Scorch Song

by Casey Hays

  “They’re pins,” he corrects. “You know what? Just forget it. Do whatever you want.”

  “I will.” She concentrates on her nails again.

  “I was not wasting money at the theater when there was nothing worth watching.”

  “Nothing you wanted to watch,” Devan quips, glaring at him.

  Jonas ignores this, taking a long swig from his water bottle while Frankie and I exchange a wary glance. Nothing is more uncomfortable than pretending not to watch a couple in a squabble.

  I hover my hands over the little dryer on the ball return. After ages of waiting, it finally regurgitates my ball. To my surprise, I pick up those last three pins.

  Frankie snags a third strike in a row on her next turn, which sends me to jumping up and down, in spite of my overall distaste for bowling. I have to admit, it’s been a nice distraction as I wait on Kane. Plus, I think we might have half a chance at winning, and winning I like. Jonas scowls. Poor guy. I deliberately avoid eye contact.

  We’re halfway through our second game when Kane finally walks through the glass front doors and slides into the seat next to me.

  “Well, look who decided to show his face after his girlfriend’s team smeared mine,” Jonas says, meeting Kane’s offered hand with a fist bump. “I really could have used you, dude. Devan is sabotaging the entire art of the game.”

  Art? Really?

  “Sorry. Had a late customer with a transmission leak.” He spies the scoreboard and levels a proud glance at me before peeking around to wink at Frankie. “Damn! You two are killing it.”

  “A little research goes a long way.” Frankie displays her phone, revealing an App called Bowling with Finesse. “I find these tips extremely helpful.”

  “What?” Jonas sits and nudges in to see for himself. “You can’t learn how to bowl with an App.”

  “Apparently, you can,” Kane counters with a grin. Devan gutters her thirtieth ball and sways her way back toward us. Kane fusses up his brows, confused. “Is she losing on purpose, or has she really gotten that bad?”

  “She’s vying for biggest loser,” Frankie answers. “I haven’t decided yet if it’s a genius move or sheer stupidity. If it prevents her from ever having to bowl again, we’ll know the answer.”

  I laugh. Devan throws gutter ball thirty-one.

  Much to Jonas’s dismay, I pass my third game off to Kane. And between Frankie’s ingenuity and Kane’s ability to compel the ball—which I’m certain he employs at least twice—they blow up the scoreboard. I leave them to their fun, buy a soda, and settle into a booth at the snack bar. That’s when I see the text from Mom.

  HI JUDE. I’M SORRY I HAVEN’T CALLED BACK. THE PROGRAM IS VERY STRICT ABOUT COMMUNICATING WITH THE OUTSIDE WORLD. AS I MENTIONED, IT DISTRACTS FROM TREATMENT. I HOPE YOU’RE DOING ALL RIGHT. I MISS YOU. I’LL CALL SOON. LOVE YOU.

  I read the message twice and formulate a snarky reply in my mind. “I’m fine, Mom. Life is good. Don’t worry, I paid the mortgage. Oh, and by the way… I know I’m a Fireblood, and the Contingent is going to fry me next week. It was nice knowing you.”

  I don’t actually reply at all. What’s the point when she won’t see it for a day or two?

  I twirl the straw around inside my drink and use it to dribble soda onto my tongue a couple of times. Mom promises things are going to be different when she gets back. If this is an indication of those changes, she’s got a long road ahead of her.

  Don’t get me wrong, I miss her. I mean, generally speaking, I saw her at least every other day before she checked herself into rehab all the way over in Portland, Oregon. Was she neglectful? Yeah. But the point is, she was here. She was accessible, even if she didn’t always deliver like most moms do. And I can’t judge until she gets home and proves her words, but I’m not getting my hopes up. I’m glad she’s getting help, but that doesn’t change the fact that my days of depending on her ended a long time ago. The more I think about it, the more I’ve decided that it just might be too late for her to step up.

  For a minute inside my head, I become that little girl again. And in a weak moment, I speed dial her number. The call goes straight to voicemail. Figures. I hang up.

  Kane slides into the booth, bumping into my shoulder and dragging me back into the dismal bowling alley with its drab flickering lights and stained walls.

  “Game over?” I ask.

  “Oh yeah. Frankie and I destroyed it.” He helps himself to my soda, smacking his lips after. “Devan owes us. Jonas is so humiliated he doesn’t even want a rematch.”

  “So her ploy worked.” My fingers slide into the crook of his elbow. “I feel bad for him. You should be on his team next time.”

  “No way. His ego would soar through the roof. Seriously though, he hates losing at this game. You’d think someone died.”

  “Yeah.”

  He reads my eyes. For all this small talk, he knows I’ve been waiting for the scoop all night, and the noise around us seems to fade into that fact. He slides an arm behind me and presses his lips against my temple.

  “You’re not going to like what I got out of him,” he whispers.

  “Just tell me.”

  “He doesn’t know where the boy is.”

  “Oh.” My hope sinks.

  “But…”

  And it rises again.

  “I did find out some other things. I had to use some mind invasion though. The doctor’s got some kind of crazy going on in that head.”

  That makes me laugh. From where else would Frankie get her quirkiness? But mind invasion? That’s one step further than I was wanting to go.

  “I’m not super good at it, so I had a little trouble focusing, but every time I honed in on Willow Springs and the boy, I saw Nevada State Bank on College Parkway.”

  Interesting.

  “So what does that mean?”

  “It means I had to do a little rummaging through Dr. Melmack’s office, and…” He draws a key from this pocket and sets it on the table. “We’re making a trip to College Parkway tomorrow.”

  I’m not really sure what to think. Or say. Or do. So I simply scoop up the key. “What is this?”

  “A key to a safe deposit box. And I’ll bet you anything the box is at Nevada State Bank.”

  “You think so?”

  “Why else would the doctor keep referencing it in his thoughts? If he had known where the boy was, he would have told me. He doesn’t.” He pauses. “And I got the distinct feeling he’s been redirected.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because he has a key to a safe deposit box he clearly doesn’t know about that may or may not contain information about the boy you’re looking for. And intentional or not, a trace of the bank was left behind.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “It happens sometimes with redirection. It’s trickier than plain, old compelling.” He nods at the key. “They always give out two keys, you know?”

  Right. So Dr. Melmack doesn’t know about the box, but someone else must. And if the doctor was redirected, that someone is probably a Fireblood. My head spins.

  “Anyway, that’s all I got. At least it wasn’t a total dead end.”

  I squeeze the key in my fist, nervous. “So we’re really going to do this? Break into Dr. Melmack’s safe deposit box?”

  Kane studies me, then shrugs up one tentative shoulder. When our eyes connect, I see in his what we're both thinking: it’s wrong on so many levels, and we are in so deep. But… we’re going to do it anyway. Because I need to.

  We shift into silence when Devan slips into the seat across from us.

  “Jonas and Frankie are going to play another game, one on one.” She explodes with a heavy sigh. “Ugh, I am so sick of this place.”

  “Here.” I rummage through my jacket pocket and toss her my keys. “Take my car and go. Jonas can give Frankie a lift, and I’ll ride home with Kane.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” I wave her off. “We need som
e alone time anyway.”

  “Truth,” Kane agrees. The sudden presence of his hand on my thigh pulls up the heat in my cheeks. I’m dying to shed my camouflage. He’d better not fight me on that tonight.

  “Thanks. Jonas is still mad at me anyway. That ride home would be hell.” She swings her purse over her shoulder as she stands. “I’ll bring your car home tomorrow. You two be good.”

  With a playful wag of her finger, she’s gone.

  The safe deposit box key digs into my sweaty palm. It nudges me to work up the courage to say what I say next.

  “Kane, I want to let Frankie in on this.”

  The sheer look of dismay that crosses his face prompts me to hold my breath. The only sound is the rumbling of balls on pins in the distance.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Actually, I am.”

  “I just compelled her dad.” With a lift of his brows, he sends a nervous hand through his hair. “In whose universe would this be a good idea?”

  I’m ready with my defense. And I’m determined; I’m going to win him over to this because lately, my track record’s been pretty good in this department.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” I twist in my seat, aiming all my debating finesse right at him. “But Frankie believes in us already. She’s seen proof in pictures, in artifacts. And it’s valid proof. Nancy Babbitt at Willow Springs was completely credible. And yes, there are a few off-base facts mixed in there, but Kane, Frankie is one of our biggest supporters.”

  Squinting, he mulls this over, and this motivates me to keep talking.

  “She’s the most discreet person on the planet. We both know it.” I play my strongest card next. “And if for whatever reason things went south, you could always compel her to forget all about it.”

  The dimple in his right cheek comes out to play, his voice low. “When did you become such an advocate of compelling?”

  I shrug up a shoulder. “When I saw the value in it. It doesn’t hurt anyone if you don’t abuse it.” His smile moves me to slide closer to him. I guess whether or not it’s abused is in the eye of the beholder. “Let’s just say I understand things more clearly these days.”

  My chin propped on his shoulder gives him the perfect angle on my lips. He presses in, sweet and light. I’m never going to tire of this kiss.

  “At least, let me tell her about me,” I whisper, our mouths a half inch apart. “That’s safe enough.”

  “Is it really?” He leans away, his eyes flickering. “Do you think telling humans about us is fair? Think about your mom. She’s never been the same. Once you meet a Fireblood—once you love one—it changes you. And once you lose one…”

  The edge in his voice makes me pause.

  “Maybe,” I finally agree. “But with my dad, she was the happiest woman in the world.”

  “And now she’s the most miserable,” he concludes. “It’s not a matter of whether Frankie will keep quiet. Her dad? He may not know where that boy is anymore, but he’s carried a heavy burden for years.”

  “What about me?” I search the nearly empty room but keep my voice a whisper anyway. “I’m half-human, and I handled the news… pretty well.”

  “You know that’s not the same. Not at all. You’re designed to adapt. It’s part of who you are. Frankie would be keeping your secret, and not just some little thread of gossip either. The real deal.” He gives me a nudge with his shoulder. “Trust me, it’s a lot harder to carry someone else’s secrets than your own.”

  He has a point. The hardest thing I ever did was keep him a secret after I knew about him. So yeah. Your own untold secret will scald your insides until you get used to the burning, but keeping someone else’s secret? It burns you alive. And telling it? You’d think it would ease the burden; it doesn’t. It only spreads the fire.

  “I’m leaving it up to you,” Kane says, and I tighten up inside like I used to when I was a kid and my mom finally put some responsibility on me. “I think it’s a bad idea, but I’m not really one to judge someone’s actions lately.” He tangles his fingers with mine. “I know we can trust Frankie; I just want you to think about what’s best for her.”

  I’m pierced right through with a strong sense of guilt for even bringing it up. All I can do is nod.

  “Okay.” He pulls me in, kisses my hair. “You wanna get out of here?”

  “Like hours ago.”

  A quick smile, and he drags me from the booth. When we signal Jonas and Frankie that we’re heading out, I take an extra minute to look at Frankie. She waves, her hair fanning out in its ever-frizzy manner, and I’m torn once again. But I know, letting Frankie into my world, no matter the consequences, would be her dream come true.

  If I had a bucket list, doing that for her would be at the top of it.

  Maybe I need one.

  ***

  “Hi, Jude.”

  I sit on a bench, surrounded by pink roses. I wear the rainbow dress, but I have no wings today. I turn at the sound of my name. He stares at me from the other end, his crooked wings hovering over his shoulders. I smile.

  “What’s your name?”

  His mouth opens, but he can’t answer. His words are muted by cotton balls lining the inside of his cheeks. And then, a huge wind sweeps in and blows him right off the bench, tumbling him over and over until he’s carried off into the clouds.

  The absence of his weight causes the bench to raise up on one end. I slide right off and land in a rainbow heap on the ground. A shadow falls over me.

  “Jude.”

  I look up into my father’s eyes.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  He extends a hand and pulls me to my feet. The colors in my dress shake and shimmer and glitter dust flies out all around us.

  “Are you really here?” I ask.

  Daddy smiles. “I’m always with you.”

  Suddenly, the boy appears, and my daddy slides an arm around both of us and smiles.

  “In here, we’re safe.”

  The glitter swirls up in a massive whirlwind and drowns out the dream.

  Sonata

  Kane and Jude

  “Your body is so hot.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  I smirk. “You know what I mean.”

  My palms, planted against his chest, sear with fire.

  “Why don’t our clothes catch fire?”

  I concentrate on the weight of his hands at my waist.

  “Our bodies emit a shield that surrounds us and contains the heat.”

  “Even when you flare?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Yep.”

  He smiles into my eyes. I smooth my hands upward and over his shoulders, linking them behind his neck.

  “How hot do you get?”

  He shrugs. “Depends. Our normal temperature is 113 degrees Fahrenheit.

  “You’re kidding. I mean, you’ve always been hot, but…”

  My voice trails. He chuckles.

  “To put it into perspective, first-degree burns begin when temperatures reach 118 degrees Fahrenheit. It takes about five seconds to get a third-degree burn at 140 degrees. Firebloods can reach temperatures a lot hotter than that when they flare.”

  I simply shake my head. It’s unbelievable.

  “And I can handle the heat,” I conclude.

  “Yes,” he smiles. “Yes, you can.”

  “What do you think my resting temperature is?”

  “Well, we’d have to check to be sure, but I’d say…” He lays a hand on my forehead, “... 108 or so.”

  Wow.

  He smiles. And then, he leaves a sizzling kiss on my forehead. It feels fantastic.

  Thirteen

  The next morning, at five minutes past nine, Kane eases his Kawasaki into the first parking space of Nevada State Bank on College Parkway. He cuts the engine, but it takes us a minute to gather our dual courage together. First, because we’re breaking into someone else’s safe deposit box. That in and
of itself is enough to give me second thoughts about the entire business. But even more than that is the uncertainty of what we’re going to find inside it.

  It’s already hot, but I can’t tell if the sweat teeming up on my skin is due to this or to the anxious knot in my stomach. A car rolls past us and veers into the space two places over. A man gets out, tosses us a friendly wave, and makes his way to the ATM just outside the front doors. Kane’s back swells against my chest as he inhales.

  “Well, let’s do this,” he says. My hands fall away from his waist as he dismounts. I give the strap of my helmet a nervous tug.

  “What if they don’t let us into the vault?” My foot can’t seem to quit fidgeting against the exhaust spoke, and I stare at the glass fronting where our squiggly reflections mimic all our movements. “I mean, don’t we have to show an I.D.?”

  Helmet tucked under one arm, Kane pulls off his sunglasses and squints up at the large, blue letters gracing the front of the building. “Who are you here with, Jude?”

  He levels his gaze at me, suddenly confident in the mission. That one gesture prompts me to release the tension I allowed to build up on the ride over. My feet hit the ground. Okay. We’ve got this.

  Besides the tellers and other staff, the lobby is virtually empty. The spotlessly clean beige-colored tiles stretch throughout the building in every direction. A couple of crystal chandeliers sparkle beneath the skylights that spot the ceiling. Men and women professionally dressed in suits and skirts work behind glassed-off partitions or inside offices, the low murmurs of their voices mingling with the soft sounds of a violin streaming from hidden speakers. Every item in this building is dressed in dark woods and golden trim. Fluffy cushions grace velvet loungers. Luxury. I slip a hand into Kane’s, feeling a little bit like Bonnie and Clyde. Thank you, Gema, for planting that idea into my head. In fact, I actually brace myself for an unlikely barrage of FBI agents to jump out and yell freeze.

  The teller at the first window greets us with a red-lipped smile and a gold-plated name tag that says Joan in bold, black letters.