Firebloods

by Casey Hays

  He shrugs. “Just… as a kid, I tried a couple of times. It never worked.”

  I soak it all in, and he waits, watching me. A hesitant hope gleams in his eye. A hope that I’ll swallow his story. I think about the boy in the photograph. About the two teens at Spooner Lake. I didn’t want to believe any of it; it all seemed too far-fetched. But now, Kane sits right here in front of me, and I really want to believe him. I can’t let this be a lie because if I do, every good thing I’ve ever known of Kane will vanish.

  “The bright light? The screeches I heard?”

  “That was all me,” he shrugs. “Flared.”

  Slowly, I allow the skepticism to ease, and I settle on him.

  “Show me your eyes again.”

  He straightens, his hope soaring. One blink, and the golden light seeps in, flames to life, and consumes every bit of green. I’m prepared this time, but if I wasn’t looking at it, I’d never believe it. The color swirls in fiery circles, and it ignites an excitement in me, deep in my chest. He isn’t lying. My doubt eases to a complete stop.

  “I guess… I’ve caught myself a Fireblood,” I whisper. “Project complete.”

  I literally feel a physical shift in the atmosphere, and in the next second, he’s beside me. He slides beneath my legs to snuggle in close and flood me with his scent. I pull him into me because he needs this. I need it—a tiny taste of the “us” that was beginning to form before everything got wacked. He leans in, forehead to forehead, and I link my arms around his neck.

  “You scared me to death, you know,” I whisper. “Leaving like that. And I was so awful to Jonas.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no choice.” He slides his fingers around my forearm and squeezes. “I’ve been miserable this whole time knowing what I was putting you through. And don’t worry… Jonas won’t remember any of your conversations about me.”

  I nod, not wanting to know what that entails.

  “What happens when they remember you? I mean, they didn’t know you for a whole day.”

  Kane bites his lip. “Honestly… I don’t know. My parents are pissed about the whole thing.”

  “I can imagine. Has it happened before?”

  “Probably. To someone.” He slinks down, throws his head back against the couch with a sigh.

  “Your parents are Firebloods.” I can’t quite grasp this either. I picture Gema O’Reilly in her kitchen, humming while she throws together one of her famous pasta dinners. Then, I picture her doing it with fiery eyes and rainbow wings, and I laugh. “I’m kind of blown away by all of this.”

  Kane chuckles. I run my hand through his curls and lay my cheek against the cushion. He stares straight at me. His eyes still simmer low with gold flecks. I trace my fingers along the side of his face, slide my thumb over the curve of his cheek just under his eye. At my touch, his skin takes on a soft glow, white hot. I gasp a little. The heat runs the length of his neck, and I trail a finger downward, following it until he catches my hand. He laces his fingers with mine, palm to palm. The fire settles back into the flecks and turns green again.

  “This isn’t a joke,” I whisper, completely floored.

  “No joke.”

  I lean into him. “You’re… pretty beautiful. You should have shown me years ago. It might have won me over sooner.”

  He kisses the back of my hand. “Maybe I should have.”

  With my free hand, I filter my fingers through his hair again. I can’t seem to stop touching him. I want to kiss him. Or tear off his shirt and run my hands over his chest. The thought floods me with embarrassment. At any rate, my body is full of urges like little explosions—firecrackers under my skin bursting to get out. I break away and clasp my hands in my lap, squeezing until the knuckles turn white. I ask a casual question to keep myself from tackling him.

  “Why did you leave the tent?”

  “I heard something.” He cups a hand over my knee. “It spooked me, so I went to check it out.”

  “And that’s when you flared?”

  “Yeah. The flare was an accident. I only meant to decamouflage. I can sense things better. Protect you all better in my natural form.”

  “Protect us from what?”

  “Nothing, it turns out.” He pinches at his lip. “Nothing was out there.”

  “Well, your screeching nearly scratched my eardrums to shreds. And—”

  I stop and lift my hand.

  “You told me to take off my ring. I heard you say it. You were very persistent.”

  He chews on his lip, not responding. I see what he’s doing. Evading. Again. Not this time.

  “I took it off, just like you said, and the pain stopped. Immediately.” He’s silent, his eyes dancing back and forth across my face, so I pull off my ring and hold it up. “Do you remember?”

  “Yes.” His answer is too quiet.

  “Kane, this ring protects me from boogie men and shadow monsters. That’s it.” I roll it around in my palm. “I wear it because it makes me feel safe, and because it’s like having a piece of my dad with me—not because it has any kind of power.”

  “And yet, a part of you believes that it does, right?”

  I clench my fist around the ring. Okay. I can’t deny that.

  “Jude, look at me.” I do. He smiles. “What I am? It defies nature. So who’s to say your father didn’t create a magic ring that protects you? Maybe all sorts of undiscovered magic exists in this world.”

  I ponder this, and then I slide the ring back into place and look at him. Maybe he’s absolutely right. Who am I to say otherwise? I mean, my boyfriend is a Fireblood. I smile. I might as well just roll with it.

  “Will you show me your eyes again?”

  “Yes,” he whispers.

  He does, and I get lost in the embers.

  Interlude

  Traces

  Hindsight teaches all sorts of undisclosed lessons. And here’s what I mean.

  You see, if I had known about Kane when we were kids, I would have noticed so many things that slipped right past me. For example, he was very, very good at getting Jonas to do just about anything he wanted. Anything.

  “Hey, Jonas?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s ride our dirt bikes to Lahonton Reservoir.”

  At the time of this conversation, we were twelve. I sat in between the boys at Carson River Park, my pink fishing pole in my grip. We hadn’t had a bite all day, but we were content to sit there anyway, just being together. There was no better way to spend the summer afternoon.

  Jonas reeled in his line slowly and stood to cast it back out before he answered.

  “You’re crazy, Kane. We’d have to take US-50 the whole way, and that would take at least an hour and a half on our bikes.”

  “So?” Kane leaned back on the heels of his hands and peered up.

  “So… we don’t have driver’s licenses, dork.”

  “We’ll drive the speed limit. And we’ll go at midnight.”

  I’d been fairly quiet, listening to their banter, but I spun my head up at that.

  “Midnight?” My disapproval was more than evident in my tone. “You are crazy, Kane.”

  “You want in?” He nudged me, a sly smile breaking across his face.

  “No way.” I leaned forward, toyed with my ruby. It was brand new at the time—a month old to be exact. My daddy was alive and well, and I was not about to break my parents’ trust by doing something as stupid as what Kane was suggesting. “That’s dangerous.”

  “Okay then, Jonas, it’s just you and me.”

  “I haven’t said yes.”

  “You will.” Kane adjusted the angle of his pole where it rested in the Y-shaped stick he’d found. “You’d never pass up this adventure.”

  That night, the boys rode their bikes to the reservoir. Funny thing though, Jonas didn’t remember agreeing to do it. He simply found himself out on the highway just past midnight. By that time, his adrenaline was pumping, and he was too hyped to tell Kane they should turn ba
ck. They told me about it the next day.

  “Was it worth it?” I asked.

  “It will be, if I don’t get caught,” Jonas replied.

  “You know it was worth it,” Kane said.

  Jonas’s answer was a smile, a small curve that eventually spread into an ear to ear grin. I just shook my head at the whole nonsensical mess. Lucky for Jonas, his parents never found out.

  Other not-so-subtle clues are even more glaringly obvious now. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t suspect a few things along the way. But those Firebloods… they know how to cover up their secrets in the most unusual ways.

  Gema O’Reilly carried one of her secrets right out in the open, and as far as I know, nobody suspected it—not even my mother. You see, Gema is a painter, and one of her prized pieces still hangs above the mantel in her private studio. An angel. Pop art, she calls him. Unlike most images of angels, this one is shirtless—and dressed in a pair of rugged, denim jeans with holes in the knees. A hazy mist swirls along the edges of a deep blue background. He floats a few inches off the ground, his muddy-colored wings, long and iridescent, spreading wide above a balcony railing. In the distance the lights of a city glow softly.

  I didn’t see the oil painting until I was sixteen, but the first time I did, it took my breath away, literally. Mom was having one of her “good days,” so we dropped by to see Gema’s newly restored studio. Up until that time, it had been off-limits to me, so you can imagine my initial reaction when I saw him just hanging up there melting hearts. I think my mouth dropped to the floor. At least, I remember Mom and Gema having a real good time over it.

  “Jude, you’re finally old enough to enjoy my inner sanctum,” Gema proclaimed, weaving around a piece of canvas propped on an easel, paint brush in hand. She winked a green eye at Mom and joined me in gazing upward. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he? I painted this one in Brazil over twenty years ago. Found my model at a little cantina. His name is Mateo Griego, and he is even more handsome in person. Mm-hmm.”

  Mom giggled. “You can stop drooling now, Jude.”

  I blushed hot, but I kept my eyes glued on the picture, devouring every detail. Mateo Griego was a beautiful man, dark-headed, full of muscles, and gripping a spear diagonally across his bare chest. Granted, he was an odd-looking angel in his blue jeans, but that was precisely the reason I was so drawn. And while I stared, Gema went on about how this was her proudest piece of art. She’d never allowed it to be photographed; she’d never painted a duplicate. There wasn’t another one like it in the world, and despite many offers, she’d refused to sell.

  I have to say, her creation was amazing. He seemed real. Too real, really. His eyes—which contained hints of blue flames camouflaged within the darker swirling colors—watched my every move. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that was disturbing. But I don’t know… something about it intrigued me. Which disturbed me even more than the eyes themselves. Because I should have been frightened, but I wasn’t.

  I hope you get the point. The man in that painting? He was no angel. Oh, he may have been a model Gema happened upon in a cantina in Brazil, but he was also something else.

  As for Kane, he wasn’t lying about trying to compel me. Years later, when he confessed one of his attempts, I remembered.

  We were fourteen. That summer night, he snuck out of the house after his parents went to bed and made the three minute bicycle trip to my place. Our plan was to stay awake all night on the trampoline in my backyard. I was hesitant at first because, well, you know—bugs. But Kane promised I wouldn’t see a single one. I didn’t, either. I guess I no longer have to wonder how in the world that happened.

  We were flat on our backs, bobbing slightly up and down with the motion of the trampoline mat. There were so many stars—a sheet of white sprinkles across a black sky, and the moon was bright orange.

  It was super quiet, and I remember very distinctly that I could hear my heartbeat. Even more fascinating, on the off-beat, I could hear Kane’s, as if our hearts were performing a rhythmic dance in the silence. It was weird and kind of beautiful, and it made me feel closer to him somehow. As if nothing in the world could ever separate us.

  “Jude?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you believe in soulmates?” We’d been silent for so long that the question threw me off a bit. I swiveled my head and caught his shadowy profile. He watched the stars. “Like, do you believe there’s one person out there for you? Not that there couldn’t be others, but… maybe if you found that one person first, it would be perfect?”

  It was a very thought-provoking statement for a fourteen-year-old boy. I looked up, tracing the stars with my eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think my mom and dad were.”

  “Good,” he said. Our eyes met. “Because I think you’re mine.”

  “What?” I laughed. It was the funniest thing I’d ever heard come out of his mouth. Maybe I could hear his heart beating, but that wasn’t love or anything. He was literally one of my best friends. We were close, but soulmates? “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  He rolled up on an elbow and peered down at me. “I’m serious.”

  “Well, so am I.” I sat up, criss-crossed my legs, and looked at him. “So stop it.”

  “Fine. But just so you know, you’re my first choice.” He smiled and pushed up to meet me face to face. “Can I kiss you now?”

  I gave him a little shove. “You and your games, Kane.”

  “They aren’t games.” His breath, musky sweet, lingered between us. “I’ve meant everything I’ve ever said to you.”

  Time stopped then. It just rolled up its arms, ceased ticking, and waited.

  Maybe if he’d been sincere, he would have gotten his kiss. Somehow, I knew he wasn’t. Not at that time. I felt something, though. A tug-of-war—as if my mind was in conflict with my body—or vice versa. Either way, much to Kane’s dismay, I had a lot of willpower. He didn’t compel a kiss out of me that night. In fact, he never has been able to. I give kisses of my own volition.

  He told me years later he was grateful for it—that he didn’t want me to hand over anything that I wasn’t willing to freely share with him. Lucky for him, he never had to compel a thing out of me. I was a willing participant. In fact that summer, I was ready to give him much more than my kisses. He was welcome to my whole heart.

  Eighteen

  By the time we meet up with Jonas and Devan at the country club pool, it’s as if nothing ever happened. Kane and Jonas fist pump like the old friends they are, and I heave the biggest sigh of my life.

  Of course, Kane had to tell his parents that I knew about him. About them. We stood hand in hand in his kitchen when he did it. Connor and Gema sat at the table behind steaming coffee mugs, stunned and trying not to explode. If I’d still doubted Kane’s story, their reaction alleviated those qualms forever. They couldn’t say much. I knew, and I couldn’t be compelled to forget. The end. I assured them that I understood their need for secrecy, and I’d never spill. I cared about Kane too much, which translated into caring for them too. Gema hugged me close with tears in her eyes, and Connor warned Kane that he’d best use his head from now on. I’m not completely certain of this, but in the end, they seemed a little relieved that I knew. I don’t know… I just have that feeling.

  Dressed in my favorite red bikini under a silky white cover-up, I climb into the reclining pool chair next to Devan and fling my forearm over my eyes to block the sun. It’s hot—no breeze at all today—but I couldn’t care less about the heat. My little circle of friends isn’t broken anymore, and my heart sings. Trust me, one day of hell is one day too many.

  The boys waste no time jumping into the pool, and I peek out from under my arm to watch my two oldest friends. Jonas, blond and lighter skinned with freckled shoulders, is a devastating contrast to Kane’s darker features and bronzed complexion thanks to his mother’s Italian heritage. It isn’t some new revelation or anything, but today, I really take the time to notice.

&
nbsp; Not a single hint of Kane’s wings are visible—the wings he claims to have hidden somewhere under his Fireblood camouflaging talent. Wings I have yet to see. I’ll admit, that’s something I’m very much looking forward to—if he’ll let me. If he’s even allowed to reveal them at all. I mean, his dad was furious that he flared the other night, so I don’t know. But that’s a conversation Kane and I will have. I’ll make sure of it.

  Devan is awfully quiet beside me. I think she must be asleep until I check. She isn’t. Arms folded over her bare stomach, she pins her blue eyes on me, unmoving. I scooch up slightly, skin ripping away from the plastic seat to leave a sweaty stain on the back of my thigh.

  “What?”

  She breaks into a relentless grin. “You know.”

  She knows about Kane and me of course. Jonas wouldn’t have kept it from her. So now, I must endure all of her I-told-you-so antics. I don’t respond fast enough for her, and that earns me a hard smack with the back of her hand against my leg.

  “Ow! Chill, Devan.”

  “We’ve been sitting here for five minutes already, and you’ve said nothing.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  She peers at me down the bridge of her nose. “Except I was right. You could say that.”

  “Okay.” I smile then, tossing my eyes toward the pool. Jonas says something to Kane; Kane laughs and submerges for a minute, reappearing a few feet away and shaking water out of his hair. “You were right. Happy now?”

  “Girl, I am so happy.” Devan retrieves a bottle of tanning lotion from the bag on the end of her lounging chair and works to lather up her legs. “The sexual tension around here has been unbearable. Finally, we’ll have some relief.”

  I smirk at her. That’s a bit much.

  “Did you kiss him yet?”

  I smile. “A few times.”

  “And?”

  I slink lower on the lounger. “A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  Devan smacks me again. “You are rotten.” I laugh and grab the lotion from her hand, dumping a pile into my palm. “Okay, but on a serious note, things are good? I mean, you’re not still hung up on the fact that you two have been friends since ABCs and all that?”