Firebloods

by Casey Hays

  I smile. “How do you know?”

  “I can tell from your breathing.”

  I swivel my head and meet his gaze just inches away.

  “If I didn’t know any better, Kane O’Reilly, I’d say you have a gift for reading the senses.”

  “Yes,” he agrees. “It’s called inner-fantastic-ness.”

  I laugh, shifting my eyes to the ceiling. “Oh yes. Right up there with compelling and all that.”

  “You learn fast.” His smile laces the words. I release a quick breath.

  “But this thing happening between us? It’s real.” I glance at him. “Right?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he edges closer until my nose is a half inch from his. And in my next breath, he moves in. Our lips touch. They grapple, pulling at each other until they find the perfect fit—my lower lip trapped between both of his. And far, far in the back of my head, my thoughts throttle full speed as they process what’s happening.

  He eases away, resting his head on his bent arm. I suck in my bottom lip, holding it in place with my teeth.

  “Is that real enough?” he whispers. I nod, breathless. He grins. “I told you you’d know if I ever really kissed you.”

  “Yeah,” I smile. “Can we do it again?”

  And then, we do.

  Perfect fit.

  “Frankie’s got a real set up out there,” he whispers against my lips. “Are you really not going to tell me why we’re here?” He pulls back and rests his sleepy gaze on my face.

  “I’m really not going to tell you,” I whisper. “And don’t think you can get anything out of me with kisses.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t make that prediction too quickly,” he teases.

  His breath tickles my cheek, and I shiver. My mind is fuzzy, absorbing the kiss, and his scent scrambles my brain a little. I roll to my side. I’m so attuned to him. The outline of his chest filters through the shadows. His fist lays right in the middle of his abdomen, rising and falling with his breathing. He flexes his fingers once, then bunches them up again. All of it draws me in until I think I might tell him anything he wants to know.

  “You'll think it's stupid, anyway.” I toy nervously with my ring. I should shut up now.

  “You think so?”

  I contemplate my next move very carefully. The entire project is ridiculous. We aren’t going to find a Fireblood, plain and simple. Not one single shred of real evidence proves its existence, despite Frankie’s best efforts to make me see it. But I promised to keep my mouth shut—at least for the next two weeks.

  The dilemma battles within me until Kane rolls toward me and slides an arm across my waist, pulling me closer. I lose focus as his warmth penetrates. It feels so weird… and so right.

  “I’ll take a wild guess,” he offers. I hold very still. “You’re looking for something that lives out here.”

  Wrong.

  “Well, that’s genius.” My sarcasm takes over, but I can tell by the look on his face, he appreciates it.

  “And knowing Frankie,” he continues without missing a beat. “It must have some supernatural craziness behind it.”

  “Maybe…”

  He tugs on my hip. “Okay, be straight with me. Are we looking for Bigfoot?”

  I hear his teasing smile.

  “No,” I whisper.

  “What then?”

  The argument within takes a critical turn after this. I suppose, I could tell him a partial truth. What would it hurt? I mean, I can trust him with all of it but…

  Okay… a partial truth.

  “The Phoenix.” I say it quickly, as if that will make divulging it less incriminating. But I tense beneath his touch. He stares at me, not blinking, so I expound. “You know, the bird that bursts into flames every few hundred years or so?”

  “I know what it is,” he responds.

  I attempt a smile, but his expression is unreadable. I twist onto my back to examine the ceiling.

  “I told you it was stupid. You should be laughing.” I glance at him. “Why aren't you laughing?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I guess it’s… interesting.”

  “Wait.” I furrow my brows together in mock confusion. “Are you saying—do you believe in the Phoenix, Kane O’Reilly?”

  I laugh; he returns it with a soft smile. He raises a hand and runs his fingers through my hair a couple of times before his palm finds its home against the curve of my neck.

  “What made you decide to do this for your science project?”

  “I didn’t,” I clarify. “It was all Frankie. In fact, I objected.” I shrug under the weight of his hand. “She claims there’s some pretty strong evidence.”

  “Really? On the Phoenix?”

  I nod. I’ve said too much, and my brain starts computing some way to get out of it. So I make something up. An alibi.

  “You remember that comet sighting the other night? I guess that footage was taken from this spot. Only Frankie doesn’t think it was a comet.” I laugh softly. “Apparently, it’s connected to her theory.”

  “Crazy,” he whispers, and his fingers are embedded in my hair again.

  “Anyway, I’m just along for the ride.” I shrug. “I’m not totally on board with her idea. And I feel kind of bad about that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t been much help because…” I shield my lips with the side of my hand and whisper, “I don’t care.”

  “I see. So… you’re looking for evidence that the Phoenix was here?”

  “Yep.” I press my lips together. I hate lying to him.

  “Did you find anything?”

  I shake my head. “Two weeks. Then, we change topics. And if she gets no results tonight, maybe sooner. So far, nothing.”

  I raise my hand, fingers stiff, and cut through the air when I say it. Kane’s arm slides back to my waist. I roll toward him again, tuck both fists up under my chin, and plant my gaze on his face.

  “Your eyes are really bright,” I whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  He blinks, and the gold fades back into the dark green. I squint.

  “Seriously, Kane, your eyes are weird.”

  He laughs. “Okay.”

  The idea of us swirls over me for a second, and I move a little closer to him, that giddy new excitement tickling like a feather. His embrace tightens, and I wonder if he feels it, too. He must.

  We stop talking after this, my forehead pressed into his throat. The sound of the cicadas loud humming drowns out my thoughts. A couple of squirrels chirp back and forth in conversation, and the wind whistles through the tent. It’s like a private lullaby, and I begin to drift.

  Soon, Jonas lumbers into the tent, a box balanced on his hip, and his rifle tucked under one arm. His flashlight reflects off the walls, casting his shadow against the tent. He holds the flap open for Frankie, who ducks in with her laptop still open and glowing against her face. Her voice falls over me disapprovingly.

  “Jude, are you sleeping?”

  “No.” I jerk upright. Kane stirs, his hand dropping from my side to lay between us. “Just taking a break.”

  “No breaks.” She frowns and settles on her sleeping bag. “I knew Kane would be a distraction.”

  Kane, who isn’t sleeping after all, rolls to his back with a laugh. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, and I nudge him with my toe to hush him. But nothing can prevent the smile that explodes across my face. I’m just too happy. He turns over, his back to me, and scrunches the pillow up in the bend of his arm.

  “I’ll stay up with you, Frankie,” Jonas proffers, stretching out beside her and leaning on an elbow to peer at the computer screen. She slams it shut.

  “That’s enough out of you, Sherlock.” She shoves a shoulder into him. His elbow slips out from under him, and he slumps over with a grunt before he pushes up on all fours, laughing.

  “Come on. The suspense is killing me.”

  “No one has ever died
from suspense.” She adjusts a pillow behind her and tugs the computer onto her lap. “I hate that cliché.”

  She digs through her duffle bag and pulls out Randall McNally’s journal. “Here, Jude. Some light reading to keep you awake and focused.”

  With a sigh, I take it and click on my flashlight.

  “What’s that?” Jonas asks.

  “Don’t answer him.” Frankie clips her eyes toward Jonas. “Take a lesson from Kane and just go to sleep, would you, Jonas?”

  “Fine, Melmack.” Jonas settles back on his own sleeping bag and drags a set of earbuds from his pocket. He plugs in and sifts through his ipod.

  “Anything so far?” I ask Frankie.

  “A few sounds have registered that might be interesting on further inspection, but nothing concrete as of yet.”

  I tilt the flashlight, opening the journal and spreading it over my crossed legs. The top of the entry is marked, September 12, 1971.

  “The creature was out and about agin’ in the night. Oy’ kna b’cause oy heard ‘im. The strangest noise ye ever did ‘ear. Squealin’ loike a banshee, ‘twas. Oy locked me family in tight as a fist until mornin’.”

  I have to reread the passage three times because Frankie’s right. Kane’s musky closeness is really fogging up my concentration. Plus, the breeze kicks up, wafting a minty pine scent through the rustling tent. Too many smells. I shake my head.

  Focus, Jude.

  Suddenly, Kane raises up a little on one elbow, then sits up completely. I peer at him.

  “Everything all right?”

  He pulls up on his knees, knuckles pressed into his lumpy sleeping bag. He focuses on the tent flap like a watchdog.

  “Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just gonna… I’ll be back.” He tosses me a weak smile and shuffles to his feet. Frankie follows him with her eyes as he unzips and ducks out. She plucks one earbud free.

  “Where’s he going? To the bathroom?”

  Jonas snores once and rolls over. I dump the journal and flashlight and crawl across the tent to zip the flap closed.

  “I don’t think so.” I sit back, draw my knees up to my chest. “I think he heard something.”

  “Heard what?” She’s suddenly on full alert. She curls her feet up underneath her and listens with me.

  Whatever he’s doing, I don’t feel good about it. I mean, what if it’s a bear or a bobcat? Or a serial killer? I glance across the tent at Jonas’s rifle laid alongside the wall and refocus on the shadows outside. I sure hope Kane has his pistol. I don’t remember seeing it.

  My dad was killed in the state park.

  That swift thought sweeps in and sets my nerves on fire. I pull on my shoes and climb to my knees to peek out the mesh window. Nothing but blackness extends for yards. I grab the flashlight, and against my better judgment, I slide the zipper up.

  “What are you doing, Jude?”

  I don’t answer her. I yank open my backpack and slam a magazine into my Glock. My toe accidentally jabs Jonas in the leg when I step over him. He grunts in his sleep and rolls over.

  “Jude?” Laptop forgotten, Frankie scrambles to her knees. “You’re scaring me a little.”

  “It’s okay.” I part the flap, toss her a quick glance. “I’m just going to step right outside.”

  With both hands, I slide the pistol out first, my skinny flashlight propped against it. The red dot of the laser pops into my line of vision on the trunk of a tree, but I keep the safety on. It’s deathly quiet—the stillest night of the year it seems—and I perk up, listening for the possible sound of Kane stomping across the gravelly parking area. On her hands and knees, Frankie circles behind me to look out the window, and I take a brave breath and step out.

  A huge bug zips through the beam of my flashlight, startling me before it buzzes out of sight. I freeze and take another uneasy breath. I sure don’t want to be out here too long.

  “Kane?”

  My voice echoes off the trees and disappears with the wind. I take one step, the gun aimed downward. The flashlight emits a wide circle of light in front of me. I hear nothing but the crunching of rocks under my feet.

  The moon is high enough now for its light to cast a bright sheen over the area. The truck and the motorcycle stand like two metal beasts, their shiny chrome vivid under the sky. The sky is empty of clouds, and the stars stretch across the blue expanse in waves of twinkling dots. I see the lake on the other side of the vehicles shimmering under the moon. I take another step.

  “Kane?” I raise my voice a notch this time. No answer.

  “Where is he?” Frankie asks. “He shouldn’t have gone so far out of range that he can’t hear you.”

  I know this, but I don’t like her vocalizing it. I scan the area, swinging the flashlight. He is literally nowhere.

  Just when I think we should wake Jonas, something sounds to my right. I spin, gun raised, and move my thumb over the safety, ready to release it. I hear the sound again—a branch cracking inside a stand of trees. Then a loud crash, followed by a mass of jumbling voices. My heartbeat pounds inside my head. I release the safety, but don’t cock the gun.

  “Kane? Is that you?”

  It takes me half a thought to figure out whatever is in those trees is not Kane. All the tiny hairs on my arms raise up with a chill. A rumbling shakes the ground beneath my feet, throwing me off balance. I squeeze the gun, heart racing. My breath heaves through my lungs.

  “Kane?” My voice scares me. It’s full of fear.

  A blood-curdling scream pierces the night. It stabs straight through my ears, igniting the deepest pain receptors in my brain, and the fear explodes. I sink to my knees, the gun and the flashlight slipping from my grip. And in one motion, I plunge my palms against my ears.

  My own scream joins the night sounds.

  Everything inside me swirls—blood-red. Inside my scream, I feel the blood pumping, hear my heart beating as if I hold it in my hand. My breath, rasping in tortured inhalations, harasses my ears behind the screaming night. I push the tips of my fingers into my ears and crumple into a ball, knees drawn up. In the distance I hear Frankie. She’s scared; I feel her fear in my blood too, and this escalates the agony searing through my body.

  “Jude! Jude, what’s wrong? Jude!”

  Frankie’s hands grip my shoulders; I barely feel this, but I am acutely aware of it. I curl more tightly; the pain pierces deeper.

  “Jude!”

  Kane? I work to open my eyes. I can’t, but I push through the pain, feeling for him. Frankie’s fingers wrap around my bicep, but Kane? He’s near. I can’t reach him!

  “Kane,” I whisper. The pain shoves deeper. I scream, and my body goes rigid, stiff as a board. Frankie yells my name; her hands are on my face, shaking me.

  “Jude? Jude, can you hear me?”

  It sounds like her mouth is full of peanut butter. I can’t answer her; my tongue feels just as thick.

  “Jude!”

  It is Kane; I know it. He sounds like he’s right beside me, speaking into my ear. I shove back at the distress racking my body and focus on his voice. He sounds different—the tone fluid and smooth and full of a kind of power—but it’s him.

  “Take off your ring!”

  What? Confusion joins all the other elements raging through my mind and body. Take off my ring? He picks this moment to bring up that nonsense again? Besides, that ring is supposed to protect me. Daddy said so. We had this conversation just today. Taking it off would be stupid, right?

  “Do it, Jude. Now!”

  His command is clearer than anything else penetrating my senses. Frankie is crying; I hear her, but she’s in a tunnel, muffled. She thinks I’m dying—a seizure or something. It’s strange that I know this, but I do.

  The pain nauseates me until I’m close to blacking out. But somehow, it also gives me clarity. In the next instance, an aching jolt like lightning bolts of fire rearranges my perspective. I need this to end.

  “Take it off!”

  A whoosh of ai
r like a sudden whirlwind accompanies Kane’s voice, and I don’t spend any more thought on it. It’s a struggle, but I bring my trembling hands together, grapple for my ruby, and pry it off.

  My body warms, growing fierce and hot—the blood gurgling just under the surface of my skin. But the pain vanishes like a bad dream. I open my lids; my eyeballs roll from side to side. Light. It’s everywhere. Bright and orange and flaming, it doesn’t hurt to look at it. Kane leans over me, burning out of the fiery light. Music replaces the pain. I know this music; I’ve heard it somewhere before. Where? It’s… different somehow. Kane touches the tips of his fiery fingers to my cheek. I focus on this.

  “There you are,” I whisper, and the words scald my throat. It feels wonderful.

  Frankie screams and somewhere far away, I hear Jonas.

  And then… I finally black out.

  Fourteen

  Birds chirping. That’s what I hear when my mind resurfaces. I pry open one eye and look around.

  The second thing I hear is Jonas whistling outside the tent. He pauses.

  “You want coffee or hot chocolate?”

  “Hot chocolate,” Frankie responds. A few beats, and she speaks again. “Can you help me fit these wires back into this bag? I can’t remember how they go.”

  “Sure.”

  The clanking of a metal canister. I pinch my eyes shut. Something feels off about their casual talk. I swivel my head to the left; the tent is empty. The air smells like burnt wood.

  Bits and pieces of the night come tripping through my brain. I remember bologna and potato chips. I remember reading Randall McNally’s journal. I remember Kane’s kiss…

  I pause, press my fingertips to my lips. Kane left. And…

  The rest of my memories trample over me. The stars, the scream, the light. I lift my hand, stare up at my ruby—right there on my middle finger. It shimmers down at me, just like the stars. Sitting up, I drag my backpack onto my lap and pull out my Glock. It isn’t loaded. I blink.

  What is going on?

  I slip on my shoes and tumble out of the tent. Frankie and Jonas lean over the equipment bag, working to fit all the components back inside. Frankie spots me first. She straightens, hands on hips.