Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  “There you are, Princess,” Henry said. “Let’s get away from them all, okay?”

  Felicité gratefully squeezed his hand. “Henry, I’m so sorry about Becky—and your mother. That was awful.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about your family. Let’s leave them to be awful together and go be civilized—in our way.” He grinned at her in the darkness, tightening his fingers on hers.

  “I don’t want to go back in there.”

  “We can’t go to my place,” Henry said, grimacing. “I guess we could go to Jack’s.”

  “I’d rather be alone with you.” She could feel Henry’s agreement in his grip. Where could they be alone, other than her bedroom? “I know a place. Come on.”

  She hurried him down the Hill and to the looming black shape of the town hall.

  “Here?” Henry said doubtfully. But when they got inside the cold, vast room, and Felicité showed him where the lantern was, he grinned with anticipation. “There isn’t a secret passage, is there?”

  Felicité suppressed a start. He was joking, but he’d come so close to guessing the biggest secret in Las Anclas: the emergency exit should the town ever be invaded, the concealed tunnel that ran from the basement to the mill outside the town wall.

  “It’s better than that. It’s a place where we can be completely alone.”

  “Oooh,” Henry said. “That sounds great.”

  In the basement, Felicité led him past Jack’s beer barrels and the jumble of old decorations and a broken wagon that concealed the tunnel’s trapdoor, and finally to the shelves of emergency supplies. She unfolded a blanket and shook it out. A glowing bug dropped to the dirt and scuttled away.

  Henry looked around appreciatively. “You’ve been holding out on me. Privacy, blankets—and beer! Do you have a siphon?”

  Felicité stretched out on the blanket. “We’re not touching Jack’s beer. He has measure marks inside the barrels. Just appreciate the blankets and the privacy.” And dryness. There was no chance of getting caught in the rain or of Henry suggesting that they take a bath together.

  Henry lay down beside her and twirled one of her curls around his finger. “I’m appreciating! So, what’s next, Princess? Shall we play Secrets again?”

  “Sure. You go first.” Felicité relaxed against the warmth of his body. For the first time that day, she felt safe. In five months of dating, he had always followed her lead. He’d ask for more, but he’d never pressure her or make her feel uncomfortable once she said no.

  Henry lay back, looking upward. She watched the reflection of the lantern flame dance in his huge pupils. “You know all my secrets. I’m an open book.”

  “Think harder.”

  He was silent, then grinned. “Sometimes I imagine you and me . . . and Sujata . . . swimming in the ocean together.”

  “What kind of a secret is that?” Felicité asked.

  He blushed. “Naked.”

  Felicité laughed and pulled him over for his kiss. His kisses had gotten better and better. There was nothing she loved more than lying beside him, enjoying the heat of his lips. She sank into pleasure as they each teased and nibbled. As the kisses deepened, she ran her hands up his sides, beneath his shirt. He’d gotten more muscular since he’d started Ranger training. Felicité liked that. She hoped he’d keep training, even though it wouldn’t be with the Rangers.

  Henry’s breath caught. “Your turn,” he whispered into her ear.

  Felicité loved this game. She would never reveal the two most important secrets in her life—the tunnel and . . . the one she wasn’t going to think about—but others were so delicious. “Sometimes I imagine you and me in the shed behind Luc’s, the one that doesn’t have a lock. Kissing with one eye on the door, knowing that someone might open it at any time.”

  “Oh, let’s do that. And if whoever discovers us is a girl, we can invite them in!”

  Felicité bit his ear.

  “Ow!” he squeaked. “Do it again.”

  She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, then took her kiss on his chest. His skin was so smooth beneath her lips. To her relief, he wasn’t sweating yet. That always had to be her cue to stop.

  “Your turn,” she said.

  “I’ll tell you about my first kiss,” he began.

  “Yuki Nakamura,” Felicité said, grinning.

  Henry poked her indignantly. “No!”

  “Are you sure?” Felicité teased. “You used to follow him around like a puppy.”

  Henry sighed. “Yuki was kissing before I ever thought about it, and it sure wasn’t me. No, my first was Faviola Valdez.” He sighed again. “She got bored with me pretty quick.”

  “Did you put a flying cockroach in her desk?”

  “How did you know?” Henry asked with a grin. Then he admitted, “Grandma Wolfe blamed Tommy Horst for it, and I let her.”

  “That’s two secrets. So you get two kisses.”

  “I can think of two places I’d like to kiss,” Henry murmured.

  His fingers lightly brushed against her collarbones, then slid down to unbutton her blouse. Felicité relaxed and let him. She knew now that whenever she said stop, he’d stop. Besides, she liked it when he kissed her there. And he knew now to stay away from her neck.

  Felicité reveled in the building sense of urgency. She wished Henry would take off all her clothes. She wished she could rip off his. She wanted to press their bodies together, skin to skin . . .

  “Your secret,” Henry whispered.

  Felicité gritted her teeth. She could never go all the way. He’d sweat, she’d sweat, and she’d Change. She forced her mind away from that repulsive image. She should just enjoy what she had.

  She searched for a secret, opened her mouth to tell him another fantasy, and heard herself blurt out, “I wish Grandmère had never come back from exile.”

  Henry laughed, but it was forced. She knew he was thinking about Becky, and his mother. He rolled away from her and lay staring at the ceiling.

  There would be no more Secrets tonight. No more kissing and touching that made her forget everything but the pleasure of the moment. She’d ruined that for both of them. And she had no one to blame but herself.

  Chapter Twenty: Jennie

  Jennie raised her hand, and the patrol slowed behind her. “Water halt!”

  Some of the teenagers cheered. It was a hot day. She swung off Sidewinder, and left him ground-tethered as she strode to the cliff. Jennie gazed across the peaceful town to the sea beyond, glimmering in the morning sunlight. She loved this promontory, one of the highest of the palisades above Las Anclas. A brisk breeze blew out from the ocean, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed.

  Mia joined her. “I’m so disappointed that we missed the queen lobster. Of course what we were doing was much more exciting. If I’d had to choose, I’d have picked the ruined city. But it’ll probably be another fifteen years before another queen lobster comes to Las Anclas.”

  “Do you see one?” Henry shouted, pointing out at sea. “Is that a claw?”

  Everybody lined up along the edge of the cliff, gazing out under hands or hat brims, ignoring Mia’s squeak of, “No! We were just talking!”

  “I think I see one!” Yolanda yelled.

  “It’s a boat,” an adult said in a tone designed to squash.

  “I remember the last queen lobster,” Ms. Salazar said. “That thing could have trampled the front gate, if they ever came on dry land. I hope I never see another.”

  “Mmm, someone is barbecuing,” Tommy Horst said. “I’m so hungry.”

  Mia sniffed. “That’s not cooking smoke.”

  Jennie spun around. A plume of white smoke rose from the rocky ridge behind them. From the size of the billows, the fire was nearby, and big.

  “To your horses!” Jennie bolted for Sidewinder.

  Everyone ran to their mounts and scrambled into the saddles. The horses’ ears were flicking back and forth—nervous, but not panicking. Jennie’s relief that they wouldn’t have a stampe
de on their hands evaporated when she turned Sidewinder. In the few seconds it had taken her to reach her horse, the fire had crested the ridge above her.

  The patrol was trapped between a wall of flame and a sheer cliff.

  They couldn’t douse the fire with water—there was none but whatever they had left in their canteens. But they didn’t ride out on patrol unprepared. Jennie shouted above the crackle of flames. “You six, hold the horses! The rest of you, get the entrenching tools!”

  As she grabbed hers from her saddlebag, she saw that Henry was already passing them out. The diggers began scooping up weedy dirt and flinging it toward the edge of the fire. Even if they couldn’t smother the fire, if they could remove everything that could burn, the fire would die before it could get to them.

  Jennie had only managed two scoops before a puff of wind blew hot, smoky air so intense it burned her lungs. Bits of burning weeds and sparks floated through the withering heat. She slapped out a flaming leaf that stuck to her shirt.

  Clods of dirt flew at the flames, halting their advance, but they couldn’t get enough earth to put out the fire. Alfonso, who was busy scooping dirt with his gecko-padded fingers, could climb down the cliff, but it was far too sheer for anyone else, and too high to use ropes.

  They needed another strategy. Then she remembered: you could fight fire with fire. They’d all been taught how to do it, but she’d never seen it done. It was risky enough to only use as a desperate last resort.

  As Jennie opened her mouth to give the order, Henry shouted, “Jennie! Let’s start another fire!”

  He held up a box of matches.

  “Do it, Henry.” Jennie ordered, “Everyone, back up to the cliff! Take the horses!”

  Henry faced into the wind, then knelt a scarce few yards from the flames, lighting matches and putting them down in a line below the roaring fire. His fire sprang up. As he bolted back to the crowd at the cliff, Jennie watched, biting her lip as his fire spread to meet the larger one.

  If the wind changed, they’d all be dead.

  The flames rose high, fed by the breeze from the sea, and raced toward the fire moving downward over the ridge. Jennie felt a small, sweaty hand clutch at hers. Without looking, she knew who it was. Jennie put her arm around Mia.

  If the worst came to worst, maybe Alfonso could get Mia down the cliff. She was the lightest person there.

  “It’s getting worse!” Yolanda raised her hands to send a whipping wind at the flames. It did nothing but make them roil and spit out sparks.

  “No, it’s working, it’s working!” somebody yelled from the other end of the line. The smoke was so thick and the roaring of the flames was so loud that Jennie had no idea who was speaking.

  The two fires joined in a blaze that seemed to blot out the sky. And then, almost as swiftly as the fire had come over the ridge, it died down, with nowhere to burn. She held her breath, lungs burning, until nothing was left but a fitful red smolders where a few bushes still burned in a field of soot and ash.

  “Put it all out,” Jennie croaked, her throat raw.

  The diggers got to work. A few minutes later, the last of the bush fires was smothered.

  Jennie leaned her hands on her knees, fighting to calm her breathing. It had all happened so fast and unexpectedly, and ended just as quickly, that it barely even seemed real. Everyone around her looked as stunned as she felt. But an acrid smell of smoke clung to her sweat-soaked clothes, reminding her that she still had a job to do.

  Sidewinder sidled at her approach, but one of the patrol held him steady. Jennie gave him a soothing pat, then rode up the blackened slope to see if the fire still burned on the other side of the ridge.

  The blackened area ended as abruptly as if it had been drawn with a ruler. The other side of the slope was nothing but rocks and gravel. The fire had begun at the only burnable area of the ridge.

  That was strange. And it was strange for any wildfire to start without lightning. But the sky was a brilliant blue, free of clouds. Jennie swung out of the saddle and crouched to examine the edge where soot met rock.

  Mia joined her, peering intently through soot-speckled glasses. “This is the second time in two months I’ve poked through ashes.”

  Henry wandered up, kicking idly at the ashes. “Find any drunken kids?”

  Jennie tried to smile. “Not this time.”

  “Look, a match!” Mia pointed toward the toe of her shoe.

  Jennie held out a hand. “Don’t touch it. If this fire was set, Becky could see who held it last.”

  Henry followed Jennie’s lead and held out his arm, too, blocking the crowd of curious patrollers.

  “Mark off this area,” Jennie said. “Use the rope in my saddlebag.”

  * * *

  The sun had reached its zenith when the patrol reached the gates. The stink of smoke rose from Jennie’s clothes, and her arms and back ached from digging. She was exhausted and had a heat-headache, too. But none of that mattered. No one had died. No one was even hurt, other than scrapes and blisters.

  She’d led her patrol through danger, and she’d brought them safely home.

  As they passed through the gates, the memory of carrying Sera’s body brought a familiar grief. Then Jennie realized that it was the first time she’d recalled that in days. Even when she’d been fighting the fire, in air filled with smoke and burning leaves, she’d thought of nothing but the people she was trying to save right then.

  Now that she had remembered the battle, Jennie tensed, waiting to be overwhelmed with guilt and memories so vivid that she could practically feel the blood on her hands. But she wasn’t. She’d done nothing she regretted during the fire. And all she saw and felt was what was happening here and now.

  From the sentry walk, Ms. Lowenstein called down, “We saw smoke. What happened?”

  “We fought a brush fire.” Making sure the entire patrol could hear her, Jennie added, “Everyone did well. Nobody panicked. Henry was especially helpful. He was the first one to suggest that we fight fire with fire.”

  Ms. Lowenstein repeated incredulously, “Henry?”

  “Yeah,” Tommy Horst called. “Henry was cool under fire!”

  Felicité leaned over, her bobbing curls tempting the eater-roses into frantic, useless lunges. “Henry! You were a hero! I want to hear all about it.”

  To Jennie’s surprise, Henry actually looked embarrassed. “Oh, I was just the first person to open my mouth. I’m sure Jennie was thinking of it.”

  Jennie smiled and said nothing. Let Henry have his moment of glory. Maybe he’d changed. People did.

  Chapter Twenty-One: Becky

  Sheriff Crow motioned to Becky. “Go ahead. Take your time.”

  Becky crouched down, wrinkling her nose at the stink of burnt wood and weeds. The ash was still hot underfoot.

  She’d used her power in front of Sheriff Crow before, at the burned-out barn. As Becky had predicted, she’d seen cows. And also Hans and Peter stealthily climbing the ladder, Kerry’s secret party from when she’d been a hostage, Paco practicing the drums, Yuki and Paco kissing passionately (Becky had blushed and mumbled that it was nothing interesting; the sheriff had given her an extremely knowing look and dryly said, “Let’s say it was more cows,”), and the barn being raised. But she hadn’t seen any clues to the fire.

  Becky braced herself to disappoint the sheriff again. But she was nervous for another reason, too. She knew it was just imagination, but every time she used her power, her cheek heated and throbbed where her mother had slapped her. It was throbbing already.

  She extended a finger and touched the burned-out match.

  Impatience flooded her as her slim brown hand, extending from the patched sleeve of a leather jacket, whisked over a smooth surface, knocking the blackened match away.

  Becky blinked up at Sheriff Crow’s intent gaze. “I saw someone touch it, but I’m not sure that’s the person who lit the match. It was already burned.”

  “Can you touch it again and tr
y to see who lit it?”

  Becky took a deep breath, focused, and reached out again.

  Concentration on a task. Hunger. Twenty more matches and then I can have lunch. A woman’s hand dipped the match into the sulphur mixture, then stuck it upright in a ball of wax.

  “I think I saw Mrs. Horst,” Becky said apologetically. “When she made it.”

  Sheriff Crow gave an exasperated snort. “Someone’s being very clever here. Who was it who touched the burned match?”

  Becky hesitated. She doubted that Summer had set the fire, but once Becky spoke, Sheriff Crow wouldn’t be able to keep what she said out of the town gossip. Becky had seen what people had been like to Ross when he’d been falsely accused of a crime.

  Reluctantly, she said, “Summer Juarez. I recognized her jacket. But all she did was knock it off something smooth.” Bringing the vision back in memory, she added, “Something wooden. A table, maybe.”

  Sheriff Crow put her hands on her hips and looked around. “Nothing smooth here. And you said the match was already burned. The whole town knows about your power. I think—” The sheriff broke off, looking curiously at Becky. “What do you think, Becky? What’s your explanation of this?”

  Becky’s stomach fluttered nervously. “I only see things. I don’t know what they mean.”

  “I didn’t mean your power. What explanation can you imagine?”

  Becky couldn’t think why the sheriff cared what she imagined, but she said, “I don’t think Summer set the fire. I think someone else lit that match, then put it where they knew she’d touch it. Maybe her chair or desk at school. And then they dropped it here.”

  Sheriff Crow’s skull-side couldn’t form expressions, but the beautiful side looked pleased. “I think so, too. And if we find out why, we might find out who.”

  “We?” Becky echoed. “Do you think you’ll have more things for me to touch?”

  “Could be. Why don’t you tag along, just in case?”

  Becky got to her feet and dusted herself off. To her surprise, she was glad of the invitation. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do. And she had been helpful. It wasn’t just make-work. But more than that, she was curious. As they walked back down the burned slope, she turned over different possibilities in her mind.