by Casey Hays
“Trust you?” My voice cracks. I hate seeing him like this, and I hate how I feel. I press a flat hand against my chest, trying desperately to hold back the tears that keep pushing for center stage. “How can I trust you when you won’t trust me?”
“Jude—”
“Everything I knew of you was gone. Do you know how terrifying that was? Your number vanished from my phone. My pictures—all of my pictures are gone. Gone!” This brings the tears leaping back to my eyes. “And you come in here like some deranged magician claiming you can compel people. You won’t tell me what the hell happened out there, and your parents are just going to swoop in, fix it all, and we pretend like nothing happened?”
This is not how I expected things to go. I’m suddenly angry—so angry I could spit fire. But if I’m honest with myself, I’ve also never been more overjoyed in my life to see someone dripping water and lies all over my floor. It’s the strangest combination of feelings, but I can’t help them. They bounce back and forth between each other.
“Look—”
“Shut up!” I cut him off. “I’m not finished.”
A helplessness aching with some sort of grief passes over his face. It tries to wrench my heart, but I hold my ground and don’t allow it to affect me. His lips tighten into a tense, straight line.
“I spent all day worrying. Trying to figure things out.” I pace. I itch all over with restlessness. “I thought I was going crazy. Now, I finally have the chance to get some answers, and you won’t give them.”
Kane lowers his eyes to the floor, clearly struggling. I see the rapid pulsing beat of his heart in his throat, and I know he wants to talk. I know him well enough to read this. But for some reason, he’s trapped on the other side of an invisible barrier that has jutted up between us.
“Why did you come here?” I shiver in my damp tee-shirt, pinning my eyes on him.
“I had to make sure you were okay.” He takes a step toward me. I ease back. His eyes flood with hurt. “Because I’ve worried about you all day too. I would have come sooner, but my parents had to work some things out.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “And… everything is going to work out. Jonas and Frankie. Devan. They’ll be fine.”
“Everything’s going to work out.” I clench my teeth together, nodding. “I see. Well, if that’s the case, then who needs to talk it over, right?” I spit my words at him like shooting bullets. “There’s nothing more to say. Let’s just move on.”
He pinches his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. I see his thoughts churning. “There’s always more to say.”
“Then say something.” Frustrated, I step toward him. “Quit playing these games.”
He sighs, closes his eyes. And then he drags his hand out of his pocket and places something in my palm. I look down.
It’s the SD card from my phone sealed inside a sandwich bag. Unbelievable. I look at him. He blinks, says nothing.
“I guess we’re done then,” I whisper.
I take the steps to the kitchen and make my way to the foyer.
“Jude, wait.”
When he catches up to me, I’m already holding the front door wide open.
“Just go. Please.”
“Don’t do this.”
Only then do I look at him. “Why? What’s the point? What are we supposed to talk about with this huge issue hanging between us that you won’t address?”
He knows I’m right. He bites his lip, but he doesn’t fight me. He never has in his whole life. He slips past me and turns, his eyes pleading and the rain falling in sheets behind him.
“Can we talk tomorrow?”
I swallow the lump building in my throat. I can’t decide whether to slap him again… or kiss him. I hate that he has that effect on me.
“You’re alive. That’s all I needed to know.”
The door falls shut. I reset the security system, and my body sinks with exhaustion. Tears smart, and my legs, weak from holding off the angry trembling, barely get me to my room. I collapse on my bed, clutching the sandwich bag to my chest, and I cry myself out.
When it’s evident I’ve depleted every tear in my storehouse, I roll over and pick up my phone. I pop open the back and slide the missing SD card into place. A press of a button, and a collage of pictures fans out in small squares across the screen. My emotions flutter with relief. I press on the latest one, and the photo of Kane and me at the club expands and smiles down at me. I hadn’t looked at it, but I take a good look now.
I’m not facing the camera; my chin tips upward in a sideways glance at Kane, a half-smile gracing my lips. My dark hair is waterfalling over one shoulder, and my fingers curl around my soda, my ruby glittering brightly. Kane, with his jet black hair and perfectly straight, white-toothed smile, completes the image. Two dimples puncture his cheeks above a square jawline. He’s as handsome as ever, but it’s his eyes that catch my attention.
I sit up, scrutinizing them. The golden flecks are pronounced, even more so than they were in the tent last night. In fact, they resemble tiny, flickering flames enmeshed in a green background. I run my thumb over his face. Kane’s eyes have always been weird, but I’ve never seen it so distinctly. It’s like fire.
I examine the rest of the picture: the wall behind us, the tabletop, his arm resting along the edge of it. There must be a reflection somewhere—something that caused this glitch in the picture. But nothing jumps out at me. Puzzled, I click out of my pictures and lie back.
I roll toward my window. The rain pours; I sink into my pillow. I can’t think right now. I need to sleep. I need this day to be over forever.
***
Do you remember that dream I mentioned? Tonight, it visits me in full force.
I’m dizzy. I stumble into a garden full of pink roses. I'm wearing a gown with the colors of the rainbow shimmering all over it. I hold out my hands to keep my balance.
“Jude.”
I turn at the sound of my name, tears flooding in.
“Daddy?”
His arms stretch wide. He's holding Angelica. I run to him. I breathe in his scent, cling to him.
“Don't be afraid. Everything is as it should be.”
“What?” I glance up at him, confused.
Suddenly, I'm in the parking lot at the club. Daddy is gone and someone else holds me. In the light of a lamp post above us, I see him. I don’t know him. His face is covered with a thin sheet of dark hair, shaved close. His intense, brooding eyes and sharp-toothed smile make me shudder. He laughs, low and rumbly, and I gasp. I try to run, but it’s a dream run, slow and sluggish, and the danger stays right behind me.
“I was just wondering . . .” The man is gone, but his voice echoes all around me. There's nothing but darkness. I hold out my hands to feel my way. “What is a pretty, little thing like you doing out here all alone? Didn’t your mommy warn you about things that go bump in the night?”
The parking lot transforms into the dance floor. He clamps his strong arms around me and presses his chest against my body. He runs a large, rough hand down my bare arm, leans in, and presses a prickly cheek against my neck. He breathes deep; I’m paralyzed.
“You smell delicious,” he whispers. “No wonder he can’t keep himself away from you.”
He raises my arm, slides his tongue expertly from my elbow up to the base of my neck. I'm not scared. I know it’s a dream, but I shiver in disgust.
He smells musty, like a wild animal. I’m running again. I see my dad. I run to him.
“Hurry, Jude. Hurry! Don't let him catch you!”
I throw myself at my dad, but it’s the boy who catches me. Something about his smile changes, revealing two perfectly-proportioned dimples. His eyes, golden with fire, blink once. I pull away, stunned.
“Kane?”
It's not him anymore. It's the man from the parking lot again. He raises his head and bellows long and loud. The sound is sad and half human. In my dream, I feel pity for him. I reach out and touch his arm.
The boy spins me on the dance floor, his wings spread out behind him. They are beautiful. Is he an angel? I lock on his face, trace his features one by one. He has emerald green eyes and the straightest, whitest teeth.
And then, his face contorts and explodes.
Seventeen
The dream is long gone when I wake in the morning, but the memory of it lingers for a bit. I lie still, sorting the images through my brain. My daddy tried to protect me as usual. After the day I had, it’s no wonder he popped into my psyche. It’s the same dream I’ve had since he died, except this time Kane was in it. I’m not sure what to make of that, and I can’t remember all the details. But he was on my mind when I fell asleep. He’s still heavy on my mind for that matter.
Okay… so I probably shouldn’t have made him leave last night. Maybe that’s why he showed up in my dream. To guilt me. He still wants to talk, and maybe I’ll give him that opportunity. Tomorrow. Because you know what? I think he needs to feel as miserable as I did for one whole day.
I give my body a good stretch and hop out of bed. I feel better today. Sane. I spread my lacy curtains wide open. The rain left hours ago, and the sky is bright blue. Down below, Mr. Tomlinson stands on his front porch, a mug in his hand. He studies his fresh, wet lawn with satisfaction. Yep. He’ll save on his water bill this month after that storm.
In the middle of a yawn, I spot the toe of a black tennis shoe—just the very tip of it—peeking out from under the roof of my porch. Heart leaping, I haul up to my knees on the window seat and press my face smack against the pane, vying for a better look.
“He didn’t,” I whisper.
In my head—for just a split second—I’m twelve again, and the fresh, raw news of my father’s death sticks to the inside of my ribcage. And then, I’m seventeen, staring down at an image of devotion that melts whatever is left inside that same ribcage.
It takes me less than a minute to reach the porch. He sits on the steps, and at the sound of the door, he turns his head slightly. I snug my short robe up around me.
“Have you been here all night?” I ask. He nods and faces the wet yard. Intermittently, water drips off the edge of the roof and splatters on his jeans.
I take three steps and sink down beside him on the wet boards, tucking my hand up under his arm. He reacts immediately, clinching down, and I readjust my fingers, tucking them in between his more definitively. We sit in silence until he speaks.
“Jonas and the girls will remember me today.” His voice is quiet, firm, his eyes focused on the lawn.
I release a small breath. “What did you do, Kane? What did you really do?”
He plants his gaze on me. “I told you, Jude. I’m not lying about what I did.”
My eyes dance back and forth across his face. He takes in a strained breath and holds it.
“I’ve been thinking. All night.” He swallows.
“Yeah?”
“Last night, you said you didn’t trust me.” His fingers tighten, clinging to mine as if to let go means to lose me forever. “I never want to hear that again.”
I nod, my lip trembling. “I’ve always trusted you before. I want to trust you now.”
He chews on his bottom lip for a second, trying to decide his next move.
“You have to let me show you something.” He reads my face. “It’s the only way you’re going to believe that everything I said last night was true.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t freak out.”
My heart skips one fearful beat, and I stiffen. Don’t freak out? What is he planning to show me?
His eyes, evergreen-colored in the sunlight, shift. I almost miss it. The golden flecks surface. They shimmer, living and moving. I squint, leaning in, and I can’t stop looking at them. They’re hypnotizing. But when his irises explode with orange, dancing flames, I literally jump. The pupils, super small and black, are the only indication that he sees me. My fingers lose their grip on his hand.
“What in the—” I whisper. I can’t blink; I’m paralyzed. My head spins.
“There’s more,” he says.
That’s all I hear. I don’t freak out; I pass out cold.
***
I wake up in the den a few minutes later. It takes me a second to figure out how I got here, but it all comes riding in like a surfer on a wave when I spot Kane in the recliner across from me. He leans forward, elbows propped on his knees. My heart stammers as I sit up.
His eyes are solid green again.
“What—what was that?” I manage.
“Are you okay?”
His lip tips upward just enough to coax out one dimple. I don’t answer. I just stare at his eyes, afraid to blink. I’m fine, of course. I didn’t faint from exhaustion or dehydration or any other medical condition. Nope. Just plain shock. He clasps his hands together and lets them hang loosely between his knees.
“I looked through Frankie’s things at the campground, just so you know.”
It’s an oddly random statement considering I just watched his corneas burst into flames. But I do my part and ask the pertinent question even as confusion plays along the edges of my nerves. “Why?”
“Because I had a hunch you weren’t out there looking for the Phoenix.”
Just to be clear, I’m a smart girl. I could make up excuses all day, and I still wouldn’t be able to refute what I saw on the porch. Now, he brings up the Phoenix. I don’t see a shred of flames anymore, but this boy I’ve known all my life just made a confession without saying a word. My mind unfogs, and all the puzzle pieces that scattered themselves over my entire demented day begin to fall neatly into place. I drag my knees up to my chest and calmly wrap my arms around my shins.
“You’re a… Fireblood.”
It’s not a question, and it sounds preposterous even as I say it. Kane doesn’t flinch one muscle. Because he knows I’m a smart girl too. He gives me one clue, and I see the truth branded all over him. He has a secret that scales beyond secrets. But… he wants me to trust him, so he tells it. I take a long breath as my nice, little world collapses inward a couple of degrees.
“How?” I whisper.
“Well,” he lifts his hands, palms up. “I was born one.”
“No—I mean, how? I’ve spent countless hours with you, Kane. For twelve years. How did I not know?”
He nods, understanding. “We don’t… have all of our abilities when we’re young. So, you know, that helps. They develop as we grow. Our parents camouflage us until we learn to control our own strength.” He unclasps his hands, pops his knuckles once. “Around thirteen, we pretty much control ourselves, including camouflage. To, you know, keep ourselves hidden from, well, everyone. I’m pretty good at it. I guess that’s why you never found out.”
He offers me a weak smile; I don’t reciprocate. I press my palms flat together, fingertips to my lips, absorbing this news. It’s extremely hard to swallow. I mean, I’m looking straight at him, and he’s Kane. Just Kane.
“You don’t look like the boy in Frankie’s photograph,” I retort. “He has wings.”
Kane nods with a sardonic lift of one brow. “I have wings.”
I squint, searching him out. “Where are they?”
“Camouflaged.”
“What do you mean by camouflaged? Like blended in with the scenery?”
“More like invisible in a nonexistent kind of way.”
I struggle to digest it. He might have to prove this one. They’re invisible all right. As in not there. I bite my lip.
“And so… you really can compel people?”
He nods.
“Okay.” I hug my knees a little tighter and control my breathing. My heart, on the other hand, beats wildly. “So what did Jonas and Frankie see that made you compel them?”
“Me.” He drops his head forward, runs a hand through his hair, leaving his fingers curled around the base of his neck for a minute before lifting his head and finishing his sentence. “In my natural form.”
“Your nat
ural form? You mean, without the camouflage?”
“Yeah, and then some.”
“I didn’t see you,” I whisper
“No. You were kind of preoccupied.”
“Oh. You mean with that excruciating pain?”
My voice carries the exact amount of sarcasm I want, and he winces. I angle my head with suspicion. For all I know he read Frankie’s research just so he’d have enough info to make all this up. But his eyes? Research wouldn’t give him that power. I run my eyes over his entire body, examining every inch.
“The thing is, Frankie and Jonas didn’t just see me. They saw me flared.”
“Flared?” The image of the Phoenix penetrates.
He nods again, dejected. “Wings and all. On fire.”
Well, that explains the scorched trees.
“I compelled them while I was flared,” he says flatly. He studies me with a longing that begs me to understand. “I panicked. And instead of compelling away a few minutes, I erased every memory of me.”
“So you’re saying that wouldn’t have happened if you’d been…”
“Like this.” He gestures down the length of his body. “Human form. We’re less potent.” He shakes his head. “I really screwed up. By the time I figured out what I’d done, it was too late. I had to cover my tracks.”
“And that’s why you disappeared.”
“Yeah. I knew you’d remember, but they wouldn’t. So I did the next best thing to keep it under wraps.”
“You made me look crazy.”
“I know.” His regret is etched across his face. “I’m so sorry about that.”
I tilt my head, honing in on him and still hanging onto a little bit of skepticism. “You could have saved me some trouble and compelled me also.”
“If I could, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I told you last night, I can’t.”
“So you physically can’t? Or do you just have some moral problem with compelling me?”
“I can’t. Don’t ask me why.” He rubs a hand up the side of his face. “And don’t think I haven’t tried.”
“You have?” Now that I think about it, I’m not so sure I like that.
