Firebloods

by Hays, Casey

  Oh, yeah. One more interesting tidbit about Frankie: her ingenuity has afforded her the opportunity to take dual credit college classes since sixth grade. With any luck, she’ll graduate from a university very soon after she graduates from high school. As in… a few months after.

  Frankie picks up her cell phone and slides through a few frames. She hands it to me. A man with a full beard and beady eyes scowls up at me.

  “Who’s this?”

  “That is Dr. Amir Ademov. The origin of the Vatra u Krvi traces back to this Bosnian scientist. According to a magazine article I found dated 1961, he discovered the whereabouts of the Phoenix in the early 1950s inside an inactive volcano in Fiji after someone reported a sighting. Purportedly, he formed an expedition team to capture and extract its blood for experimentation purposes. Based on my limited research so far, the first Vatra u Krvi project consisted of volunteer subjects who allowed themselves to be injected with an amalgam that Ademov created using Phoenix blood.” I scroll down, read a paragraph that confirms what she says. “The project was funded by a company called Dublin Scientific Discoveries. The first few Firebloods were not adequate, but over time and with much experimentation, they became more stable. The second generation Firebloods, thanks to natural procreation, were even more stable. Now, they’re a people.”

  I raise my brows. “A winged race of people?”

  “It sounds incredulous, but yes.”

  “Where are they? I mean, they must be very good at staying hidden with those big wings.”

  “That’s where the trail of information ends.” Frankie’s brows knit in frustration. “The project was top secret until someone leaked it to the press. And soon after, Dublin Scientific Discoveries pulled out and shut down the entire experiment. The Firebloods disappeared.”

  Yes. Because they were never there to begin with. I sigh.

  “Are you sure about this? I mean, is it smart to put all our stock into this idea?”

  “I think my dad was involved somehow, and he’s a sensible man.” She pins me with sincere eyes. “Plus, I’ve seen some interesting phenomenon, especially since I started my research on this topic. Last month, I came across an entire catalog of books in our library dedicated to paranormal and supernatural oddities. The Underground Section.”

  I frown. “The Underground Section?”

  “Yes,” Frankie nods. “Controversial material on topics that are too unbelievable for ordinary people to grasp.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, vampires and werewolves, for one. Fairies, pixies, trolls. You know, the usual.”

  I know I keep saying it, but she can't be serious.

  “First of all, none of that is usual,” I retort, crossing my arms with defiance. “And secondly, none of it exists.”

  “Right,” she whispers, winking, and making quote marks with her fingers. “Hence, underground.”

  I'm at a loss for words. Our science project is crumbling into a complete work of fiction before it ever begins. Measuring the effects of wind velocity might have been a better bet. My eyes flit toward the winged boy in the photograph, and I can feel Frankie assessing me, scoping out my response.

  “I brought this idea to you because I’ve searched it out.” Frankie’s voice is edged with hope. “I believe it’s worth pursuing.”

  She reaches for me, her grip tight on my forearm, and her eyes plead so strongly that I don’t have the heart to argue against her anymore. I sigh.

  “Two weeks,” I say. “That’s all you get to convince me, and then we’re changing topics.”

  Her smile widens across her freckled face, but then she turns serious all over again.

  “We tell no one about this, and I mean it. Not Devan or Kane or Jonas or anybody else. No accidental leaks. Okay?”

  I don’t answer right away. That’s a tough promise to make. I mean, I tell Jonas and Kane pretty much everything, sometimes without intending to. Frankie gives my arm a rough shake.

  “Okay,” I blurt. I pretend to zip my lips closed and toss away the key. I even make the zipping sound, and she relaxes with a satisfied nod. Who would believe me anyway, right?

  “My parents are taking Matty to Disneyland tomorrow.” She lifts her brows. “They’ll be gone overnight. We’ll break into the crate then.”

  Great. I see a burglary charge in my near future.

  Thirty minutes later, I head for my car, zippered mouth and skepticism both solidly in place. But I can’t deny it. The image of that Fireblood stays heavy on my mind.

  Three

  Club Rockhouse is packed with seniors celebrating their freedom from a lifetime of forced public education. Tonight, the owners honor them with the special privilege of “first right of entrance,” which translates into all the rest of us waiting outside the club for thirty minutes in a long, slowly creeping line. The minute we make it inside, Devan, the infamous party girl, kicks it into high gear.

  You should know that Devan Parker’s parents spent tons of money during her formative years on gymnastics and dance classes to prepare her for cheerleading. Not a penny of it went to waste, and Devan never misses the opportunity to show off her dance moves. Center stage is where she shines best. Tonight, her sleeveless, turquoise dress covered in sequins catches the strobe lights just right and sends thousands of tiny prisms in every direction. She looks amazing, and it takes only two minutes for someone to sweep her onto the dance floor. Good thing Jonas isn’t the jealous type.

  The club doesn’t serve alcohol. Not that this hinders the patrons from smuggling Jack or some other hard liquor in to spike their drinks. What the club does serve is cheap sodas. And as long as you buy them, the popcorn and peanuts are free.

  I snag a couple of drinks at the bar and squeeze through the crowd looking for an empty table. My ears throb to the beat of a Jay Z song, and sweaty wall-to-wall bodies spiral out all around me as I wiggle my way through to the tables. Every single one is taken in the main room. I sigh, nearly dropping a soda when an elbow careens into my space. I’d like to say I make it to the pool room without another incident, but that isn’t the case. I mean, it wouldn’t be much fun if I didn’t meet another elbow. Not to mention some jerk deliberately trying to trip me before rubbing up against me with his sweaty self. Yuck!

  The pool room is separated from the rest of the club by a long wall graced with three large windows that overlook the dance floor. In here, you can actually have a conversation without screaming over the pounding music. Believe it or not, the last available table sits against the back wall, clean and empty and looking as if it’s been waiting for me all along. Grateful to be out of the limelight, I hoist myself up onto one of the tall stools and settle in for a long night of feeling out of place.

  I don’t necessarily like being here. But unlike Frankie, I allow Devan to drag me here on very rare occasions. And while she fraternizes with the public, I sit; I people-watch; I drink sodas. I do not dance.

  I’ve had a few offers in the past, but after shooting down every one of them, word got out, and people stopped bothering to ask me. Except Kane, who is overly persistent to the point of annoyance.

  Frankie has never been to Club Rockhouse despite Devan’s attempts to persuade her, mainly because Frankie’s mastery at resistance is far stronger than mine. She views any kind of rowdy socializing as “over-rated and highly degrading.” Her words, not mine. Still, Devan is relentless. Maybe one day Frankie will surprise all of us by showing up in a short, leather skirt and six inch heels. Just the thought makes me giggle.

  Twelve tall tables hug the three windowless walls of the pool room, and three pool tables take up most of the space. I self-consciously sip on my soda and observe the crowd gathered in here. Three guys occupy one pool table, two another. Across the room, a couple makes out. A group of girls has stolen chairs from the table next to them so all seven of them can squeeze together in the corner. I only recognize Jessie Pate and Mindy Cantwell, and I try not to react when Mindy tosses me a dirty look. She’
s never liked me—mostly because of Kane, who has never liked her as much as she’s tried to tempt him. He’s not into girls who “chase,” so he says. Mindy won’t take the hint.

  The condensation from my glass leaves a water circle on the dark wood. I concentrate on tracing my finger through it. Kane promised he’d be here, and I’m holding him to it. I send him a quick message. Ed Sheeran’s song “Thinking Out Loud” flows through the club speakers. I strum my fingers against the tabletop, finding the keyboard notes in my head.

  The crack of a cue ball hitting another grabs my attention. I glance up. The three guys masked in deep concentration don’t notice the girls giggling and pointing and cooing over them. I take a closer look. A tall guy with reddish-blond hair leans over the end of the table, lays out his next move with precision, and strikes. The three-ball rolls straight into the corner pocket, smooth as butter. When he straightens, the light from the low-hanging, green chandelier flashes over his face for a split second before he steps back. He wears jeans and a plain, navy tee-shirt, and an odd sensation passes through me. For a second, he seems familiar.

  His buddies throw some praises at him. His lips curve into a grin, and he plucks up a chalk cube from the edge of the table and turns his back.

  I straighten, rub my hands over my lap, and my mind springs into action. I know him from somewhere.

  “Hey.” Kane hops up onto the stool next to me, and nuzzles in to whisper in my ear. “Been waiting long, pretty girl?”

  That gets a solid eye roll out of me. I glance toward the pool table and back again.

  “What took you so long?” I trace the lip of my soda glass with the tip of my finger and connect with him.

  He leans back. “Had a late customer bring in his truck for a tire change. And I had to shower, or you’d make me sit all by myself in a corner.” He flashes a smile. “Plus, the hella-long line outside was insane. I got in right before the owners announced capacity.”

  “So many obstacles.” I pull my sarcasm through the words. “Well then, I suppose you’re forgiven for making me sit here all by myself for the last forty-five minutes.”

  “I didn’t ask for your forgiveness.”

  I shake my head with a smile, and Kane eases away, giving his back a good stretch before dropping his elbows to the table. He presses clasped fists to his lips. A couple of the girls at the corner table shift their attention from the amateur pool sharks to us. Well, not to us. To Kane, specifically. Although one brunette I don’t recognize gives me a hefty glare. Must be Mindy’s latest BFF.

  And so… Kane’s mere entrance into a room once again proceeds to steal hearts, unbeknownst to him. At least, he acts as if he doesn’t notice. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s grown so accustomed to girls fawning over him that he’s no longer attuned to it. I can’t say the same for myself. I’ve always been aware of the pheromones he scatters in his wake. Because those pesky little things have caused me to become the brunt of an unjustified jealousy on more occasions than I care to name. And tonight, it appears Mindy has led her friends to believe Kane and I are “together” together. I cringe and slump a little lower in my seat.

  And herein lies the problem. Being best friends with two guys makes me a target. It’s not the most favorable position. And it doesn’t help one bit that Kane and I have always had good chemistry, especially when Jonas and Devan and Frankie aren’t around. When we’re alone, we just have this way with each other. A bond. So I guess it’s understandable that people might see something more in our flirtations. And for the record he flirts a lot more with me than I do him.

  “Did you like the brownies?” Kane fixes on me, his cheek against his fist.

  I shrug, my answer a smug reply. “I don’t plan to try them.”

  Honestly, they were delicious. His fist flies to his heart in mock devastation.

  “Ouch. Right here.” He thumps his chest twice. “Right through my heart.”

  I peer down my nose, scolding. “Brownies, Kane? Really?”

  He catches his bottom lip between his teeth as a grin threatens. “You liked them,” he apprises with satisfaction. He scoops up my phone, turns on the camera, and holds it at arm’s length for a selfie. “Smile.”

  I give him the pose he wants. And he’s right. Between Mom and me, the plate of double-chocolate brownies he left while I was at Frankie’s this afternoon was devoured in a matter of a few hours. Which makes this scenario all the more irritating.

  You see, Kane has figured out a thing or two about Mom. One, she’s absolutely adored him since the moment she laid eyes on his five-year-old face at a classroom Christmas party. Two, the avenue to my mother’s heart is chocolate in any shape or form. And three… she’s his ally when it comes to me. Mom has no qualms about blatantly giving me her blessing to “marry that boy and spend all of eternity making beautiful love and pretty babies with him.” Even my own mom?

  Yes. Even her.

  “Come dance with me, Jude.” I’m back under the lights of the dimly lit room. The three pool players are gone, and Kane is fixed on my face. He lifts a hand. “Don’t say no this time.”

  I shake my head. “We’ll lose our table.”

  “Excuses.”

  “Look at this place, Kane. It’s packed. Someone will steal our table.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “Kane—”

  He raises his hands and waves them above the table like a magician. “I will compel people to stay away.”

  Cute.

  “I don’t dance,” I remind him.

  “And as you know, I do,” he smiles. “All you need is me.”

  “Oh? Do you have some kind of miracle dance potion tucked in your pocket tonight?”

  “Pockets are very resourceful,” he winks.

  His expression sends a strange sensation filtering through me. I brace myself for the mental resist.

  “I don’t dance,” I repeat.

  “Okay,” he nods. “Let’s make a wager this time.”

  I don’t like where this is going.

  “A wager?”

  “Yeah.” The music shifts to a rap song, and the floor vibrates beneath our stools. “If I can get the phone numbers of all seven of those girls in the corner, you’ll dance with me.”

  So he did notice. I glance at the corner; he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes steady—on me.

  “That’s not fair,” I assess. “Why wouldn’t they give you their numbers?”

  He swivels his gaze toward their table and nods once. “Jessie Pate is over there.”

  “So?”

  “I asked her to prom last year. She said no.”

  Without another word, he shuffles off his stool.

  “No—Kane—wait. I didn’t agree to this.” My palms are sweating.

  “Sure you did.” He makes a slow saunter toward the table.

  “Kane!” I hiss through my teeth. He ignores me. I slink low on the stool, tugging my skirt toward my knees.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him work his magic. He drapes an arm around Mindy and leans in. The table explodes with silly giggles. Less than two minutes later, seven pairs of eyes trail after his retreating back. He climbs up onto his stool and drops a napkin onto the tabletop. I examine it. Seven names, seven numbers.

  “Jessie Pate gave you her number?” I raise a suspicious brow.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I thought she didn’t like you.”

  “She doesn’t. But she sure likes you.” A sly grin forms. “So I told her you wanted her number.”

  “What?” My jaw drops, and I flush hot. “Not only is that extremely embarrassing…” I punch him hard in the shoulder. “It’s cheating.”

  “There were no ground rules, Jude. I said I’d get seven numbers.” He gestures toward the napkin with an upturned palm. “Mission accomplished. You owe me a dance.”

  “I did not agree to this wager. Plus, we—” I straighten, struggling to find some avenue of escape. “We didn’t shake on it.”

&n
bsp; “Jude.” He stands, hand extended, expression serious. I really don’t want to do this. I’m sweating so badly that even my feet feel wet inside my shoes. “There’s nothing to it. I’ll be there holding you up. All you have to do is follow my lead.”

  “Yeah. With the whole world staring at me.”

  “That’s only because you’re beautiful.”

  “Right.” I roll my eyes. He sighs and settles back onto the stool.

  “You know, it’s been nearly five years.”

  I tense. “I know that. What’s your point?”

  Without a second thought, he weaves his fingers in with mine, and the pure concern that etches across his face brings me to my knees. I suddenly feel very vulnerable, and my fingers tighten around his.

  “You can’t live in fear for the rest of your life,” he begins, and I hate where he’s about to take us.

  “What does this have to do with dancing?”

  He frowns. “You used to dance. All the time. You used to play the piano. You used to write poetry. You used to dream of the future.”

  I study him as he rattles off the list. The rap song ends, the room stills with the sounds of a quiet, love song, and everything is suddenly irritating.

  “So?”

  “He died; you didn’t.”

  His voice is so soft, which makes the sudden crack in my heart loud. So loud. It splits wide open right here in the pool room. All my stockpiled sorrow just spills out to poison my veins with the grief I haven’t completely dealt with. The grief Kane knows I nurse every single day. The grief that hides behind smiles and jokes and denials. I clench my fist. He really didn’t have to go there tonight. For once, I was doing fine.

  This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, and if Kane wasn’t such a good friend, I’d punch him in the face with my ruby-clad hand. But I know better. All flirting aside, he’s been there for me, which is why he can say something like this without me going all ballistic on his butt. Even when I shut down with depression and refused to open up to anyone for several weeks after Dad died, Kane never gave up on me. Jonas told him to give me space, but he didn’t. He came to my house every day, and when I refused to let him in, he was content to sit on the porch. For hours. A brave twelve-year-old watchman looking out for me. After a while, I actually looked for him. I would slide my lacy curtains open just enough to see the edge of the porch and the tips of his dirty tennis shoes, and I felt safe.