Free Bound by Flame by Anna Windsor Page B

apartment like they were old friends, gabbling on to Cynda in her heavy brogue about something called treacle and the best brown bread she ever ate, and some abbey in Ireland, near where Cynda was raised. When they stepped out into the hall, though, the old woman didn’t shut the door.
    Instead, she stood looking expectantly at Cynda.
    What now? Nick gripped his notebook, watching both women.
    Cynda raised her right hand, thought for a moment, then said, “Walls for the wind, a roof for the rain, and drinks beside the fire.” She moved her hand, and a tight ring of fire sprouted on the outside of the woman’s door, etching a pattern that looked like three spirals contained in a larger circle, just above the little gold apartment numbers. “Laughter to cheer you, those you love near you, and all that your heart may desire.”
    Once more, Delilah reverted to a young child and actually clapped her hands. “Thank you, lady. I never thought to be blessed by one such as you. You’ve brightened an old woman’s life.”
    Cynda’s graceful tilt of her head was her only answer.
    Delilah made a little curtsy, like European women gave royalty. To Nick, she said, “Long travels to ya, cop.”
    “Long travels,” he repeated, then realized the old witch had insulted him by hoping he’d leave, that she wouldn’t see him, for a long, long time. His face went hot.
    Before he could take her to task, Delilah slipped back inside and shut the apartment door. The design in the wood over the apartment number still glowed a faint red.
    It gradually stopped smoking.
    Nick stared at Cynda.
    “It’s an Irish thing,” she said in low tones. “Older people know about fire Sibyls, and they treat us like fae, or nuns—well, more like priests, really. Druid style. It gets all mixed up in pagan rituals, saints and Catholicism.”
    Nick had no idea what to say to that.
    Cynda frowned and waved a hand. “Never mind. Look, she knew I was a Sibyl, and because of that, she put her life at risk to give us that information. That means I owe her certain things, like granting reasonable requests and offering protections. In turn, she’ll do whatever she can to help me in the future. That’s the way our world works, Nick. Rules. Just like cop-rules—only, lots older. You never know when old-school bargains might come in handy.”
    Nick gestured to the still-glowing design on the door. “And that?”
    “A Celtic symbol for birth, death, and infinity.” Cynda admired her handiwork. “It should keep away most minor demons and spells, but Captain Freeman should send a car over here. Downy might find out Delilah opened up to us, and I want her to have protection, at least for a while.”
    Nick glared for a second, then realized she was right and he swore. The whole time he was making the call to HQ on his cell, he had to say inner mantras to calm himself and back down a notch before his skin glowed any brighter.
    The amused look on Cynda’s face didn’t help one damned bit.
    As they headed back for the stairwell, Nick asked, “What you promised Delilah about Max—could you clue me in?”
    Cynda shrugged. “If Max needs to be shot, you’ll have to pull the trigger, not me. That’s all.”
    Nick stopped at the stairwell door, blood pounding in his temples. “That’s all ? You’re making ancient blood oaths or fire oaths or whatever the hell that was—about which perps you’ll defend yourself against and which ones you won’t—and that’s all ?”
    “Look, you’re the one who wanted to be my shadow,” Cynda snapped, shoulders smoking. “I only came because you made me. But—what? I was supposed to be demure and quiet while you played big bad cop? Sorry, I don’t work that way.”
    She started down the steps.
    Nick caught a whiff of smoke and glanced down at his boots.
    The laces glowed red and dropped to the stairwell in little burning bits. He stamped out the embers and glared at the retreating fire Sibyl.
    Swear to God, if I