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CHAPTER ONE

FLAME

The wildfire is fighting me hard. This is the worst part of my job: reining in my element. The deepest, most instinctive part of me rejoices in the flames and wants to set the world alight. But the sentient part of me, the part that is incarnated only when instinct is raging out of control, knows that balance is essential.

If the whole world burns, then eventually there will be nothing left, and even fire will die.

Balance. Fire plays its part in the well-being of the planet, just as my brother elements do. Just as life itself does. But when fire goes unchecked and balance is disturbed, everything is endangered.

This fire is taking too much. It’s burned too long and grown too powerful.

I don’t care about the houses and towns. I don’t even care about the humans caught in the path of the flames—not really. Saving individual lives and human possessions isn’t my job—that’s what they have their firefighters for. My ultimate job is the welfare of this planet, and my immediate job? To save humanity . If I—we—fail, humans will become extinct a whole lot sooner than they should. Because the ultimate goal remains the same, and if keeping this planet healthy means saying goodbye to another species, well… I’ll throw them a heck of a bon voyage party.

“Are we doing this, or are you just going to stare lovingly into the flames all day?” George demands impatiently, and I sigh. I brought him along because I had a feeling I’d need the help, and it’s easier for people to talk themselves into believing that a wildfire caused disruptions to dirt and rock than it is that rain just miraculously blew in out of nowhere. Plus, ever since Aqua got all loved up a few months back, he’s kind of a pain to deal with. Anytime he’s separated from River, he gets all mopey. Mopey-water-loving himbo means rain. A lot of rain. More than I’d need to help me get this fire under control.

The last thing any of us want to deal with right now is flash flooding.

So I brought George instead, which means asshole grump instead of mopey himbo. I love my brothers, but why am I the only normal one among us?

Well… normal-ish. I am still an incarnated element, which makes me an oddity compared to the billions of humans on the planet.

“We’re doing this,” I concede. I’ve been trying to discreetly hold this fire back for two days, to no avail. Now it’s time for drastic action.

Casually, trying not to look like we’re doing anything wrong—which we aren’t, but try explaining that to humans—we slip away from the crowd of onlookers being held back by police and drift toward a rocky outcropping that will give us a better view. Not that I need it—I can feel every ember in my bones—but when we work together, it’s easier if we can see what the other is doing. The sheer face of the outcropping discourages people from using it as a vantage point, but I’m with George: hand and footholds appear exactly where we need them.

Near the top, we find a shallow ledge and hug the rock to avoid being seen. It’s unlikely anyone will look up here with the fire consuming all their attention, but there’s no point tempting fate. I really don’t want to be arrested again.

“Are you ready?” I ask George.

He nods. “Hold it back.”

I push my will onto the flames, hemming them in, forcing them back on themselves, even as George disrupts the earth within the heart of the fire, smothering it from the inside. For a moment, it seems as though we might be making headway, and the shouts of the firefighters below reinforce that belief even as they redouble their efforts to control the blaze.

Then the fire pushes back, raging against our attempts to quell it, and I swear even as George growls in fury.

“Fuck this,” I mutter. “I’m going down there.” Discretion is all well and good, but there’s only so much I can do from the outside looking in. This fire has had enough—its time is done.

“Try not to let anyone see you this time,” George calls after me as I begin the downward climb. I’d flip him off, but unlike him, I need both hands to keep from falling. The ground doesn’t love me or try to ease the impact when I hit it.

Once my feet are safely back on solid earth, I circle to the north, trying not to be seen, moving over rough, uneven ground that would discourage humans, until I’m out of sight. Then I turn and run for the fire.

It welcomes me home.

My body may look human, may be human for all intents and purposes, but when it comes to fire, it’s not. The heat that would sear away all moisture feels like a soothing balm to me, and the flames that would crisp skin and flesh to ash are a delightful tickle. Finally, I am warm. Finally, I feel complete.

Strolling deeper into the inferno, I enjoy the wash of pleasure that comes from being immersed in my element. The falling trees are no hindrance, merely a distraction. I understand why Aqua goes into the ocean every day—if I could do this all the time, I would. The time apart from fire is torture of?—

The earth erupts ahead of me, bringing me back to reality. That’s George, not-so-subtly reminding me that I’m here to stop the fire, not encourage it. Damn him.

Reaching my arms out, I call the flames to me. At first they resist, but not for long—they can’t, not with me deep in their heart.

I am fire.

Slowly, the intensity of the inferno lessens. Here at the center, the flames rage on, the heat searing still, but as I draw the blaze into myself, I feel it losing its hold on the edges. Bit by bit, I pull it back, allowing the firefighters to regain control, until I have to stop or risk giving away the secret of my existence. Already, there are going to be news reports about the “miraculous stroke of luck.” But it’s enough; I can tell.

Sighing, a little sad, I give myself a few more minutes to bask before forcing myself to leave. If I stay, there’s too much chance of discovery—and it’s not easy to come up with a reason for being in the middle of a previously out-of-control wildfire. It would also mean being here when the last of the flames are snuffed out, and I hate that. Sure, this fire might have had more than its time, eaten up more than its share, but it still doesn’t feel good to sense the life being smothered out of it. The farther away I am, the better.

I go back the way I came, away from the firefighters, keeping an eye out for anyone who might see me. George meets me on the rocky, uneven, unhospitable ground where I turned toward the fire. Good. His presence will make the walk back to our car smoother—literally.

“Nice work,” he says. “After you pulled your head out of your ass.”

“Easy for you to criticize when your element is literally at your feet.” I gesture toward his bare feet. The flip-flops he usually wears to keep from attracting too much attention are in his hand, but away from prying eyes, there’s no way he’s not going to let his skin touch the earth. “How’d it look from out here? Too suspicious?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head as we begin making our way back to where the onlookers were gathered. “You really did do nice work—it just looked like the firefighters finally got a decent foothold. They’ll be at it for hours yet, but they’re definitely in control.”

“I know.” Even I can hear the despondency in my voice. George slings an arm around my shoulders.

“Cheer up. When we get back to the house, we can light the firepit out back. Let’s piss Aqua off by having a cookout for dinner.”

That does cheer me up. Aqua whines a lot about “charred meat not having enough moisture” and always wants to eat soup. Ugh. Soup is so fucking wet . And every time I light a fire, Zephyr wrinkles his nose and sighs, because the smoke disrupts his beloved air. Never mind that I was the one who suggested we buy a house at the beach, where Aqua can play in the ocean and Zephyr can listen to the sea breezes—they still complain about the teeniest fire. Next time we incarnate, we’re gonna live on the slope of a volcano. At least that way, when they complain, I’ll have comforting rivers of lava to drown them out with.

Not literally, though. I do love them.

“Sounds good. I like cooking with fire.”

George snorts. “Yeah, I know.”

As we get closer to the vacant lots at the end of a half-completed development that are currently functioning as a staging area for the fire crews and a parking area for nosy onlookers, George sighs and pauses to shuffle his feet back into his flip-flops. I look down at myself.

“Any stray embers?” I ask. I’m usually pretty good about hiding my inner flames, but sometimes, especially after I’ve been in the middle of a big fire, they get away from me.

“Turn,” George orders, and I do. “Nope, you’re good. Not even a singe mark.”

I scoff. “I should hope not.” There’s no scientific explanation for why my clothes don’t burn up when I walk into a fire, but they don’t. It would be inconvenient, so I just… circumvent that. It’s been driving River, the newest member of our group and a scientist—even if it is marine biology—crazy. He keeps coming up with these whacked-out theories and then disproving them even as he says them out loud.

Fun to watch.

We rejoin the thinning group of bystanders—people lose interest when it’s less life-endangering—just as some of the firefighters rotate in for a water break.

George nudges me. “Isn’t that your fireman?” he murmurs.

“I don’t have a fireman,” I reply, but I don’t have to look to know who he means.

I look anyway. It’s impossible not to.

“My” fireman, as George and the others call him, would be the perfect human… if he didn’t spend his life putting out fires. Even covered in soot and sweat, he’s gorgeous, and his air of assurance and command is something that’s drawn my eye since the first time I saw him nine years ago. That was at a wildfire in Idaho that was so out of control, personnel from other states were sent to assist. It was right before Aqua incarnated, and the guys don’t know this, but “my” fireman is the reason we live here. I still don’t know his name—I’ve forcibly stopped myself from finding out—but I could see where he was from based on his gear and truck, and I convinced my brothers that Southern California was the best place for us to be solely so I could see him some more.

Aether calls me a stalker, and the others don’t know how accurate that is.

To be fair, though, this really is one of the better places in the world for us. It’s on a fault line for George, by the ocean for Aqua, gets plenty of fire action for me, and is reasonably central for all Zeph’s windy needs.

“Pretty sure you do, and that’s him,” George insists, and I look away before he can accuse me of staring or leering or something. “Uh-oh, he’s looking this way.”

I deliberately don’t turn my head to see. “We should go.”

“Because last time he saw you, he told his captain you might be an arsonist? Yeah, we should go.” George snorts as we head for the car.

I don’t bother to tell him that I’ve seen “my” fireman since that time. There’s no proof I’ve started any fires, of course, so he got told to keep his accusations to himself, but there’s no point feeding his suspicions.