by Casey Hays
I trip on my gown, falling hard on my face, and my wings shower a stream of cinders down on top of my head. Squealing, I duck undercover of my hands.
“Let me help you up.”
I lift my eyes at the Irish lilt. Daddy is gone; Rylin McDowell extends his hand. Surprised, I place my fingers into his palm and let him pull me to my feet. I meet his eyes. They burn with golden-green light.
“How are you here?” I ask.
“You don’t know?”
I shake my head. He smiles.
“You let me in.”
“What?” My mind is fuzzy with confusion. I tug my hand from his grip and back away a pace. “Why did I let you in?”
“I don’t know.”
He smiles, and then his smile turns to laughter, loud and obnoxious. I step back another pace. He won’t quit laughing. I don’t like it.
“Stop.”
He stops. His face is serious, staring straight at me and blinking like a bird. Over and over, he blinks.
“Stop,” I say again.
He freezes. An eeriness envelops me, and I shiver.
“You can stop that too,” Rylin says.
A wisp of cold air streaming from my mouth accompanies my shivers. “Stop what?” I wheeze. I’m suddenly shaking wildly.
“The shivering,” he says.
“How?”
I toss my eyes upward. My wings no longer burn. They’re charred and ugly. Pieces of ash flutter off the ends, and all around us the world is black. I spin slowly; all the flowers are blackened, and my rainbow dress is drab and tattered.
“Oh no.” I tremble the words and spread out the skirt to examine it. “It’s ruined.”
“Just fix it,” Rylin says.
I blink. Fix it?
Yes.
Warmth. Pink. Rainbow. Fire.
“Come on, then.” I take his hand.
I’m at the beginning of my dream again, and this time, Rylin is with me. He’s dressed in black tails and a top hat. He winks and offers his elbow. I take it, and we stroll along the pink flowers.
“Jude!”
It’s Daddy. I turn. He stands right in front of us. I peek at Rylin, a sly smile invading my lips.
“Yes, Daddy?”
My father, shoulders slumped, holds out a cracked and worn hand. “Don’t forget who you are.”
Like a trumpet, my mantra blasts onto the scene. It’s loud… so loud I can’t stand it. I shrink to the ground, cover my ears, and scream.
***
The scream ruptures into my bedroom, into my waking world, and I fly straight up, wrestling with my covers. When I finally break free, I tumble out of bed and stand in the middle of my room, panting. Every inch of me shakes with involuntary spasms, and even though my room is fairly warm, I’m freezing. In the dark, I stumble across the room, gather up my favorite fuzzy blanket from the window seat and furl it around my body.
I stand still, working to control the shaking. I concentrate on the moonlight streaming through my window so I won’t have to remember the dream. The horrible, horrible dream. And what was I doing prancing around with Rylin like he was my best friend or something?
Where was Kane? I didn’t see a trace of him. Nothing but a couple of dimples that may or may not have belonged to him. In light of everything that happened last night, I’m kind of surprised he wasn’t there.
I climb onto my bed and grab my cell phone from the nightstand. The light flashes across my face; I find my thread of messages with Kane and open it.
ARE YOU SLEEPING?
I wait five minutes. He’s sleeping.
OKAY, WELL, I LOVE YOU.
I drop the phone, rubbing at my face, my mind returning to the dream. Pink flowers dot my memory. And my dad. Warning me of something. But what?
It hits me how super dry my throat is. Like fire scorched it all the way down my esophagus to my stomach. I crawl off the bed and make my way to my bathroom, flipping on the light and drinking deep. It’s heaven on my parched throat. My hair is a disheveled mess, and I spot a long, vertical crease tattooed into my cheek from the pillow. I try to rub it out to no avail. My ring glints at me from the soap dish where I left it—deliberately this time. I should put it back on, but I don’t want to.
I set the glass on the edge of the sink, and examine my eyes in the mirror. Nothing. Not a single golden speck. The ring and the doll have effectively ganged up on me together to keep me camouflaged. So much for stroking my rebellion. Still, I leave the ring where it lies, refill my water glass, and carry it with me back to bed.
With a sigh, I sink into the mattress and pull the sheet up over my body. And I lie there, staring at the ceiling and trying my best to let sleep overtake me.
“Can’t sleep?”
I nearly jump out of my skin when the voice rings out, and in a matter of three seconds, I’m on my feet, my Glock out of my nightstand drawer and in my hand. I spiral around, aiming in the direction of the voice. A pair of golden eyes burns into the darkness, searing me on a straight line of light and causing me to pause. With a click, my bedside lamp suddenly flickers on of its own volition, chasing away the darkness and revealing the Fireblood lounging in my burgundy chair in the corner next to my dresser. Feet stretched out in front of him, fingers linked together over his stomach, completely at home, he watches me. I tighten my grip on the gun with shaky hands.
“Surely you aren’t going to shoot me, now are you, Jude?”
“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” I shriek.
“Watchin’ you dream, of course.” His Irish lilt is a sleepy slur, and his answer throws me off. He toys with something in his left hand, a silver glint catching my eye. A quick glance at the nightstand, and I know exactly what it is. The chain to my necklace sits in a heap right where I left it. But the key?
On cue, Rylin tosses it into the air, light glinting off the silver surface, and the world slows as I watch it fall back into his open hand. I wonder if he thinks it’s compelled. And you know, maybe it should be. Maybe Kane should just compel everything in my life to keep Rylin guessing. But compelled or not, that key means the world to me, and I think he knows it. I level my eyes at him.
“How did you get in?”
“You let me in.”
You let me in.
I study him. The window is closed and locked, and I know I set the alarm system before I went to bed. He watches me closely, anticipating the moment my fuzzy brain clears up. I ease back a step until my heel hits the bottom edge of the nightstand, realization kicking in. He’s not talking about the house; I let him into my dream.
“Now you’ve got it.” He drags his long legs up and leans forward on his knees. “That was a lot of pink flowers, by the way.”
My mind tumbles into the dream, and my heartbeat pulsating in my jugular makes my chest hurt. I stumble backwards around the nightstand and hit the wall.
“You need to leave,” I say, my voice trembling with fear. “Leave now, or I’m calling the police.”
“No, you’re not.” Rylin climbs to his feet. One step, and he’s two paces from me.
“Yes, I will.” My phone lies on my bed right where I left it, making this an empty threat. I swallow and steady the gun. “I have the right to shoot an intruder, you know.”
“For the last time, you don’t want to shoot me.” With a sigh, he lifts his hands and backs off a pace.
“Don’t test me, Rylin. You just broke into my house to watch me dream. Like a stalker.”
“I’m not completely familiar with the law, but I don’t think it counts as a break-in when you’re summoned.”
Summoned?
A fleeting thought of serial-killers skitters through my mind, and a panic takes over. I shift on nervous feet, my finger hovering over the trigger. I aim the Glock straight at his chest.
“Give me my key, and get out.”
“Jude, you invited me into your dream.” He cocks his head to the side. “You’re not even a little curious as to why?”
His smile penetrates, a sparkle in his hazel eyes. “Liar.”
He really is a piece of work, but he’s called my bluff. I’m more than a little curious. Why in the world would I let him into my dream? And how if—
Of course. I’m not wearing my ring. Ugh. My one act of rebellion as a hatchling Fireblood, and look what it gets me?
What’s worse? It wasn’t even full rebellion; I knew Angelica had me covered. I eye my bookshelf where she slouches with a docile look on her porcelain face. Clearly, she wasn’t able to keep Rylin from invading my head from clear over there. So… the invitation to enter my dreams was wide open.
The key flips into the air again and lands in his open palm.
“Give it back.”
As menacing as I might sound in my own head, he succeeds at ignoring me. He paces across the room, calling up his own agenda again.
“That dream was an awfully strong indicator that you’d like my help.”
My Glock follows his movements, the red dot a constant badge over his heart. I have no idea why I’m continuing this conversation, but I ask the question. “Help with what?”
“Well, let us see.” He squeezes the key and taps his lower lip with one long finger, pausing in front of me. “Your boyfriend does have a hearing before the Contingent in less than a week.”
“So what? So do you.” My arms ache from holding my stance. “And for the record, you’re really beginning to piss him off.”
“Good,” he smirks. I frown.
“Why would you help Kane anyway? Isn’t that a little out of character for you?”
“What?” He pulls back, feigning shock. “I’m a nice chap, thank you very much. And I don’t particularly hate Kane as much as he hates me, if you must know.”
“Well, that’s really interesting, considering you got him into this mess.” I keep my voice rigid, focusing on the key that Rylin absently rolls over and over again through his fingers. “Why were you there anyway?”
“I have my reasons,” he defends.
“Kane thinks you were following me.”
“Maybe I was,” he shrugs. “But I didn’t force Kane to flare. That’s on him.”
He takes it upon himself to sit down on the end of my bed. Miffed, I lower the gun to hang next to my thigh. It’s become obvious by now that he’s no threat. Annoying as hell? Well, that’s pretty much a given.
“Shouldn’t you be worrying about your own hearing?”
“I should.” He lifts a hand, palm up, like he’s presenting evidence. “But I’ve chosen to decline the invitation.”
Well, that’s definitely a renegade’s answer. I stand still, assessing him until he sighs and crosses one ankle up over his opposite knee. Oh, by all means, Rylin. Make yourself comfortable.
“How can that be good?” I ask.
“That all depends on perspective,” he shrugs absently, his fingers stop moving, and the key slips out of sight somewhere in the clutches of his fist. “For me, it’s very good. It means I don’t have to listen to those damned regents prattle on about what a delinquent I’ve become. Following in my father’s footsteps and all.”
A wisp of his hair partially shields one eye, but in the other, I see everything Kane warned me about. Reckless abandonment. No regard for the rules. His lurking in my room is proof of it, and the possibility that he just might order his mantra to take hold and drag me under is a real threat. But a spark of curiosity invades me—without a single note from his mantra to prompt it. I feel my blood stir up, and I hate the sensation. I squeeze the grip on my Glock.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. Give me my key, and get out.”
“I know the Contingent is requesting your presence at the hearing.”
I stare at him wide-eyed a second before I gain my bearings. “How could you know that?”
“My uncle, Seamus, is on the board.” He tilts his head to the side, studying me. “I overheard him tellin’ my aunt a new mantra had been detected. I reckoned it had to be you he meant. And well, you inviting me here tonight proves that I was right.”
We fall into silence, his eyes hovering on my face, gauging my response. Finally, he speaks.
“I must admit, I’m intrigued by you, Jude. You know I always have been.” He lowers his head, studies the key. “And frankly, you wanted me to come here. I wouldn’t have been in your dream otherwise. Honestly, that dream makes you that much more intriguing.”
“You promised to stay out of my head,” I remind him.
“No. I promised you I’d keep my mantra out. Now dreams, they’re a different kind of monster. And you opened that door.”
Well that’s just super.
“Why are you so interested in my dreams?” I ask.
He tilts his chin forward in a sort of chiding motion. “You do realize I’m a Fireblood?”
I frown, exasperated, and as if to convince me, he conjures a full ball of flames to consume each eye like twin suns laced in green smoke. I have to say, it’s beautiful, and I’m a little awed by how different his are from Kane’s. But I shake all thoughts of that away and refocus.
“You know what, forget I asked. I don’t even care. Just give me my key and get out.”
He holds up the key between his thumb and forefinger.
“Must be pretty special for you to be so riled over it. A silly piece of metal that isn’t even compelled.”
Ignoring him, I snatch it out of his grip. He chuckles.
“Does your uncle know you’re not going to the hearing?” I quip.
“He will soon enough, won’t he?” He digs my phone out of the folds of my blankets and slides it open. “Once all of this sinks in, you’re going to want to talk to me again.”
“That’s doubtful.”
“I don’t think it is.” He winks, then adds his number to my contacts and drops the phone onto the bed, crossing his arm. “I’m quite jealous of you, you know.”
A hint of suspicion hangs over my shoulder. “Why?”
“Jude. Do you realize how magnificent it is that you can dream?”
“No. I’ve been dreaming my whole life.”
“You’re forgettin’ one thing.” He comes to his feet, all six-foot five of him towering over me. “You’re a Fireblood.”
“Half Fireblood,” I correct.
“It doesn’t matter.” He lifts a hand, compelling the window to unlock. It slides open without setting off the alarm. “You have the power of the Fireblood running through your veins, however small it may be. Humans don’t dream like you do, and I’ve been invited into enough human dreams to know. Your dream… it was…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Sensational. The Contingent isn’t going to like that.”
I can hear my breathing inside my own ears, a pounding that makes me want to scream. Behind him, the curtains billow up intermittently. Rylin moves in; his fingers brush my forearm.
“I only know of one other living Fireblood who can dream like you. They locked him away to save his life. Make sure your dreams set you free instead. Because they can, Jude. Use them.”
He settles his eyes on me—natural hazel again—and I stay put as if he’s compelled me to do so. I don’t even shrink away when he reaches up and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. One of the most intimate gestures a guy can offer, and I just squeeze my eyes shut and let it happen. When I open them, he’s gone.
I set my Glock on the nightstand, and I scramble around my bed and up onto the window seat. The cool night air tangles my hair in its grip, but I shove it out of my face and lean out to catch the tail end of Rylin’s flight as he soars high and strong and very bright orange up and over the line of houses. He vanishes in a trail of smoke, and my heart pumps at the sight of it.
He didn’t even think twice about being seen.
I slink down onto the window seat and draw my legs up to my chest. An excitement I shouldn’t be feeling bubbles through my blood. I haven’t wanted to admit it to myself, but I get the
why behind my infatuation. It’s that—right there. There is no fear in Rylin McDowell. Not one ounce of it.
I want to feel that kind of courage.
My mind is so overwhelmed that I don’t even know which thought to think first. In awe, I close and relock the window and climb into bed, securing my key around my neck and tucking it inside my tank. I should put on my ring, but I don’t want to.
I close my eyes, but the conversation loops around inside my brain. And who is this other Fireblood who can dream anyway? Another hybrid? It has to be.
Wait. What am I doing? I shake my thoughts away. I have got to stop letting Rylin do this to me. He has the audacity to think it’s okay to sweep into my room at night? I sit up and punch my pillow into shape, irritated that I’m just now coming to my senses. Man, he has a lot of nerve. And way too much sway.
I relax into the mattress, clearing my mind. I’m drifting in seconds, but just before blackness steps in, a distorted picture of a deformed, winged boy rises up out of my subconscious mind. He pierces me with a pair of fiery blue eyes. And dream number two for the night begins its premiere.
***
“Do you see him, Jude?”
I turn.
Rylin stands beside me, his skin lit, the orange markings searing the flesh of his forearms, eyes burning with embers. They cut into me.
“Why are you here again,” I growl.
“Look!”
We’re in a room at Willow Springs. There’s a bed and a desk, and the white walls explode with a humming glow. The boy does not move; he does not blink. A crippled bird, his mismatched wings wrapped around his thin body. He won’t stop staring at me.
Rylin squeezes my hand; my senses tell me I should pull away. I should get as far away from Rylin McDowell as I possibly can. But instead, I step in, let his heat brush my skin. Our hands cling together, glowing in unison.
“What’s happening?”
Rylin doesn’t answer, and his mantra, slow and tantalizing, seeps into the scene. In my own soul, I feel mine begin to rise. I push it down. He slinks an arm around me, his fingers brushing against the key that hangs around my neck. I push against him.
“No.”
