by A. L. Knorr
There was a white-hot flash of light and it was then that I felt the heat. The scream that had been trapped in my throat ripped out of me.
Isaia’s eyes opened again and he blinked as though waking. He looked down at his hands, still against my belly. He looked up at me and there was a flash of apology in his expression. His hands fell away and he lay back against the floor.
I collapsed with my forehead to the ground. Nausea clutched my stomach and I gagged. First, only smoke and bile came up, and then I retched and lost my breakfast. I spat and struggled for breath. I retched again and flaming embers spewed out. I sucked in air and coughed hard. An ember the size of a pebble came up to my tongue. I spat it sideways, away from Isaia, and watched with horror as it skipped across the floor like it had been shot from a gun, leaving a smoking black gouge. It lodged in the stone wall. I blinked, unable to understand what I was seeing. The ember flickered and cooled to black. Surely, it hadn't come from me? Not possible.
My stomach and throat burned like I had swallowed a cupful of magma. Recovering the power of my limbs, I fumbled for water and found the bottle on the ground. My insides screamed for something cold and wet. I opened my throat and downed the whole bottle. The liquid sizzled as I swallowed it down, soothing my seared guts.
I dropped the bottle, panting. My eyes felt hot and hard. I looked down at Isaia. He coughed, but he actually looked much better. He pushed himself up into sitting. He reached for a bottle of water. I watched, dazed, as he got the cap off and drank the entire thing. Dropping the empty bottle, his eyes traveled from my eyes to my belly and back up again, blinking and wide.
I looked down. There was no glow, but the fire was there—I could feel it. It was banked and waiting. "Isaia!" I croaked. I didn’t recognize my own voice. It was rough. Scratchy. Burnt. "Isaia." I put a hand on his forehead. He was damp and much cooler. It was the first time I had ever seen him sweat. "What have you done to me, Isaia?" I whispered.
He tried to get up. He coughed again. A violent cough from the man behind me brought me to myself. We were still in danger.
Another screaming firecracker went off behind us and I pushed Isaia down. Smoke rolled across the ceiling. It filled the space over our heads and slowly drifted down. Voices yelled outside and the shutter rattled. The metal screamed and the shutter moved a half inch. Light streamed in through the crack at the bottom.
Isaia coughed and then pointed repeatedly and urgently at the flames. I knew instantly what he was trying to tell me. It was plain on his face and plain in the knowledge that I had only moments ago acquired.
The knowledge of fire.
It was sitting in my guts and talking to me. The pain of it was there, sharp and hot. I had been inducted. I understood now why it had been making him sick—he was far too frail for what I now carried. What he had wasn't an illness, it was a barely containable power. It strained at me, like a huge hungry dog pulling on leash. No wonder it was killing him.
Isaia coughed harder. The elderly man moved toward the shutter, coughing all the while. He and Isaia put their faces down low - close to the holes in the shutter to inhale clean air. They both had their backs to me now.
"Fuoco! Fuoco!" Shouts could be heard outside.
But I was in here, and I could do something. I looked at the flames and felt... affection. I wasn’t afraid of it. It was just the combustion of oxygen and organic materials - simple pyrolysis. I was more afraid of the fire sitting inside me than the fire consuming the back room. Except that I knew this fire could hurt or kill Isaia. It had to be stopped.
The layers of flames between me and the very back of the storage room were visible to me now - like set pieces making up a landscape. Red flames consumed wood in front, spurts of blue flames consumed gas in back. Chemiluminescence - atoms rearranging, glowing with light. Why did I know that? Physics and chemistry were my worst subjects.
These flames were dirty. Particles glowed red and yellow - simply incandescent soot and smoke. Radiation swam in my vision like a mirage wavers in the desert. There was heat in here, intense heat. But it stroked across my skin like silk. I had changed at the atomic level. The atoms in my skin didn’t vibrate in the presence of heat like a normal persons anymore. I sucked smoke into my lungs, but it didn’t choke me. I exhaled. The smoke jetted from my mouth and nose. My body extracted the oxygen it needed and I breathed out the rest. Isaia’s eyes had glowed from the intense heat inside him, the brighter the light the hotter the heat. It all made sense to me now… except for the fact that it had been there in the first place. And now it was in me. I should be dead, but I wasn’t.
The shutter screeched, but it was a distant sound. I raised my hands to the flames. They flickered toward me in response. The fire outside of me was a frolicking puppy, a bucking horse. The fire inside of me was pure energy. It was nuclear, and it had consciousness.
Using the power of the fire inside me and simple will to kill the flames, I pushed them toward the back room, wringing the oxygen out, stealing it from them. Whatever magic Isaia had given me, I could see it in the wavering from my fingertips. The flames had been fed by oxygen through the window in the back of the shop. But though there was plenty of air to feed this fire, it was now dying instead. Because of me.
As the fire dwindled, blackened shelves and smouldering boxes were revealed in its wake. The flames licked through the doorway. They curled like fingertips clawing for purchase on the smoking doorjamb. The fingers disappeared and I followed them, suffocating them.
I stepped through the doorway. Shadows of shelving and boxes appeared and disappeared in my vision, all of it lined with glowing embers. The sound of crackling flames had become a kind of music in my ears. The curling smoke made a stream in the air as it was sucked out the rear window.
The last of the flames flickered and went out. I lowered my hands. I felt as though I'd just woken from a dream. Goosebumps swept across my skin at the power I held. The burning sensation inside me had increased and licked at me sharply from the inside. I put a hand over my stomach. I needed a drink, I felt parched.
I watched currents of smoke curl and drift. Dying embers highlighted the edges of the ruined contents of the room. Charred boxes lined the shelves like rows of lumpy headstones. Unrecognizable items smouldered and jutted from holes in boxes like broken bones poking up through blackened skin.
Voices called and I turned. Light streamed in through the front door of the shop. It lit up the mess on the floor and illuminated the smoke. The shutter juddered and jarred as it was shoved upward the rest of the way, filling the air with a horrible sound. I winced and covered my ears.
I squeezed my eyes shut as vertigo swept over me. Had it all been a dream? As though in answer, the fire inside me flickered and danced underneath my ribcage. There was nothing dreamy about the heat residing in me now. I opened my eyes, thinking of Isaia.
He looked back at me, his little chest heaving with coughs, but his eyes void of pain for the first time since I'd met him. He actually smiled, coughed again, and then beckoned me with his hand.
"I'm coming," I croaked.
The man looked over his shoulder. He took Isaia's hand and gestured to me with a jerk of his head. He cradled his injured hand against his chest.
I crossed the shop in a few quick strides, my feet crunching on broken glass. The stinging of my left palm and my knee reminded me that I was still human. My ankles ached from having been twisted earlier.
I took Isaia's other hand, and as hands reached to steady us, we ducked under the shutter and stepped out into the sunlight.
Twelve
Less than an hour later, I sat on a park bench under the trees with Isaia cuddled on my lap. Isaia and I had both guzzled as much water as we wanted. The pain in my gut was manageable. Isaia coughed occasionally, but seemed otherwise relaxed. The emergency personnel hadn't allowed us to leave in spite of my pleas to take Isaia home. Caution tape had sprung up in a wide berth around the tabacchi, and a crowd had gathered to watch the un
iformed police and firemen going in and out of the shop and talking with each other, taking notes.
My phone chirped and I pulled it out and blinked at it, feeling dazed.
Fed: Ciao Bella. I'm off tomorrow eve. Meet me?
I stared at the message, not comprehending it. I couldn't even bring Federica's face to my mind right now. I tucked my phone away without responding.
When we'd finally escaped the shop, a medic had pulled the man aside to where a gurney had been erected. Isaia and I had been taken into an ambulance boat in a nearby canal. Medics fussed over us, checked our vitals, and listened to our lungs. They cleaned and bandaged my hand and knee. My ankles had been twisted, but not sprained. They'd iced and wrapped them.
Isaia showed more fascination for the ambulance boat than distress from the ordeal. He had suffered some smoke inhalation but the medics said that otherwise, he was unharmed. He was to rest, and he would cough for a few days but it should clear up on its own. If anything else arose, I was to bring him to the hospital.
While my hand was bandaged, I had numbly given an account of what happened to an English-speaking police officer. I told them about the man in the green sweater. I left out everything about Isaia passing his fire to me. I thought the officer had bought my story that the flames had gone out on their own. Isaia and I had been released from the ambulance and told to wait until we were dismissed to go home.
I watched from the park bench, moths fluttering in my stomach, as the man told his version of the story to another officer. His cheek had been bandaged. He gestured toward me, and his voice rose and fell with emphasis.
The officer shot several glances in my direction. When he was finished taking the man's statement, he made a beeline for me. I shrank down against the bench, holding Isaia tighter. The fluttering moths morphed into panicked bats flapping against my ribcage.
The officer looked down at me, his dark eyes serious. "I'm Officer Zambelli. I am told you are a hero," he said with a thick accent.
I shook my head emphatically. "No, no, definitely not."
"If what Signor Fantelli told me is true, you are. You were the first person on the scene after the break-in and assault, and you called for help. After the shutter collapsed, you put out the fire. Is all that true?"
I shook my head. "The fire went out on its own." Maybe the old guy hadn't said anything about the white light that passed from Isaia to me. I shot him a grateful look. He was just staring at me, watching while the officer and I talked.
"You didn't put it out? He seems to think you did."
"No. The flames just went out," I croaked weakly.
"Signor Fantelli says the storage room had fireworks inventory and benzene lighters. All three of you are very lucky to have survived. It's very strange. A small window in the rear was wide open. That fire should not have gone out on its own." He studied my face, his gaze unwavering.
"Thank God it did," I rasped. "May I take Isaia home now? He's been awfully frightened. We both have."
We looked down at Isaia, sitting on the bench beside me. He dangled his legs and watched the action. He looked up at us. He was covered in soot and looked like a street urchin, but he was happier than I'd ever seen him.
"A few more minutes, signorina," Officer Zambelli said. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. "Please take this. If you happen to remember anything else, call me."
I took the card and watched as he joined his colleagues. They spoke to one another and sent more glances our way. I pulled Isaia onto my lap again, more for my comfort than for his. I prayed for Elda to arrive. I had called her immediately after stepping out of the tabacchi. My hoarse voice had probably done more to freak her out than my actual words. I’d tried to downplay the level of danger we’d been in, but she’d interrupted, saying she was on her way.
A younger version of the elderly man had appeared at his side. The younger man wore a business suit and tie. They spoke, and the younger Fantelli looked my way. I dropped my lips to Isaia's head and closed my eyes, taking deep breaths.
A moment later, "Excuse me. What's your name, Miss?" His words were softly accented.
I looked up to see the younger Fantelli standing at my elbow. The elder stood behind him, peering at me. I set Isaia on the bench and stood, feeling a little dizzy. I was very distracted by the new and mostly unpleasant sensation of fire inside my pelvis.
"Saxony," I croaked, and managed a smile for him. "How is your... father?"
"My Uncle, actually. He has a broken bone in his wrist, but he'll be okay. We want to say thank you for what you did." He held out his hand and I took it. He shook it warmly in a two-handed clasp. He pulled me forward and kissed my right cheek, then my left. His eyes were lined with moisture. "Really, I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there. We are so much grateful."
I blushed. "It's nothing. Anyone would have done it."
"No, they wouldn't."
Signor Fantelli stepped closer. He took my hand in his good one, kissed my right cheek, then my left, then my right again. "Grazie. Grazie voi. Grazie mille. Bella angelo." Tears glistened in his eyes.
I swallowed my own tears back at the look on his face. My emotions were already riding too close to the surface. "Prego," I rasped.
Elda appeared on the other side of the courtyard, her eyes scanned the courtyard frantically. I waved at her. She began to run, the sound of her heels on the stone echoed across the courtyard. She was halted by an officer and the two exchanged words. He looked over at us and let her go.
"What were you thinking?" Elda hissed as she took Isaia in her arms. She was visibly shaking. Her chin wobbled and her eyes flashed. The whites of her eyes were visible.
I took an involuntary step back, stung. Rationally, I understood her fear, but after everything I had just been through, my self-control was already stretched thin. My face flushed with heat. My body stiffened and I closed my eyes and visualized my brother. Don’t say or do anything you’ll regret. I took a deep breath.
The two Fantelli men stared at Elda, wide-eyed. The sweetness of our interaction had been swallowed up by awkwardness and embarrassment.
Elda ignored them. "You entered the scene of a crime?" she cried, her voice sharp. "For all you knew the... the... the criminals could still have been inside, and you thought it was a good idea to take my son in there?" She wrapped her arms around Isaia and squeezed him so hard, he squirmed.
I opened my mouth but I was too stunned for words. She was right, actually. I had exposed Isaia to danger. My vision wavered, like I was looking at her from across the top of a bonfire.
"This girl is a hero, signora," said the younger Fantelli, his voice soft. "She may have saved my uncle's life."
"She may have," said Elda, rounding on him. "But it could have been at the expense of my son."
Mr. Fantelli took a step back at the venom in her voice and put up his palms. He looked at me with sympathy and put an arm around his uncle. Fantelli senior was staring at Elda, his brow wrinkled. He pulled away from his nephew and directed a stream of angry Italians at her. He gestured emphatically toward me and then toward the burnt out tabacchi shop, clearly defending me.
Elda spouted angry Italian back at him, her voice growing louder. Spectators began to look our direction. An officer started to walk our way.
My focus passed back and forth between Elda and the elderly man. My mind whirled. I needed them to stop fighting. Black spots appeared in my vision and their voices blurred together. I reached a hand out for something to hold on to, but there was nothing. My hand patted the air uselessly. The world turned sideways. Everything went black.
Thirteen
Voices argued. My head throbbed. I opened my eyes and my vision swam, so I squeezed them shut again.
"Miss? Can you hear me?"
I forced my eyes open. "I can hear you."
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
I looked at the medic’s gloved hand. "Quattro. Do I get double po
ints for answering in Italian?"
She smiled and took my pulse, then listened to my heart with a stethoscope.
I tried to lift my head.
"Stay down, please. You fainted. We'll take you to the hospital soon, but emergency is backed up so it'll be a wait."
My heart began to pound along with my head. The last thing I wanted was to go to the hospital. Anxiety swamped my stomach at the very thought of it. "That won't be necessary. I'm feeling much better. I'm just tired. I didn't sleep last night," I lied. "I hate hospitals, so taking me there will only stress me out further. Please, just send me home to rest."
The medic frowned and spoke to a nearby colleague. I understood the words for 'delay' and 'four hours.' It sounded like if they sent me to hospital I would just be sitting around a waiting room for a long time.
"Really, I'm okay." I sat up slowly and she didn't prevent me. "May I have some water, please?"
Someone handed me a bottle of cold water and I drank it. I smiled at the medic, "See? Just a fainting spell. I have low blood pressure. Sometimes it happens."
She didn't look happy, but Elda, who was carrying Isaia, spoke to her in Italian and the medic finally agreed to let me go.
We were released from the courtyard and as soon as we were out of view of everyone, I leaned against the calle wall. Shock made my legs weak.
"Saxony?" It seemed Elda had passed over the worst of her anger.
"I just have a headache," I rasped. "I'm okay." The fire flickered in my belly, reminding me of its presence.
