Her Photographer Phoenix_A Paranormal Romance Page 2

  Of Ellis and her eight siblings, Abigail was the only one of them that had gone to boarding school, and then only because she had asked. According to Bea and Connie, Abigail had read too many of those jolly boarding school stories from the turn of the century. She had gotten it into her head that it would be fun.

  Ellis had her doubts about that too, especially since she had interacted with all of Abigail’s children, both before and after their first year away at boarding school.

  At twenty-one, Abigail’s oldest set of triplets were an odd mix of sometimes obnoxious self-assurance and naiveté that Ellis blamed on their having grown up in various boarding schools. Ellis certainly didn’t remember being that way at their age.

  Carlena Brandt, the eldest of the three, hadn’t been able to make the trip this year. She had volunteered to come with Ellis three years ago, though, and had loved every minute of it, despite being initially unprepared for everything. After that summer, Ellis and Carlie had been fast friends. And after Carlie, Ellis had reevaluated and revised the materials that she gave to volunteers, especially the packing list.

  But of any of Abigail’s children, Carlena was the most like Ellis. Dafina and Everett Brandt were very, very different creatures – both in terms of interests and temperaments – and Ellis had been frankly surprised that they wished to come see this place that she loved and help with her research. She had been downright shocked that they had roped so many of their old boarding school friends into coming with them.

  Ellis wasn’t, however, surprised that they had so many devoted friends. Dafina was fun and sometimes funny, even if she was one of the most wildly competitive people that Ellis had ever met. Everett was easy going and good-tempered, if sad. And growing up, they had definitely seen more of these people that they had boarded with than they had their own families, Ellis included.

  Ellis wasn’t as close to Everett or Dafina as she would have liked to have been, but watching him that night, she thought that Everett was in better spirits than he had been in a long time. As Ellis watched, a laughing Everett bumped Cameron with his shoulder.

  Cameron Brandt and his twin, Donovan Brandt, were cousins from the other side of Everett’s family, and they too had been packed off to boarding school at the ripe old age of ten years old. Like Everett and Dafina, had volunteered to come on this journey and help with Ellis’ research for no pay. And they were also fire dragons, just like Everett, Dafina, and Carlena.

  That there were four fire dragons in her group this year was incredibly handy. Firebirds seemed to prefer fire dragons, even though fire dragons were resistant to their flames. Or perhaps that was part of the appeal.

  Clustered near the four Brandts were three other boarding school alumni. From what Ellis understood, Landon had been in the same year as Everett, while Talman had been a couple of years behind them at school with Cameron and Donovan. Parker had apparently been Dafina and Carlena’s best friend since their first week at school.

  And then there were Emilio, Kris, and Marissa, the only other members of the group besides Ellis herself who were getting paid actual money to be there.

  Emilio was a recently retired army ranger turned graduate student, Kris was a yoga instructor at a studio downtown, and Marissa did calligraphy on commission.

  Looking at all of their happy faces around the campfire, Ellis knew that it was going to be a good year. She had a good group that seemed to like each other. Hopefully, they would work well together too.

  The others were still talking and laughing when Ellis slipped away from the fire to go change into her swimsuit.

  Ellis was a storm dragon and while cold and wet didn’t particularly bother her, unrelenting heat was a misery. Part of the reason that the camp was located where it was was so that she – and all the grad students and volunteers that she had brought out here over the years – could take advantage of the cold, clean water bubbling out of the rocks.

  At the first touch of cold water against her skin, Ellis hissed between her teeth. Gratefully, she waded into the pool of water, settling on top of a long and smooth stone. Tiny fish came to investigate the new thing in their pool, and soon their little mouths were nibbling at her fingers and toes.

  Happy, Ellis closed her eyes and sank down until the tip of her chin touched the water.

  Gradually, the sounds of merriment died down behind her as one by one or in pairs, her companions retired to their tents. Ellis chose to stay in the water awhile longer.

  In fact, she stayed in the water until she was deliciously chilled. Then she clambered to her feet, tapped out her shoes, and jammed her feet into them. Quietly, she meandered back to her own tent.

  It was the work of minutes to prepare for bed, and Ellis was still feeling cool and happy with her world when she finally drifted off to sleep.

  The next morning, while the research team worked together to pitch the large tent in which she would process and store collected samples as well as store extra gear, Ellis cleaned out the water pump and then repaired it. Then, they settled down to eat breakfast.

  After breakfast, Ellis intended to review procedures, assigned tasks, and chores. She also meant to remind everyone that the locals could see things for what they were – including those types of shifters that were usually invisible to the human eye. She had gone over these things before her little team had ever boarded their first airplane, but it bore saying again. And it might cut down on bickering, disagreements, and disasters in the future.

  But for now, Ellis allowed herself to wallow in her satisfaction. She was where she wanted to be, everything was as it should be, and the firebirds would soon begin to arrive. Happy, she sighed.

  And outside the common tent, it gently began to rain.

  Chapter 02 – Benton

  From the deck of a ship, Keris Island looked lush, verdant, and nearly pleasant, but Benton still had his doubts.

  A place didn’t get a reputation for being “the most miserable place on earth” without a reason. True, the man who had coined the phrase had nearly died trying to get to Lake Keris, and he had definitely held a grudge over it, but Benton was still inclined to be wary – mostly because he was headed to the same place. It was early days yet, but Benton was already laying his bets on scorpions, poachers, and possibly mermaids as causes of his future misery.

  At least the heat won’t be a problem, thought Benton, and half grinned at the thought of the heat getting to any phoenix shifter.

  Next to him, Marc Summers was already drenched in sweat, and it wasn’t even noon yet. But then, Marc wasn’t a phoenix shifter. He was, however, a wolf shifter and a military veteran with combat experience.

  As an independent photographer, Benton had gotten himself into and then out of some pretty tight situations, but wilderness survival in his human form wasn’t his forte. That was where Marc Summers came into the picture.

  Benton had hired Marc to both act as his assistant and help him survive Keris Island, even if it meant dragging him ass-backwards through the wilderness. Benton sincerely hoped that it never came to that, though.

  Well, all of that and to help him haul gear too. Keris Island wasn’t a quick jaunt down the road, after all. And they needed to be prepared for everything, but especially meals and scorpions.

  “Are you going to look at the firebirds too?” asked the captain’s first mate, speaking her native language. She was all of eight and wearing her father’s hat. Idly, Benton snapped a picture of her.

  “Yes,” said Benton with a nod. He studiously ignored Marc’s frown. “Why?”

  “Maybe you’ll see Dr. E and the others!” exclaimed the girl. “Dr. E likes to watch the firebirds too!”

  “And who is Dr. E?” asked Benton, curious.

  “Good luck,” inserted the girl’s father. His odd blue-purple eyes gleamed – with laughter, Benton thought. “It always rains when we take Ellis Hale to Keris Island.”

  “I wish it was raining right now,” said the little girl plaintively, and her fathe
r grinned. Without looking away from Benton, he reached out to ruffle her dark curls.

  “You have a problem, you go find Dr. Ellis Hale on the western shore of the big lake,” said the captain, this time speaking English for Marc’s benefit. “She’ll take care of you.”

  Dr. Ellis Hale.

  The name was familiar to Benton. To prepare for this assignment, Benton had read several academic articles by Dr. Ellis Hale. It had been obvious how much the man had enjoyed his subject. As a phoenix, Benton had found it flattering. Occasionally, he wondered what the man might have to say about him, his people, and their mating habits, but Benton wasn’t so curious that he wanted to actively seek out the other man.

  “Thanks,” said Benton, maybe a bit stiffly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He could take care of himself. And for everything that he couldn’t handle, he had Marc.

  The captain and his first mate both nodded, the little girl grinning, and Benton nodded back at them.

  The Tabor family dropped Benton and Marc in Luel, the largest village on the north side of Keris Island. Set some distance back from their rough docks, the village of Luel was a collection of rough huts raised on stilts and roofed with palm fronds.

  Benton had been hired to document the firebirds’ breeding season from start to finish, and that was something that he fully intended to do. But as he and Marc made their way through the village, Benton found himself snapping photographs and taking discreet video of the things that he saw.

  He couldn’t help it.

  Benton had spent his life pursuing interesting sights, memorable moments, and his long lost mate. Right now, he was facing two out of three of them.

  Benton photographed the wooden houses on their high stilts, the small and dusty children playing in the streets, and villagers going about their business in their bright garb. He snapped pictures of a couple of battered little blue trucks, their paint peeling and barely large enough for their three balding wheels. In their narrow beds, a dozen or so cats lay napping together in the sun.

  At a handful of stalls in the small market, fresh bushmeat was being sold. There were pale sharks and enormous sea turtles, as well as fuzzy little bats, improbably large rats, and long lengths of scaled flesh that may or may not have come from colorful snakes, all neatly laid out for discerning buyers. Flamingos were so much smaller without their long legs or brilliant plumage, both of which were being sold separately from the main bodies.

  Framing the shots carefully so as to leave the sellers out, he took pictures of the stalls.

  It took longer than it should have to make it through the village, and from there it was a week’s hike through lush jungles to the western side of the island. It probably shouldn’t have taken a week to cover the ground between the village of Luel and the western side of the island, but there were so many things that Benton wanted to capture on film that there was no helping the slow pace.

  He shot some beautiful sights: crimson flamingos flying against brooding grey clouds, the sunrise burnishing Lake Keris with fire, and the first firebirds to return to Lake Keris, their burning plumage brilliant against a darkening sky.

  Benton shot some less lovely sights too: brutally hacked tree stumps and the remnants of butchered animals. He hadn’t been hired to take those shots, and his employer was likely to be uninterested in them, but Benton took them anyway. He could always find someone to sell them to later.

  Overhead, the firebirds wheeled and called to each other, the beginnings of a dance as unique as a fingerprint according to one of Dr. Ellis Hale’s papers. Every morning, they looked like a second sunrise as they took to the sky. Every afternoon it rained, wreathing the growing number of firebirds in steam. And Benton captured all of it with his camera.

  Soon, Benton knew, the firebirds wouldn’t be able to fly. The rains would soak into the firebirds’ plumage, dousing their flames and forcing them to take to their feet. They would use this to their advantage, though. It was the first link in a chain of events that would lead to a new generation of firebirds.

  As a phoenix, Benton couldn’t help but find that exciting. He couldn’t want to see it.

  Marc, on the other hands, was keeping a sharp eye out for wandering academics.

  When Benton had eventually recounted to Marc the whole of the conversation that he had shared with the captain and his daughter, the werewolf had been dismayed.

  “You told them where we were going?” Marc had demanded.

  “Not specifically, no,” Benton had hedged. The family that had dropped them on the island had seemed nice enough to Benton, but Marc was a wary man. It was one of the things that Benton liked best about him. As an afterthought, Benton had added, “But we’re obviously not the only ones here to observe the firebirds.”

  “And that’s good to know,” Marc had agreed. “A bunch of academics probably aren’t going to give us much trouble so long as we don’t get in their way. They might even help us if we need it.”

  “We could probably say that about everything else on and around this island,” Benton had said, and overhead thunder had rumbled as if to punctuate his statement. Scowling, Benton had quickened his pace.

  In the present, Benton sent the little drone up to take some aerial shots of both the landscape and the firebirds wheeling overhead, pearl grey smoke trailing behind their wings. Their glowing feathers were bright against both the haze and the inky blue sky against which they wheeled and soared.

  One moment stretched into the next, and the rain fell throughout the afternoon and evening. It tapered away in the early morning, the rising sun ushering in another long, hot morning, one that wasn’t cooled off by an afternoon rainstorm.

  There was a rainstorm the next afternoon, thankfully, but there wasn’t one the day after that. As the days passed, there were fewer and fewer thunderstorms to fill their afternoons. They watched as a relentless sun slowly but surely shrank the lake, evaporating its waters faster than the now sporadic afternoon rainstorms could replace them.

  Having long since lost their powers of fire and flight, the firebirds danced on the steadily increasing shores of Lake Keris. While mated pairs renewed and reinforced their bonds, displays of feathers and dancing prowess that ended with one partner settled on the other’s wing joints, unmated pairs racked and stacked potential partners.

  Their mating bonds strong and their egg forming in its mother’s belly, the mated firebirds marched into the forest to gather materials for their nests. As they no longer burned, they did not burn the dried out forest down and the rest of the island with it.

  Flows of black stone ringed one side of Lake Keris, and it was on them that the firebirds placed their chosen materials, careful to lay them flat. The firebirds dried their vegetation out until it had roughly the consistency of straw.

  By then, it was the height of the dry season, and it had been weeks since Benton and Marc had last seen a drop of rain. Despite being a fiery bird himself, Benton found that he missed it, and Marc seemed to be suffering for its lack. Sometimes, Benton worried about that.

  But all of those weeks without rain had done their job. The lake’s water levels had dropped low enough to reveal three previously submerged islands, all of them liberally studded with that same smooth black stone and studded with clear crystals. It was there that the firebirds took their dried hay, using it and the islands’ thick mud to build their nests. And with Marc’s help, Benton caught it all on film.

  Benton filmed the intimacy of courtship dances and videoed the firebirds as they shaped their nests from the island’s mud and shiny bits of the clear crystal. He captured images of sly firebirds stealing their neighbors’ dried nesting materials, as they lined their hard nests with a thick layer of the straw. And he filmed what happened when one firebird caught another stealing the nesting materials that they had so carefully chosen and patiently dried out under the relentless summer sun.

  The mated firebirds filled the little islands with their nests. The finished nests w
ere so close together that, when dried and occupied, the birds were sitting practically on top of each other. When any given bird incubating an egg rearranged its wings, its feathers brushed against its neighbors’ plump little bodies. Fortunately, no one seemed to mind that.

  One morning, Benton and Marc woke to an unseasonably grey sky. It was the dry season. There shouldn’t have been heavy grey clouds roiling over their heads. According to Dr. Ellis Hale’s papers, it might be actively disastrous for the nesting firebirds.

  Benton frowned, feeling worried for the birds that he had spent so much time watching.

  “A little rain would have been nice.” said Marc, who was also frowning up at the forming thunderstorm. “Break up the heat a little, you know? But that looks like it’s shaping up to be a real corker.” Sounding disgusted, he said, “It never rains, but it pours.”

  Grinning, Benton replied, saying, “Maybe it’s just passing through on its way out to sea.”

  He hoped so, at any rate; for the firebirds’ sakes, if nothing else.

  “Maybe,” said Marc doubtfully.

  Looking up at the clouds, Benton kind of doubted it too. But for the firebirds’ sakes, he continued to hope with all his might.

  All morning, as the thunderstorm gathered and darkened overhead, Benton took footage of both the firebirds and the oncoming storm. The unmated firebirds still danced along the shoreline, testing and teasing each other, while the mated couples either awaited their egg or tended to it. Benton got some excellent footage of an egg being laid and later of a mated couple tenderly turning their round white egg in its nest.

  It’s a pity that they can’t fly or burn, thought Benton as he filmed a panoramic shot of the dulled red and gold birds caught between a leaden sky and the dark, choppy waters of the lake. That would have made a magnificent shot.

  Around noon, Marc made him knock off.

  “There’s nothing worse than being in a tent during a real storm, except being caught outside during it,” said Marc. “Really lets you know how few shits Mother Nature gives about any of our survivals.”