4. Dev

Iwas beginning to understand that Ward's prickly exterior wasn't a front. He wasn't a porcupine on the outside to protect a warm and gushy interior. He was… Well. He was an asshole.

He never said please or thank you. Most often, his only response to a question was a grunt. He didn't make small talk, and, by the grunts I got, he clearly didn't appreciate me trying to make it. He didn't ask about the area as we drove back into Nipigon the next morning, and he didn't care that I took him to my favorite outfitter store, which happened to be run by one of the few people I considered a true friend. Ed was a genuinely nice guy, about ten years older than I was, and never seemed to be upset that he had to be nice to me when I spoke to him. I thought it was probably his nature to be nice anyway, so he didn't notice.

Once we were back in my truck, Ward decked out in proper winter gear, we headed to the spot where he'd tracked the firebug to the day before. He didn't activate his power, whatever it was, which was a good thing for his new thick winter parka. It would've been a shame to get it covered with blood so quickly. I still had no idea what had happened to Firefox's legendary powers, but he'd made it very clear yesterday that the topic was not open for discussion.

I supposed I could call April and get the lowdown, but did I truly want to do that? No, no I did not. For lots of reasons, not the least of which was that no one voluntarily called April without a damned good, legitimate reason.

I pulled up to the edge of the campground that had been abandoned for the season and put the truck into park. One of the few things that had gotten Ward to talk this morning was a discussion of our approach to this second step of our investigation. Though I'd suggested coming with backup the evening before, we'd both agreed we'd have a look first rather than get the local cops involved to start. With normals, there was too much potential for things to go sideways fast.

It was peaceful. I couldn't hear the silence over the truck's engine, of course, but I could sense it through the stillness of the pine trees and the soft, unmarked snow that had fallen overnight. Again. If there was one thing Nipigon didn't have a shortage of in January, it was snow. The sky was a light gray through the pine boughs, oddly bright and gloomy all at once. Next to the truck, there was a worn sign that read nipigon public campground with an addition hanging beneath it: closed for the season.

"About how far in is the actual campground?" Ward's voice was rough from disuse.

I thought back to the last time I'd been here—a couple of years ago, during some festival or something. "Like, the start of the campsites? About two hundred meters or so."

He leveled a flat look at me. "In real measurements."

"Meters is a real measurement."

"Not in my world." He turned back to the window. "Any buildings?"

"There's the welcome building around the corner with a small parking lot next to it—not that you'll see it with all this," I added, nodding at the snow. "I think there's a comfort station in with the sites. There might be a maintenance building somewhere, too, but don't quote me on that."

Ward nodded thoughtfully. "Best bet's the welcome building."

It was a sound idea, since it was closest to the park entrance. Depending on who our firebug was and where they came from, they might not have known that there were other, less conspicuous buildings they could have chosen for shelter. Their loss was our gain, I hoped.

"Okay. Let's go." Despite his words, Ward remained unmoving in his seat. He only looked at me when I turned off the truck. "What are you doing?"

"We're walking."

He glared. "This thing's got four-wheel drive, doesn't it?"

I laughed. "That's a good two, two-and-a-half feet of snow. Yeah, my truck's got four-wheel drive, but it's not a snowmobile." Pulling my toque down over my ears and slipping on my gloves, I popped open the door and jumped out.

The road we were on had been plowed up to this point, but the only thing indicating that there was another road leading into the campground was the lonely sign. I rounded to the front of the truck and waited for Ward, who looked more than a little uncomfortable in his gear. It was obvious he wasn't used to dressing like this, with giant boots that climbed halfway to his knees, thick, waterproof gloves, flannel-lined workpants, and a parka that would keep his core warm even if it got down to minus forty. He'd chosen a trapper hat with a bill and earflaps instead of a toque. I thought it was because he refused to call a toque anything but a beanie, which had made both me and Ed grimace.

A beanie was the weird hat from the cartoons with a propeller on top. I didn't know why Americans insisted on not using the perfectly good toque to describe knitted winter hat.

I led the way into the unblemished snow, vindicated when it indeed reached to my knees. This was going to be an arduous trek, but at least we didn't have too far to go. Glancing over my shoulder, I instructed, "Walk in my footsteps. I'll break the trail."

All I got in response was a grunt. I had to stop expecting anything else.

After a dozen steps, I paused to check on Ward. He was a few paces behind, muttering to himself. Not loud enough that I could make out the words, though. His brows were screwed together in concentration, his eyes on the snow.

When he glanced up and saw me stopped, his perpetual scowl deepened. "Keep going. I'm fine."

"What are you muttering about?" I ventured as I started—well, walking wasn't quite the right word. Maybe trudging.

"Nothing," he grumbled. Then, louder, "Why'd you use feet to describe the snow?"

"Huh?" It took me a second to parse out what he was asking. "Oh. I guess because it's not a long distance."

"That makes no sense. I thought Canada used metric for everything."

"Eh." I tilted my head back and forth. "Depends on the context. Throw me an example."

"Temperature."

"Outdoors or for cooking?"

"Outdoors."

"Celsius."

"And for cooking?"

"Fahrenheit. Oh, and that's how we measure water temp too. Like, in a pool."

"That's so dumb." A beat of silence. "Weight."

"Of a person?"

"Sure."

"Pounds." I grinned over my shoulder. "But if it's something much smaller, grams. Something much bigger, tonnes."

"Oh my god. This country is fucked up."

"How do you think we measure long distances?"

"You already said—metric."

I made a buzzer sound. "Wrong! Hours to drive there. As in, it's about thirteen and a half hours to Toronto from here."

"Jesus Christ. Okay, number one, that's a stupid method. Number two, that's a stupid number."

"Right? So it's roughly thirteen hundred kilometers to Toronto. Because, you know, the speed limit is a hundred kilometers per hour, so thirteen hours…" I waggled my brows. "There are some benefits to the metric system."

He grunted. "It would take me less time to drive from DC to Toronto. Hell, I could cross six states in that time."

"I know. Ontario is huge."

Another two dozen steps brought the welcome center into view. At first glance, it looked as abandoned as it should be. The window blinds were drawn and there were no lights on. There were also no footprints marring the pristine snow surrounding the building, nor any on the road. It made me wonder how long our firebug had been staying here—if they were here at all. They'd have to venture out to get food at some point, so there should be some signs of life. But there weren't.

I halted and Ward came up beside me with some more under-his-breath mutters. "What?" he demanded.

I nodded at the building. "No signs of life. You sure—"

"Yes, I'm sure," he snapped. "If there's one thing I can still do, it's track fire. And this is it."

Track fire? But…there was no fire here. None that I could see, anyway. So what, exactly, had Ward been tracking yesterday? I wanted more info, but his asshole nature made it difficult to ask. I hadn't realized how much I'd gotten used to people answering me nicely whenever I posed a question.

"They're here," he insisted. "So let's go." He took a step and promptly fell forward into the snow.

I bit back my laughter as he flailed, trying to get up but unable to find any purchase in the deep powder. I grabbed his elbow and hauled him up, then brushed off some of the snow that clung to his torso as he worked on clearing his face.

"Stupid Canada with its stupid snow. If I had even a speck of power left, I could've melted a path, but noooo. That would be too fuckin' easy." He glared at me, as if he only now realized I was close enough to hear him. "Are we going?"

"Maybe I'll lead, eh?"

"‘Eh?'" he mocked, and waved a hand for me to precede him.

He might be an asshole, but he was kinda cute with it. I stored away his comment about not having any power anymore to be examined later.

I trudged up to the welcome center, Ward trailing in my wake, and paused at the door. "Should we knock?" I murmured.

"Dear god." My focus was on the door in front of me, not Ward at my back, but I could imagine him rolling his eyes. "Sure. Let's knock. No doubt in this stupid country, even people on the run are too polite to ignore someone at their door."

Okay, he had a point. But unless we were going to break in—which I wasn't about to do if we didn't have to—what other option did we have? I took off a glove and rapped on the door. It was solid, no windows and no sidelights, so we couldn't peek inside. I waited a moment and knocked again, adding, "Hello? We know you're in there. We're not here to hurt you."

"That's what someone who's here to hurt me would say!"

My brows rose as I shared a surprised look with Ward. The voice had been young and high-pitched, though I couldn't tell if it belonged to a very young male or a teenaged female.

"Canadians." Ward grunted.

I shook my head at him, and thankfully he quieted. "I promise we're not here to hurt you. We only want to talk."

Silence.

"You might as well keep talking to us."

More silence. I glanced at Ward, and he motioned at me to keep going, even as he edged toward the corner of the building. The overhang had protected the perimeter from the worst of the snow, so he was able to slip around the side, out of sight, without trouble.

I wasn't keen on being separated, but I understood what he was doing—checking for other exits. Turning my attention back to the person inside the building, I continued, "My name is Devlin Sullivan. I work for SPAM." Quiet, which wasn't a good sign. Using the acronym usually got some reaction. "Hello?"

"Hey! Stop!" Ward shouted.

I tore around the side of the building to see Ward chasing a short figure through the snow. Or, more accurately, along a path devoid of snow that somehow appeared before the person as they moved. I supposed if they could set fire to a snow pile, melting snow to try to make a getaway on foot would be easy-peasy. I set off after them, at once thankful for the cleared snow and annoyed at it. Yeah, it made running way easier, but with my height, I would have had the advantage in the deep powder. As it was, the slight figure was pulling ahead of Ward, and I was a good fifty or so meters behind. My powers only worked face-to-face with someone, at a very short distance, with nothing between us. Shouting at them to stop wouldn't make them comply to be nice to me.

It was all up to Ward. By the loud "Fuck!" that floated back to me, he knew it too.

With another roar, wordless this time, he held up a flaming hand and whipped it forward, like he was throwing a baseball. A ball of fire flew through the air, landing in front of the fleeing person. They shouted and skidded to a stop.

At the same time, Ward collapsed.