Page 37 of The Flame Game

The cop took my phone and headed for my neighbor’s house.

“When did the fire start?”

“Two hours ago. I opted to wait to notify you until I couldn’t push it off, as I knew you were enjoying your honeymoon.”

“Appreciated. Can we go into the house through the back door to retrieve some things while you check the front as a crime scene?”

“We’ve done all our evidence gathering, so you can use your front door if you’d like.”

My husband regarded the charring on the brick and the melted frame around the door, and he sighed. “I wonder if it’ll open like that.”

“Dowry brought the spare key over and disabled the alarm for us so it’d stop squealing, so yes. It still opens. He left an hour ago.”

“The commissioner has a copy of our house key?” I asked.

“He has a copy of all the police chiefs’ keys. We’re targets, and it lets him investigate if something goes wrong.” Quinn wrinkled his nose, retrieved his phone from his pocket, and dialed a number. “Hey, Grandfather. Some asshole torched Bailey’s favorite roses. Are you willing to check if the bush can be saved? I’d rather my wife not start crying because her favorite rose bush can’t be saved today. Yes, we’re at our house, and yes, somebody really did try to torch it. The roses are the only real casualties.” Quinn hung up and returned his phone to his pocket.

A moment later, Sariel appeared, and for a headless being, he did an excellent job of clucking his tongue. “That was quite rude.”

“I know.” As the archangel might be able to save my precious roses, I trampled through the snow covering the yard, discovered the gasoline and fire had turned the sidewalk to ice, and landed on my ass. “Fuck.”

Quinn followed at a safer pace, kept his feet where it hadn’t been turned to ice, and hauled me to my feet, waiting until I caught my balance before brushing the snow off my clothes. “You all right?”

“If I had any pride, it would be destroyed and in need of CPR, but as I seem to embarrass myself daily, I appear to have emerged intact.”

“God, I love you so damned much.”

I stared at him with wide eyes.

“Try not to wrap your head around his adoration today, little granddaughter. You will give yourself a headache to go along with your chill.” Without any sign of there being ice on the sidewalk, the archangel crouched beside the roses, brushing away the charred ruins of the fabric Quinn had covered them with. “I can save these, my little grandson. Do go get some pots. You have some in your basement for your project, do you not?”

“Pots? What pots?” I asked. “What project?”

“I was hiding pots in the basement so I could plant some new roses for you. I’ll be right back. How many do I need to bring?”

“Hmm. Six,” the archangel replied. He pointed at one of the bushes, which hadn’t taken much damage. “That one should be covered, but it will recover without other intervention. The others will have to be put into pots for the winter and brought inside to be cared for. It could be transplanted as well, if you wish to keep all of your front rose bushes.”

“I’ll bring ten pots,” Quinn replied before skating to our front door. I giggled at the dance he did to stay on his feet while fighting with the keys, but unlike me, he made it inside without falling.

I counted bushes, frowning. “But there are sixteen bushes.”

“Six of those were planted when he was married to that other woman,” the archangel replied. “The ten were planted before his marriage to her, and the one you like best is among those. He wants to take those bushes with him because they’re special to him. The other six will look nice along the walkway as they are.”

“Okay. That’s fair. The bushes will be okay?”

“I will help them heal from the damage. I will face the scolding for inappropriately using my magic, I am certain.”

I reached for my phone, sighing when I realized I’d given it to a cop to see if my asshole father had tried to burn my house down. “I’d call my uncle and start shit because I can if I hadn’t given my phone to a cop.”

The archangel held out his hand, and a cell phone appeared. “Here. I would be burdened with guilt if I were to bar you from starting trouble.”

I accepted the phone, scrolled through the contacts until I found Lucifer’s number, and tapped on the screen.

“Stealing from Sariel now, are you?” the Devil answered.

“I am. Some asshole burned our rose bushes trying to burn down our house, and I wish to stir some shit. Who is better at making sure my precious roses don’t die? An archangel or the Devil?” Because hanging up tended to light fires under asses, especially under egotistical asses like the Devil’s, I did so and returned the phone to Sariel. “I’m a very bad niece. And granddaughter. I’m sorry.”

“You have done nothing wrong. You didn’t steal anything, as I gave you my phone willingly, and you did nothing more than issue a challenge. It is my fault I will play the game.”