Firebloods

by Casey Hays

  I swallow the lump forming in my throat. It seems so simple coming from Jonas, doesn’t it? Of course, he didn’t have any qualms at all about pursuing Devan. It was a no-brainer for him. He liked her, and he has never had a problem going after what he likes. Clearly, he sees my situation no differently.

  “Okay.” I swivel the stool until our knees bump into each other, comfortable and familiar. “Let’s say… hypothetically… I give this a chance. What if it doesn’t work out?”

  He cocks his head. “What if it does?”

  Oh no. He’s not getting away with playing devil’s advocate with me. He couldn’t win anyway against the world’s greatest. I punch him in the chest just hard enough to sting.

  “I’m serious. As much as you didn’t think twice about it, I do have you and Devan and Frankie to consider. Something like this puts all our friendships at risk.”

  His jaw clenches, and I know I’ve hit the right chord. You see, a little hiccup occurred in the Jonas-Devan love story that I failed to mention, and it involves a pretty, little blonde named Jessica Hamilton who stole Jonas’s attention for a good two minutes right after they started dating. But believe me, two minutes is enough to turn a girlfriend green with jealousy.

  In Jonas’s defense, he was only trying to be a nice guy when he offered Devan’s rival cheerleader a ride home after her car broke down. But this girl, it turns out, had been after Jonas for some time. The whole incident put a nasty wedge between Jonas and me for the first time in our lives, one that I don’t care to revisit.

  “You’ve got a valid point there,” he finally answers. “But on the flip side, I think if you gave Kane a chance, you might be surprised. In a good way.”

  I bite my lip, so he keeps talking.

  “Kane is a good guy, Jude. You already know this.”

  I consider it. It appears Kane and I have an entire pep squad rooting for us, my mom included, and there isn’t even an “us.” At least not that kind of us. Not yet, and maybe not ever. But…

  “So he talks to you about me?”

  Jonas half smiles and takes another chug of his drink, not answering. An incoming call interrupts, the screen on my phone lighting up where it lies on the bar.

  “Is it your Mom?” Jonas leans in for a look. I nod and drop to my feet, the phone to my ear.

  “Where are you?” I don’t give her the courtesy of a greeting, my tone tight with a frightened irritation. Her voice tunnels in.

  “Honey, don’t be mad.”

  I pace in front of the sink.

  “Don’t be mad? Are you kidding me? I’ve been calling you for hours.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Something came up and—”

  “Where are you, Mom?” I cut her off, emotions boiling. Now that I know she’s alive, I could kill her.

  “I’m… in Portland.”

  “Portland? Oregon?” I toss a confused glance at Jonas, then turn my back. “Why are you in Portland?”

  “I’d rather not explain this over the phone, Jude.” Her voice is shaky. “And do me a favor… don’t leave the house tonight, okay?”

  Don’t leave the house? Okay… something feels strange about this whole conversation.

  “Mom? What’s wrong?”

  “Is anyone there with you?”

  “Yeah. Jonas and Devan are here.”

  “Okay, good. I’ll be home in a few days.”

  “A few days? Mom—”

  “I love you, Jude.”

  “Mom. Mom!”

  I stand still for half a minute with silence pressed to my ear before I lower the phone. Mom’s contact picture blinks at me from the face of my cell phone. It’s an old one; her hair is shorter. I should probably update it. That’s all I can think about for a second until Jonas’s voice breaks in.

  “Everything okay?” He pierces me with concern. I shake my head.

  “I’m not sure.”

  His cell buzzes with a text, and I concentrate on his movements as he glances at it briefly and shoves the phone into his back pocket. More than likely, it’s Devan sending her undying love from the living room. In the distance, she sings along to a commercial.

  “What did she say?”

  “To stay home.” I stare at my phone a second longer before swiveling my head to meet his concerned gaze. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “She told you to stay home? So she’s parenting now?” He frowns. “That seems a little odd, being that she’s all the way in Portland.”

  He has a point. My mom has no rules. Not one. And even if she did, she’s never around long enough to enforce them. I’m not sure how I feel about being left to my own devices, but it’s a reality I live with. It has its perks, but so does feeling like someone cares. My freedom makes Devan envious, but honestly, I’m jealous for what she has, unreasonable rules and all.

  “She said she would explain everything when she got home,” I tell him.

  “Okay. So I guess you’ll just have to wait. At least you know she’s alive, right?”

  I nod. The doorbell rings.

  “Pizza’s here!” Devan calls from the other room. After a second she pops her head through the entrance. “Nevermind. It’s just Kane.”

  He sails past her into the kitchen, drops a duffle bag against the wall, and dumps a full plastic grocery sack onto the bar. I catch his scent, and my nerves recharge, pummeling that kiss to the forefront of my mind. Ugh… why can’t I just move past it?

  “I brought dessert, more sodas, and…” His dramatic pause causes me to look. He produces a fan of DVDs from behind his back. “A marathon of all the best horror movies of the year.”

  “Sweet.” Jonas takes the DVDs and shuffles through them. The doorbell chimes again.

  “Jonas?” Devan’s voice rings out. “Do you have any cash?”

  “We’re watching this one first.” Jonas slaps his choice onto the counter. He winks at me, brushes his eyes over Kane, and slides out. Kane smiles and shoves his hands into his pockets.

  “I brought stuff to make chocolate chip cookies,” he offers.

  “Oh, cool.”

  My voice is breathy, nervous, and he knows it. I can tell. I study him a second before pulling my gaze away. We stand here, silent and miserable in a way that has never come close to touching us before, and I feel sick over it. It’s my fault; I won’t deny it.

  I’m about to say something when Devan sweeps into the kitchen with Jonas on her heels, a stack of pizza boxes tucked up under his chin. Thankfully, the awkwardness is broken for a minute.

  “Geesh, Devan.” I slide the bag over to give Jonas room. “We’re not feeding an army.”

  “Kane is here,” she responds, tossing him a teasing glance. She slides around Jonas to the pantry for paper plates. “Last time, he ate two boxes by himself.”

  He shrugs with a smile. “I’ve been known to eat a pizza or two.”

  Devan emerges and drops the plates next to the pizza boxes. “See?” She offers me a plate. “You want pepperoni or cheese?”

  “Cheese, please,” Jonas says, leaving a smack on the side of Devan’s face.

  My kitchen floods with the familiar sounds of friendship. I take the plate and connect with Kane across the bar. He smiles.

  Despite my heart to heart with Jonas, I have no idea what to do about Kane. So tonight, I plan to leave things alone. Maybe ignoring it is a mistake, but it’s my mistake to make.

  I’ll live with it.

  Nine

  We watch two movies back to back before we take a break. Curled up on the end of the sectional under a blanket, I’m half asleep when the second one ends. Devan and Jonas snuggle in the big, made-for-two overstuffed chair, but she slides off his lap to perch on a foot stool, clicking off the movie. Feet drawn up, bare toes dangling over the end, she flips through channels, pausing when something catches her interest on the late night news.

  “Oh, wow.” She straightens. “A comet flew over Carson City tonight.”

  I open a lazy eye. An o
range smear sails across the television screen while a reporter rambles on about the beauty of the anomaly.

  “Sweet.” Jonas pulls upright, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “I wonder if we could still see it if we go outside.”

  Devan’s eyes snap toward him, and they both jump up and scramble out of the den. Kane shows no interest in following. Stretched out on the opposite end of the sectional, he shrugs at me.

  “You’ve seen one comet, you’ve seen them all.”

  My phone buzzes. It’s Frankie. She doesn’t even bother to say hello.

  “I’m texting you a video link.”

  “Okay. Of what?”

  “Are you alone?”

  “No.” I glance at Kane. He focuses on the television screen. “Everyone’s here but you.”

  “Watch it alone, and call me back.”

  She hangs up. Her text message pings into my phone. I shove the blanket off.

  “I’ll be back.”

  Kane watches me slide past him. We really haven’t talked much tonight.

  I stalk up the three short steps to the kitchen, which is separated from the sunken den by a sturdy wooden railing, and slip into the guest bath off to the left. Sinking onto the toilet, I hit the link.

  The video is titled “Spooner Lake phenomena.” The scene is pretty dark, so I flip off the overhead lights to see it better. Whoever filmed it hides behind a tree, angling the camera at two dark figures in the background. The sounds of their voices in the distance is all I hear, but I can’t make out what they say. Squinting, I turn my phone to make the picture bigger.

  It’s hard to tell what’s being recorded at first. Until the lens zooms in. The two people look young—teenagers, maybe. They cling to each other, kissing every once in a while. I pucker up my face.

  “What in the world is this, Frankie?” I whisper to myself. I really don’t care to watch a make-out session.

  Just as I think that, one of the figures changes form. A pair of dark wings flails out behind him. In the next second, the girl does the same. I squint. The camera shakes, zooms back out. I hear a whispered curse word. The couple turns toward the camera, wings evaporating into thin air, and the scene goes blank.

  Stunned, I stare at my phone before I rewind it. I watch the video three times. The last time, I pause it on the winged figures. Those are definitely wings. But… people use special effects with cinematography all the time. This doesn’t prove anything.

  I dial Frankie’s number. She picks up on the first ring.

  “Did you watch it?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” I bite my lip. Time to play the devil’s advocate. “It looks fake.”

  A breathy huff is her answer. “It’s not a fake. I checked it against several sources. And you want to know the crazy thing? The guy who recorded it? He can’t remember a thing. Doesn’t remember seeing or filming them. Nothing.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. This footage was posted yesterday. I want to investigate the area. The sooner the better.”

  “Okay. When?”

  “Tomorrow. And be prepared to stay overnight.”

  I straighten. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Yes, Jude. You’ll be fine. My tent is bugproof.”

  I flip on the light, phone pressed to my ear, and bounce to my feet. I catch my reflection in the mirror.

  Let me reemphasize a little detail you may have missed about me. I have an overwhelming fear of insects—of any kind. And the mere thought of spending one night out in the open, in the middle of summer no less, kind of brings on a panic attack. So you see, Frankie’s promise of a bugproof tent does nothing to ease these fears.

  “Look, Jude. Until I stumbled upon that video, I never in my wildest dreams would have considered that someone from the Vatra u Krvi race might be anywhere near Carson City. And if the two young Firebloods in that video are creatures of habit, they just might come back. The only way we may have even a remote chance of meeting them is after dark, for obvious reasons.”

  “You want to meet them?”

  “Of course.” Her voice rises at the thought. “Imagine getting an interview from a true blue Fireblood. It would be amazing.”

  “And you think they would talk to you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s worth a shot. I’d promise to keep them completely anonymous.”

  “I really don’t want to stay all night.” I know I sound whiny. “And what if they aren’t Firebloods? What if it was just a weird glitch with that guy’s camera? Or someone’s great results with special effects? You’re just going to be disappointed.”

  “You know what’s disappointing? You,” she scolds, her tone full of irritation. “You said you’d give me two weeks.”

  My reflection frowns at me. I hate it when she guilts me.

  “Fine.” I pull open the bathroom door and slip into the kitchen.

  Why did I have to make that stupid two-week promise? I make a mental note to pick up a couple of extra bottles of insect repellent.

  “Why don’t you come over?” I lean over the end of the bar, changing the subject to ease her back into a good humor. “We’re going to watch another movie, and we still have a full box of pizza left.”

  “No thanks. While you’re wasting valuable time fraternizing, I’ll be researching.”

  “Okay.” I shake my head. “Have it your way. But I think you need to have a little fun this summer.”

  “This is fun.” She pauses. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow around three. That will give us plenty of daylight hours.”

  She hangs up. I toss my phone onto the bar. Seriously, my plate could not get any fuller.

  Jonas gallops into the kitchen with Devan straddling his back. She giggles and slides to the floor.

  “Any luck?” I ask.

  “Nope,” Jonas answers. “Too cloudy.”

  He trips down the steps to the den and dives back into his chair. Devan tugs a soda can free from a six pack on the end of the bar and disappears into the pantry.

  “Do comets hang around a few nights?” she asks, emerging with a package of popcorn. She rips open the plastic and tosses the bag into the microwave.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug and stack a few used paper plates inside an empty pizza box.

  “I’m going to look that up,” she says. “I entered a contest to name one once.”

  I’ll just point out that Devan is slightly obsessed with space. Her bedroom ceiling is decorated with the entire planetary system, and she’s made me watch every eclipse with her since we met. But here’s the thing about Devan: she thinks space is amazing as far as how big and impressive it is; she just has no desire to learn much about it beyond her fascination with its appearance.

  “Did they pick yours?” I ask. She shakes her head.

  “No. And mine was so cool. Lolli-bop.” She spreads her hands wide, displaying the word in her mind. “How do you pass over a name like that?”

  “The nerve of those people,” I tease.

  “Right?”

  The microwave beeps. She dumps popcorn into a bowl and skips down the steps to rejoin Jonas in the chair. He and Kane are deep in conversation about some upcoming moto-cross race, but before long, the beginning scenes of the third movie hush them all up. Devan snuggles into Jonas, the bowl of popcorn nestled between them.

  I’m not in the mood for another movie, so I gather up the trash and spray the countertops with cleanser. The smell of butter lingers in the air. I recognize the sounds of a high-speed chase coming from the den. And then, Kane appears at the top of the steps.

  “Need a hand?”

  I look up, my stomach suddenly queasy. He leans against the wall opposite the stair rail, watching me. I clear my throat.

  “You can take out the trash.”

  I leave my rag and cross the room, lifting the bulky, plastic bag. He shoves off the wall, skirts the bar, and takes it, his fingers cinching down on mine for a second. It’s deliberate. His hold jerks me to a stop just long en
ough to make me look at him. His eyes say something, but I don’t try to figure it out. I tug my hand free and prop the back door for him. He goes. I fill the sink with sudsy water and pluck my ring from my finger, tossing it into the empty soap dish. It makes a tiny clinking sound on impact. A minute and a half later, Kane sidles back in. He closes the door, keeping his hand pressed against it.

  “Are you planning to keep it awkward between us for life? Or just a week or two?”

  My hands go still beneath the bubbles. The healing scrapes on my knuckles sting, and I concentrate on that pain for a brief moment.

  So he’s really going to make us do this, isn’t he? We can’t just put it behind us? Between pizzas and movies and small talk, I’ve done everything in my power tonight to avoid this topic. Why can’t he let it be? Out of sight, out of mind, right?

  But he waits, and I drag out the seconds between his question and my answer. I’m not exactly sure what to say, and my nerves are all tingly on the ends. You know how it is when you walk down a hallway thinking you’re all alone but then you feel those prickly eyes on your back? It’s like that, only worse. So I take my time, rinse a glass, dry my hands, and wait for my nerves to get a grip.

  When I face him, the look in his eyes does this strange thing to my stomach. His baby blue tee-shirt clings to his chest muscles, and his black-as-night hair falls in short curly waves that meet at his sideburns. None of these details have any kind of calming effect whatsoever, so I clutch the edge of the counter behind me with both hands and answer him with a squeaky whisper.

  “I screwed up. And now, everything just feels weird.”

  “Because you’re making it weird,” he retorts.

  “That’s–”

  I frown. I want to deny this, but can I? I guess I am the one making things so stiff between us.

  “Okay,” I sigh. “That’s fair.”

  “It’s totally true.” He laughs and takes a step toward me. I tighten my hold on the edge of the granite countertop. “We were fine when you left the club last night.”