Souls of Fire

by Vanessa Black

  After a couple of moments of labored effort ― it seemed rigor mortis had already begun to set in ― he finally got the piece of paper out of his fist.

  Aaron got back to his feet and stood beside me as he unfolded the crumpled piece of paper. Adam Wright’s neat handwriting spelled out only three words:

  Our favorite book

  “Our favorite book,” Aaron repeated, “what does that mean?” We exchanged a confused look.

  “Could it be a message to you?” I asked. “I mean, he knew we were coming. So maybe he wanted to let you know about something before he … before …” I couldn’t finish the sentence, though the following silence spelled the rest out nonetheless.

  Aaron only hesitated a moment before he answered.

  “Maybe you’re right. If it is meant for me, then he must be addressing the book he and I always read when I was little … our favorite book,” Aaron said softly.

  “When you were little?” I asked bewilderedly.

  “Yes, I came to live with Adam when I was about six years old. Strangely, I don’t remember anything from before that time.”

  “You were adopted by him?” I asked, surprised by this information. “I thought you said he was your former professor?”

  “And so he was …,” Aaron countered “… when it was time for me to go to college. I guess it was weird at first to accept him as my professor when I’ve known him as a kind of father for nearly all of my life, but it got easier in time. I … didn’t think it would be relevant to what we were coming here for, so I didn’t mention it.”

  “Oh …,” was all I could say, my suspicions about the two men’s close relationship having been confirmed.

  To repeat that I was sorry in light of the new information I had just received did not seem to be such a good idea, though. Instinctively I could tell that he didn’t want my pity. So I said nothing and waited for him to re-address the issue of the message.

  But Aaron didn’t say anything. Instead, he started walking around the study in search of the book the professor had indicated. When he stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling book-shelf he seemingly remembered it to be placed on and couldn’t find it, he started pacing all around the study, looking at books that were piled on the floor or small tabletops – to no avail.

  “He must have moved it,” Aaron said, coming around the desk, and looking through the books that were piled on top. Finally, he seemed to have spotted it lying on the floor a couple of feet from the professor, and hastily knelt to retrieve it.

  “Winnie the Pooh?” I spat out perplexedly, reading the title of the book that had been his and the professor’s favorite. Standing in this impressive study with old and notable books upon books bound in black or brown leather, an ordinary ‘Winnie the Pooh’-book had been the last thing I would have expected.

  “I was six,” Aaron said defensively.

  “Alright, alright,” I said good-naturedly, “sorry. I like ‘Winnie the Pooh’. It’s just not what I had expected.”

  “It’s the only book we ever read together,” he added.

  Somewhat appeased, Aaron stroked his fingers gently over the face of the book, apparently remembering the times he had read it with the professor, before opening it.

  I held my breath and waited for Aaron to reveal the message he was meant to find. As he paged through the book and finally found an envelope with his name written on it, I expected the message it held to be enlightening.

  I was wrong.

  Upon opening the envelope, Aaron found another piece of paper that read:

  When reading, always mind your Elders !

  “What the …?” Aaron started, obviously more than a little frustrated with the lack of information in this cryptic message.

  “Mind your Elders?” I repeated aloud after having read the message.

  But Aaron seemed not to have listened and was obviously immersed in thought. After reading and re-reading the message several times, he finally said:

  “I think it means we’re supposed to be looking for a special book … when reading, it says.”

  “Okay,” I said, “let’s have a look then.”

  I followed Aaron across the room to the circular wall that held lots of leather-bound books. Together we started searching through the titles, not knowing what we were looking for exactly. After ten minutes without having found anything of significance, Aaron finally stumbled upon a book.

  “Look,” he said excitedly.

  I left the section of books I had been looking at behind and went to join Aaron. Gazing at the book he was motioning at, I could see that it looked rather old. It had a red leather binding and was covered with large golden letters that formed the title ‘Elders’.

  “Let me see the message again,” I said, excitement flooding through me all of a sudden.

  Aaron showed me the piece of paper with the message.

  “… mind your Elders,” I muttered. “Yes, that has to be the right book.”

  “This is strange,” I continued, “I feel like I’m on a quest or something. Only we’re not going to find a treasure, are we?”

  “I have absolutely no clue,” Aaron replied. “Though, at the moment, nothing would surprise me anymore,” he added.

  “Let’s hope not,” I said as Aaron’s hand slowly reached out for the book.

  As the book was nearly within his reach, I was suddenly possessed by a strong feeling of foreboding.

  Along with this ominous feeling I could sense a sort of low humming sound. Only it wasn’t a sound, I suddenly realized. It was more like a sensation; a slow, rhythmic vibration that seemed to seep right into my very bones and gave me the chills.

  “Wait,” I heard myself say, yet hadn’t even realized I had spoken. Nor could I have told him why I wanted him to leave the book alone. It didn’t really make sense, after all.

  But none of it mattered because he had already reached out to take the book. When he grabbed it, it tipped forward, triggering the mechanism of a door, and a hidden circular room was revealed.

  “Wow,” was all Aaron seemed to be able to say. From the stunned look on his face, I gathered that whatever he might have expected, this was far from it.

  I was unable to say anything myself. I was completely taken in by the sight of the book that was lying on the small circular table inside the room, and by the increasing feeling of doom that was slowly creeping over me while I stood staring at the otherworldly object.

  “Can you feel that?” Aaron asked me, his voice sounding suddenly on edge.

  “Feel what?” I probed, not wanting to give myself away and admit to feeling anything strange unless he professed to the same sensation.

  “I don’t know, exactly … but it feels like I’m drawn to this room … or something in it. And I can feel something like a … humming … or vibration. I know it sounds strange…”

  “I feel it …,” I admitted, “… and for some reason I don’t think it’s a good thing, even if I can’t explain why.”

  Aaron seemed to ponder this for a while before finally turning toward me. He then did something that astounded me. Throwing me a significant look, he reached for my hand, slowly and gently entwining our fingers.

  I felt hot and cold, shivers running all over my body from his touch and the intimacy of the gesture. He seemed to be conveying that, whatever happened, we were in this together … connected. I had never felt so close to him, or anyone, than in this moment.

  Though perhaps this intimacy held a different meaning for him than it held for me, I couldn’t help but wonder. To him, it might have meant little more than seeking reassurance from someone in the same situation.

  Whatever his motives, I found myself cast back into the same emotional state that had been haunting me since I had first laid eyes on him, despite everything that had happened since. Where Aaron Chambers was concerned, I was completely unable to keep my cool.

  Holding hands, we gradually made our way toward the book at the center of the room. W
hen we stood opposite it, I could make out a softly glowing light that emanated from a symbol on the cover of the book.

  The light was so beautiful it took my breath away. I had never seen anything like it. It looked neither enduring nor evanescent, constantly changing in essence, swirling in ringlets like dense smoke one minute and nearly invisible the next, its iridescent glow emitting a rainbow of colors.

  I let go of Aaron’s hand and stepped closer to the book. Slowly, the feeling of doom that had weighed on me started to ease by the inconceivable sight of the radiance before me. I felt almost serene by the time my eyes finally found and concentrated on the symbol at the heart of the light.

  A rose…

  My mind struggled to remember what was so important about this image. It seemed, though, that my mind had gone blank by the sight of the rose, and I had to struggle to hold on to every single thought.

  A rose … a rose … a … Finally, I was able to form a coherent thought.

  My birthmark.

  But that had to be a coincidence ― I tried to reason with myself ― while my gut told me otherwise. The vibrations I had been able to sense through the still closed door and could feel rolling off the book in waves that very moment told me otherwise.

  My heart started up a frantic beat. While I stood staring at the rose, the emanating light began to pulse in time with my heartbeat …

  Aaron couldn’t believe what he thought he was seeing. Right before his eyes the radiance coming from the book had started to pulse irregularly as if some kind of trigger had set it off.

  Like the sequence in a movie when the hero finds the bomb that suddenly gets triggered by his touch, the timer flashing faster and faster with only ten seconds to go until everything is blown to holy hell.

  “Oh shit,” Aaron heard himself say, not even bothering to keep his bad language in check in light of the situation.

  “What did you do?” he asked Persephone who was standing next to him, continually staring at the book with her mouth slightly open, not even reacting to his question. When he asked her again after slightly nudging her arm to get her to snap out of it, she finally answered.

  “What do you mean, what did I do?” Persephone asked him in a heated tone. “What makes you think I had anything to do with it? Did you see me touch anything? No. Why is that? Because I didn’t!” she continued outraged.

  Aaron couldn’t help but feel, though, that her reaction to his simple question would not have been quite as extreme if she wasn’t holding back something relevant to his query.

  “What are you not telling me?” Aaron persisted, stepping right up to her, and firmly but gently seizing her wrist while looking directly and intently into her eyes.

  At precisely that moment, the light suddenly stopped pulsating and shot straight up to the ceiling in a bundle of pure-white energy, illuminating the grey area above with the gleaming symbol of a rose in full bloom ― its petals opened wide and reaching out gracefully.

  “What did you do?” Persephone asked Aaron, her tone dripping with sarcasm, obviously referring to his earlier question.

  “Funny,” Aaron retorted in a dry voice.

  “I thought so,” Persephone seemingly couldn’t help but respond. Why did women always have to have the last word, Aaron wondered, slightly irritated by her comeback.

  “Alright,” Persephone gave in, holding out her hand toward him in a gesture of making peace.

  “Sorry, I’ll stop now, okay?” she said, grinning up at him in a mixture of awkwardness and wittiness that would have made him laugh out loud if he hadn’t had such a tight control over his emotions.

  In the end, all that escaped him was a small smile that he made vanish shortly after it appeared. He let go of her wrist, though, and shook her hand.

  “Okay,” he said. “But tell me … whatever it is you’re not telling me,” he added.

  “Hey,” Persephone started, “I know as much as you.”

  After a small pause she added

  “Well, maybe a bit more.”

  Her voice had a slightly apologetic ring to it. At the same time she was accentuating the ‘bit more’ by gesturing with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, the finger and thumb almost touching.

  Aaron just threw her a skeptical look.

  Persephone hesitated for a moment. Then she slowly reached for the second topmost button of the shirt she was wearing and started to unbutton her shirt.

  Aaron’s hand shot out and grabbed her hand, stopping her from continuing her endeavor.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, having no idea what she was trying to prove by taking her clothes off.

  “There’s something you need to see …,” she started, but was interrupted by Aaron.

  “On your body?” Aaron asked completely bewildered.

  He was pretty damn sure he did not want to see her naked. On top of everything else, it was just another complication he didn’t want or need with the way things kept turning out whenever he was near her.

  Things tended to head in a direction where he would find himself drawn to her almost against his will; and most certainly against his better judgment.

  His heart pounding in reaction to seeing more of her bare skin than he had bargained for, and with the impression of her soft skin where he had grabbed her hand foremost on his mind, he tried to stay in control while waiting for her to explain herself.

  “I wanted to show you … this,” Persephone said in a voice so low and shaky it seemed she felt just as embarrassed and on edge as he did. She swept the shirt away from her skin just enough to show him what she needed him to see.

  Aaron stood staring ― not for the first time that day ― at the rose on Persephone’s chest. He hadn’t even thought about the rose he’d thought he’d seen on her body.

  And why should he have remembered it anyway, he wondered? It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary. Just a tattoo. Big deal. Only … now he wasn’t so sure anymore. He had forgotten all about it in light of everything else that had happened, especially upon finding Adam’s mangled and bloody body and the incident that had followed.

  Thinking back to the incident after the discovery of Adam, he had to admit the truth, at least to himself. He hadn’t wanted to push her away in such a violent manner. And he had apologized for it. But he still felt ashamed of himself for hurting her like that; even more so, since she had only wanted to help him and show her sympathy.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t understood that. He had. But there was something she hadn’t understood and probably wouldn’t have believed if he had told her:

  She had moved him.

  She had touched him deep down … on a level he hadn’t believed possible.

  His was a shattered soul. He was a man who had spent all of his adult life shutting down his emotions and closing himself off from every other person except Adam out of fear of letting anyone in enough to hurt him.

  After having felt the pain of being abandoned by his parents all of his life, he had made a promise to himself that he would never let anyone hurt him that deeply again. He had vowed to protect himself from the cruelty of people.

  And his dealings with women were always merely superficial, purely sexual. He was the only one he needed besides Adam Wright. And Adam had been the only person in the world he had felt sure would never hurt or betray him.

  Yet he had let her in.

  For the fraction of a second, time had seemed to stand still. He had been able to feel her; not because she had been holding him, but because his consciousness had connected with hers. She had gotten past his barriers, and he didn’t know how or why … and it terrified him.

  It terrified him that he no longer seemed to be in complete control of his own mind.

  Throughout his entire life there had always been one thought that had kept him going, one belief he found peace and solace in:

  His body would always be vulnerable and mortal…

  …but nobody and no force on this earth could ever
take away his soul, could ever have power over his mind…

  ― until now.

  And that meant she was dangerous, Aaron reminded himself once again while he gazed at the bare skin on the rise of her left breast and the rose he had seen in his dream. All but one petal remained shut around the bud.

  “So you have a tattoo …,” Aaron stated, convinced this wasn’t really an important clue or any kind of clue. “I don’t understand what that has to do with anything,” he continued.

  “It’s not a tattoo,” was all Persephone answered in return, apparently waiting for Aaron to ask the next obvious question.

  “What do you mean, it’s not a tattoo? How can it not be a tattoo? It’s not branding, is it?”

  And before he even thought about what he was doing, Aaron touched his hand to Persephone’s chest, running his fingers over her smooth and definitely not branded skin, freezing in mid-touch when he realized the impropriety of his touch.

  But when he looked at Persephone to gauge her reaction and beg her forgiveness, his heart skipped several beats. What he saw in her eyes was everything he felt but didn’t want to feel.

  She was looking at him in a way that probably would have melted every other man’s heart, or at least weaken his knees. His knees were weak, all right, but he would not give in to her.

  Carefully removing the hand that was still resting against her skin, he took several steps back, distancing himself so that he could remain clear-headed and not make a disastrous mistake.

  The disappointment that was written all over her face didn’t give him a moment’s worry, as he casually chose to overlook it.

  “No … it’s not a branding,” Persephone finally answered in a small voice, even though they both knew the answer had turned obsolete.

  “So, what is it?” Aaron asked after clearing his throat.

  “It’s a …,” Persephone started but didn’t get a chance to elaborate, because at that exact moment both of them could clearly hear voices heading in their direction from the bottom of the stairs outside the study.