Scorch Song

by Casey Hays

He slides back a step.

  What does he want?

  We’re in my room now. I sit on the window seat, gripping the edge, trying to clear my mind of a hazy spell that seems to have made me lose all sense of myself. A shadow appears in the open doorway; Kane sears my mind; I feel sick.

  “Kane?”

  I whisper his name; the shadow doesn’t answer me.

  I look up. I’m at Willow Springs again. Rylin leans in to whisper in my ear. His breath tickles.

  “I only know of one other Fireblood who can dream like you. They locked him away to save his life.”

  He nods at the boy; the boy still stares at me. I watch him, frozen. He opens his mouth, wide and deep, and he screams my name.

  Jude!

  ***

  The second my conscious mind hits the surface, fear pelts me, a stream of sweat clinging to my skin.

  “What the—”

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed, trying to calm my beating heart. That felt far too real for me. Vivid. So vivid that I’m terrified to face the burgundy chair. Who will I find this time reclining with his feet propped up on the dresser like a footstool? Of course, when I work up the courage to cast a glance over my shoulder—after two long minutes, I might add—it’s empty. No Rylin, and no deformed Fireblood from Willow Springs.

  With a shaky hand, I drink down every bit of the water left in my glass. It’s settled. Rylin McDowell has officially messed me up good. I lie back, pin my eyes on the ceiling, and count the beats in my heart until that heaviness of sleep begins to set in again. But on the very edge of sleep, something comes to me.

  They locked him away…

  And just like that, the little lamp of understanding that lives inside my head clicks on. My eyes fly open.

  “No way,” I whisper.

  Wide awake again, I shuffle up, my mind racing. Nancy Babbitt said a lot of things in her office last week, but one thing comes to mind now: that boy’s parents locked him up so the government wouldn’t find him and turn him into a lab rat. But what if that’s not the story at all? What if they were keeping him from the Contingent… because he can dream?

  That suddenly makes worlds of sense.

  I fumble for my phone, slide my finger across the screen to activate it, and find Rylin’s number. It’s there, next to his name… and three tiny pink hearts. With a roll of my eyes, I click the edit button and erase them. My thumbs tap.

  OKAY, YOU WIN. WE NEED TO TALK.

  I don’t press send. I pause, my thumb hovering over the screen.

  What am I doing?

  I erase the text, stare at the blinking cursor, and type the same sentence in again.

  “Oh man…”

  My whisper in the empty house scares me. I chew on my lip. Do I really want to open this door? Kane, in a billion years, will never be on board with this. I fall back against my pillow, the phone propped above my face, and read the sentence again. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. It’s probably not the same boy. It’s just coincidence that he was in my dream. A mind trick. And I wouldn’t put it past Rylin.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, not sure what to think. If Rylin has been keeping tabs on me like Kane suspects, he’d know about my road trip with Frankie to Willow Springs. He could know about that deformed Fireblood, and his comment might have been a ruse to get me to trust him.

  I’m guessing that is a clear renegade move. But then again…

  A Fireblood who can dream.

  Like me.

  I have to know.

  In a moment of sheer bravery, I add a final sentence.

  CAN WE MEET?

  And I punch “send.”

  Ten

  Rylin’s aunt and uncle own a large house on Combs Circle, just on the outskirts of town. The neighborhood is sparsely populated, with houses situated fields apart, giving the whole place an “out in the country” feel. It takes me ten minutes to get there on College Parkway. Rylin messaged me back almost immediately with the address last night. By the time I roll to a stop on the long drive lined with rock landscaping and an assortment of agave, yucca plants, and cacti dotted with pink and yellow blooms, it’s half past nine, and I’m seriously wondering if this is a mistake.

  Kane called just before I left the house. I played it as cool as I could. I don’t plan to keep this a secret from him, but we all know he would have talked me out of it. Plus, I really shouldn’t tell him over the phone that Rylin climbed through my bedroom window to have a chit-chat with me in my pajamas. I’ll save it for when I see him later today. Between you and me, I’m pretty much dreading the conversation. Because by then, I very well might be a traitor.

  I give myself a minute to examine the house leering at me through my front windshield. The clean, light yellow siding casts a cheerful ambience over it which is further defined by the large ceiling-to-floor glass windows that take up the entire front side. A woman with strawberry blond hair arranges place settings at a small table just inside the far end of the window. She looks up when she hears my engine, and she waves—exuberantly I might add. Hmmm… I guess I’m expected. I manage an unsure wave in return. Okay… no more stalling.

  I’m about to climb out of the car when my door swings open, startling me. I jump enough to slam my head on the ceiling.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry. Did I scare you?” Rylin leans down, casually resting his arm on the open door, an amused gleam in his eye. “I thought you saw me.”

  “Well, now you know I didn’t,” I scowl, rubbing at a soon-to-be bump. “Where did you come from?”

  “The guest house.” He thumbs over his shoulder at a small building to the left of the garage with the same yellow siding. “That’s where I stay. Makes me feel like quite the bachelor.” I ignore his offered hand, and get out of the car on my own. He throws me an impish grin. “Come on, then. My aunt Megan is dying to meet you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I assess him. So he told her I was coming, did he? What else did he say? He’d better not be getting the wrong idea about why I’m here.

  The double, wooden front doors swing open before we’ve made it halfway up the front steps, and Aunt Megan smiles down on us, hands clasped and not a speck of evidence to give away her Fireblood status. She’s roughly in her mid-thirties, but her lavender sundress with thin straps and tiny yellow flowers all over it makes her seem younger. The toenails of her bare feet are painted pale pink, and the tips of her blond locks just touch her shoulders. Her blue eyes are warm and friendly, and I’m drawn to her immediately.

  “Get ready to be showered with hugs,” Rylin whispers.

  “Hello! Jude, is it?” Megan holds out a hand, and as promised, I’m pretty quickly pulled into one very tight hug. She speaks to Rylin over my shoulder in a hushed whisper. “You didn’t tell me she was gorgeous.”

  “I prefer the element of surprise,” he retorts.

  Megan steps back, holding me at arm’s length. “Well, I am definitely surprised. Come on in. Breakfast is served.”

  Breakfast?

  With a firm arm around my shoulders, she guides me through the entrance and into what has to be the coolest house in all of Carson City. Another full set of tall windows stretches the length of the back wall of a sunken den directly across from the foyer. I’ve never seen so much natural light on the inside of a building in my entire life. Even Gema’s skylights don’t live up to it. Light-colored wood flooring covers every inch within eyesight, blanketed here and there with soft, white rugs. The furniture is all black leather and wood and glass, geometrically styled in boxes and cylinders and ovals. It feels modern and antique all at once, and it’s kind of breathtaking.

  Megan steers me into the breakfast nook and pulls out a black leather chair at an octagon-shaped table with a glass top. I sit, peek around the corner of the placemat, and see my knees staring up at me. And then, reflected in the table’s top, I catch sight of the view out the window. The upside-down landscaping is impossibly beautiful reaching to a blue, blue sky. A
tangled picture of the Nevada desert terrain and one white cloud.

  “Wow.” I scan the room. “This place is amazing.”

  “It really is, isn’t it?” Megan fills my mug with coffee and slides a sugar bowl over the cloud and toward me before sitting. “The realtor couldn’t get me to leave once I stumbled across it. I sent my husband home to pack my bags, and camped out on the front porch.” She winks. “I kid, but seriously, I was not taking the chance of someone stealing it out from under me.”

  I laugh, meeting Rylin’s eyes as he takes the seat directly across from me. He gives me a subtle lift of one brow; I break away, but not before I feel the blush race through my cheeks. Keep your guard up, Jude. You promised Kane.

  Megan uses tongs to transfer two fluffy biscuits from a basket to my plate. The paint on her fingernails matches the pale pink of her toes. She passes the biscuits to Rylin and props her chin in her hand, scrutinizing me.

  “Rylin has never brought a girl home. Ever.”

  “Oh, we’re not…” I look to him for help. He fights a smile as he unfurls a napkin and arranges it across his lap, perfectly content with letting her think what she will. Yeah, I’m on my own. I clear my throat. “Rylin and I have known each other since grade school. We’re… friends.”

  I say the word loosely. We’re not friends. Kane’s green eyes flash through my thoughts. I add the hint of disapproval into them all on my own. If he knew where I was right now…

  “That’s what they all say.” Megan gives my forearm a light squeeze and tips a knowing look Rylin’s way. “Before you know it, love is in the air, and church bells are ringing.” She unfolds her own napkin and waves off her comment. “Of course, you have plenty of time for all of that.”

  Rylin takes a sip of his coffee, eying me over the rim. Clearly he’s enjoying the fact that his aunt practically has us married. Rael saunters in, half awake and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. He spots me and stops in his tracks, confused.

  “Jude?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I’m not sure where to look, so I keep my eyes on my plate. “Hi, Rael.”

  “Sorry, Rael.” Megan tosses me an embarrassing tweak of her lips and stands. “I didn’t know we were having company until this morning.” She pours a cup of coffee and takes it to him, ushering him out of the room. “You might want to put some pants on.”

  “Yeah.” Coffee in hand, he rubs at his hair and goes.

  “So tell me about yourself, Jude.” Megan plops back into her seat.

  “Oh, you know…” I ladle gravy onto my biscuits and take a sip of juice. “I’m your average seventeen-year-old girl. I like burgers and music and hanging out with my friends. My birthday is in May. I’m going to be a senior next year.” I think a minute and shrug. “I guess I lead a pretty boring life.”

  “She plays the piano,” Rylin interjects. “Beautifully.”

  Megan’s expression floods with interest. “Is that so? I would love to hear you play. My piano hasn’t seen a set of fingers, well, ever since I’ve owned it.” She laughs and raises her coffee mug to her lips. “I bought it at auction even though I can’t play an instrument to save my skin. It was just too pretty to pass up.”

  “What kind?” I ask.

  “A restored 1911 Steinway Grand.”

  My jaw nearly hits the table. “You’re serious?”

  “I think so,” she teases. Her smile widens. “And if something like that gets you this excited, it’s settled; you’re playing that piano, girl.” She slaps a gentle palm against the glass table top as if to confirm her statement. “As soon as I get it tuned. It’s embarrassingly hoarse right now.”

  I laugh at her antics.

  “Grand idea.” Rylin says with a lift of his mug.

  I wish I could avoid his eyes, but the comment draws us together again, and earns him a genuine smile from me. That was clever. Apparently we have puns in common. A heat runs up the sides of my throat, and I brush my fingers through my hair hoping this will be enough of a distraction to keep him from noticing. It isn’t. Damn.

  “Have you always lived in Carson City?” Megan cuts the edge of her fork into a biscuit and lifts it to her mouth.

  “For as long as I can remember.” I stab a fork into a chuck of cantaloupe.

  “It’s not a bad place to exist, I suppose.”

  “No. I like it.” A pause. “I noticed you don’t sound Irish.”

  I cringe the moment the words are out of my mouth. Was that rude? Now that I’ve said it, it sounds rude. Lucky for me, Megan is a good sport.

  “Well now, I can whip out a bit o’ Irish when the mood strikes,” she says, over-exaggerating the inflection. We laugh in unison, and she slides back into her own accent. “But I was born and raised right here in Carson City. I’ve been to Ireland twice in my whole life.”

  “Oh. Then—” Confused, I look at Rylin, but it’s Megan who’s ready with the explanation.

  “My brother, on the other hand, has lived in Ireland more than he’s lived in the States. He was ten when my parents immigrated. I was born two years later. Right after high school, Sean went back to the motherland, married Rylin’s mom, and stayed there for a few years. Both Rylin and Rael picked up the accent before they ever came here. Of course, my brother expected them to know their Irish culture. Sean was adamant about it, actually, and had plans from the beginning for the boys to live in both countries. And, of course…”

  And so over a plate of biscuits and gravy, orange juice, and fruit, another chapter of Rylin McDowell’s life is revealed. Aunt Megan is quite the storyteller, and by the time he ushers me out of the house amid another wave of hugs, I know that he moved to the States at age six, lived in Baltimore and Chicago before moving to Carson City in third grade, and has an entire original collection of Robbie Burns poems autographed by the poet himself. That’s impressive. I also got to run my fingers over the keys of that beautiful grand piano in satin ebony finish in Megan’s parlor. Turns out, she paid nearly forty-five thousand dollars for it. You can imagine how fast I pulled my hands away from that treasure when she said this.

  Outside, Rylin gestures to a deck extending off the side of the house, and we make our way over to a set of wicker chairs divided by a square glass table framed in black iron. Rylin sits. I elect to stand, my back to him as I study another awe-striking view of the horizon from this side of the house.

  “I like your aunt,” I say.

  “Me too.”

  I angle a smirk at him for his snarky remark. “Does she know about me?”

  “No, but she may suspect it.” Legs extended and crossed at the ankles, he rests an elbow on the arm of the chair, head tilted and temple pressed against his fingertips. “She isn’t loyal to the Contingent, but my uncle is, and she’s definitely loyal to him. The less she knows, the better.”

  I nod, grateful that I didn’t give away anything about myself all on my own. He studies me, his eyes misted with a hazy gold swirling inside the hazel. I noticed them at breakfast, but now, there’s a kind of smoldering desire in them, like he’s waiting for something. Mostly they tell me he thinks he’s won some sort of a challenge. He finally got me to his territory, and he’s going to revel in it.

  “I had another dream after you left.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh. Right. Forgot you were there.” I shift my feet. “I really need to figure out how to make that stop happening.”

  He chuckles.

  “That Fireblood who can dream?”

  “Yes.”

  I walk a few steps across the deck. “Was that him in my dream?”

  He smiles in a way that says I’ve hit the nail on the head. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’d like a straight answer from you, for once.”

  “Then, yes.”

  Well, that was easy.

  “You didn’t follow Frankie and me to Willow Springs, did you?”

  “No.” He laughs at the absurdity of the question, but I frown. “Why?”


  “Because that boy used to be there.”

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “Our underground network knows a lot of things about a lot of things.” His eyes dance over my face. “It’s the reason we’ve stayed underground as long as we have.”

  “Would you and your underground network happen to know where he is now?”

  “That we do not.” My heart sinks. I was so hoping for a different answer. “His transfer has been kept well hidden. Thankfully.”

  “Wait.” I’m surprised by his comment. “So the Renegades don’t want to find him?”

  “I believe the Renegades’ concern is in keeping the Contingent in the dark. They’re not fond of the Contingent’s meddling.” A tingling begins to build in my blood. Rylin silently studies me. “Are you planning to find him, then?”

  I clamp my mouth shut quickly. I don’t know what my plan is, and even if I did, I’m not here to entrust my plans to Rylin McDowell. But ever since that dream popped into my head, I can’t get that boy off my mind.

  And I can’t lie. The dream is not the only reason I messaged Rylin last night. His fiery exit out my bedroom window intrigued me to say the least. Plus, the Contingent is on my mind a lot these days. And there’s a small part of me that wants to trust in the word of the only Fireblood I know who is a proclaimed revolutionist against them. I have yet to lay eyes on a single one of them, and already I’m supposed to be submissive. I don’t like how that feels. Clearly, neither does Rylin, and for this reason, I want to see an ally in him.

  The thing is, I don’t know enough about the Fireblood life to be decisive about what I should do or how I should react or which faction is friend or enemy. Simply put, I stand in the middle of a shaky bridge with no idea which direction to take.

  As for now, I have the answer I came for. So…

  “I should probably go,” I finally decide, moving closer to a set of steps that lead to the driveway. “Tell your aunt thanks again for breakfast.”

  “So that’s it then?” Rylin uncrosses and re-crosses his ankles. “You come here, eat my food, steal my information, and you’re gone?” His face falls in mock disappointment. “I feel a little used.”