by Casey Hays
Even absent the sun, the air is so hot, and a trickle of sweat works its way down my spine. The big, double swing sways on its long chains, but neither one of us feels like climbing into to it tonight. Kane sits in one of the black, wrought-iron chairs at the patio table, elbows resting on his knees, watching me. He says nothing because, well, there’s nothing else to say. I pace across the concrete once more, then face him.
“This is all wrong.”
Kane studies his shoes. “Yeah.”
“What about Rylin?”
One of his brows perks at my question.
“What about him?”
“What if he’s the one who told the Contingent about me?”
“That’s doubtful.”
He’s right.
“He’s required to be at that hearing too, Kane. What do you think he’ll say?”
“I don’t care.”
I straighten, taken aback a little.
“You don’t care?”
He sighs. “Can we not talk about Rylin anymore today?”
“He’s a part of this, Kane.” I place my hands on my hips, irritated. “He became a part of it the second you both flared, and he’s not going away just because you want him to.”
Elbows propped on his knees, Kane digs the toe of one shoe into the cement, his unshaven chin a dark mass in the shadows. But his eyes flash once, orange flames cutting through the blackness, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.
I study the leftover embers burning a bright orange in the bottom of the chimenea. I’m the first to admit we’ve talked about Rylin McDowell in the past week more than we ever have in our entire lives. Way too much, really. In fact, I’m not sure Kane or I ever mentioned Rylin once before last week. But that boy is making it as hard as anything for us to ignore him now.
“How did he know we’d gone camping?”
My sudden and very quiet question catches Kane by surprise. I’ve never asked, but now, I want to know. It suddenly seems like the most important question I could ask. Kane dips his head, running a hand through his hair.
“He was following you. He always seems to be following you lately, Jude.” His eyes land on me, irritation defining his entire body, and a sudden chill in the air that matches his tone makes me shiver. “I know you don’t want to see it, but he’s not coming around all the time because he wants to be friends.”
I digest this. Honestly, I do see it. The club, the pool, The Nest… my own front porch. Everywhere I go, Rylin seems to manifest lately. And don’t get me wrong, I’ve picked up on his subtle flirting. But intentionally following me? Would he go that far?
I can’t deny the feelings associated with Rylin either—the same feelings that first cropped up when I was a little girl. Feelings of fear and exhilaration both. And every encounter with him brings these back to mind. A tugging of some sort that draws me in. But what scares me most is that if I allowed it, I’m certain he would permanently wrap his mantra around my cerebral cortex. I just have to say the word, and it’s done. What then? Would I just roll over and yield completely to the music out of blind obedience?
I know this is what Kane fears, and I take a minute to rethink my brazenness, allowing the possibility to send another shudder rumbling up my spine. I drop into the seat beside him and slide my hand into his in an attempt to lighten the sudden dark pall. We’ve had enough tension for one night.
“So what do you want to do about it?” I wiggle his hand a little.
Kane brushes his fingers through my hair and squeezes a fistful in his hand, tugging gently.
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Tying rocks to his feet and dropping him into the ocean sounds like a nice idea.”
He flashes his dimples; I laugh; he grows serious again, rubbing a thumb back and forth over the top of my hand.
“Do you hate him that much?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“No possibility of being friends?”
“Never has been.”
“When did that start?”
“Well, let’s see. There was this girl.” He dips his chin and winks at me. “Maybe you know her?”
I smile. He slides a hand beneath my hair, massaging. It feels nice—so nice that it brings last night to the forefront of my mind. He caressed the bare shoulders of my glowing skin, and I trembled under the heat, and I want to feel that again. Right now.
I stop thinking altogether when his thumb edges along my jawline to toy with my lower lip, and I can’t get out of my ring fast enough. I drop it onto the glass table top with a clink, alerting Kane. He sucks in a deep breath, brows creasing slightly, but he doesn’t move. And I sense a tiny shift inside me—just enough for my eyes to flicker to life.
“The thing is…” He keeps right on with the story, but his eyes go soft, turning me into mush. The husky sound of his voice is like Cupid’s arrow. “She’s haunted by another guy’s song.”
With a lift of my brows, I open my mouth to dispute this, but his thumb is there, pressing against my lips and shutting me up.
“You know what he told me the other night at Spooner Lake? He said I’m not good for you.” His expression goes sour. “That I’m going to get you killed because I’m too emotionally involved. The thing that sucks is he’s probably right.” He laughs softly and tosses his eyes across the yard. “I gotta hand that to him.”
A small wind kicks up, blowing my hair into my face.
“Kane,” I whisper, but he settles his gaze on me and keeps talking.
“It was a real competition there for a few years in grade school. I almost shared my mantra with you in fifth grade, you know? I mean, I was only ten, but even then, I just knew I couldn’t let him get the girl before I convinced her she belonged with me.”
His words penetrate, pushing in images of our childhood. All the days we spent in third and fourth and fifth grade digging worms out of the riverbank or eating drippy ice cream cones on my front porch. Jonas was with us most of the time, but sometimes it was just us, and I focus in on that, looking for the tiny moments I may have missed when a look or a touch or a word proved his feelings for me even then.
He sighs. “Sometimes, I still have this awful feeling Rylin is going to win.”
I lean toward him, my hand firm on his arm. “He’s not going to win.”
“And yet, I still wanna pinch his little head off.”
I laugh, and his soft smile invades.
“I thought it was over when he went back to Ireland. It even crossed my mind that I’d never have to give you this key.” He tugs on it, and the chain gently digs into the back of my neck. “You know, little boys are really naïve.”
We’re quiet; the crickets fill the silence. A light from the den window flicks off. Kane squeezes my fingers.
“I’m glad it was you who showed me,” I whisper, leaning closer. A small heat warms me, just barely.
“Yeah, well, when I saw Rylin with you at the club, grade school came flooding back in on me. I knew it was time to make a bold move.” Hand cupped against my neck, he brushes his lips against mine. The hairs on my arms stand straight up over a blanket of goose bumps. “Call me selfish, but Rylin was not going to steal last Saturday night from me.”
In the back of my mind, my mantra stirs. And those memories are fresh in my mind.
“Yeah. You are such a selfish, selfish boy.”
I breathe into a teasing smile and climb to my feet, examining the soft almost imperceptible glow of my hands. And then, I tug him out of the chair and right up against me. He snakes an arm around my waist, his cheek scratching into my neck. Eyes burning, skin simmering with white heat, I feel him with me, inside my head. But he keeps his mantra at bay, which helps to hold off my own.
“Jude…”
His hand is on my neck as his words scorch my mind in Jezik. Our lips linger against each other, touching but not kissing. I close my eyes, melting into the moment, until his mouth finally collides with mine. My blood pumps vibrant and strong and full of everything I want—eve
rything that I need. Refusing to think, I simply feel the moment, calling up my mantra. I wrap my arms around Kane’s neck, and I can’t help myself; I light up the fire until it singes every part of my body with its wonderful heat.
But… quick as a beating heart, my camouflage swirls up and wraps itself around me like a suffocating blanket. I intake a sharp breath at the abrupt shift and stumble backwards. Kane catches my wrist, dissolving into his human form just as the heat vanishes from my body. A chill flies up my spine at the sudden impact, and the world tilts on its side. Kane is a hazy sideways blur in front of me.
When the dizziness subsides, and I can make out his face, it’s clouded with worry, and possibly the leftover bits of my mantra in his head. That much I detect, and if I weren’t so confused by what just happened, I’d really be enjoying the effect I have on him. Instead I rack my brain trying to pinpoint how in the world he threw on my camouflage until I spot my ruby ring situated just at the first knuckle of my middle finger. Frowning, I push it the rest of way home and blink at Kane.
“Damn it.” He says it through gritted teeth as his grip on my wrist loosens. “We can’t do this.”
He’s intense, protective even. He wipes a hand across his forehead, expression tight, while I reel it all in. Stay camouflaged. Those were Gema’s words, and clearly Kane has taken them to heart. The logical part of me says we both should, but a panic stabs at me.
“What about a partial decamouflage?” I run a palm down this arm, soothing. “Just a little taste, you know?”
“A little.” He gives off a semi-deranged laugh and sways out of my reach, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t stop at just a little. Not once you grab hold of your mantra.” He pierces me. “It’s out of my hands then.”
I reach for Kane, but he captures my wrists, bracing my arms up against me and away from him.
“They’re tracking me, Jude. Man, I can’t believe I just let that happen.” He turns a wide circle, his eyes darting as if he searches for some spy in the bushes. He’s angry at himself; it’s stamped all over his body language.
A whirlwind of emotions swirls through me, but the thought of suffocating to death in this camouflaged shell is the most prominent. It rattles my insides. Because I can’t live like that. I need a glimpse of the light. Just a tiny glimpse. Hands on hips, he shakes his head.
“They have to believe that you can live like a human. It’s the only way to save you.”
“To save me.” I clutch my stomach as the panic pulls up nausea. “So that’s it? We just let them dictate what we do?”
“That’s kind of their job, Jude.” He spins away to pace the patio.
“Oh really? So if they told you never to decamouflage me again, you’d agree to that?”
His answer is complete silence. I study the spastic flex of his back muscles as he clearly gauges the disappointment emitting from me like spears of fire. And yes, I’m disappointed, but underneath that, an angry growl rumbles. I’m just about sick of hearing the word Contingent. I step closer.
“What if they decide to kill me?”
He whirls toward me. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s what we’re all thinking, isn’t it? It’s why you’re saying all of this right now.”
His mouths drops open, closes again, and I see the impact my words have on him. I hear it in the sudden rapid change in his breathing. I’ve got him in a corner, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. I take another step, tears stinging, and press him harder.
“What will you do if they decide to kill me, Kane? I mean, they’re just doing their job, right?”
“Don’t do this.” His voice turns desperate. I pivot and walk to the other end of the patio, fuming. “Jude, you know we can’t keep playing with fire.”
“Seriously?” I turn. “You’re a Fireblood. What else are you supposed to do?”
“Just—stop it.” He clenches his fists, a clear frustration distorting his face. I cover my face with my hands, willing the tears to stay back. “I don’t want this, but you know it’s the right decision. At least until the hearing. Until we know what their plan is.”
I drop my hands with a shake of my head. “And then what? What will you do when we’re standing right in front of them, huh? How far are you willing to go when they decide to take me? Are you going to jump in? Sacrifice yourself?” He stiffens; I growl inside. “Kane, why do you think I’ve been kept hidden all of these years? I’ve known about myself for a couple of days, and even I’ve figured that out.”
The silence is like midnight, and he pierces me, the golden flecks dancing in his eyes like an out of control wildfire. They’re beautiful, and I relent, unclenching my fists and softening my next words.
“Nobody can save me—not even you.” I tilt my head with a shrug. “And keeping me hidden was never the solution. It was just a band-aid. Everybody knew it.”
He sinks into my words, his face contorting with worry and pain and some emotions I can’t even name. The truth of what I said stings us both.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers. His chest muscles tremble beneath his taut tee shirt. “I guess, I didn’t really think that was a possibility until now.”
My hands find him almost of their own will, framing his cheeks, and pulling him to me. He heaves a deep breath; I take courage from it.
“Then we have to decide what we want for ourselves, not what the Contingent wants for us.” His fingers slide around my wrists—tight—as he catches up with my meaning. I lean into him, brush my thumb over his lower lip. “All I can be is myself, and if they don’t like it, that’s too bad. But what do you always say? It’s now or never. Now is the best choice.”
The big tear that drops from his eye slides down my thumb to my wrist. We’ve said this to each other a hundred times, but it’s never felt this important. I slide off my ring, dropping it back onto the table.
“I heard what your mom said, but this is my life. I want to live now, the way I was meant to. I won’t ask you to decamouflage me. I can take my ring off any time I want and wait for my mantra to start singing. But we both know it won’t be the same.”
He doesn’t move, not for several long seconds. But something shifts in his eyes. Is that admiration I see?
I smile when my skin begins a slight but sweet burn. I sense his surrender, a metaphorical white flag waving between us. It rises out of a hesitant courage as if he wars with his own bravery. As for me? Maybe I’m just too naïve with my lack of Fireblood experience, but I’m not taking the easy road. I want the fire. Every time I feel the beautiful heat inside me, I’m reminded of it. I slide myself deeper into his mind.
“They may decide to kill me. But for now, I want to be a Fireblood. It’s worth the risk.”
The spark of understanding in his eyes negates any more need for argument. I press into him and the second I hear it, I fill myself up with my mantra like fuel for a dying fire. I can sense that I haven’t won him over completely. But still, he doesn’t interfere this time, and the song scorches me.
It smells like courage.
Sonata
Kane and Jude
“Are you asleep?”
“No.”
“Will you do something for me?”
I open one eye. “Maybe.”
“Play a song.”
I smile when his finger brushes a line down my throat.
“What do you want to hear?”
“I don’t care.” His shrug punctures my cheek resting against it. “Didn’t you write one with your dad?”
I pry the other eye open. “I did,” I whisper.
Another beat of my heart. He slides up and pulls me to my feet. “Come on, then.”
We find the music and turn the bench longwise. I sit on the end; he straddles behind me, his chest against my back, his arms weaved around my waist.
“Sonata Gallagher.” I’m not afraid to play this song today. It seems fitting. It’s not long, not too complicated. The hardes
t aspect is the grace notes scattered through the piece. Sometimes, I didn’t play them before. Today, I do.
Something familiar resonates inside them.
My daddy taught me the true musical term. Acciaccatura: a musical ornamental note that is nonessential to the melody or harmony. But when played by itself…
When played by itself, it can be a song of its own.
I pause on an inhale, lift my fingers from the keys. My dad’s face, his voice, his beautiful sapphire eyes… they flood my memory. The notes blur out of sight. It doesn’t matter; I don’t need them anymore. I know this song.
My fingers settle on the keys, and I play the grace notes this time. Only the grace notes. My heart swells with the sound. Kane’s cheek presses into the side of my neck. His whisper finds my ear, surprise laced through his voice.
“Do you hear that?”
I hear it. I hear it loud and clear.
My mantra.
I play. I cry. He rests his chin against my shoulder, our breathing and our awe matched. It’s beautiful.
On the last note, I drop my hands into my lap.
“Daddy did this for me.”
He squeezes. “It’s… amazing.”
It is. It really is.
Nine
It takes me ages to fall asleep. When I finally do, I dream.
I’m in the garden of pink roses wearing my rainbow gown. Only this time, I have wings. They’re on fire, but they don’t burn up, and they don’t burn me. They crackle and hiss, and tiny embers sparkle out and away from me. I flex my fingers; my hand shimmers white.
“How does it feel?”
The boy stands in front of me, his dark wings spread wide behind him. His smile is graced with two dimples. I think at first, it’s Kane. But his hair is auburn, and I can’t see his eyes. I don’t know who he is.
“Jude!”
I spin.
“Daddy?”
I take off in a run, but with every step, he gets farther away.
“Daddy!”
“Stay away from him, Jude.” His voice is in a tunnel. “He’s not what he seems.”
