Pyro: A Fire Novella

by A. L. Knorr

  Ryan frowned and jammed his fists in his pockets like a petulant child.

  "Didn't think so," I said. "Like I said, good night, Ryan. Go home."

  He stayed in step, matching me stride for stride. "And if I don't?"

  I stopped dead. He stopped, too. I turned to face him. He looked me in the eye and cocked an eyebrow as if to say 'what are you going to do about it?'

  I gave him a little smile, lit the flame in my gut and let my eyes light up only briefly. "See you in Dover, Ryan." Then I bolted down the street.

  "Hey!" he yelled behind me, and I heard him take off running.

  It sounded as if he was sprinting with real effort, trying to match me. I let him think he was catching up and I heard him laugh, his breath coming faster now.

  "That's so immature," he said. "Really? You're going to try to run away? You might as well just spill your secrets now. It would be easier than tiring yourself out. Or don't you know that boys can run faster than girls? I would have thought you learned that little lesson on the playground years ago."

  That was my cue. I let the fire go off. Explosions of hot power went off in my joints in a natural sequence that I didn't even have to think about. Toe joints, ankles, knees, hips, shoulders, elbows. I accelerated so fast I felt the weight of my head on my neck as it resisted. My arms pumped and my legs moved like pistons, and my strides became unnaturally long.

  Ryan fell behind rapidly. I turned the corner up ahead and kept running. The blocks flew by in a blur and I turned again, falling out of sight of my pursuer.

  I finally slowed to a walk when I arrived back at my block. I watched the end of the street ahead of me in case Ryan came back the way we'd gone, but there was no sign of him.

  I smiled as I let myself into the house. So Gage had an identical twin. They might be identical on the outside, but Ryan seemed absolutely nothing like Gage on the inside.

  Chapter 15

  Instead of going back to sleep, I took a shower to wash the smell of smoke off my body, and mulled over the events of the morning in my mind. The strange static I had seen in Calista’s head while my body was lit, the fact that there were three more mages in Saltford alone. It all seemed too strange to be coincidental. After I got out of the shower and dressed and toweled off, I checked the clock on my bedside table. 5:26 a.m. I grabbed my phone and dialed Basil. It was almost nine a.m. there.

  "Saxony?" came the familiar voice I liked so much.

  "Hi, Mr. Chaplin. Do you have a minute?"

  "Certainly, Saxony. Everything okay? Did you have a good flight home?"

  "Yes, the flight was fine. I've just had a strange night and I have a couple questions for you."

  "Fire away." He paused. "Pun intended."

  "Cheesy," I said with a smile.

  "Just wait till I get going," he replied, his voice full of mirth. "What's on your mind?"

  "I never told you that we've had some problems in Saltford with an arsonist," I began.

  "Really? How curious."

  "Yes. Not anymore, because she was caught tonight."

  "Did you have anything to do with that?"

  "Only a little," I lied. "But I did happen to get a look at her."

  "Mm-hmm." He was starting to sound mildly apprehensive.

  "I happened to be"—I took a breath, and my heart had begun its pounding again—"alight, when I saw her."

  "Alight!" He sounded full-on alarmed, now. "All of you? Entirely?"

  "Yes."

  "Good heavens. Did she see you in this state?"

  "Um, yes, but I'm not sure she'll remember me as human." More like a pair of hands reaching out from a flaming body.

  I heard a sound like skin slapping on skin.

  I asked, "Did you just do an actual face-palm?"

  "Yes. Yes, I did." He sighed, audibly. "I don't even know quite what to say to this recklessness, Saxony. Why did you do that? We talked about keeping your identity a secret."

  "She would never be able to pick me out of a lineup," I protested. "And there won't be any more property going up in flames because of her."

  "That is not the point," he began, and he sounded ruffled. "How the blast am I supposed to help you if you don't—"

  "Have you ever lit yourself fully on fire before?" I cut off his now very heavily accented rant. I guessed he sounded even more English when he was angry.

  He paused. "Yes. I have."

  "Did it change how you saw things?"

  He paused again. "Why? What did you see?"

  I launched into the description of Calista, the look on her face before she saw me, the strange glassy eyes, the ecstasy. And the strange static that overlaid her expression. "It was like the snow that a TV screen shows when it's not receiving a signal," I said. "Moving and flickering, just like that."

  "And it was only in her head? You didn't see it anywhere else in her?" The chastisement had passed out of his voice, and now he sounded like someone taking a statement from a witness.

  "No, just her head and face. What was it—do you know?"

  "I have a suspicion," he said after a moment’s thought. "Obviously, I didn't see it, but based on your description, I'd suggest you were seeing some kind of mania."

  I frowned. "Mania? What do you mean?"

  "I have reason to believe, although I haven't done any thorough experimentation with it, that when you ignite fully like that, it gives you a kind of vision. An understanding of what lies under the surface."

  I thought of how I'd seen the bones in Basil's face when my eyes had been at their hottest. "Like x-ray?"

  "Yes, like x-ray. But not of material particle. Instead, it reveals emotional and spiritual makeup."

  I let those words sink in. "Um—"

  "Let me see if I can explain better. Arson is a criminal act, yes?"

  "Yes."

  "It's a deliberate undertaking. To destroy property in that way for the purposes of looting or simple carnage takes a certain kind of immorality. If this girl you saw had that strange static over her heart, I might have suggested she was simply nefarious. A psychopath, even. But you didn't see it over her heart, you saw it in her mind. Pyromania is a compulsive behavior. Individuals who suffer from it fail time and time again to resist the urge to deliberately set fire to things."

  "The result is the same. Loss of property, even life," I replied.

  "Yes. I'm not excusing her behavior, simply pointing out the difference to you. It's just my best guess to explain what it is that you saw, based on my limited knowledge."

  I thought about this. "So, she's a pyromaniac. She can't control herself. It's an illness."

  "If I'm right," Basil answered, "yes."

  "Why could I see it?"

  He sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have all the answers, Saxony. We are supernaturals."

  "Not everything we do can be explained," I added.

  He surprised me by saying, "I disagree, actually. I think we can explain everything that we are capable of. Or rather, we will be able to when we have the right technology. We still have to operate within certain laws. We're just trying to figure out what those laws are because clearly, they aren't the same ones that apply to naturals. As far as I'm aware, no one has done the work yet, aside from Arcturus. And we've only just scratched the surface."

  The line went silent for a short time. I asked, "Do you think the police will take her mania into account?"

  "I have no idea, Saxony. I suppose if they have a therapist assess her, they will discover it, and it could have some bearing on her case."

  "Is it curable?"

  "Maybe. I've had occasion to study it a little. Given the nature of our own abilities, I thought it would be a good thing to know something about. Lighting fires induces euphoria in pyromaniacs, so I suppose it might not be dissimilar to breaking a drug addiction. Like any disorder, it will have a root cause, usually stemming from something in early childhood. A good therapist should be able to pinpoint that cause and prescribe treatment for it."

 
"Maybe I should write a letter," I mused.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Anonymously, to the police. Just to ask them to get her tested."

  He was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, even anonymously."

  "Why not? They'd never link it to me."

  "Did anyone see you there?"

  Crap. I closed my eyes. "Yes.”

  "Bloody hell, Saxony," he said, passionately. Then, "Sorry. But why didn't you mention that little fact sooner? It didn't strike you as important?"

  "I was going to tell you, I just hadn't got that far yet." I took a quick breath. "You weren't able to tell me that the two new students you have joining Arcturus this year are from Saltford."

  Silence. Then, "You've got to be joking."

  "I'm not. Ryan saw me."

  "What on earth was he doing there?" Basil's voice was full of frustration. I could only imagine what he was thinking about what kind of trouble all of us irresponsible teenagers were going to be when we arrived on his doorstep.

  "He said you're his godfather."

  "I am," he answered without any hesitation. "His father and I have a long history."

  "And your Gage's godfather too?"

  "Gage was there also?" His voice was now laced with incredulity.

  "No, he wasn't there. I met Gage at a soccer game before I ever talked to you for the first time. Pretty weird coincidence."

  "I suppose the three of you have commiserated now," he said wryly.

  "Actually, no. I haven't seen Gage since before I met you in England, and Ryan and I, well, we didn't exactly commiserate. Dude is kind of a jerk."

  I expected a smackdown but what I got instead was, "Yes, I know. He takes after his father."

  I spluttered a delighted laugh. "Just when I thought I couldn't like you any more—"

  "Don't be obsequious," he said with a sniff. "I'm going to be your professor, and I don't play favorites."

  I closed my mouth and pressed my lips together, still with a smile. I wasn't even sure what obsequious meant, but I could probably take a stab in the dark.

  "Yes, sir." I didn't buy the favorites line, because I could feel Basil's affinity for me. But I wanted to show him respect. "Don't you think it’s strange, though? That there are four mages in my small city alone?"

  "Yes," he admitted. "Yes, it is strange. And I can guarantee you, it’s not a coincidence. I no longer believe anything about the supernatural world is coincidental."

  "Me, either," I said.

  "But that's enough for now," Basil said. "You need to focus on getting yourself here and focusing on your studies."

  "Yes sir," I said again.

  "Have I at least helped to put your mind at rest about what you saw?"

  "I think so," I said. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  "Goodbye, Basil."

  "Talk to you soon," he replied. "And Saxony?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Please, for the love of Pete, don't go around igniting yourself on fire or getting involved in petty crime. Don't write letters to the police, they can handle things. Please," he beseeched me. "Just, don't do things."

  I couldn't help but smile. "I won't."

  Chapter 16

  An hour later found me drinking coffee at the breakfast table, looking out over the smoky cloud hanging over the old barn in the park.

  The sound of footsteps on the stair made me turn. Jack came into the room, his hair spiking up all over the place.

  I smiled. “Morning, Jack.”

  "Hey." He gave me a shy smile. His eyes widened as they fell on the spindle of smoke in the park. His lips parted in surprise.

  “She’s been caught,” I said. “There won’t be any more fires lit in Saltford. At least, not from her.”

  His brows shot up. “You helped? What did you do?”

  “Long story,” I said. “I’ll tell you later. Let’s talk about you instead. This morning is the first time you've smiled at me since the day I got home from Venice.”

  "Yeah." He wrapped his fingers around one wrist and twisted them, nervously. "Do you wanna go for a walk?”

  "Absolutely," I said. I got up and put my coffee cup in the sink.

  "So, I guess your trip to England was good." Jack said as we entered the foyer.

  “Yeah, did Dad tell you anything about it? I’m sorry I didn’t see you, I fell into bed as soon as I got home.” I slid my feet into a pair of flats.

  "That's fair," he murmured, bending to pull on a pair of sneakers.

  Jack and I went out the front door and closed it behind us. Jack scuffed his shoes along the pavement. Birds chirped in nearby trees and a light breeze tugged at my hair. The soft light of dawn had graced the neighborhood and the street lamps were flickering off.

  “So, what’s been going on with you?” I asked, softly.

  Jack took a breath and jammed his hands into his pockets. "I didn't have anything nearly so crazy happen to me as you did over the summer, but I kind of had my own weird development."

  I thought back to what Raf had said about his aunt. "You can sense things about other people?"

  He laughed. "That's a mild way of putting it. All I can feel whenever I get within ten feet of you is fire, fire, fire. Super hot, super bright, and noisy." He rocked his head side to side. "And I could feel that you were hiding something, but I couldn't tell more than that. The fires started as soon as you got home. It just made so much sense to me. You had to be the arsonist.”

  My mind caught on the most peculiar part of this admission. "Wow, really? It's noisy?"

  "Yeah, standing near you sounds like a wind tunnel. It's as distracting as the heat. I was sure you had to be the arsonist. The sense of fire, and the feeling that you were hiding something from everyone pretty much clinched it for me." He shrugged. "I never would have guessed that you're a..."

  "Fire mage?"

  "Yeah, that. Whatever that is."

  "When did you first start noticing that you could feel things from other people?" We crossed the grass toward the swing set.

  "Actually, it was just before you even left for Venice."

  He sat on a swing and I took the one beside him. The hinges squeaked as we swung back and forth, scraping our feet against the dirt.

  "It wasn't as strong then," he continued. "But one of the reasons I convinced Mom and Dad to let you go to Venice was because I could feel how sorry you were about hurting me. It made me take pity on you."

  I looked down at the hard-packed earth between my feet. An arrow of regret and shame sliced through me at the memory of what I had done. I had been so angry at Jack that night that I had thrown him out of his room. I hadn't meant for him to slip and hit the doorjamb, but that's what happened. He'd cut his face and chipped a tooth. I'd never forgive myself for it.

  "Don't feel that way," Jack said, quietly.

  I gaped at him. "What, you can read thoughts now?"

  "No, I can't read thoughts. But I can feel what you're feeling. You're still punishing yourself for it. I don't want that." He shifted on his swing like he was sitting on a thistle. "I might have wanted it if I couldn't feel what's in your heart. We want people to feel sorry when they've hurt us. But it's..." he struggled for the right words. His face looked so young under the park lights and I was reminded that he was only fifteen.

  "Out of proportion?" I offered.

  He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, you get it. And how you feel makes me feel even worse."

  "But you're the one who was hurt—you shouldn't feel worse."

  "I know. It doesn't really make sense. But I could feel how much you're punishing yourself, how mad you are at yourself. I don't like it."

  I considered this. "This new ability of yours, is it hard to live with?"

  "It's annoying as hell," he said, with passion. He rubbed his face vigorously, making his cheeks pink.

  "Don't you think it’s weird that we both have these strange abilities now?” I said. “I mean, as a ratio of supernatural
person to normal person in the world, you'd think the odds of two supernatural types ending up in one family were nil to zero."

  "You think my ability is supernatural?" He blinked at me as though the thought had never occurred to him before.

  "Of course it is. How many people do you know who can actually feel someone else's emotions?" There were those who were more empathetic than others, but far as I knew, the fact that Jack could feel my heat and hear my fire sent him rocketing way outside of normal.

  "Yeah, but what good is it? I can't make flames, like you." He gave me a lopsided grin.

  I laughed. "I think your ability will turn out to be much more useful than mine in the long run."

  "I doubt it," he mumbled. He wrapped his arms around the chains and clasped his hands in front of them. "It's hard to tell where my own feelings end and the other person’s starts. That's why I had to leave the table that night that you told us what happened to you. I could feel Mom’s heartbreak, RJ's amazement. He thinks it’s really cool, by the way." He shot me a side-eye. "And he’s kind of jealous."

  "Really?" But my mind had caught on something else. "Mom is heartbroken?"

  "Yeah, of course!" He looked surprised that I didn't know this already. "You're not her little girl anymore. She feels like your future has been stolen from you. In a way, she feels like she's experiencing a death. Dad's really angry, or at least he was before you went to England. He came back feeling way better. He had some really violent feelings about what he would have done to Dante if he had been there." He stopped suddenly, catching the horror on my face. "Sorry, Saxony."

  My heart was pounding and I was gripping the cold chains tightly. My breathing had gone shallow. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  "I shouldn't have said all of that, I'm sorry."

  "No, it's okay," I said. "Better to know the reality. Do you think Mom will agree to let me go to England?"

  He nodded. “Dad’s already convinced her. They were up late last night. I could feel the conflict like a heat wave through the house. I couldn’t sleep until they came to an agreement.”

  “But they did come to an agreement?”