by Casey Hays
“Clever.” He veers his gaze my way. “Are we ready to go?”
“In a minute,” I shoot back.
With an indifferent shrug, he spins off his seat and lopes out of the kitchen to the foyer, his body language mimicking that of someone who’s just won a gold medal. Head high, shoulders back, proud smile. Ugh.
“I’ll be in the car, then.”
His voice echoes back at us. Kane doesn’t move, his expression so hardened he looks like chiseled stone, and Frankie doesn’t miss it.
“I sense some tension here.” She pushes off the barstool and gathers up her duffle bag. “I’ll… be in the car too.” She pauses. “Another Fireblood. It just keeps getting better.”
When we’re alone, I search out Kane, and my own shoulders sag under the weight of his decision. I step up to him. Arms crossed, he still doesn’t move. I don’t touch him except to bump my lowered head into his chest.
“We’ll be back by Saturday night.” My whisper reeks of agony.
Silence. But after a few seconds, he slides his hand down my arm and tangles his fingers with mine. I squeeze tight. His thumb toys with my ring, and then, I hear his mantra—breaking through the compelling effect. It’s so faint, fighting to get in, but I feel the sensation the way I felt it when Rylin did the same thing to me a few days ago. But this song? I want it to invade. I stand as still as possible, absorbing every bit of it. Because if I do that, maybe I can hold onto it the entire time I’m gone, and—
I perk up as an idea begins to formulate inside my overly tired brain. Believe it or not, it’s brilliant, and I’m not ashamed to brag on that. I can’t believe I hadn’t already thought of it.
Excited, I yank on Kane’s hand, pulling him away from the counter. His brows fold in.
“What?”
My heart pounds with the rhythm of his song.
“Come here.”
I drag him from the kitchen and down the steps to the den, lugging my phone out of my back pocket at the same time. And only when I throw the tarp off the piano, open the top, and sink onto the bench does he utter another thought.
“What are you doing?”
I set my phone up on the stand and hold out my hand.
“Give me your phone.”
He does, and the adorably confused expression mussing up his face makes me laugh. I set his phone next to mine and open both to our audio recorders.
“I’m not sure we have time for a piano lesson if you’re planning to get back by Saturday,” he teases.
“Shhh… Just listen. And don’t talk.”
I press record on both phones. Massaging my fingers a second, I poise them, and I play.
Let me interject here to say that I’ve been reading music since I was three, so I have a lot of musical training. Even my five-year sabbatical from playing when my dad died didn’t cause me to lose my natural talent. I’m kind of a prodigy in this area. Music is ingrained in me, and picking it up again was kind of like riding a bike. It’s always come easy to me because it’s just like math, and I happen to love math. But I have another musical gift that is just as important. It’s the reason my dad had so much faith in my ability to become a concert pianist one day. A little thing called music memory and playing by ear—which is the skill I utilize now.
I give Kane a small tilt of my head as the sounds of our combined mantras pour from my fingertips. And I have to tell you, I get a little kick out of how quickly his jaw drops along with rest of him as he slumps onto the arm of the nearest chair and just stares at my hands.
It’s a poor imitation of the real thing, to be honest. There’s no way to mimic the true beauty of a Fireblood’s mantra that burns inside the blood like a wildfire, not even my own. But I am able to play the basic notes of both songs as they meld in perfect harmony, and it’s enough to bring Kane to a state of complete and silent awe. I see it the minute his eyes drift up to connect with mine.
The mantra is never ending, so after about two minutes, I find a gracious way to finish, letting the final note linger for a second. When I press stop on the recorders, Kane noticeably exhales.
“Wow.” He shows me a dimple that fades quickly into a sheet of amazement.
“Just wow?” I whisper, raising my brow with a tease.
“I… can’t think of anything else to say.”
With a laugh, I gather up our phones and go to him. He takes me in immediately, tugging me close until the phones are compressed between us.
“Now, while we’re apart, we’ll still be together.” I tap the edge of my phone against his chest.
His kiss lands on my forehead, and he holds still, his breath stirring the baby hairs at the edge of my scalp. Eventually, our lips meet, soft and pure, and I want to cry. It’s stupid. I mean, we’ve gone a few days before without seeing each other. This is no different.
Except that it is. Everything about it is different. I sink against him, catching a glimpse of my ruby on my middle finger. I kind of hate this ring right now. I twist it so that the ruby is on the inside, hoping to make all of it more tolerable.
“They’re waiting,” he whispers. “You’d better go.”
I kind of hate those words too, and for a second, I consider cancelling this little trip. But it’s a fleeting thought, because I really want to meet my brother. I want to see my mom too. I’m even surprised by that thought, but it prompts me to push away from Kane, leaving his phone in his clutches. He presses it to his heart with a tiny smile—so tiny I barely catch it—and then his eyes fall on my newly-painted key that has escaped the inside of my tee-shirt. He plucks it up.
“Nice.” His green eyes crinkle up in the corners. “No longer hideous.”
I laugh. “Only because Frankie outvoted Devan on the design. She had monkeys in mind.”
“Monkeys?”
“Or flip-flops,” I add.
He tugs gently. “This is perfect for you,” he whispers.
“It is, isn’t it?” I glance at Mom’s huge clock. “Speaking of Devan, can you make sure she’s up in half an hour? She has cheer camp.”
“Sure.”
He habitually brushes a loose hair off my cheek. A final lingering kiss, and I shoot up the steps to the kitchen, stopping only long enough to grab my stuff off the breakfast nook where I left it.
“Jude.”
I pause; he pops his chin up once, winking. “You be careful.”
“I will.”
I jet out of the kitchen before he can see my tears threatening.
***
Aunt Megan’s Ford Explorer waits for me on the drive, the hatchback propped open. I have to say, I’m glad to see it. It’s a luxury compared to any of our own small cars, and it makes me dread the long drive ahead a bit less. I fling my bag inside, right next to a guitar case, and press the button to close the hatch, keeping my pillow and smaller bag with me. Frankie has already taken the front passenger seat, which is fine by me. She can keep Rylin occupied with small talk while I sleep. I climb into the back seat behind him and buckle up.
“Everything all right, then?” He peers at me in the rearview mirror. I don’t answer, merely giving him a thumbs up, but that’s not actually the finger I’d like to flash. He eases the Ford out of my drive and onto the empty street, a glint of satisfaction beaming from him.
I check the time on my phone. Eight o’clock. I’d hoped to be gone an hour ago, but I guess it doesn’t matter. Either way, we’ll be on the road the entire day. Visiting hours at Cedar Hills will be long over by the time we reach Portland.
Frankie twists in her seat, eyes expectant, her finger poised over the built-in navigation system. “Where to?”
I pause, eying the front of my house a second longer before answering. “Head for Klamath Falls.”
“We’re going to Oregon?” Surprise laces her voice.
“Klamath Falls is our halfway mark,” I inform. “We’ll stop for lunch there.”
She punches the city coordinates into the GPS and sets the destination. “Four and half hours.�
� A tiny smile lights her lips. “Isn’t Cedar Hills in Portland?”
And she’s figured out our destination with those two small hints.
“Cedar Hills?” Rylin pauses at the stop sign at the end of my street, checking the intersection before moving on. “The mental hospital?”
“Her mother is in rehab there,” Frankie answers.
“Oh.”
Rylin pulls onto Northridge Drive, his curiosity peeking at me from the mirror. I say nothing as I slink low in my seat, digging my phone out of my pocket. We drive several blocks in silence before Frankie can contain her curiosity no longer. Turning, she shields the side of her lips with the back of her hand and mouths her next words.
“Jarron is at Cedar Hills?”
“I’m sorry?” Rylin glances at her. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Nothing.” She shoves at her glasses and focuses on the road ahead.
“It’s okay Frankie. Rylin knows about the Fireblood from Willow Springs.”
“Oh.” She drops her shoulders in relief. “So you knew we were headed to Portland?”
“No, actually,” he answers. The shadows flicker as we reach the underpass beneath I-580 and turn onto North Lompa Lane. “So thank you for the information. I was faced with a bit of a challenge by not knowing where I was going.”
Rylin studies me in the rearview mirror, a cocky brow flirting with me. I avert my eyes to watch the passing scenery.
“So the boy is at Cedar Hills.” He picks up speed. “And you think they’ll allow you to see him.”
“Yes. Because mom is there.” I don’t really know how much this means at the moment, but I say it anyway.
“Mmm. I didn’t know a rehab patient had that kind of power.”
“Well, she does. Because that boy…” I sigh. I might as well get on with it. “He’s my brother.”
Rylin doesn’t flinch, except for the small, twitch of his right brow in the mirror that is a clear smirk. He knew. He probably knew when he came to my room, but when he says nothing, I finish the thought still brewing in the back of my mind.
“And… I have pretty strong doubts about her patient status.”
“I see.” His smile greets me, and there’s nothing snarky about it. It’s warm even. “Well, then perhaps I’m right about what I said.”
Frankie cocks her head, curiosity rising again. “And what is that?”
He does nothing but hold his smile in place and his grip on the steering wheel, leaving me to explain.
“Rylin here can’t dream.” It’s my turn to hand out a snarky grin.
“Really?” Frankie cocks her head at him.
“Yep. He’s never had a single dream in his entire existence.”
“It’s true.” Rylin peeks at Frankie out of the corner of his eye, keeping the bulk of his attention on the road. “Firebloods don’t dream.”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” he quips.
She digests this information a moment. “That is fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” Rylin gives off an exasperated laugh. “I imagine it’s quite the opposite, really. Boring is perhaps a better term.”
“For your information, dreaming is an important part of the sleeping process,” she retorts. “It’s even been recorded that people who are unable to sleep, and thus dream, can suffer mental instability and even full-blown insanity. The fact that you have never had a dream in your life and are not insane? Fascinating.”
“That’s debatable,” I murmur.
Rylin smothers his smile.
“Lack of dreaming could present any number of problems.” Frankie fusses her eyebrows together as another thought penetrates. “Which makes me wonder whether this is the cause of mental instability in Jarron. But he’s a hybrid.” She pauses. “Can he dream?”
“Yes,” Rylin answers. “So I guess that negates your little theory.”
She frowns. “How do you know he can dream?”
“Well, let’s see.” He peers at me. “Do you dream, Jude?”
Frankie, suddenly unsure whether I do or not, swings her head in my direction. I roll my eyes.
“Shut up.” I ignore the chuckle shaking his shoulders. “Yes, Frankie, I dream. And Rylin seems to think I can control them. He even thinks I can compel other Firebloods. I suppose that could make him insane, right?” I don’t miss the twinkle in his eye when I say this, and I laugh. “But it is one reason for this trip. To see what I can learn from this brother I never knew.”
Frankie grows quiet a moment, her mind working it out. “What makes you think Jude can control her dreams?”
“Just a hunch,” he shrugs. He says nothing about his sister, so I keep that information to myself. We’ve reached I-580. Rylin merges into traffic and kicks up his speed.
“We’re taking this trip on a hunch?”
“It’s more than that,” I assure her. “Firebloods can’t dream, but they can visit other people’s dreams.”
Frankie is at a complete loss. She stares at me dumbfounded.
“That’s a scientific breakthrough,” she whispers. “You’ve experienced this?”
“Yep.”
“With whom?” My eyes flick toward Rylin, and her mouth falls open. “You’ve been in Jude’s dreams?”
“Once or twice,” he shrugs. “When she invites me in. That’s the terrible catch in the whole thing.”
“Ohhhh… so that’s what you meant by her ability to control her dreams.”
“Partially, yes.”
“Who else?” She twists fully in her seat, tugging at the seat belt. “Kane?”
“And Jarron.” I dip my brows with a frown. “Well, one might have been a vision. It’s hard to say.”
“There’s a substantial difference between the two, Jude. Which was it?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I was asleep, and I was looking at his picture—the one you took with us when we met with Nancy Babbitt?” Rylin’s part in the dream pops into my head. I push it off and keep talking. “The picture seemed to come to life, and Jarron turned toward me, right in the picture, and said my name.” I catch her curious eyes. “This might sound weird, but I feel like… he was trying to reach me, or something.”
Okay, that’s sounds completely cuckoo, but Frankie doesn’t flinch. In fact, she doesn’t even blink. Of course, why would she? She believes in Firebloods. And it’s been well established in her mind that vampires and werewolves rule the darkness, so the fact that I just told her that my newly found brother may or may not be talking to me in my dreams is actually small potatoes. I feel her excitement. It practically sloughs off of her and floats toward me.
“Very interesting.” She exchanges a glance with Rylin. “I suppose we’ll know soon enough if your theory is accurate.”
“I suppose we will.” He smiles at her.
All conversation stops for a while after this. It literally comes to a dead standstill as Frankie absorbs the information we’ve handed her. I know how her mind works; she’ll meticulously analyze all of it and dive back in with more questions once she’s exhausted every ounce of her understanding. For now, I enjoy the quiet.
I slide open my phone. My last outgoing call notification to Mom stares up at me like a bad omen when I remember what I said. She couldn’t have listened to the message yet, or my phone would be ringing like mad. Unless she doesn’t care whether I know or not. Or what happens to me because I do. I have nothing new from her, not even a text. I sigh and adjust my pillow up against the window. I was the last one to reach out; it’s her turn. And if she doesn’t call me back, well, she can just be unpleasantly surprised when I come knocking on her door.
“Can you hear Rylin’s mantra the way you hear Kane’s?”
I perk up instantly. Frankie is looking at me again, her elbow resting on the center console. I meet her inquisitive eyes. There’s no malice in them, just curiosity. And Rylin, still watching in the rearview mirror, flashes me a fiery hazel wink. I adjust out of his l
ine of sight and refocus on Frankie.
“I have before. But he’s promised to stay out of my head.”
I deliberately raise my voice, determined to pass along this reminder. When Frankie’s eyes veer in his direction, he nods.
“That I did. And I keep my promises.”
“But you can still talk to each other? Inside your heads, I mean.” She looks at me again.
“Yes. If we aren’t fully camouflaged.”
“I see.” She faces the road. “That’s a handy little ability.”
I smile at that. It can be, but I’d rather Rylin stay out of my head completely.
I run my thumb over my ring. We’ve been on the road a good hour now, and I can’t help but wonder how long it will take for Kane’s compelling effect to wear off. I wonder, too, if Rylin’s will feel different. Like, will I notice it when he takes over my ring?
“Are you compelling Jude’s ring right now?”
I lift a brow, gauging Rylin’s facial expression in the mirror. That question was conveniently aligned with my last thought. I yank my earbuds out of my bag, plugging them into my phone, but my ears are standing at attention.
“Yes,” he confirms. “For about fifteen minutes now.”
Well, there you go. I definitely felt no noticeable shift in the exchange, and I gotta say, I’m glad for that. Because I wasn’t looking forward to another comparison of the two Firebloods that grace my life.
“Huh.” Frankie surveys Rylin. “So you don’t have to touch it or anything.”
“No. Once I’ve located it, I can compel it by will.”
“Oh.” She tosses me another glance. “So… can you feel it?”
At the question, I pause, really focusing in on myself as I toy with my ring. Can I feel it? Before, I would have said no, but I understand better now how the compelling effects work. My mind wanders back to the first day I took Angelica to school. For the first time, no music greeted me on the front steps, and I equated the feeling with being safe. Yeah, I felt safe. Relieved. And when I tucked her into the crook of my arm at night, I knew nothing in the world could sneak into my head while I slept. But did I physically feel something? In hindsight, I guess I did. A camouflage curling itself around me in a tight, protective hug. I just didn’t know what it was.
