by Casey Hays
I study her, not quite ready to soften, but something in me believes this part of her story.
“How did you find him?” I ask.
“Dr. Samson called me. I didn’t know who he was.” She rubs her head as if she suddenly has the most terrifying headache. “He apologized for contacting me when I’d strictly forbidden it, and then he told me the facility was uncertain whether they could keep Jarron much longer due to his erratic behavior. His meds were no longer working, he said.” She pulls in another deep breath, tears standing on her overly red cheeks. “So I panicked, of course. And then, I cried. But then… I jumped in the car and drove here as fast as I could. I didn’t care about anything else in that moment besides the thought of seeing my boy again.”
I listen, showing no emotion. I don’t react to the tears or the crack in her voice or the whispered confessions or her pleading eyes. I want to be mad. I want to hug her and shake her simultaneously. I want to cry. But I’m too numb to do a thing.
“I tried to convince myself that I’d done the right thing for him. That if I didn’t know where he was, he’d be safe.” She closes her eyes, pressing her clenched fist to her lips. “One look at him, and I knew I was lying to myself.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“He knew exactly who I was, and it was awful,” she whispers. “The orderlies had to restrain him with a straitjacket. By the time they were finished, he looked like a pathetic butterfly who’d been forced back into its cocoon.”
We’re quiet, standing in the middle of the sidewalk in everyone’s way. The few people out tonight give us second looks as they pass. It’s completely dark except for the streetlamps and the lights streaming from the storefront windows that color the shadows and allow us to see each other.
“Does he know about me, Mom?”
She hesitates. “We–we thought it best he didn’t know.”
Anger growls again. Another reason for me to feel cheated out of one more thing in my life.
“I want to meet him,” I say.
Mom’s face slackens, and a nervous little tick pulls at the corner of her lip. That’s how I know she’s about to tell me no. That tick has been her dead giveaway ever since I was a little girl.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t care,” I fire back. “I came here for him. He’s my brother, and I want to meet him.”
“Jude, you’re not listening to me. He’s not stable.”
“All the more reason for you to let me see him.” I connect with her, and when she shakes her head and turns away, I grab her elbow, gearing myself up for a fight. “I can reach him, Mom. I can get inside his head. Maybe… that’s all he needs. Just… someone who can speak his language.”
“Speak his language?” She jerks her head my way. “You mean… Jezik.”
“Yeah.” I give off a soft laugh at her sheer surprise. “That’s right.”
She stares at me, awe wrapping her up. I lift my brows hopefully.
“I guess I never imagined you’d have any abilities. You just—” She pierces me. “You’ve always been so human.”
“Not by choice,” I assure. She laughs.
“And how do you feel about it… now that you know?” Her words are soft, stepping carefully.
“I feel… whole. Excited, you know?” My heart picks up. “I’ve been in my natural form, so I can sense what I am in my blood—all of the time. It talks to me. Does that make sense?”
She listens intently, and I realize how nice it is that I don’t have to explain anything to her. Despite the downhill journey she’s taken, she understands… because she lived it with my dad. Her tears are back, reflecting in her eyes like a beacon in the lights of the restaurant sign.
“Yes. It makes perfect sense.”
Suddenly, she pulls me into a hug. The feel of her arms around me after all this time wrenches my heart. It’s been too long, and I can only resist for a heartbeat.
“Perfect sense,” she whispers again.
Twenty-two
Over plates of mango habanero chicken at Gloria’s Secret Café, Mom and I finally come together on the same page. The food does her a lot of good, staving off her shakes, and giving me the chance to bring her up to speed on all that’s happened while she’s been gone—including Rylin’s theory about my dreams, and possibly Jarron’s. She connects the dots for me with things from the past that make the present that much clearer. She’s intrigued and not completely dubious about the dreams, believe it or not—which is more than I could say for me when Rylin first approached me about it. Of course, none of this is new to her either. She learned a lot from Dad. And yes, he visited her dreams, long and often.
I bring up getting her some help too—real help this time. She half-heartedly agrees. I don’t really think she’s there yet.
She also agrees to let me meet Jarron—after she tells him about me. Which she plans to do tonight before heading back to the small apartment she’s been renting. And by the time she drops me off at the hotel, we’ve partially found our way back to each other. I’ve missed her, but I didn’t realize just how much until tonight. We’ve lost a lot of time; we have miles of catching up to do. But for once, I’m tentatively hopeful.
I find Rylin lounging on an orange couch in the lobby when Mom drops me back at the Fairfield. Sprawled out in casual fashion in a pair of loose shorts and a gray tee shirt, he strums his acoustic guitar as he watches the sports’ channel. But he pulls his eyes away from a soccer game and tosses me a sleepy smile when I plop down next to him and sink low.
“How did it go?”
“Weird, but good, I think. Time will tell.” I pluck a string on his guitar, and it pings with dissonance. “I didn’t know you played.”
He shrugs. “Not well. Just picked it up a few years ago.” A pause. “I’m not nearly the musician that you are.”
I smile at the compliment. “Were you waiting up for me?”
“Maybe.”
He settles back into his slouched position until we’re eye level, his hand resting silently over the face of his acoustic. I study the ceiling tiles. The crowd on the television cheers as one of the players makes a goal.
“I get to meet Jarron tomorrow.” I connect with him. “I hope it doesn’t come to it, but I might need you to compel a staff member or two if things don’t go as planned.”
He shrugs. “I figured as much.”
“My mom doesn’t trust you.”
“I figured that too.”
I squint. “I’m still not sure if I do either.”
“I know.”
“She says Renegades and the Contingent are two sides of the same coin. Her words.”
“She’s right.”
I’m surprised he’s so willing to own it—that he doesn’t argue at all. I’m too tired to question it. I check my phone. Kane called while I was at dinner. I send him a quick text.
“That’s pretty amazing art work there.”
Rylin nods at the key pressed against my throat. I lift it just enough to see it myself.
“Frankie did it.”
“She’s talented.” He pauses. “Does it mean somethin’?”
“Yep.”
I smile at him. That’s all he gets. His hazel eyes pin me, swirling with green-gold flecks that work to heat my cheeks, and that’s my cue. I clear my throat and hop to my feet.
“I’ll meet you down here in the morning.”
He tosses a two-fingered salute at me off his forehead and returns to watching the game without another word. I dial Kane’s number on the way to the elevators. He answers on the first ring.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” I lean against the wall and hold off punching the elevator button.
“How are things?”
“Okay.” I chew on my lip. “I’ll be seeing my brother tomorrow. Rylin’s going to compel my way in if necessary.”
“Well, at least he’s good for something.”
I laugh, then grow qui
et. “I’m nervous about meeting him.”
“I know. You’ll do fine.”
“Yeah.” I dig at the floor with the rubber toe of my Vans. “How are you?”
“I’m lonely.” I hear the sultry smile in his voice. “Just me and my wings, lying here on my bed and wishing we could hold someone.”
“Someone?” I take a minute to let his visual sink in before I make my clever comeback. “Mindy Cantwell would take you up on that offer.”
He laughs. “Not on your life.”
“I’ll be home in a couple of days.” I press the elevator button.
“I’ll be waiting on your front steps. Without the wings, of course.”
“Save me some feathers.” My smile breaks through my voice. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
Exhaustion rams into me the moment I step into the elevator and press 3. I’m ready for a shower and a good night’s sleep.
The dream I have? It’s just an added bonus.
***
“Jude?”
I open my eyes. “Jarron?”
“Shhh… Nobody knows I’m here.”
I sit up. The room spins, but when I will it to stop, it halts immediately. It’s suddenly pitch black—a thick wall of ink all around. I can’t see anything.
“Where are you, Jarron?”
“Shhh…”
The sound of his whispered hush is right in my ear. The breath leaves his mouth to tickle my cheek.
“I’m coming tomorrow,” I promise. “Tomorrow we’ll be together.”
This boy is a stranger, but it feels like I know him. He’s been in my dreams over and over. I will the blackness to go away, and it flies backwards in all directions. Blinding light floods in, and I see my brother. He’s the boy with the brilliant wings who has always been in my dreams. I never knew.
He rises, pumping his powerful wings. The darkness folds in, and the room explodes.
***
I push out of the dream, clutching my throat. The room is dark except for the tiny line of light coming through the curtains. And the overlarge numbers that read one-thirty a.m. on the alarm clock. And… the green flashing of my phone, informing me that it’s fully charged. I unplug it from the charger and lie still with it pressed against my chest. It’s warm.
In the other bed, Frankie sleeps with soft breaths, one leg hanging off the side. I tuck it back under the covers; she rolls over with a soft snore. With some effort, I stumble my way through the dark room to the bathroom and shut the door. I don’t bother to turn on a light. I just climb onto the toilet lid, draw up my legs, and sit.
The dream is still with me, coursing through my blood. It’s the closest I’ve been to actually communicating with Jarron, and that excites me a little. Always before, the identity of that boy was fuzzy, usually turning into someone else somewhere in the middle of the senselessness—a mixture of all the boys in my life, really. But now, there’s no question; sometimes it’s been Jarron. I know that for a fact, and I wonder how many times he’s visited me without me realizing it.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Rylin’s theory, and you know, I hope he’s right.
I slide off my ring and set it on the bathroom sink. In the pitch blackness, I wait for the effects to wear off. Twenty minutes.
Finally, tiny slits of gold—just a few—appear in my eyes. Reflected in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, they look like fireflies every time I blink. So I blink… a lot. That’s all I’ll get for now—unless I flush my ring down the toilet. That idea makes me laugh out loud, and I slap doubled-up palms against my mouth to stifle the sound.
The laughter turns sour in my gut pretty quickly. I can’t get away from the camouflage, not without ditching the source of it. And if I did that, Rylin would just camouflage something else anyway. I’m feeling a little cranky that I have no control over any of it. But…
There just so happens to be a Fireblood… right across the hall.
Before I can talk myself out of what I’m about to do, I leave my ring on the sink and slip out. Frankie hasn’t moved, a dark shadow on the other side of the room, so as quietly as possible, I unlock the door. Using the latch to keep it propped an inch, I tiptoe two steps across the hallway to Rylin’s door and knock twice. I wait. Knock again.
Ear flat against the door, I listen, and I’m just about to knock a third time when there’s a click. Rylin peeks out, shirtless in boxers. He lifts a brow.
“Are you lost, little girl?”
With groggy eyes and disheveled hair, he swings the door wide open. His skin is aglow, and his wings, big and bold and shimmering with a reddish-black hue flank his sides—which throws me into a slight panic.
“What are you doing?” I shove him backwards into the room, scanning the hallway.
“It’s two o’clock in the morning,” he says with a grunt. “I think we’re safe from being seen.”
“What if there’s a camera in the hallway?” I push the door shut, propping my back against it like I’m protecting him somehow from outside danger. I roll my internal eyes at that silly notion. He simply laughs and saunters back to bed, his winged silhouette blocking the lamplight as he passes the nightstand.
“Are you having trouble sleeping?” He settles into his pillows with a yawn, draping his wings on either side of him. “Because I wasn’t.”
After my rushed entry, I have to take a minute to compose myself. Because Rylin is absolutely beautiful. As beautiful as Kane—but different—and it takes my breath away. It also sounds off a huge alarm inside my head. I should not be in here. I should turn around right now and get my butt back to my own room. But I stay put flat against the door, fists clenched at my sides.
Say something, Jude. You look like an idiot.
“I had another dream about Jarron.”
Okay. That’s good.
“Ah. So big brother is haunting your dreams.”
“I guess so,” I shrug.
He adjusts his wings, fanning them out to resemble a feathery throne. I take a tentative step, my eyes glued on him. The wings are gorgeous, full of scarlet iridescence with all the angles and lines cutting themselves into their own shape. A shape that is unique to Rylin alone. It doesn’t help that he’s all rippling muscles… and smooth chested too. I grapple with my keychain, getting a tight grip on it and squeezing until the teeth bite into my palm.
“Your wings are different than Kane’s.” My voice is way too gravelly. I clear my throat. “The shape I mean.”
“Hmmm.” He shrugs up a shoulder, and one wing bends forward. “You want to touch them?”
“What?” I feign disinterest, but yeah. I really do want to touch them. “No.”
“Come on.” His right wing folds out over his head and taps me on the end of my nose. “You know you want to.”
With mock exasperation, I shove him away, but my smile contradicts the motion as my fingers slide through those slightly red-tinged feathers. Even their texture is different—rougher somehow. Like they’ve been through a lot. He chuckles and lets the wing fall into place behind him.
“So you’re dreaming about your brother, are you? How often?”
“A lot more since I found out I was a Fireblood. Every dream is more… real, I guess. Even though they still don’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Well,” he shrugs. “They probably will eventually. Once you’ve had some practice at maneuvering your way through one.”
“How am I supposed to practice that? I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“We can talk about that. After you’ve met your brother.” The doubt rampaging across my face makes him smile. “You’ll see things very differently then.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I believe it.”
He’s so sincere, not a hint of sarcasm or snarkiness in the comment. He does believe it. His sister made him a believer. Will my brother do the same for me?
“So, did you come over here at two o’clock in the
morning to wake me from a sound sleep as payback?”
“Payback?”
“Yeah. For breaking into your room in the middle of the night.”
“I thought you said I let you in.” I squint at him, feeling a little ornery. “Have you finally decided to confess?” He hands me a small laugh, neither confessing nor denying. I ease onto the edge of the unused bed, a little embarrassed. “Actually, I was hoping you’d do something for me.”
“Oh, yeah?” He readjusts, honing his gaze straight at me. “Then how may I be of service?”
He winks, flexing a pec. That’s my cue to fling a pillow at him. One flick of his wrist, and he diverts the blow, smoothly tucking the pillow behind his head like he’d been expecting me to pass it to him all along. His sleepy eyes study me, and his lounged out stance makes him look a little too sexy sprawled on the bed, wings and all. I swallow, running my hands up my arms.
“You don’t have your ring on.” He taps his cheek just below his eye, and I glance at my reflection in a mirror that hangs on the wall adjacent from me. My irises are insanely yellowish-orange, and this sends an excited rush hurtling through my blood.
“Nope.” I lift my empty fingers and wiggle them at him. “Why should you be the only one to decompress?”
“I see,” he grins. “That’s why you knocked on my door, isn’t it?”
I blush. I mean, heat actually rushes up the sides of my throat and sears into my cheeks. He studies me in silence before a shake of his head joins his grin.
“You’re something else, Jude Gallagher.”
“Yeah, that’s what people keep telling me,” I mumble.
I tug a pillow into my chest, hugging it close to ward off the sudden discomfort. Rylin is all about risk, but I’m playing my own risky little game right now—sitting on a bed in a room with a Fireblood who has the power to drop my camouflage and wheedle his way into my head. In actuality, I could go back to my room, flush my ring down the toilet after all, and lie on my bed in the dark waiting to see how long it would take to fully decamouflage on my own. But I think, what a waste of time when Rylin is right here? And honestly, I’d never flush my ring. I’m just talking big.
The power of his song rests in my memories, and I should keep my guard up. The sensible side of my brain says so, loud and clear. But the thing is… Rylin can fuel the fire in me. Fast. So while Mr. Sensible tells me to get off this bed and jet out of here, I’m not really in the mood for him.
