Up in Flames: Guardians, Inc: Witch Hollow, #2

By Esther Mitchell

A mysterious serial arsonist has been setting fires over the Witch Hollow area for months, and when a charred body turns up at the most recent arson scene, Faith and Jonathan are called to the scene. While Faith begins the process of identifying the victim and determining cause of death, Jonathan suspects the danger runs deeper than either of them could have predicted. As the number of fires, and the body count, grows, the partners will have to ask themselves what's most important -- bringing down a killer, or finding the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: FyrRose Productions
• Release date: Oct 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781955301077

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Guardians, Inc: Witch Hollow

Book Two

Up In Flames

By

Esther Mitchell

This work copyright 2016 by Esther Mitchell

Guardians, Inc: Witch Hollow

Book One: Sight Unseen

Book Two: Up In Flames

COMING SOON

Book Three: Nick of Time

Other Books By Esther Mitchell

PROJECT PROMETHEUS

Book One: In Her Name

COMING SOON

Book Two: Hope of Heaven

Book Three: Shadow Walker

Book Four: Blood Debt

Book Five: Between Worlds

HANOVER INVESTIGATIONS

Book One: Burden of Proof

COMING SOON

Book Two: Silent Night

LEGENDS OF TIRUM

COMING SOON

Book One: Daughter of Ashes

Book Two: Phoenix Rising

Book Three: Spirit Mage

Book Four: Mistress of Cats

Book Five: Sister of Dragons

Book Six: Child of Fallen Waters

Book Seven: Storm Singer

UNDERGROUND

Book One: Tamia

Book Two: Mind Killer

Book Three: Terminal Hunter

Book Four: Hero's Hope

Book Five: Vengeful Heart

COMING SOON

Book Six: Deadly Designs

FyrRose Productions.

637 S. Cynthia Avenue

Tucson AZ 85710

http://www.esthermitchell.com

Copyright © 2016 by Esther Mitchell

ISBN: 9781729475478

Published in the United States of America

Publication Date: November 1, 2018

Editor: Gail R. Delaney

Cover Artist: Jenifer Ranieri

Cover Art Copyright by FyrRose Productions © 2018

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.

Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

Dedication and Acknowledgment

To my long-suffering editor, Gail Delaney, for putting up with this neurotic author in the midst of my writing process.

To my soulmate and love of my life. As always, my love, this is for you.

To the Pittsburgh Fire Bureau's public relations staff, for answering a million questions they probably wouldn't have answered if I didn't live on the other side of the country -- you and the men and women who serve in the PFB are true heroes. Stay safe out there.

And to my cover artist, Jenifer Ranieri, who forded the trenches with me to get this series' artwork hammered out -- It was a battle, but we got there!

Chapter One

Haitsburg, Pennsylvania

May 15, 2014 -- 2:45 AM

The blare of sirens jerked Doctor Faith MacKenzie from sleep. Through sleep-blurred eyes, she watched the whirl of colored lights dance across her bedroom wall and disappear, then closed her eyes again. She needed her sleep. Since the Bunker Forensic Laboratory joined forces with the FBI a month ago, on a case so strange it left her questioning her own reality, her sleep was sporadic at best. More often than not, memories of events she still couldn't reconcile tore any chance of sleep from her, leaving her in her studio at all hours, trying to forget the images of an obsidian knife biting through flesh, and blood covering her hands, clothes, and the floor of her lab.

She touched her fingers to her throat, aware the soreness lingering there was little more than memory, even if the yellowing bruises were not. Faith shuddered. She often woke unable to breathe, with the phantom sensation of hard fingers digging into her throat, or the impossible pressure of a hand as cold as the grave wrapped around her heart.

If only those were the worst of her recent memories, she might be able to ignore them. After all, Rene Haley was dead, the case closed. However, for the past week, the memory of a brutal dismemberment case they just wrapped up four days ago plagued her sleep. She still couldn't say for sure what caused some of the marks on that body, regardless of her new partner's assurance they had enough evidence for a conviction.

She started to drift back to sleep, only to be jolted awake again by the shrill tone of her cell phone, on the nightstand beside her bed. Fumbling for the device, she punched accept without looking and put the unit to her ear as she fell back against the pillows with a muttered, This had better be good.

Special Agent Jonathan Caulder's wry chuckle filled her ear. Good morning to you, too. I don't suppose you heard the sirens screaming through town.

She refused to open her eyes. He would go away, if she just pretended he wasn't there. Then, with a sigh, she realized he was waiting for an answer. Mmm. And if I was a firefighter, I might be concerned.

C'mon, Mac. Batter up -- we have a dead body.

She swung her legs out of bed, and groaned as she sat up. No way can they know that yet. I doubt the flames are even out. Besides, what can't wait until a decent hour? And what's this 'we'? Since when are fire-related deaths considered an FBI matter?

Since a scorched body ran out of a burning building, screaming about demons.

Ice plunged through Faith, and she groaned again, in disbelief. Not again. Demons.

Yup. Up and at 'em, Mac. Wetherly already signed over jurisdiction. Meet you at the crime scene -- I'll text you the address.

Before she could protest that bodies neither ran nor screamed, he hung up, and her phone beeped, indicating an incoming text. Glancing down at her phone, she pressed open and her eyes widened at the address showing on her phone's screen. That couldn't be right!

The address Jonathan sent her was for the Harwick Textile Plant. The mill -- originally built two years before the Civil War -- went out of operation in the 1920s, but the Witch Hollow Historical Society maintained it as part of their local Colonial & Civil War tour.

There shouldn't be anyone there in the middle of the night.

Scrambling out of bed, Faith changed into jeans and a mock turtleneck to cover the yellow-brown bruises on her neck, then hurried downstairs, pulled on hiking boots and jacket, grabbed her keys and crime scene kit, checked all the doors and windows, and left the house. Locking the front door, she glanced warily down the street, and breathed a sigh of relief to see the Camaro wasn't there.

At least she didn't have to worry about a tail this morning.

Putting her crime scene kit in the trunk, she climbed into her car, and pulled out into the street, flipping on her grille lights as she headed for Fallside Drive, and the textile mill.

Less than five minutes later, Faith flashed her Bunker credentials, denoting her as Witch Hollow's coroner, at the uniformed officer standing the perimeter and ducked under the crime scene tape surrounding the smoldering remains of the old Harwick Textile Plant. Another landmark gone. Nostalgic sadness washed through her.

There you are. Jonathan materialized at her side, startling her with his sudden appearance. Body's over here.

I still don't see how this is an FBI matter, Caulder, she protested as she let him lead her toward the sheet-covered body on the ambulance gurney.

Humor me, Mac. Do you really think I'd ask you to come out here in the middle of the night without a good reason?

She cast him a wry glance. Sometimes I think you manufacture bizarre connections with the express purpose of dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night.

He tossed her a teasing grin, the flashing emergency lights illuminating the scars on his face and making him look more like a pirate. Busted. I just adore your rumpled bed head and sunny disposition at three in the morning.

A throat cleared near them, and they both glanced toward Jared Henshaw, the EMT standing on the other side of the body. She caught the tremble of his lips, and knew he was fighting back a grin. It was Caulder's fault. Faith cast Jonathan a warning glare, then nodded to Jared.

Morning, Jared. She lifted away the top edge of the sheet, and studied the charred remains of a woman's face. Her brow furrowed at the sweet-pungent smell mingling with the scent of death and charred flesh. She glanced up at Jared. Might as well take the body straight to the Bunker, Jared. Looks like it's going to be a long day.

Faith dug her cell phone out of her jacket pocket to call Mark. She could count on him to be waiting to sign off on the body arrival, and to have Autopsy prepped for her.

Jonathan touched her shoulder, drawing her attention. I'm going to go talk to the firefighters. Maybe one of them noticed something.

She nodded, an uneasy sense of déjà vu tugging at her as she watched him cross the hose and equipment strewn lawn of the textile plant. She wanted to deny it, but the eerie memory of this exact scene convinced her she dreamed this sequence of events, before. Which was impossible.

Heard you got a new partner, Doc. The sound of Jared's voice yanked her attention back to the EMT as he zipped up the body bag. She stared blankly at him, until he nodded toward Jonathan's retreating back. How long you two been together?

Faith blinked at him, her cell phone still stalled halfway to her ear. Together?

Jared glanced toward Jonathan, again, and frowned in confusion. Y'all aren't a couple? I could have sworn, by the way you were teasing...

Faith suppressed her urge to groan. The last thing she needed was for firehouse gossip to put her and Jonathan in a sexual relationship that didn't exist. No. We're just partners.

Yes, ma'am, the dark-haired EMT agreed with a wink and a nod, and Faith left him to his task of transporting the body. She moved away as she dialed a number and lifted her cell phone to her ear in time to hear Doctor Mark Trebach pick up the line.

Trace Evidence. Trebach.

A wry smile tugged at Faith's lips at the way he answered his cell phone. If anyone at the Bunker pulled more hours than she did, it was Mark.

Didn't go home again last night, huh?

Actually, I just got in, he replied evenly. I heard the sirens, and figured I'd best get the lab ready, just in case. Seems I was right.

Her smile broke free. Her friendship with Mark was so easy. They understood one another, without any awkwardness or discomfort. A twist of pain went through her chest. Why couldn't her relationship with her new partner be so easy? She hoped it was just the newness of it -- the adjustment of having a partner, when she'd never had one before -- giving her the jumpy feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever Caulder was around.

Yeah, she answered Mark, pushing aside her troubled feelings about Jonathan Caulder. You were right. Can you prep Autopsy for incoming remains?

Need me to come pick up the body?

Faith glanced toward where Jared was finishing loading the body. No. EMS was on scene. They're transporting direct to the Bunker. I just need Autopsy prepped and you to get your trace sweep done before I get there.

Consider it done.

Nothing more needed to be said. Faith thanked Mark and ended the call, then turned to look for the man who occupied her thoughts just moments ago. Her heart gave a little stutter when she found him, standing with several firefighters near one end of the pumper trucks.

She swallowed, pushing aside all the assumptions people kept making about their relationship. As if she had the time or inclination to get involved with someone like Jonathan Caulder!

It wasn't that he wasn't attractive. The man practically oozed sex appeal. There wasn't any denying he was good-looking. Hell, a dead woman couldn't argue with his appeal.

He was tall, lean, and strong both physically and emotionally. He'd certainly been her rock through the most difficult moments of the Haley case. His face bore scars she imagined had something to do with his sister's death, though he never talked about the thin marks on the right side of his jaw and temple. Those scars gave his features a hard edge, tempered by the sadness and tenderness she often found in his storm-cloud grey eyes.

Faith blinked against an unwelcome sting in her eyes. No, there was nothing physically off-putting about Jonathan. If only his ridiculous devotion to the existence of the so-called paranormal wasn't anathema to everything she knew, beyond all doubt, to be scientifically possible.

Then, maybe, she wouldn't feel so guilty about her urge to tangle her fingers in his collar-length, light brown hair and soak in the warm, earthy scent of him until her world felt completely right again.

If only...

Faith blinked back to her surroundings, flushing as she realized her hands were clenched in shaking fists and she'd been standing in the same spot so long, she was starting to draw strange looks from first responders.

Not from Jonathan, though. He was still talking to the firefighters.

With an indrawn breath, Faith wandered toward the building, her flashlight's beam dancing over the ground, littered with charred remnants of building and scattered with ash.

It troubled her to know someone was in the building when the fire started. The old textile mill didn't have any night security -- there was nothing in there worth stealing, and there were plenty of other places for kids to hang out less likely to attract attention than an old mill practically right across the street from Haitsburg's busiest -- and only -- resort-style hotel. What was the decedent doing in the mill at night, and who started the fire that killed her? Was she the arsonist, caught in the destruction of her own making? It wasn't unheard of. A number of would-be arsonists miscalculated the accelerants or structural integrity of their first fires, and ended up burning themselves to a crisp in the process.

Problem was, the victim was a woman, and arson was an overwhelmingly male-perpetrated crime. There were only a handful of female arsonists recorded, most of whom were deranged, setting fire to their own homes and families out of some misguided attempt to either save their families or punish them for some perceived wrongdoing.

Faith frowned up at the smoldering structure. This wasn't someone's home, and so far the only person in the building was the victim. And since the Historical Society owned the mill, and it had little value beyond its historical significance, there was no profit motive immediately apparent, either.

Looking for something?

She jumped at the sound of a male voice just behind her, then calmed when she realized it was Jonathan. Hand to her chest, as if to still her rapidly pounding heart, she whirled toward him. "Don't do that!"

He frowned, his expression concerned. Damn. I forgot. Sorry, Mac.

With the weirdness of the Haley case still so fresh, and the existence of an unknown stalker in her life, she kept jumping at every sudden noise. She hated the reaction. Hopefully, it would go away soon.

For now, she released her breath, nodded, and turned back toward the building. I'm just trying to understand what happened here, and why. It doesn't make any sense.

I'm not sure it's supposed to, Mac. At least, not to anyone except whoever set the fire and murdered that woman.

She frowned. We haven't proven murder yet. Don't jump to conclusions.

He made a small, humming sound, as if he thought she might be crazy to not assume it was murder. Her frown deepened, knowing this was going to be one of many stumbling blocks in their partnership. He was, in many ways, impulsive and intuitive, jumping to wild paranormal theories and fairy tales, while she relied on facts and evidence to reach her conclusions. No doubt, they'd continue to butt heads on that one for however long their partnership lasted. And then there was his obsession with demons, and...

Wait. She turned toward him. You said the victim ran out of the building screaming about demons.

He eyed her warily, before allowing, Yes. And I get it, Mac. You don't believe in demons.

"No, but what if our victim did?"

You lost me.

If she suffered from some kind of delusions, some mental illness that made her hallucinate the existence of demons, maybe she thought she saw a demon, and set fire to the mill on her own, thinking she was killing the demon. That would explain why she was in the mill in the middle of the night, and how the fire got started.

He shook his head. People who believe in demons don't typically believe fire will kill them. Wouldn't it have been more likely for her to douse the place in holy water?

Her delusion doesn't have to make sense to us, Caulder. It only had to make sense to her. She turned back to sweeping the ground with her flashlight beam.

What are you looking for?

Evidence of an incendiary device. Could be as simple as a lighter or a candle, or even a book of matches. She wasn't holding anything, which means she dropped it, somewhere. If I can find the source, it will help either prove or disprove my theory.

Maybe it's a case of spontaneous human combustion.

She whipped around in disbelief and disgust. God, he better just be joking!

Please tell me you don't really believe that.

Jonathan watched Mac's sapphire blue eyes narrow, and sighed. They weren't really going to keep playing this game, were they?

Of course not, Mac. That was a joke. But this scene isn't like the others Joyce has been investigating since March. We have a pattern of similar fires, with no obvious source for the fire. And now we have a body. This is a totally different M.O. And what's with the perfume smell?

She shot him a hard stare. "Spontaneous human combustion is a myth, Jonathan. It's physically impossible for the human body to catch fire without some kind of ignition source. I'll concede to the possibility of a wicking effect in some cases, but in this case, there's got to be an ignition source around here we're currently missing."

She turned to survey the entire scene again, and sniffed the air. Her nose wrinkled. I don't smell any obvious accelerants, like gasoline, but I'll leave the cause of the fire to Joyce.

As she turned her head, he caught sight of the reason for her mock turtleneck, instead of the normal tee shirts she tended to wear to crime scenes, and concern tugged at him. Mac kept assuring him she was okay ever since Haliatus was taken down, but her jumpiness and that turtleneck told a different story.

Reaching out, he eased down the neck of her mock turtleneck with one finger, and frowned at the yellow-brown marks on her throat. Mac flinched at the touch, but the motion was so subtle, he knew she didn't want him to see it. Anger and worry shot through him as he recalled how she got those marks. Too bad Haliatus was dead. He'd like to kill the old monster himself, for hurting her.

They still haven't gone away? Does your throat still hurt, too?

She moved away from his touch, her expression uncomfortable enough to tell him his touch, not the bruises, bothered her. He frowned, watching her punch a speed dial number on her cell phone and lift it to her ear. Less than I imagine your shoulder does. Should you even be back on the job yet?

Mac--

She frowned at him, and held up one hand to forestall his argument -- the same one they'd been having since he was released from the hospital -- while she spoke on the phone. Hey, Linda. I need you to come out here to Harwick Textile. Yeah, we've got a nasty fire scene. I need you to sketch it, while I take photos and measurements. We have to move quickly, so we can get evidence out before it gets any more compromised.

Faith smiled at whatever Linda said, then, Great. See you, soon.

She put away her phone, and turned toward him again. What did you find out from the firefighters?

He resisted the urge to sigh. She was doing it again. It didn't take a genius of Mac's caliber to figure out she was avoiding the trauma she went through at Haliatus' hands. He only hoped he was around when she could no longer avoid it. She would need his help then. If only he was confident she would ask for it when the time came.

For now, he could only follow her lead. I didn't get much from the firefighters. I'm guessing Joyce will have more luck getting them to talk to her. From what I could gather, they consider it a freak fire, and they're not interested in being questioned about their actions while the fire was burning.

Keep trying. See if you can find whoever's in charge and get us clearance to do a walkthrough of the scene once they're sure it's safe, and--

Mac. He laid a hand on her shoulder, stalling her mid-ramble, and suppressed a grim smile.  Clearly, they needed to have a discussion about his experience -- she was treating him like a rookie with no training at all -- but that discussion would have to wait. For now, he gave her shoulder a light squeeze. This isn't my first fire scene. Trust me, okay?

Her expression was an open book to the war going on inside her over just that conundrum. It failed to comfort Jonathan.

I'm going to go see if I can figure out who's in charge of this scene. I promise I'm not as incompetent as I look.

Her attention snapped to his face with a gasp. Jonathan--

He didn't stick around to hear her apology. He didn't want her apologizing to him. He wanted her trust, and her respect, not her pity or apologies. And the only way to get what he wanted was to prove she could trust him.

Chapter Two

Faith stared after Jonathan for a long moment, blinking as she tried to gauge her new partner. It wasn't an easy thing to do. He kept far too much of his thoughts to himself. Most of the time, she thought they might be friends. Other times, she wasn't even sure he wanted to be her partner.

Shaking off the confusing conversation they'd just had, Faith turned her attention back to the scene in front of her. Thankfully, she had her work to focus on, so she didn't have to think about her complicated partnership with Jonathan Caulder.

Returning to her car, she retrieved her measure sticks -- two-foot long wooden bars black and white striped segments and numbers -- from her crime scene kit. Opening her camera case, she set up her camera for the low light and smoky conditions with the quick efficiency of familiarity.

She froze as an eerie sense of eyes on her crawled over her skin, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck and sending a flash of dread she couldn't explain straight through her. She risked a glance over her shoulder, but saw nothing.

With a disgusted shake of her head, she turned back to prepping her camera.

Leave the weirdness to Caulder, she admonished herself in a mutter. "You have real work to do."

With that, she looped the camera strap over her neck and headed back inside the taped-off perimeter, toward the scorched ground where the body was recovered.

Fifteen minutes later, she glanced up from her methodical photographing of the location to see Joyce Lindon -- the Bunker's arson investigator -- striding across the burned and wilted grass toward her. Joyce was dressed in full turnout gear, with her long hair tied up in a messy bun and enough grime and sweat on her face to indicate she probably had a hand in putting out the fire.

You're supposed to investigate fires, not fight them, these days, Faith reminded her once the redhead was near enough to hear her over the engines and sounds of men with fire axes steadily chopping down the remains of smoldering wood, looking for any possible flare locations.

What can I say? Old habits die hard, Joyce quipped back, unfastening her turnout coat as she stopped next to where Faith crouched, laying out measuring sticks to photograph the charred patch of grass where the victim expired. Hell of a wake-up call, this morning, wasn't it? Sirens bring you out?

Faith shook her head, lifting the camera to frame a shot. Caulder did. He called me shortly after the engines went through.

Really? Something about the tone of Joyce's voice caught Faith's attention. She lowered the camera, and saw the intrigued smile on her friend's face. Joyce waggled her eyebrows. "Now there's a great way to wake up. He can be my alarm clock anytime. Though, something tells me he'd