by Gina Shafer
“Because you two, and few others like you, have the power to control it. You are correct, Karina. Everyone is born with both kinds of magic. If you have one, you have both. What makes you different is your ability to harness the power without burning completely, without turning yourselves over to the darkness. To the fire,” Lincoln describes. “I always knew what you were capable of, Soren. But you, Karina, your gift was a complete surprise.” He smiles, and his hand delicately brushes mine on the table.
“I’ve almost burned. I’ve watched my fingers blacken at the use of my magic, Lincoln. How is it possible that there’s a way around it?” I ask, my eyes searching his face as if it were a map that could lead me to every answer I could possibly need.
“Ask Soren,” he says simply, shrugging. “He has already done it once.”
“You’re telling us that the answer to all of this is that simple? That we’re special and that we can just choose to tap into our powers and find the way around the issue of magic that people have wondered about for hundreds of years? And there are others like us, like Mya and James?” I ask.
“You’ve simplified it much more than I have, but I suppose—“
“Will you train us?” Soren interjects. “Will you train us so we can find my father?”
“I can try. Karina’s powers are already getting stronger every day,” Lincoln says, though I have no idea what he means. He notices the frown on my face. “Visions, memories, maybe even glimpses of a possible future? Not to mention the mind-reading thing you’ve been doing with Elijah.”
“Why haven’t you told us all this before, Lincoln? Why are you always so tight-lipped? I ask, annoyed that we’re just now learning about this.
“I have no excuse, Karina. For one thing, light magic isn’t something to fool around with. It has to be understood, mastered within yourself before it becomes a solid use of yours. I was slowly revealing the extent of the powers to Soren when he was forced to switch bodies, but with everything that’s happened with you and Vara, not to mention Elijah being taken, we don’t have the luxury of taking things slow anymore. It also doesn’t help that I had no idea you would bond with Elijah on that level, forcing your powers to basically jumpstart into action. ” Lincoln eyes us carefully, almost assessing as we try to process this information.
“You two have no idea what you’re capable of, what just the two of you could do with your pinky fingers if trained correctly,” Lincoln says, and Willow lifts her head from the under the table, looking directly at him and blinking slowly as her tail flaps on the ground a few times. Soren and I look at each other, both of us feeling the weight of Lincoln’s words.
“Soren! You’re needed in the arms room,” someone shouts from the back door of the warehouse. It sounds like Lu, the most badass woman with a pistol I’ve ever seen. She was supposed to join us when Elijah came back from his twenty-year sleep, but she stayed.
“What the hell could it be now?” Soren asks. Willow gets to her feet and follows Soren inside, and I figure I better go see what’s happening too. If it has anything to do with Elijah, I want to know right away.
When I finally catch up to Soren, the energy in the arms room is palpable. There are about twenty different Sicarri members crowded around the table in the center of the room, and more surrounding the walls. Why is everyone so upset?
Oh shit. Is it Elijah?
The air supply in the room seems to be cut off. Or is that just me? In the back of my mind I hear a wheezing, and it doesn’t take me long to realize that I’m breathing heavy, almost running out of air. Then, someone speaks.
Marcel says, “There have been a number of attacks. The safe zones are almost nonexistent now, and demon numbers have been growing at a nearly immeasurable rate.”
I almost sag with relief that this has nothing to do with Elijah. Then guilt floods me when I realize what this means. The safe zones are full of innocent unburnt—people, including children, who don’t want anything to do with this war.
Soren takes command of the room, and the others fall silent to hear him speak. “How many Sicarri do we have manning these safe zones? I suggest we triple our efforts, maybe even quadruple. Everything we can do without needs to go to those people.”
“That’s what we’re saying, Soren.” Marcel’s eyes flick from his face to mine and back again. “We need to recall the Sicarri that are currently investigating any leads having to do with Elijah,” Marcel finishes, and I find myself wishing I was sitting down, that way I might have been grounded when the floor fell out from beneath me.
No one speaks. Because, well, we know what’s coming. This is a choice that not a single person in the room wants to make. Protect the innocent or search for the man who nearly gave his life to lay the foundation of what the Sicarri is today.
“You’re saying you can’t continue the search for my dad?” Soren says.
I place a hand on his shoulder, partly because I know his heart must be breaking, along with mine, and partly because I want him to know I’m with him, whatever happens next.
“That’s what we’re saying, son.”
I feel the fission of tension roll down Soren’s arm at Marcel’s words. Son. For all intents and purposes, Marcel has every right to use the word. But, I know that there wasn’t one second of the any day when Elijah was missing the first time that Soren didn’t think about it, imagine where he was or what it would be like if he returned. Soren told me that he thought about sneaking out and finding him. He told me that he knew he could get him back, that he just had a feeling. I just never thought I’d fall in love with the man who returned.
“I’d like your permission to take a Sicarri or two and complete this mission.” Soren’s voice threatens to tear down the walls, that’s how powerful it is.
I drop my hand, realizing he doesn’t need the support, his head is already exactly where it needs to be. It gives me a strange feeling, hearing Soren ask for permission. He’s never really done so before. It takes me a second to realize that he may be doing so out of respect.
The Sicarri stare at Soren and me as Willow lets out a little yelp.
“Granted. Who will you be taking?” Marcel asks, his eyes glassy.
“I’ll go,” I say, and Marcel nods. “And we’ll take Beckett with us.”
I think he realizes Soren and I probably won’t be back, which breaks my heart. We’ve always been the first to protect the unburnt, but there’s not a chance in hell I would leave Elijah at the hands of Vara.
“Lincoln,” Soren says.
Willow barks, and I reach down and scratch the top of her head to pacify her.
“And Willow,” Soren says.
“Anyone else?” Marcel asks.
“No. You need them more than I do.” Soren tells him, and.
I catch a fleeting expression on Marcel’s otherwise blank face. He wants to join us, and I think he hates it as much as we do that he has to stay behind.
“Keep me updated on your progress, will you?” he asks.
Soren and Willow leave first.
“Karina,” Marcel calls before I walk through the door, “I hope you find him. For all our sakes.”
In the next minute he’s back to business, delegating tasks and planning perimeters. I nod again, though no one is looking at me anymore, and then I walk from the room too. I catch up with the others.
“What was all that about?” Beckett’s voice startles me, and I almost slam into him.
“Nothing… where the hell have you been?” I demand from him.
“Uh, sleeping.” He answers, and I notice how groggy he still seems.
“We’re leaving. Gather your stuff.”
“Sure thing, baby girl.” Beckett says., and I try my best to hide the goose bumps that break out on my arms. “Great. Meet us out back in about an hour,” I say, already looking for Soren. I figure he went to tell Lincoln, until I hear Willow’s nails clicking on the concrete floor of the warehouse. Lincoln and Soren aren’t far behind her, and it looks
like he’s already been briefed.
“Does an hour sound good?” I ask as they approach.
Soren nods. “I’ll see what kind of weapons or tech we can snag from Ted.”
“I think I’ve got a house we can squat in for a while. It’s an old friend’s. It’s not much, but it has power and water. Let me make sure it’ll be okay.” Lincoln pulls his phone from his pocket.
“I’ll just be… around,” Beckett says.
“Works for me,” I say. “I’m going to grab my swords and meet you out back.” I race off to collect my weapons. I need a moment to process what has happened in the past few hours. From Mya and James to Lincoln and his confession about our magic, and now this. We’re alone, without Sicarri backup.
Elijah, where are you?
I try tapping into my powers, but I don’t feel any different. I have no idea if he’s has heard any of the thoughts I’ve sent to him. Hell, I have no idea if he’s even alive. The thought brings me up short, and I clutch at the burning pain in my chest. No, he has to be alive.
As I make my way to my old room here, I try and try again to send thoughts to him. I talk to him, in the way that I normally would, and for a moment, it’s easy to pretend that he’s right here with me. As I imagine him, I feel myself growing more and more exhausted. I eye my old bed and fall into it before I can stop myself, closing my eyes for a few moments before I have to meet the others.
My hands are small, like a child’s. I see from a different viewpoint, and the brown locks of my hair hide my eyes from the sun. It’s not bright outside; it’s more like sunset.
I’m in the field behind my grandma’s house. It smells distinctly like fresh spring onions. I’m four years old. I can still taste the cheeseburgers with extra pickles we had for dinner. The pickles are homemade and I help Grandma jar them every year. The cheese from the burger ran down my arms and made me messy, but Grandma laughed.
I hear shouting from inside the house, and instantly my heart hurts. I press a hand to my chest to try and hold the pain inside, but it’s no use. I already feel it traveling, burning its path through my arms and legs.
Mama’s voice gets louder, and Daddy just stands there. I can see them through the screen door. My grandma tries to tell them to hush, but it’s like they can’t hear her. Maybe Mama and Daddy’s ears are broken, because I hear Grandma’s voice just fine.
Then Mama smacks Daddy so hard across the face, I can almost feel it on mine. Daddy roars like a lion.
My hands start to shake, and I can’t get them to stop. Daddy sees me, and his eyes go wide. Mine do too, and the setting sun blinds me. They burn, everything burns, even my toenails and the ends of my hair. Then I realize that fire surrounds me. Real fire. Grandma’s entire crop goes up in thick, hot, orange fire. The smoke burns my chest as I fall over.
I’m still falling as I jolt awake, my face smacking into the window of a moving car. My face still feels hot, my skin burning. My vision blurs, and I can’t see the faces of the people around me. I hear a bark, a familiar sound, but the noise isn’t clear. I try to open the door, and shouts break out around me. Something isn’t right. Why can’t I see?
My skin is raw, like I was dipped in boiling water and then pulled out and laid in the burning sun. I claw at my flesh, trying to get the feeling to go away. The car stops, and I jump out, emptying my stomach.
A voice behind me says my name. It’s gentle and kind yet commanding. I know that voice. It’s similar to the one that makes me feel like home. Soren.
“What’s going on? Are you all right?” he asks.
My vision returns, but I still can’t talk for fear of what is going to come out when I do. I plop down beside the road, my ass in the dirt, and drop my head between my legs and try to recover from whatever the hell just happened.
“We can’t stay here,” he says even more gently. “We’re out in the open.”
I nod my head, hoping he can see and let him take my arm and guide me back to the car. He shuts the door and runs around to the other side.
“I was burning,” I finally say as he starts the car and we continue driving. “I was maybe four years old.” I turn my head, eyeing Beckett. “I burned down Grandma’s crop.” Realization dawns in his eyes, and it solidifies what I already knew. That wasn’t a dream, it was a memory.
“How did I get here?” I ask Beckett, but it’s Lincoln who answers first.
He turns around in the front seat to look me in the eyes. “You walked to the car, your swords strapped on your back. Didn’t say much, but we just figured you were tired. You fell asleep as soon as we started driving.”
As horrifying as it is that I was up walking around, completely unaware of it, it’s the look on Beckett’s face that has me worried. Pain mixed with grief and guilt. “What happened?” I ask him. Soren eyes me from the driver’s seat. Willow’s head settles in my lap. “What happened, Beckett?” I ask again, my voice hard.
“Karina—” he starts, but I interrupt.
“What happened?”
“Yes, you burned down the crop behind Grandma’s house. But it’s not what you did; it’s what you didn’t do after. You didn’t burn, even after using that much magic. Hell, not even a scratch on you, and you were standing smack dab in the middle of wildfire. I have the scars to prove it,” he says, lifting his pant leg to reveal the telltale, shiny white scars from a burn. I fight the urge to flinch.
“Your mama came from a long line of women who could harness that shit. They could control fire, and pretty much master any type of spell they put their pretty little minds to. But, your mama… she was skipped. Not a lick of power inside her. Until you. When she was pregnant, she used the power that came from you and got drunk on it. She could finally practice magic without turnin’ into a demon. You have no idea what this meant to her or what it did to her. She was never the same.” Beckett pulls out a pack of tightly wrapped cigarettes and lights one up.
Soren is the first one to break the silence. “And I thought my mom sucked.” He laughs.
It takes a moment for me to wipe the shocked look off my face, that he would joke at a time like this, but when I consider his words, I find myself giggling too. In fact everyone does. We ride the high the humor brings all the way down.
“Lincoln, is this magic going to kill me?” I ask, hoping he’ll be honest.
“I don’t think so, Karina, but I’ve been wrong about magic before.” His voice is solemn as he looks off into the distance.
I desperately want to question him, but I know right now isn’t the time to pull him from his daydream. I take a deep, shaky breath and we drive the rest of the way in silence.
LINCOLN - A VERY LONG TIME AGO
It’s another restless night. Cold. The chill slices through me, like a hot knife through warm butter, completely indifferent to the one being sliced, as cold weather always is. The wind howls, whipping through the cracks of this old house with ease.
Charlotte sits at the fire, warming her frigid bones. Her hands draw closer to the flames, as if she’s unafraid of being burned. She invites them to lick her skin, and I worry for her.
We’ve been married twelve long years, and I have yet to understand her completely. She hides herself from me, but I catch small glimpses when she looks up at me from under her long brown lashes. That firelight bounces against her cerulean eyes. This woman remains a mystery to me, even today. I know there is more inside her than she lets on. Though I can send her my thoughts, I wish more than ever I could somehow break into hers.
I’m just beginning to open my mouth, ask her if we should bring June down to warm by the fire. Charlotte laid her down for bed an hour ago, but like most young girls, it took three different fairy tales to get her to sleep.
A sound interrupts me from thoughts of my wife and daughter - a rustling by the front door. As soon as the wood creaks open, the face of my brother greets us. I know as soon as my eyes lock with his that something is horribly wrong. Panic sets deep within my bones. I stand, but
Charlotte is already rushing to help him. It isn’t until I notice the way he leans onto my wife that I realize that he’s been injured, or is ill. My brows furrow. I saw my brother just this afternoon. The sun was high in the sky, and he was helping little June practice her magic. How is it that he could be in such a bad state so quickly?
“Brother!” I yell, concerned. Charlotte looks up at me as I help her arrange him on our small couch in front of the fire. Her face is etched with concern too, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, I might tell her that it looks beautiful on her. A cough from beneath us separates my eyes from my wife’s.
“What happened?” I ask, fear coating my voice like thick, hot jelly.
“Lincoln,” Charlotte begins, but my brother’s cough interrupts her. He groans once and turns on his side. All at once he breaks out in shivers. Charlotte’s eyes collide with mine. I hold them, tenderly, if only for a second, before my preservation skills kick into gear.
“Brother, can you hear us?” I say sharply.
Charlotte follows my lead, repeating his name desperately. We need to know what happened. We need to know how to treat him.
Piece by piece, we begin removing remove his clothes. I glance to Charlotte and notice her searching, like me, for anything that could possibly be making him sick. We’re scouring his entire body for injuries. Just when I think we won’t find anything, Charlotte gasps and points down, under his arm, just to the side of his chest. A fan of black veins is visible under the skin, almost like a fireworks explosion. Condensed in the middle, but the fire spreads out, and from the looks of it, it’s only getting larger.
“What in god’s name happened to you?” I ask, though I know I won’t get an answer. My brother was never content with his magic; he was always more powerful than any of us gave him credit for. And this thing right here, marring his body, reeks of magic.
