by A. L. Knorr
I lifted my chin and steeled my expression. Curiously, instead of speeding up, my heart slowed down. My thinking sharpened. We circled each other in the small piazza, our hands at our sides, like gunfighters.
I had just promised Enzo I wouldn't use my powers to harm him, or any of his own. As bad as their relationship might be, I was sure Dante still amply qualified as 'Enzo's own.' I swallowed and cursed inwardly.
"Coward," he spat. "I should have known. A girl can't handle the power of fire. You don't deserve it. You're an embarrassment to your kind. A failure."
The fire blossomed in my belly, but instead of rage, I felt a soothing calm. "Well, you should know what that feels like."
He froze. "What do you mean?"
"I just had a nice chat with your padre," I began.
He bared his teeth and lunged.
I spat an ember at the stones in front of his feet and it ricocheted through his legs. He halted, up on his toes. He looked at the smoking gouge in the ground and back up at me, his eyes wide. That burning cinder would have burned right through him if I had been aiming for his chest. A muscle in his cheek jumped. But before he could react, I dropped my jaw open wide. The sound of a lot of air coming out of a small opening filled the small piazza as I blew furnace-heated wind straight at him.
It was the first time I'd done such a thing. I could have belched a raging jetstream of fire into his face and roasted him like a pig on a spit. What other abilities had the burning given me...had Dante given me? Oh, the irony.
His hair blew back and his eyes squinted shut. He put up an arm to defend himself and staggered backward, away from the blast of my furnace. I was amazed at how I could regulate the temperature so accurately. It was quite hot and strong enough to push him back, but not hot enough to seriously burn him.
Best of all, I felt no pain, and no anger. The fire and I were finally friends. I let my eyes glow. I was a fire magus, after all.
He hit the wall behind him and I let the stream of hot air fade. I closed my jaw. He peered over his forearm and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. His face looked pink and sunburned. Harmed? Not so much. Scared? I hoped so.
I fished in my bag for my travel sized bottle of aloe-vera and threw it at his chest. He gave a startled cry of surprise and caught the bottle. He looked down at it in confusion.
When he read the label, he started laughing, albeit without real mirth. The maniacal sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I walked past him and didn't look back as the laughter faded behind me.
Forty-One
I was pleasantly surprised to see Raf waiting on a bench near the Baseggios’ villa by the time I got home. He got up and walked toward me, his eyes worried. He opened his arms and instinctively, I stepped into the circle.
"Finally, the pretty Italian man I actually wanted to see."
He was too tense to laugh at my comment. "Everything okay?" he asked against my hair.
"Yes. I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble,” I rasped. When he didn’t reply right away I pulled back and looked up at him. “Raf?”
There was an awkward moment and I would have given a finger to know what he was thinking.
He cleared his throat, “It wasn’t your fault, Saxony.” He tucked a curl behind my ear. “But you’re definitely not like any girls I’ve ever dated before.”
I sighed. “I know. And from the looks of it, I never will be a walk in the park.”
His dark eyes roved my face, like he was trying to decide if I was worth investing any more time in. I couldn’t blame him if he decided I wasn’t. I was magi, and I was leaving soon.
I cleared my throat. “Visiting Enzo was a good call."
"I'm glad."
"Speaking of visiting Enzo. He'd like to see you sometime," I said as we turned and walked toward the door.
I told Raf about our conversation. He listened with quiet concern. He took my hand and he held it until we got to my doorway. Everything came spilling out. My concerns about what to tell my family when I got home. My voice, which was never going to be the same. My promise to Enzo and wondering what he might ask me to do one day.
"I wish I could answer all your questions," he said, looking down at me. "But I have a feeling that you're going to figure everything out." He brushed hair away from my forehead. "We will stay in touch?" he asked, softly. "I don't want to lose track of you.” I guess he’d decided I was worthwhile after all.
I felt more relieved than I thought I would. ”Absolutely," I said, kissing his cheek.
"Will you call me? After you get back to Canada. Tell me how things go for you. You know, with your family."
"Sure, I will. But you know what I really want?" I said, looking up at him.
"What's that?"
"I want to pretend I'm just a normal girl for a while. You still owe me a night of The Godfather." I unlocked the door.
"Sounds great," he said, "but no kissing during the scene at the beginning where Marlon Brando has the cat on his lap. That's the best part." He pulled the corners of his mouth down and made an impressive Don Corleone face. His voice wheezed out. "You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you ask me to murder for money."
I laughed. "Whatever. I'm so giving you the sloppiest kiss, right in your ear."
He cracked a smile, and we closed the door behind us.
Epilogue
"Good bye, Isaia." I rasped as I crouched for a hug.
The noise and bustle of the airport melted away as his warm body stepped into the circle of my arms. I was amazed at how much he had changed since the beginning of the summer. He'd been a tiny, malnourished looking boy with pale skin and haunted black eyes. Now he was wiry with new muscle, and at least half an inch taller. His skin was brown from the sun and his black eyes glittered with mischief. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and stepped back.
"I like your voice," he said.
I laughed. "I like yours, too. I'm glad you found it."
I smiled and felt my throat constrict as I stood and put a hand on the top of his head. I had been hoping to meet a special boy in Venice. Raf was sweet and I liked him, but I could admit that Isaia was the boy who had claimed my heart this summer.
"Where's Pietro? He was just here," I asked Elda.
"He took Cristiano to the toilet. Which is perfect because I haven't had a chance to tell you, since we haven't had two minutes alone since we got back."
"What's that?"
She took a deep breath. "I told Pietro. Not about the fire, just...about Nic."
I forgot to breathe for a second. "So he knows that Isaia... What did he say? I mean..." I glanced toward the bathrooms. "You guys seem okay. How did he take it?"
"Well, our vacation wasn't the most relaxing we've ever had, but...he admitted he had suspicions. I won't lie. He's very hurt." She watched Isaia run to meet Pietro as he and Cristiano came out of the washroom. "But, he's determined not to let it destroy us and so am I. I have a good man."
My throat tightened as I watched Pietro pick Isaia up and machine-gun kisses on his cheek. "You do. Do you feel better for telling him?"
She let out a big breath. "Like a thousand pounds came off. I have to atone, nothing changes that, but I won't be living in fear anymore."
"Speaking of which," I had to get it out quickly since Pietro was walking over. "You don't have to live in fear of Enzo anymore, either."
Her eyes widened. "What did you..." She abandoned the question when Pietro arrived. Her eyes shone at me as I hugged Cristiano goodbye. She knew what I'd done.
Elda kissed my cheeks and squeezed me hard, the way I had taught her Canadians hug. I wasn't sure if she didn't want Pietro to hear her, but she said quietly in my ear, "I can't thank you enough, Saxony. For everything. You're an angel, and you've changed our lives."
"Well, you've changed mine too," I said with my now permanently smoky voice. "That might be the understatement of the century."
"Keep in touch with us, please. If th
ere is ever anything we can do. Anything." Elda stepped back. She looked more at peace than I'd ever seen her.
Pietro and I kissed goodbye. "Come back for a visit anytime you wish, Saxony. Your family is welcome, too."
"Thank you, Pietro." I smiled.
The Baseggios waved goodbye and made their way to the exit. Isaia gave me a last look. I winked at him and he smiled as the family disappeared through the airport doors.
I stepped into the security line, double-checking that I had my passport and boarding pass. My skin prickled with the feeling that I was being watched. I scanned the room. I tilted my head back to look up at the second level as I stepped up to the screening station.
Karim and Giovanni, the man who had handed me Basil's card, leaned against the railing and looked down at me. They both nodded solemnly. The hair on my forearms stood up. I didn't know what they were doing there, but I didn't doubt for a moment that it had to do with me. I made my way through security. When I looked up again, they were gone.
I rolled my carry-on to my gate and sat down to wait for boarding. I was early, and the only passenger waiting.
I sent a text to my friends letting them know I was on my way home. We had all agreed to meet up when everyone was back, and I couldn't stop my knees from jittering in anticipation. Emotionally, I was doing the equivalent of rubbing my hands together.
A matronly stewardess looked up at me from behind the check-in desk. She looked a lot like the kind lady I had met on the plane at the beginning of the summer and I blinked, having a twilight zone moment.
"Tutto posto?" she asked. Everything in place?
With effort, I stilled my jumping legs. Subconsciously, I put a hand against the breast pocket of my button-up shirt. The business card pressed against my palm. I smiled at her. "Tutto posto."
<<<<>>>>
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed Born of Fire as much as I enjoyed living in Venice to do the research for it!
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Born of Water
Returning
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Born of Earth
Born of Æther
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Born of Earth Excerpt
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Chapter 1
I closed the front door and leaned back against it, sighing. Alone again. Our gigantic foyer echoed with the sound of my footsteps as I cross the marble expanse in my Jimmy Choo flip flops, past our restaurant sized but mostly un-used kitchen, through our quadruple sliding patio doors and into our perfectly-kept-by-complete-strangers back yard.
I dump the melted ice from four used glasses, stacked them, and folded the thick faux-fur blankets, still warm from the bodies of my best friends - Targa MacAuley, Saxony Cagney, and Akiko Susumu. They were gone. Gone for the summer. Our goodbyes had been said. Targa and Saxony’s faces had been alight with excitement for the promise of a summer abroad. Akiko was not expressive but she’d never shown reliance on our little circle of friends. Only she knew what she was feeling. If she was sad she didn’t show it. She was just Akiko, blessed with quiet confidence that she would handle whatever came. Sometimes I thought if there was an earthquake, she’d calmly hold back the crumbling city walls for us using just her mind. Was I the only one who felt hollow about being apart from them for the next two months? Probably.
Targa was practically best friends with her mom Mira, though she’d never admit it out loud to me for fear of hurting my feelings. Saxony, whose home life rivalled that of a 50’s family sitcom, wielded her au pair position for a Venetian family in Italy like it was a get-out-of-jail-free card. First time out from under the shadow of doting parents, first time flexing her grown-up wings.
When I compared my family life to my friends, my own looked stunted, deformed. My mom can buy me whatever I want in the whole world, but she can’t sit and have a conversation about something important to me if her life depended on it. So, Poppet, which uni most interests you? How school is going? Are you still struggling in biology? Have you found a boy that’s nice enough, smart enough, tall enough? Oh really, what’s his name? What colour are his eyes? Do you miss having a father around?
I’m competent Georjie on the outside, the girl who has it all under control; good grades, nice manners, bright future. But inside, I still just want to know my mom will be there to cry into a bucket of cookie dough ice-cream with me when I have a crap day.
Targa lives in a trailer with her mom. I practically died tripping over the crack in their front step the first time I visited. The front door sounds like its going to fall off the hinges whenever it gets slammed, which is all the time (I suspect her mom might be on steroids) but I’d happily live in that falling down love-stuffed piece of shite if I could have Mira for a mom instead of Liz. Mira is a busy work-loaded parent too, but when she looks at Targa you can drown in the love oozing out of that woman. When I look at Liz (if we’re ever in the same room together) I see laptop screens for eyes and a stiff case-winning smile. She has perfect hair though, yay for perfect hair. And she almost never loses a case. Dad vanished when I was 6 and Mom promised she’d always be there for me. That was before she made partner. Then she vanished too, emotionally speaking.
A hollow feeling buckled my knees. I plopped down in one of the deck chairs. The dark sky, so beautiful in its star-spackled glory while my friends were here, now looked like it was going to swallow me in its cold gaping maw. I stared into the dying embers. The insects had stopped singing and the fire had run out of heat. Silence stuffed my ears in one of those moments where you wonder if you’ve actually gone deaf. The dwindling fire gave a snap and confirmed I hadn’t lost my hearing, just my besties for the summer. Bugger me timbers.
The grinding hum of our garage door alerted me that Liz was home. I’d stopped thinking of her as Mom years ago. When ‘Liz’ slipped out of my mouth instead of Mom, she didn’t bother to correct me. I was eleven. “I need your signature on this permission form for the trip to the Natural History Museum, Liz.” She didn’t even blink. I hadn’t meant to say it, it came out as random and unexpected as hiccough number one. The memory of it still stings. It was a confirmation that I hadn’t been dreaming up the ravine between us, she knew it was there and she was ok with it. When Liz changed back to her maiden name - Sheehan, she asked me if I wanted to change my name from Sutherland to Sheehan, too. I declined just to see how she’d react, ready to be convinced otherwise. She didn’t even try, she just shrugged.
Liz was about to get some happy news. Targa’s last-minute decision to go to Poland with her mom meant that I’d be leaving too. Decision made. Ireland, here I come. I hadn’t been planning on leaving. It had been ten years since I’ve been to visit my Aunt Nelda, she’s practically a stranger. Then again, so is Liz. So what’s the difference? Stay home in Saltford with my laptop? Or get on a plane and visit the emerald isle for the summer? At least in Ireland I could take some pretty pictures, have something to write about for my blog. At least in Ireland I wouldn’t have to eat microwave dinners, binge-watch TV by myself, and avoid messing up the freshly cleaned everything once Martha had been through the house with her NASA-worthy cleaning weapons.
I loaded my arms with blankets and took them inside the house. “Liz?” I closed the patio door behind me with my toes.
“In here, Poppet,” she answered from her home office, in her aristocratic English accent. Poppet. Why is it that when a term of endearment isn’t delivered with any actu
al affection it sounds like you’re calling a barnyard animal? Perhaps a piglet?
I dumped the smoky blankets in the laundry hamper and padded down our plushly-carpeted hallway, silent as a panther. I swear you could drop a dead body down our stairs and you wouldn’t hear a thing. Targa takes off her socks just so she can feel the thick softness of our carpet with her toes. I can’t bring myself to do the same, I hate the feeling of bare feet.
“Hey,” I poked my head into Liz’s office. She was already pecking away rapid-fire on her laptop, a stack of file folders at her right hand, her Prada bi-focals perched on the end of her nose. Her hair looked like it hadn’t budged since she left at six this morning. “Got a minute?”
“Just. What is it?” She didn’t look up from the keyboard, her fingers flew even faster if that was possible. Any moment now, they could start smoking.
“I’m going to go to Ireland for the summer. Like you wanted.”
That got her attention. She looked up, lines creased her forehead as she peered over her glasses at me, her bionic fingers momentarily paused. “You are? What happened, I thought you and Targa were going to hang out, camp, that sort of thing. Isn’t that what you said last week? I’m sure that’s what you said.”
Camp? I hate camping. Seriously?
She took off her glasses and put the end bit in her mouth. I could see the gears turning, the drawers of files opening and closing in her mind as she searched for the most up to date information. “Did you and Targa have a falling out?”
Targa and I never fight. If Liz had ever seen us together or bothered to ask me anything about my best friend, she’d know that.
“No. Targa is going to Poland. Last minute decision. No point in me hanging about the house by myself all summer. I thought you’d be happy.” I stepped inside and sat in one of the two matching leather chairs facing her desk, like a client. I crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap. Might as well play the part, make her feel at home. My physical sarcasm was lost on her.
