by Rose Wulf
There!
Up ahead, the next driveway—that was her destination. At least according to the mailbox on the side of the gate. The gate itself was open as if inviting her in. Or perhaps they were expecting her? She had no idea what had startled Blake so much, after all. What if he’d actually come here and just hadn’t had the time to drive? That would make explaining easier. But somehow she doubted it was that simple.
Brooke eased Blake’s Mustang to a stop between the garage and wide front steps, not wanting to block anyone in. Then she gathered his clothes, and phone, in her arms and climbed from the car with a stupid pang of remorse. He had a beautiful car.
Up the steps, shift the pile, and the familiar chime of the doorbell rang beyond the expensive front door. And it wasn’t until that moment that Brooke wondered what she was actually going to say. Would Blake get in trouble if they knew she knew? But how else would she explain the clothes? I could say I found them abandoned by the shore… She’d come off looking more like a bad stalker if she did that, though.
The door swung open before she could think up a better option, and Brooke found herself looking into the faded blue eyes of a stranger. A woman, maybe in her mid-forties, with dark hair piled up in an elegant bun and a natural smile. Brooke felt immediately at ease in front of her despite having no idea who the woman was.
“Can I help you?” she asked politely. Her eyes flicked past her as she spoke and lingered on Blake’s car. The smile on her face dipped into a frown, and Brooke could guess what would have followed.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she offered lamely, “but Blake asked me to bring this stuff over for him… That is, you are Mrs. Hawke, right?” Oh, how awkward would that be?
Frown fading a bit, the woman returned her attention to Brooke and nodded. “I am. Call me Lillian. Please, come inside.”
Brooke awkwardly stepped into the foyer, trying not to gawk or restlessly juggle the bundle in her arms. She hadn’t expected to be invited inside.
“Is Blake all right?” Lillian asked as she guided her guest down the main hall.
“I … think so,” Brooke offered. “I don’t really know what’s going on. He got a phone call and it seemed pretty urgent.” She paused, remembering how he’d answered the phone, and added, “From one of his brothers.”
Lillian arched one perfectly manicured brow at her as she indicated one of the massive sofas. “And he left his clothes and car keys with you?”
Well, it sounds awkward when you phrase it like that. Swallowing, Brooke carefully set the pile down on the cushion beside her. “Yes. He asked me to bring it to you, but he didn’t have time to say why or what was going on.” The tricky part was next, and Brooke sincerely hoped she wasn’t messing anything up. “He just took off his jacket and, uh, liquefied. Or whatever the word is for that. Then he disappeared in the ocean.”
“I feel like I walked in at the wrong time to this conversation,” an amused male voice declared before the man Brooke could only assume was Blake’s father stepped into view. Extending a hand, he added, “I’m Christopher, Blake’s father. And I’m going to assume he trusts you if he willingly told you about his abilities.”
Brooke shook his hand as a sort of surrealism overtook her. Lillian’s expression had betrayed surprise at Brooke’s words, but Christopher seemed calm. Almost happy. “I’m going to assume that, too,” she said honestly as her arm fell back into her lap.
Claiming a seat beside his wife, Christopher asked, “So what’s going on?”
****
At first, she had been mildly hopeful, because the flames had spread out to the sides more than toward her. However, soon enough that had changed. And now the flames were coming closer and closer.
They were licking at the air in front of her. It was only a matter of moments before she felt the burn when the wind unexpectedly picked back up, blowing fiercely against the flame and holding it back—if only slightly.
Hope lit up in her heart, and Angela turned her head to try to find her rescuer. “Nate!” She could hear the desperation and relief in her own voice, but she didn’t care. What mattered, she realized, was that she couldn’t see her brother. And that only meant one thing. Angela groaned and clapped a hand over her eyes firmly. “You better blow me out of the way if the fire gets too close!”
The words were barely out of her mouth when another sound reached her ears. This one was wet and roared not unlike waves on the ocean in a storm. The waves in her mind’s eye crashed onto the fiery shore, producing a chilling, terrifying sizzle and undoubtedly thick, black smoke. But she could still feel the heat; still hear the crackle of stubborn fire. It wasn’t all out.
“Blake!” she called, praying her brother had been riding on the wave like an epic movie-star surfer. No way was she going to risk peeking.
The wind died down for a second before kicking up again, and the faint crunch of twigs beneath someone’s feet indicated that Nate had pulled himself back together. A hand landed on her shoulder, and Nate’s familiar voice said, “Just stay close, Angie. Dean’s almost here. I saw him when I was flying over.”
“No offense,” Angela began, her hand still firmly over her eyes, “but I don’t want to stand that close when you’re naked. It’s gross.”
“Glad you think so,” Nate returned, his humor noticeably more strained than usual. But he dropped his hand from her shoulder obligingly.
“Blake’s not naked, too, is he?”
“‘Fraid so,” Nate replied, his voice strained.
“Stay where you are, Angela,” Blake called from several feet away. “The fire’s almost out.”
Doing her best to melt her fingers permanently over her closed eyelids, Angela said, “Trust me, I’m not moving until no one’s naked!”
She barely heard the shift in the crackle of the fire over her exclamation. It sounded as though the fire was receding, but she hadn’t heard another rush of water. She hadn’t felt an increase in the wind. Dean. The only answer was Dean. Please don’t let him be naked, too.
The sound of crunching, rolling gravel reached her ears shortly before the accompanying sound of heavy breathing. “Angie! You okay?” It was Dean. And that could only mean the fire was finally out.
“No!” Angela replied, turning her face in the direction of his voice. “Two of my brothers are naked and one of them touched my shoulder! I’m scarred for life!”
It was Blake who commented next. “Ange, seriously, are you hurt?”
Angela sighed. “No, I’m not hurt. But someone please tell me Dean’s at least wearing pants.”
“Fully dressed, I promise,” Dean replied, his voice closer now.
The ground beneath their feet lurched just slightly before anyone could comment further, and Angela knew that meant her fourth brother had arrived.
“You’re late to the party,” Nate called a moment later, confirming her suspicion.
“And you better be dressed,” Angela added pointedly.
Ignoring both Nate’s and Angela’s comments, Logan asked, “Is she hurt?”
“She’s not hurt,” Angela said. “She’s just scarred enough as it is. I don’t think I could handle three of you not wearing pants.”
There was a pause, and her stomach sank. She might have even thrown up if it had lasted any longer.
“I’m dressed,” Logan assured her.
“Speaking of,” Nate interrupted, “I don’t suppose either of you has any clothes handy?”
“Pants, at least, would be great,” Blake added.
“In my trunk,” Dean replied, unknowingly saving his sister yet again. This time from having to blindly navigate a hillside covered in tripping hazards.
Angela remained quiet until the crunch of their feet had mostly faded. “So … is it safe for me to look yet?”
“Yeah,” Logan promised. “It’s safe. We’ll give them a minute before we meet up with them.”
Angela lowered her hand, blinking her eyes rapidly for a second as they readjust
ed to the sunlight.
Logan was scowling again when she looked his way. “What happened?”
Her eyes drifted up, toward the sky, reaffirming what she remembered. Like before, there were only a sparse few—white—clouds overhead. As she lowered her eyes back to her brother, she said, “This is going to sound weird, but … I think I was almost struck by lightning.”
Logan’s eyes widened at her statement. And after several seconds, she knew he had come to the same realization she had.
They’d lost an uncle to a lightning strike, back when their mother and father had only been dating.
Chapter Seven
Concern in her voice, Lillian asked, “Did something happen?”
“Yeah,” Dean said as Blake led the way inside. His brother’s heavy tone fit their mood perfectly.
“Mom,” Angela started with a glance toward Brooke. Her voice trailed, but the implication was fairly obvious.
“Hi, Angela,” Brooke said, seeming to sense the younger girl’s point. “I’m Brooke. I’m a friend of Blake’s.”
“Blake sent her here a short while ago,” Lillian explained calmly. “We couldn’t let her spend money on a cab and she wouldn’t let us drive her to the beach, so we’ve opted to wait together to learn what the emergency was.”
With a pointed look at his son, Christopher added, “Seems she was worried.”
Blake cringed and looked to Brooke, hoping she could see the apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
Brooke smiled. “It’s okay, I’m sure you had a reason. And your parents are really nice.”
“Now,” Lillian interrupted, “about that reason?”
Nate emerged from the kitchen, two sandwiches plated in his hands, and extended one to Blake before claiming the seat next to Dean.
“You two look a little pale,” Christopher said as realization dawned.
“I’m fine,” the brothers echoed. Blake wasted no time biting into his sandwich, knowing he needed the rejuvenation.
Lillian cleared her throat pointedly. “We’re still waiting for answers. Is someone hurt?”
“No,” Dean replied quietly.
Angela pulled in a breath and Blake paused in his eating to glance over at her. She was preparing to explain, and he felt guilty at the news they were about to drop on their parents.
“When I was walking home,” Angela began slowly, her blue eyes focused on the carpet at her feet, “I was … almost hit by lightning.” She paused, swallowed, and added, “It started a fire, so I called Dean, and then Logan.”
When she paused again, Blake stepped in. “Dean called me from the road. Said he was calling Nate next. Nate managed to get there first, and held back the flames until the rest of us got there.” If Dean had had the energy, Blake was sure he’d have been interrupted by now with some kind of outcry. Blake wasn’t exactly the brother most known for revealing their family secret on a whim, but it must have been obvious to his brothers—and sister, for that matter—that he’d said something about it to Brooke already. That, or he was willing to get into the details later.
Christopher nodded, and his voice was strangely detached as he looked between Blake and Nate, saying, “But you had to transform to do it.”
Blake nodded, his mouth full with the final bite of his sandwich.
“Yeah,” Nate said with a swallow.
Before another word could be said, they all heard the familiar rumble of Logan’s truck as it pulled into the driveway.
Silently, they waited until the final Hawke had joined them in the living room, claiming the seat beside Nate.
****
Lillian excused herself shortly after Angela had reiterated the story, in detail, for her parents. And Brooke. The family sat in semi-awkward, dark silence as they listened to Lillian move up the stairs. Blake was debating whether or not to offer Brooke a ride home when his mother’s muffled voice carried down to them. None of the words were distinguishable, and it became clear she was on the phone.
Curious, Blake looked across the living room to his father. “Who would she be calling?”
Christopher shrugged, his confusion as obvious as theirs. “I have no idea.”
“What I don’t understand,” Angela suddenly said, her eyes still fixated on an invisible spot on the coffee table and her hands fisted in her lap, “is where could the lightning have even come from? It’s a clear day.”
“I was wondering that, too,” Logan admitted even as his brothers nodded silent agreement.
No one had anything more to add, and once again the room fell silent. Lillian’s muffled voice became all that could be heard as she continued whatever conversation she was having.
Brook shifted her weight on the loveseat, drawing Blake’s attention, and their eyes met. He could read her confusion and concern as easily as he could discern his own. But he didn’t have the opportunity to try to get her alone before his mother returned.
Lillian stepped back into the room, her gaze downcast and her lips drawn into a tight, thin line of unhappiness. Her eyes were slightly puffy, and there was a faint tinge of red around the white.
“Lillian?” Christopher asked, curiosity and concern mingling in his voice as she reclaimed her seat beside him.
She took a deep, heavy breath, keeping her eyes closed for a long minute. When she finally looked up again a new layer of tears was visible around her faded blue eyes, though they did not fall. “I just got off the phone with Nicholas,” Lillian declared, only the faintest wobble detectable in her voice.
Blake’s eyes widened. Nicholas was one of her brothers, and therefore one of their uncles. He, like Dean, controlled the fire element. Unfortunately, due to a horrible car accident which had left him crippled from the waist down, he had very little influence over his natural element. None of the Hawke children had seen their uncle since the boys had been ten, though he did send cards reliably on birthdays and holidays.
“Why did you call Uncle Nicholas?” Angela asked when her mother paused.
“I always thought it was strange,” Lillian began softly, in a tone that indicated she was divulging a shameful secret, “that one of my brothers was struck and killed by lightning, and two more of my brothers were caught in a freak snow storm where one of them died, and the other very nearly died, too.”
Blake looked away from his mother’s saddened gaze, and beside him, his brothers and sister shifted. Angela’s gaze was back on the coffee table. No one knew what to say, or where she was going with this, so they held their tongues.
“After the accident, Nicholas had nothing better to do, so he threw himself into our family’s history. I always knew he had done the research, but I always assumed nothing had come of it. After today, I thought it was worth asking. I don’t want to lose any of my children … the way I lost two of my brothers.”
Christopher’s hand wrapped around one of Lillian’s, which had been curled in her lap, as a tear slipped down her cheek.
Lillian took only a moment to push aside the lingering pain of her lost brothers, dragged in a breath, and said, “Even so, I really wasn’t expecting what he said.” She paused and wrapped her free hand over the top of the hand her husband still had around hers. “A long time ago, when there were still many other families with powers like ours, there were other kinds of elemental families, too.”
“Other kinds…?” Angela repeated, clearly confused. Around her, her brothers shifted again, their expressions turning from concern and frustration to confusion of their own.
Blake noticed a similar expression on Brooke’s face when he glanced in her direction.
Lillian nodded and continued. “There were families with the ability to control the weather, in a more direct way than any of us. The stories that Nicholas was able to dig up all said that these other families were supposed to be a sort of balance to our own ancestors. So the power that these other families were best known for was the ability to control, or summon, lightning.”
She let that hang f
or a long moment, knowing it wouldn’t take them long to figure out what she meant. Electricity was the main weakness for all of the elementals of their family, and of course lightning was the purest form of electricity. Blake’s stomach clenched at the thought.
Blake tried to wrap his mind around what his mother was telling him. “So, what happened to these other families? How come we’ve never heard about any of this?”
“What Nicholas found also said, at some point, that a feud broke out between our ancestors and the ancestors of these other families. In fact, that rumor suggests a good reason for why so many elemental families died off so quickly. But by the same token, the majority of the other families were also eliminated.”
It was Angela who spoke up next, faint disbelief in her voice. “Then … I’m assuming the surviving families on both sides moved apart … and lost track of each other?”
Lillian nodded. “That’s the assumption, yes.”
Logan’s voice was low and tight when he added, “So the lightning that nearly hit Angela wasn’t an accident.”
“That’s … a possibility,” Lillian replied, her voice wavering again for an instant.
“We would never even know if we were standing next to the descendants of those lightning-families,” Blake said, frustrated.
“But how would they know who we are?” Nate asked. “I mean, why should we believe their records are any more accurate than ours?”
Logan answered his brother’s question before their mother could, turning his attention to Nate and saying, “We lost two uncles to freak accidents of weather. Uncle Nicholas was crippled in the same storm that killed Uncle Trevor. Today Ange was nearly hit by lightning. What are the chances of that?”
Before Nate, or any of his siblings, could respond to Logan’s argument, Lillian spoke up again. “We don’t know anything for sure,” she said. “We need to be careful, and be sure to stay in touch with each other. And for now, if there’s anyone you’ve told anything to, I have to ask you not to talk to them about this.
