Oddly enough, it was his words that freed her from his fascination, and confirmed what she had deduced about him before the quake. He cared no more for her than for these poor people. She was nothing more than a tool to him, to be used to destroy Jason, and then discarded. "Interesting that you should say that, Master Beltaire," she replied, just as coolly, "since you met me less than twenty-four hours ago, and spoke to me for scarcely more than an hour of time. I would hardly call us anything other than strangers. Surely even you would not pretend to a closer acquaintance than that!"
All this time she had been edging away, attempting to put as much distance between herself and the frantic rescue-work going on as possible. If Beltaire erupted into violence, she did not want to involve innocents—
Now I'm beginning to sound like Jason....
He started, looked oddly shocked for a moment, then composed himself He laughed, and held out a hand to her. "Oh, really, Miss Hawkins. Do be sensible. You are hardly going to equate yourself with these—"
"Less than a year ago I was living in a boarding-house exactly like this, with people exactly like this, and looking forward—if it can be termed that—to a career very similar to theirs," she replied, her own tone icy cold now. She stumbled a little over some rubble and fell, but picked herself up and continued backing away. But the fall had been deliberate, and in her hand, hidden by her skirt, was a nice-sized chunk of brick from a chimney. "I think perhaps you had better leave me alone, Master Beltaire. I would rather take my chances beside Jason Cameron than with you. I have the feeling that I would be much, much safer."
It took him a moment to digest her words—then his face twisted into a snarl that absolutely transformed him. Now she saw what really lurked beneath the urbane mask.
She did not wait for him to lunge for her. She threw the brick at his face, turned, and ran.
Smoke had begun to billow in thick curtains through the streets; there were the signs that there were fires everywhere, and she hoped to use the smoke to hide her. She should have known better than to think that would help against a Firemaster.
She had run about fifty paces when he appeared before her, looming out of the smoke, his handsome face disfigured by a broken and bleeding nose. Somehow he had outflanked her! She tried to turn to run from him, but he grabbed her by the arm and swung her towards him before she had a chance to use the tactic that had worked with du Mond. His strength was enormous, and she felt like a rag in his hands.
He delivered a closed-fist, backhanded blow to her face that drove her to the ground and sent her glasses spinning away. The pain in her jaw was incredible, and he came very near to knocking her senseless. She fought for consciousness and held it, as her knees hit the ground with force enough to bruise and cut. Now all but blind, she could only try to scramble away on hands and knees, devastated by her sense of sudden helplessness. He strode over to her and grabbed her again, trying to haul her to her feet as her head spun. Now, though, she could use what had worked against du Mond; she went limp and kicked out at his legs.
But he was quicker and stronger than du Mond. With an audible snarl, he snatched her up, then hurled her full strength against the wreckage of a building, knocking the wind out of her. She fell to the ground, trying desperately to get her breath, and he strode towards her, an angry black shape against the billowing smoke.
"You little hellcat!" he howled. "Du Mond was right! You listen to me, you worthless bitch! You either help me, or I'll beat you to death with my own two hands, right here in the—"
"Get away from her, Beltaire!"
The voice sent thrills down her back, but they were chills of fear rather than of joy "Jason!" she screamed, jaw turning redhot with pain, turning blindly towards the sound of the voice. "Don't! Leave me! He's only using me as a trap to get you!"
"I'm perfectly well aware of that, Rose." She couldn't make out anything clearly, but Jason Cameron was not alone. There was a large, fiery mass beside him and several small golden masses levitating all about him. The Salamanders—and what else?
"You come armed, I see." Beltaire was all coolness now—but he was also close enough to Rose that he could, if he chose, reach her before Jason could stop him. "A Firemare? You changed one of your Salamanders to a Firemare? Jason, that must have cost you dearly. Too dearly, perhaps—"
"Turn around and leave, and this doesn't have to be a confrontation, Beltaire," Jason rasped. "I've already taken du Mond out of the picture. You don't have an Apprentice to feed off of, now."
Beltaire chuckled. "The better to deal with you. Killing du Mond must have cost you as much as Summoning the Firemare. Is that what brought your little wilted flower running into the city? I had hoped he would initiate some decisive action."
He took a step nearer Rose; without her glasses, she couldn't see to evade him. Between the smoke and her near-sightedness, she couldn't tell which way was safe to run, and which strewn with obstacles for her to stumble over.
"Now, here's a quandary, Jason," he continued in dulcet tones. "If you give in to that rage that's building inside you, you'll lose the Firemare and your Salamanders, and you'll cement yourself for all time into that rather unpleasant form you're in now, but you might reach me and kill me—very messily too before I kill your little scholar." He took another step. "If you don't, I might kill you or her, or both. In fact, I probably will."
Rose shut her eyes and held her breath. She sensed Jason struggling against the terrible anger within him. "You're bluffing," he snarled, as Beltaire took another step.
"Oh no, I'm not. One of the reasons I went home last night was to obtain this little manuscript." She heard the rustle of stiff, old parchment as he handled it. He cleared his throat ostentatiously.
Keep talking, you cad, she thought, striving to weave her mind into a particular path without all the chanting and gesturing she was used to and fighting past a hundred pains that threatened to distract her fatally. Give me more time!
"Now it says here, quite clearly I might add, that each time you invoke a killing rage and shed blood, you make the man-wolf form more your own. The fiercer the rage, the more certain the binding." He chuckled. "In fact, according to this, if the blood you shed is human, you might have driven the nails into your own coffin, so to speak. It's possible that not even the little Magicks described here could get you back to your fully human form."
She heard the scrape of claws on cement, but Jason said nothing.
"So, what's it to be, Cameron?" Beltaire asked tauntingly. "Turn tail and slink away, and let me beat your bitch until she submits to me or dies? Meet me Firemaster to Firemaster, knowing that I'm stronger than you, and try to save her as well as take this manuscript away from me? Or attack me with your rage and your bare hands?" He laughed. "You must know that the third option is the only one where you have a chance of winning both her life and your own. You might even get the manuscript."
She heard Jason's growl—but now she was ready. Her eyes flew open—not that she could see much and she spread her arms wide, calling on the Magick of Air within herself, spending it recklessly into the Realm of Air, leaving herself exhausted. She was not ready for this—but perhaps the fact that her Pact had not involved coercion meant that she would be able to Call not just her own Sylph, but one or two others, if she offered them enough of her energy.
And in that same instant, with a rush of wings, not one or two, but an army of Sylphs answered her Call. They hovered about her like so many angry wasps, buzzing in fury she didn't understand.