire. “The Others are angry.”
Grimshaw nodded. “But not with us. Get going.”
As soon as Osgood headed for the cruiser, Grimshaw turned to Julian Farrow.
Julian said, “This morning Vicki and I met Fire, who calls himself Aiden. He was riding a horse named Twister.”
“Gods,” Grimshaw breathed. “How’s Vicki?”