by S. Bridges
A heavy hand latched onto my arm and jerked me around. I felt the cold steel of a blade against my throat before I’d even had the chance to scream. The man who’d grabbed me had a hoodie pulled low over his eyes, but I could see the pale skin of his cheeks and some brown stubble on his chin as he snarled at me.
“Don’t move, bitch,”
I felt my muscles quiver as adrenaline pumped through my veins. My breath caught in my throat. I was getting mugged. My second night in New York, and I was getting mugged. The thought sent a surge of anger through me and, without thinking, I lashed out. My boot – steel-toed, for farm work – caught him square in the shin and he jumped back, yelping. The knife moved swiftly across my throat, but I jerked backwards to avoid getting cut. Then I remembered the mugger who’d been burned by the masked man the night before.
I drew a lungful of air and screamed as loud as I could. I felt my lungs burn with it. I screamed until my belly started to ache. Then I turned and ran for the entrance to the alley.
The mugger was on me in seconds, grabbing me by the hair and pulling me sharply back. Pain exploded in my scalp and neck as I fell backwards, tripping over my long skirt, and landed hard on my tailbone. Before I could even blink he suddenly reeled backwards. A tall, black-clad man with a bandana across his mouth and nose had the mugger by the back of the neck.
“Run!” the masked man shouted. His eyes were cast in shadow, but his voice triggered a whisper of recognition in the back of my mind.
Before I could react, the mugger had turned in the masked man’s grip and grabbed at his face. The masked man pulled away, shoving the mugger’s arm down, but the bandana was knocked loose – exposing the masked man’s high cheekbones and lips. It was Daiki, Ichiru’s grandson. He pulled the mugger closer and head-butted him, letting the mugger fall to the ground when he went limp.
Silence fell. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears along with Daiki’s panting breaths. The mugger was out cold but his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
Daiki’s eyes met mine. A brief flash of panic passed over his face. Without a word, he turned and ran for the mouth of the alleyway.
“Wait!”
I scrambled to my feet, pushing through the pain in my tailbone, and followed. I heard Daiki’s footsteps suddenly stop, and I thought for a moment that he had waited after all, but when I stepped onto the street and stared around I couldn’t see him. He’d vanished completely.
My legs and arms felt weak, as if they’d been replaced by the soft noodles Ichiru had given me at lunchtime. My heart was still humming and my throat burned with the ghosts of my screams. I turned to look back at the mugger’s prone body illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlight, and noticed that there was blood dripping out of his nose and down his cheek. I looked away as a wave of nausea rippled through my belly. I could hear sirens in the distance, and decided I was too tired and confused to answer questions or deal with police.
I turned my back on the deserted streets, and walked around the mugger to let myself into my apartment building. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I hadn’t had dinner, but I didn’t think I could bring myself to eat after seeing the mess Daiki had made of the mugger’s face. I unlocked my apartment door and stepped inside, tossing my bag next to the sink and heading straight to the bedroom and my warm, inviting bed.
Chapter Three
I spent the next day worrying over whether or not to confront Daiki about what I saw. All night, I’d dreamt of the way his muscles had rippled under his dark sweatshirt as he’d stood over the unconscious mugger, and of his dark eyes framed by fire. I’d woken up sweating and gasping. Then I’d spent a few hours taking out my art supplies and setting up a canvas. If I had time after school, I decided, I would try to immortalize those cheekbones in oils.
Daiki had looked a lot like the flaming vigilante from my first night. I’d begun to wonder if the fire I saw had even been real. I’d gone back and forth on the matter in the shower that morning. Daiki certainly hadn’t used any fire powers when he’d saved me. Whether or not he could make fire with his hands, Daiki had saved me. I had to thank him.
The classes at the Institute flew by in a blur of jargon and dismissive gestures. The other students ignored me, but that didn’t hurt like it had the day before. There was too much on my mind. When the professor dismissed us, I grabbed my bag and practically ran out the door and headed towards the restaurant. It took me a while to remember where it was and what it had looked like – I’d been on the verge of hysterical when I’d found it the day before. Eventually I found it: Sakura no Yūshoku. I wondered what that meant in English.
I lingered outside. It was too early for dinner and too late for lunch. A soft bang came from the alley around the side of the building – I followed the sound and felt my heart stutter at the sight of Daiki tossing bulging garbage bags into a trash can. I’d never thought that a man could look graceful while throwing around waste.
“Daiki?”
He jumped and swung around, eyes wide. His muscles tensed under his apron like he was getting ready to run.
“It’s okay –” I said, raising my hand like I would with a spooked horse. “I just wanted to thank you. For helping me.”
Daiki stared at me. I felt as if his eyes were digging into my skin and examining every vein. Eventually, he nodded. “Have you told anyone?” he asked. His accent wasn’t nearly as thick as his grandfather’s, but it gave his words a lyrical quality. I shook my head. “Good. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t.”
“I won’t,” I said.
He chewed his lip for a moment. I found myself staring at that pink strip of flesh disappearing between his teeth. When I finally tore my gaze away, I realized that he was looking at me strangely. I felt heat rising in my cheeks. Before he could speak, the back door to the restaurant banged open.
“Skye!” Ichiru cried, smiling and waving at me. “What are you doing in the smelly alley? Daiki, why don’t you bring Skye inside?”
Daiki blanched at the suggestion. He glanced between his grandfather and me, looking worried. I wondered how much Ichiru knew about how Daiki spent his evenings.
“I was just passing by, Ichiru,” I said, smiling reassuringly at Daiki as I spoke. “I saw Daiki back here and thought I’d say hello.”
Daiki chewed on the inside of his cheek, watching me with narrowed eyes. Ichiru clapped his hands cheerfully and rubbed them together. “You are late for lunch, Skye,” he said. “But I will make you something to go,”
“Oh, no, Ichiru – I really –” I began, but he had already gone back inside. I turned to Daiki. “He is going to charge me for that, right?”
Daiki looked almost amused. “Probably not,” he said. “But you can probably sneak some cash into the till when he’s not looking.”
“Does he do this often?”
“Adopt strangers?” he asked. He smiled gently. I found myself staring at the way his lips quirked up and brightened his whole face. “More often than you’d think. He’s a good man.” He looked fondly at the door where his grandfather had stood. I remembered that Ichiru had raised Daiki here in America. I wondered what had happened to his parents.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” I asked suddenly. “Running around beating up muggers in mask?”
He shrugged, bending over at the waist to pick up another bag of garbage and toss it into the dumpster. “You shouldn’t have seen my face. I told you to run.”
“Would have used your fire powers if I hadn’t been there?”
Daiki looked at me sharply. He paused for a beat too long before answering. “I – what? Are you insane?”
I hesitated, before I realized that he was being too casual. That was exactly how my friend Annabeth Casey had acted when she’d lost her virginity to Percy Johnson in tenth grade. Daiki did save that woman, and he’d done it by making fire with his hands.
“I saw you!” I said. “The night before last, you burned up a mugger right outside of my wind
ow.”
Daiki pursed his lips. “You are insane,” he said, but I saw the hint of worry lining his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced around like he was checking for listeners.
I felt anger welling in my chest. I would have been happy to think that I’d imagined the way he’d lit his hands on fire, but the way he dodged the question and accused me of being crazy – that really got my blood boiling. “I’m not,” I said. “How did you do it? Are you magic?”
As soon as the words left my lips, I cringed. Daiki might be right to think that I was crazy after asking a question like that. But he didn’t react with amusement or disdain. He just looked more worried. I suddenly wondered if I’d struck a nerve when I’d asked if he was magic. My curiosity peeked.
Daiki licked his lips and looked like he was going to speak, but then seemed to decide against it. Instead, he tossed the last garbage bag into the dumpster and hunched his shoulders. Without another word, he marched through the backdoor to the restaurant and out of sight.
“Hey, wait!” I said. “Ignoring me won’t make me go away!”
After a moment, I followed him, but he’d disappeared by the time I got into the restaurant – he’d probably retreated to the kitchen. Ichiru gave me a take-out bag full of steaming rice and fragrant meat. He waved me off when I tried to give him money, but I managed to slip a twenty into the cash register on my way out.
I ate the food on a bench outside of the Institute, before heading up to the computer lab and logging onto the search engine. I typed in ‘fire powers’ and got about 200,000,000 results.
“Darn,” I muttered.
“Woah, watch that language,”
I looked up and saw one of the women from my class standing behind me. She had pastel blue hair and a spike through her earlobe. Her shirt was so badly ripped that at first I wondered why she hadn’t thrown it out, but then I realized that it was probably meant to look that way.
“Oh, sorry –”
“I was joking, Dorothy,” she said. Her voice had a smoky, husky quality to it.
“My name is Skye,” I said.
“I know,” she replied, pulling a chair out next to me and settling herself into it. “But you look like a Dorothy. As in ‘we’re not in Kansas anymore’. I’m Terry.”
I nodded. I couldn’t think of a polite way to ask if there was something she wanted from me. “How do you like the classes?” I asked.
Terry wrinkled her button nose and sniffed disdainfully. “Professor’s an arrogant douche,” she said. “‘Painting isn’t art’ – who the fuck doesn’t think painting isn’t art?”
I felt my eyebrows rise at her words. “That’s what I thought!” I said. “But everyone went along with it –”
“Of course we did,” Terry said, shrugging again. “He grades our papers doesn’t he? Gotta tell him what he wants to hear. Don’t worry though, next semester we’re getting Armstrong. She’s totally into sketching and realism,”
I felt a swelling of joy in my belly. If this girl – this trendy, hip, New York girl – thought that our professor was a fool for dismissing painting, then maybe the next few years wouldn’t be a total disaster after all.
Terry glanced at the search results on my screen. “Fire powers?” she asked.
I hesitated. Not only had I promised Daiki that I wouldn’t tell anyone what I’d seen, but I knew that no one would ever believe me if I said ‘flaming vigilante’ out loud. “I’m just – ah, working,”
“Oh yeah?” Terry said, smiling. She had a crooked, mischievous smile. “Magic powers? Like Avatar?” I hadn’t heard of it, but I nodded anyway. “Yeah, that kind of thing looks great in watercolor.”
“I usually work with oils,” I said, feeling an answering smile curling over my lips. It felt like it had been a lifetime since I’d talked to someone about this. “I was just looking for a real-world reference,”
Terry cocked an eyebrow. “Real-world fire powers?” she asked. Before I could explain, she waved a hand at the computer screen. “Well, there’s fire twirlers, breathers, you know – circus acts and stuff. You could take some inspiration from them. One of the blogs I follow mentioned a woman who thought she was dating a dragon.”
“A dragon?” I asked.
She smirked. “Yeah, I think – hang on.” She took my keyboard without asking my permission. She pulled up a new page. “According to her, dragons aren’t fire-breathing lizards. They’re sexy Asians.”
Asians? I kept my face neutral as I scanned the blog post Terry had found. It was written by someone called FoxyCitten419 several years ago. Apparently, FoxyCitten419’s ex-boyfriend could set his skin on fire at will. That sounded an awful lot like what Daiki’s could do.
Terry was watching me, waiting for a reaction. “Interesting,” I said slowly.
“That’s one word for it,” she said with a snort. I sent the blog to the printer and closed the browser. “Are you doing anything this weekend?” Terry asked.
“Um, no?” I said. “Why?”
“I’m heading to a gallery opening on Saturday night. Thought you might like to come.”
I smiled hesitantly. “Well, that sounds nice. Do you mind if I ask – I mean, I’m glad you’re inviting me, but we haven’t actually spoken?”
Terry grinned and nudged my boot with her foot. She wore loose sandals, and there was a pink semi-colon tattooed on the top of her foot. “You need to work on your poker face, Dorothy – I could see how mad you were when you heard that painting isn’t real art. We’re kindred spirits, you and I.”
I felt my cheeks go red and toyed with the edge of my shirt. I felt so unbelievably unfashionable sitting next to her. Maybe if we became friends, she could take me shopping for some real art-student clothes. “Just let me know a time and place,” I said.
“Great!” Terry said. She checked her watch and grimaced. “I gotta go, my shift’s starting soon – but hey, gimme your number and I’ll text you the details?”
I typed my number into her phone and, after a moment’s hesitation, put my name as ‘Dorothy’ in her contacts. Why not? I’d loved those books growing up. She grinned when she saw it and winked at me as she left the computer lab. I retrieved the printed blog post and stuffed it into my bag, thinking about how excited Mama would be when I told her I’d made a friend.
Chapter Four
That night, I kept my pepper spray in my hand and my finger on the trigger as I prowled up and down alleyways. So far, no one had attacked me. I’d met a homeless man who had asked very politely if I’d had any change, and I’d given him ten dollars.
I walked down every alley. I passed through shadows so dark that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, and under street lights so bright that moths had congregated on the glass like a swarming blanket of wings and fuzzy bodies. After four hours of wandering, I was chilled to the bone and aggravated enough to want someone to try to mug so I could give him a piece of my mind. It would figure that the one night I wanted to get mugged would be the one night all the muggers decided to stay in.
At 12:30, I called it a night. I walked back to my apartment building with my head held high, daring someone to come and grab me, but I arrived safe and sound within a few minutes. I let myself inside, thinking that I could always try again later in the week – or even wake up early and catch Daiki when he arrived at work.
I just had to know: who, or what, was Daiki?
I came to my front door and paused. It was ajar; the lock was busted and dangled pointlessly next to the doorjam. Inside, I could hear shuffling.
“Are you kidding me?” I shouted. I was so close to swearing that I had to cover my mouth to keep it in.
I shoved the door open and found a skinny white man in a hoodie rifling through my kitchen drawers. He spun around and rushed towards me, raising his arms like he meant to tackle me. I’d seen that move a million times before, during the football games that Annabeth Casey used to drag me to so that she could stare at the players, and I fire
d the pepper spray at his eyes. He howled in pain and rage.
Before I could kick him, or punch him, or do any of the other things I wanted to do as the bubble of rage built inside of me – because how dare he, how dare he, and after I’d spent all night trying to get mugged – something landed against the living room window with a shuddering thud. The black shape moved and my window slid open smoothly. I stepped backward, ready to run, as Daiki flew into the room. He was actually flying. A pair of leathery black wings had sprouted out of his back and flapped once as he threw himself at the man in the hoodie.
I felt my mouth fall open. Fire powers was one thing, but wings? FoxyCitten419’s blog hadn’t mentioned wings. Huge, bat-like wings with strong bones. Actual, honest-to-God, wings.
Daiki grabbed the man by his hoodie, hoisted him up, and carried him back to the open window. I felt a stirring in my belly at the sight of how easy it was for him to do it. Daiki was strong. The man thrashed and grunted, but before he could pull himself out of Daiki’s grip, Daiki had dropped him out of the window.
“Hey!” I shouted. I ran forward, brushing against the wings in my haste and feeling a shudder of awareness at how warm and soft they felt against my arm. I stuck my head out the window.
The man in the hoodie was lying on the hard concrete. He moved weakly.
“He’ll be fine,” Daiki said quietly. I turned just in time to see his wings collapse into his back and disappear. Now he just looked like an ordinary, extremely beautiful man, but the image of those wings was burned into my mind. “Broken ankle, at the worst.”
I realized that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. The soft curves of his stomach muscles gleamed with a light layer of sweat. His skin was a warm, brown color that made me think of caramel milkshakes and butterscotch candy. That thought led me to thoughts of running my tongue over those muscles. I tore my eyes away from his amazing body and glared at his face.
