Pyromancist Read Online Free PDF

Without looking away from
his face, she laid it aside, as far away from his reach as
possible.
    Josselin seemed incoherent and unaware that
she had disarmed him. He lifted the bottle again, but she gently
took it from him, too, and placed it on the grass. His hands empty
now, Josselin’s shoulders slouched. He hung his head, his chin
resting on his chest. She couldn’t stand to see him like that.
Strong, indestructible Josselin, only a boy when he had been forced
to become a man.
    He had swallowed a bottle of pills with a
huge amount of strong liquor. If she waited too long, his stomach
would have to be pumped. She’d have to get him to a hospital.
    “Josselin,” she said, her tone commanding and
much braver than what she felt, “you have to throw up.”
    She reached for his hands and he didn’t
resist as she pulled him forward.
    “Come on, Josselin, get up for me.”
    She groaned as she put all of her strength
into the effort, but failed to move him other than pulling his
upper body down to the ground.
    “Please, work me with me, Josselin.”
    He only moaned.
    “Can you get up on your knees?” she said.
    She was wary of leaving him by himself, but
considered running up the road to where she could use her mobile
phone. She knew down here that there was no signal. No. No, she
couldn’t leave him.
    She urged again, “Come, I’ll help you.”
    She moved around his back and pushed until he
got her drift and somehow managed to get onto his knees.
    “Good.” She huffed and blew her fringe from
her eyes, rounding his body so she could see his face. “Now, I need
you to put your finger down your throat.”
    Josselin looked at her and blinked. His eyes
were glazed over and fixed on the horizon.
    “Night is here,” he said, his slurring and
his French accent even heavier now. “Kill me quickly, or my ghosts
will come.”
    Clelia looked around frantically for
something, anything, and the only thing she saw was a dovetail
feather that lay on the ground. She moved fast. She let go of
Josselin’s hands to pick up the feather, and noticing from the
corner of her eye that he remained in the same position, albeit
swaying dangerously; she took the feather and drenched it with some
of the Calvados, praying it would kill any possible germs. She
positioned herself in front of Josselin once more and took a deep
breath.
    “I need you to open your mouth big when I say
so,” she said.
    For a moment, she panicked as she thought she
saw the veil of intoxication briefly lift to reveal a dark and
dangerous look that crept over his features.
    His slur was gone when he said, “Why?”
    She wiped a hand over her forehead. “You once
saved me. I’m trying to help you.”
    “Help me,” he said, and then the cloudy haze
came over his eyes again.
    She pressed the feather to his lips. “Open.
Please, Josselin.”
    To her surprise, he obeyed. When he did, she
reacted with astonishing speed, considering her hand was shaking so
much–pushing the feather to the back of his throat and down as deep
as she could. She barely had time to snatch her hand back before
his teeth clamped down and his body bent double. He retched and
vomited onto the sacred soil. Clelia patted his back, wiping the
stray bits of hair from his face until only dry heaves wrenched his
body.
    When he had calmed, he held out his palm
without lifting his head.
    “Calvados,” he said, his voice sounding
raw.
    “Josselin, no.”
    “I need to rinse my mouth.”
    Clelia picked up the bottle and lifted it to
the sky. There was less than a quarter left. She placed it in his
hand and watched him take it all into his mouth, gurgle, rinse, and
spit it into the grass. It was a strong enough liquor to dissolve
the plaque on teeth and Clelia flinched on his behalf. He launched
the empty bottle through the air. Still on his knees, and with a
look of pure exhaustion, he fell backward.
    Clelia took the hem of her T-shirt and wiped
his mouth. She sat down on the rough grass, ignoring