by A. L. Knorr
"Okay, so with the dehydration, he said there is sort of a steady progression of pain and an increasing lack of control over the fire. But after six, eight hours or so the fire begins to dry up and burn your tissues until..."
"Can we skip to the next part? I think I got the whole being roasted alive concept."
"Sorry, I thought you wanted every last word. Then, he talked about something called externalization. Externalizing means the fire will show through your body as a light, or it comes out in the form of flames, sparks, or smoke. He said the first step for a magus is to learn how to control the externalization of the fire. In the early years, he said there is always a fight for control. The fire is wild and you have to tame it, and this is more of an emotional exercise than a physical one."
I nodded—it made sense to me now that I've had to deal with it for several weeks. It was always harder to control when my emotions were running high. I layered the cheese over the gnocchi and put the casserole dish into the oven. "I think I understand that, too. So far, this is nothing new."
"Then, as you might guess, he also talked about internalizing it. Which just means that people on the outside can't see the fire. He said it is critical for a magus to reach this point for their own safety. The world is not really aware of the existence of fire magi, only a few select humans know about you. So, except for people you trust with your life, you need to keep your ability a secret."
"Kind of obvious, thanks Nic," I said. "Go on."
"Internalizing means that you can control the fire well enough to use it within your body to give you strength and speed when you need it. Sort of like..." she paused, thinking. "I'm trying to translate it with the right word..."
"Detonating it?"
"Si, perfetto: detonation." She put a pot on the stove and lit the burner. She dumped a piece of butter in to melt. "He said that the simplest way to learn this is to make one detonation at a time and in one part of the body at a time. For practice, he suggested detonating it in your shoulder when you skip a stone out to sea. But he explained that eventually you'll be able to detonate the fire in multiple places at once and with rapid succession. For this he said to start by running and detonating in your hips, to practice alternating quickly back and forth and to increase your running speed.”
Okay, so that bit was new and interesting.
Elda continued, "He said that one of the best things he did to learn how to control his fire was take a martial arts class. He started just learning the movements, eventually adding detonations in his joints and soon he was able to detonate with every single movement. You can imagine how powerful you would become if you were to master this."
"I can, but I sure hope I don't need to have to use it that way. If I do, then it means I've got enemies," I said.
It sucked enough to butt heads with Dante; I didn't want to make a habit out of it.
"Everyone has enemies, Saxony," Elda said as she stirred chopped onion and herbs into the sizzling butter. "You are young, but give it time."
"So cynical. You sell blush for Pete's sake—what kind of enemies do you have?"
"Not the kind that need to be beaten up, thank goodness. But retail is a bloodbath, metaphorically speaking." She poured some water and then white wine into the pot and added the steaming basket.
I had to laugh. "That sounds a bit ridiculous, but okay."
She smiled and went on. "That was it about the fire itself."
It wasn't much to go on, but I felt a bit better armed than before.
"He said that he doesn't know a lot about the history of the fire magi, where they originated or how many there are. There were rumoured to be scrolls about the fire magi in the library at Alexandria, but those were supposedly destroyed. Poor guy was raised in an orphanage with no one to teach him about himself. The nuns who raised him told him that when his father dropped him off as an infant, they saw a strange birthmark on the side of his father's face, like a tiny flame."
"His dad left him at an orphanage, even though he was probably a fire magus? That's cold."
"His father told the nuns that Nic wouldn't live very long and then vanished. So I guess his dad thought he was doomed," explained Elda as she poured the mussels in the steaming basket to cook.
"I'm going to bet it was a bit of shock to the ladies when his eyes started glowing red and fire spouted from his fingertips."
Elda smirked. "Yeah, I wish I'd asked him more about how he managed to survive childhood in an orphanage run by nuns."
"By the way, my mark showed up," I said as I took plates down to set the table.
"Davvero?" Her eyes scanned my body anywhere that I had skin showing. "Dové?"
"Here." I lifted my bare foot and showed her the tiny flame shaped mole on the third toe of my left foot. She bent to look at it. "Bella," she said, with wonder in her voice. "I wonder if Isaia's will disappear now that he doesn't carry the fire anymore?"
"I've no idea, watch it and see." I took the plates to the table. Pietro would be home tonight and it would be one of the few times all of us would eat together. My mouth watered at the smells that filled the kitchen.
Cristiano and Isaia came running down the hall, giggling at whatever game they'd been playing. Isaia ran into me and wrapped his arms around my legs. He looked up at me, black eyes shining. I smiled down at him and put a hand on his head. Then he went running back down the hall after his brother, both of them thumping like elephants. Elda yelled after them to wash up for dinner.
I took a cup from the cupboard and poured some water from the fridge. I took a sip, set it on the counter and peeked into the oven through the glass door. The gnocchi was bubbling and the smell of tomatoes and cheese filled the kitchen. My mouth watered. I could feel the heat radiating from the glass door of the oven. Without thinking, I opened the oven door and reached in. I picked up the casserole dish. One hundred and sixty three degrees. The fire had given me the ability to read temperature. My mouth twitched, impressed in spite of myself.
"Saxony!"
I turned, holding the bubbling ragù. She stood there, her eyes wide, a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other. She blinked a few times and then her face softened. "It doesn't burn you, does it?"
I shook my head. "I can feel the temperature, every degree, but..." I set the dish down on the marble countertop and showed her my palms. The skin was pink, healthy, and un-singed.
Twenty-Five
I spotted Raf before he spotted me. He stood in front of the gelato shop where we'd agreed to meet, in line behind a woman with three kids crowding around her legs. One was crying and snotty nosed and the other two screamed the way kids do when they're trying out their voices. I winced at the pitch the little girl hit; the kind of piercing scream that felt like it was poking you in the brain. The poor mother juggled her purse, a wallet, and an ice cream cone.
Raf stepped up and took a cone from the man behind the counter. He handed it to the screaming girl, who instantly shut up. Then he took the other cone while the woman paid and handed it to the little boy, who looked like he was about to have a full-on meltdown. The child took the cone and stuffed it into his face instead. I smiled at the gratitude on the mother’s face. She dropped her wallet into her purse, picked up the littlest kid and the family shuffled off to find a table.
"Aren't you a gentleman," I said.
He turned and smiled. "Ciao Saxony. Come stai?" He kissed both my cheeks, his hand at my waist.
I kissed his cheeks back. "Sto bene, anche?" I said, telling him I was well and asking him how he is in return.
"Bene, bene. I'm glad to see you're in one piece. Which flavour would you like?" He pointed to the display of brightly coloured gelato. I chose stracciatella and bacio, a kind of chocolate with hazelnut in it that tasted a lot like the chocolate hedgehogs I could get back home. I took a single serving wet nap from a bowl on the counter in anticipation of a mess. Raf ordered Mint in a cup for himself and paid. We strolled toward an empty park bench with our gelato.
"Glad to see I'm in one piece?" I licked the bacio flavor and the sweet nutty flavor melted on my tongue. Gelato had been a brilliant idea. The cool ice cream pooled in my belly, soothing the heat.
"At the risk of sounding jealous, Dante isn't exactly the best choice of company. Of all the people in Venezia, I can't believe you met him."
"You're not jealous?" I teased. "Just a little bit?"
A dimple appeared in his cheek. "I tried jealousy once, but it didn't work. Just concerned. May I ask what he wanted with you? I'm sorry to sound nosy, but I can't help but worry that you don't know what you're getting into with him."
He sounded so serious. "What do you know about Dante?” I caught a drip of stracciatella before it went over my fingers.
"I know a lot, actually. I went to school with Dante. We're the same age. We were close at one time, almost like brothers." Raf dipped into his gelato with a tiny spoon and I regretted not choosing a cup. The weather was too warm and my gelato was melting too fast for me to keep up.
"What happened?" I spun my ice cream against my tongue to catch all of the drips.
"It's a long story, but I'll give you the short version. Dante and I became friends the day we met, which was the first day of first grade. We had a lot in common. We played soccer together, had the same classes, and we liked the same video games. In winter, we'd play in his basement for hours. I even got attached to his dad, Enzo."
"You know Enzo?" My ears perked at the name of the man who had yet to collect a debt from Elda.
"I did. Enzo really took a shine to me, but I didn't know why until I got older."
"Why?"
"He saw me as the son that Dante wasn't. Dante has always had a mean streak."
"Enzo didn't like that?" I would have thought that a mean streak would be tablestakes for the son of a crime boss.
Raf shook his head. "I know. It's counterintuitive. But, no. Over the years, Dante got jealous of how much his dad liked me. Enzo treated me like a son. You have to understand that Dante lives and dies by his father's approval. By Enzo's eyes, he was never good enough. The rift between them only grew as Dante got older. Enzo is a powerful man in Venezia, and I'm sure his authority extends well beyond the Veneto region by now."
"I don't have the impression he got that power by following the law." I crunched into my cone.
"No, you're right. But you might be surprised at what a paradox the guy is." Raf lowered his voice a fraction and I suppressed the urge to look over my shoulder. "I mean yes, he's not a law-abiding citizen. But he does operate by a kind of moral code. He's out for himself and his family, but he's also out for Venezia. I've seen him do generous things: donating money to charity, helping families in need. Compassion is a strategy that can help get him what he wants, buy the goodwill of the people and all that. But other times, I know he resorts to violence to get stuff done. He's got a lot of guys working for him. Long arms, you know?"
"Sounds like The Godfather." I laughed. Then I actually did look over my shoulder. All this talk was so strange. I'd seen mafia movies. I got the gist of how it worked, but it had always seemed like fiction to me.
Raf smiled. "Pretty much. The sad part is that Dante really looks up to his dad. He's desperate to follow in his footsteps. But Dante does it all wrong. He’s just a tyrant. I don't know where Enzo went wrong raising him, but if Dante ever takes control of the Barberini fortune, I'll leave the region." He said it without a trace of sarcasm.
"Do you think Enzo knows that his son would make a bad... what do you call it... Don? Is that the right term?"
Raf laughed. "You could say Boss, and I don't know. I haven't spent time with that family since I was twelve or so. I would guess so, though." He lowered his voice again. "They are a crime family, and I'm sure Enzo has a good idea of the kind of person he wants taking over one day." He finished the last of his gelato and tossed the cup and spoon into the recycling containers behind the park bench. He put an arm over the back of the chair and faced me. "Anyway, enough about the Barberinis. I just thought you should be aware."
"Thanks, I appreciate the concern." I popped the last of my cone into my mouth. I wiped my hands with the wet nap and tossed it in the trash. "When you were spending time with Dante, did you ever meet a guy named Nicodemo?"
Raf's eyebrows shot up. "How do you know about Nic?"
"Dante mentioned him. Did you know him?"
Raf nodded. "I met him. I got a good feeling from him. Warm, you know?"
My mouth twitched at his accidental pun…or did Raf know what Nic was?
"I didn't have much to do with him," he continued. "He was one of Enzo's best men. He was always gone for some reason or another.”
"Did..." I tried to think about how to ask what I wanted to know. "Was there anything different about him?
Raf looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" It was clear from his vacant expression that Raf didn't know that Nic was a fire magus.
"Nothing, just curious," I back-pedaled. "Do you know what happened to Nic?"
"No idea. The only Barberini I associate with these days is Fed. She told me he passed away but couldn't tell me the specifics. It's a mystery."
I froze. "Fed is a Barberini?"
"Yeah, she's Dante's cousin. You didn't know?"
"No. But that puts a few things into perspective." Fed had never been jealous after all. She really had been concerned about me getting close to Dante. Why hadn't she told me they were family? I wondered why she'd introduced me to him in the first place if she knew he was so dangerous. I pushed the question away. She never could have foreseen his attraction to me, or my becoming a magus. It wasn't her fault.
"Shall we walk?" Raf stood and held out his hand.
I stood and slid my hand into his. His warm fingers engulfed mine and the fire inside me crackled happily in response, which gave me pause. Sometimes it felt like it was part of me, and other times it felt like it was a parasite observing my life from the inside and pulling levers.
As we walked toward the sea, Raf lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the backs of my fingers. Then he looked down at me and smiled, tucking my hand into the crook of his elbow.
We strolled together and enjoyed the cool air coming off the water. It licked across my damp brow and lifted my curls. We talked about the differences between the Canadian and Italian school systems, what our families were like, and our ambitions for the future. Neither of us broached the subject of me leaving, or that this relationship was almost certainly temporary. If he didn't bring it up, I wouldn't either. Live in the moment, Saxony. Just enjoy him.
When we arrived at my door, it was nearly midnight. I turned to face him. A street light lit up the canal and cast us both in a soft yellow glow.
"So," I cleared my throat, "Elda and Pietro are leaving for Puglia for a few weeks. I'll have the place to myself. How about a movie night? For some reason, I feel like watching The Godfather. Can't imagine why."
He grinned. "That's one of my favourite movies."
He stepped closer. I tilted my face up to his.
"I would like that," he said quietly.
I closed my eyes as he bent to kiss me, softly at first. When he felt me press closer and twine my arms around his neck, the kiss deepened. The fire roared to life in my belly, licking up my back. Its liquid heat spread up under my ribs, into my lower belly and curled around my spine.
I wrapped my fingers around the back of Raf’s neck and up into his hair, savouring the sweetness of the kiss. He tasted like mint gelato. His tugged gently on my lower lip with his mouth. When the heat travelled up my neck and warmed my cheeks and eyes, my heart fluttered with panic. What if I opened my eyes and they were glowing? He'd freak out.
I kept my eyes shut as my mind raced. Slowly, I brought the kiss to a close and dropped my face down toward our feet. I tucked my head under his chin and lay my cheek against his chest so he couldn’t see my eyes. He smelled like cedar.
He kissed the top of my head and brushed my curls
away from my cheek and behind my ear. Thank God he didn't seem to notice anything strange. I took slow, deep breaths to calm my racing heart and temper the flame. My cheeks and eyes cooled and when I was certain that my eyes weren't glowing like a rabid dog's, I stepped back and looked up at him.
"Thank you for a lovely night," I said.
He pressed a warm stubbly cheek against mine and said, "Until our movie night, then."
He waited as I unlocked the door. As soon as I was inside, the door closed, I leaned against the doorframe and chewed my lip. If my eyes glowed whenever I was excited, what would happen when there was more than just a kiss going on? I covered my face with my hands, imagining Raf yelling with terror as a demon-eyed me glared up at him in the middle of a passionate make-out session.
I groaned. What kind of guy would want to be with a girl who looks possessed?
Twenty-Six
The days leading up to the Baseggios departure were full of activity. I did loads of laundry and cleaned the house from top to bottom…and both of the boys were home full-time. Whenever Elda was home we took care of the boys together, but she often worked late as she prepared her business for her absence.
Isaia gained energy like a locomotive going downhill, and Cristiano was so happy to have someone who could keep up with him that the boys were like little whirlwinds wherever they went. I barely had time to chat with Raf at all, and fell into bed exhausted every evening. Dante continued to text, begging to talk. I ignored him. I also promised myself I'd reach out to Fed as soon as the Baseggios left on their vacation.
I didn't see Pietro until the night before the family left. I was helping Isaia get ready for bed when I heard his voice in the kitchen speaking to Elda.
"Looks like your dad made it after all," I said to Isaia. I pulled his sleep shirt down over his head and let him go.
