by Talia Vance
“No.” His face goes pale. “Oh God. What did you do?” He sits back down in the sand, putting his face in his hands.
“Me? Me?! What kind of drugs did you give me?” There’s no stopping the tears now. They flow down my cheeks.
“Drugs? You think that was drugs?” He shakes his head. “This is bad.”
“Bad? Bad? Shouldn’t you at least wait until I’m not right here before you start declaring it bad?”
“Oh God,” Blake repeats before he finally looks up. “Do you remember any of it?”
“Just the dream part.”
“It wasn’t a dream.”
“How can you say that? You don’t even know what I dreamed about.”
“Brilliant light and blackest darkness? Melding of souls?”
My voice drops to a whisper. “You can’t know that. Is that one of the side effects of the drug you gave me?”
He finds his shirt across a rock. “There’s no drug,
Brianna. It happened. You should know better than me what you did.”
What I did? Oh God, what did I do? I should never have come here. I should never have kissed him. “Take me home. Now.”
Blake shakes out his shirt. All that’s left of the fire are glowing embers, giving off just enough light that I can see the lines of his shoulders and back as the pulls his shirt over his head. Not that I’m thinking he’s in any way attractive. Not that I notice how his casual good looks are almost heartbreaking when he’s not flashing his cocky smile. I certainly don’t feel any compulsion to put my arms around him and reassure him that everything is going to be okay. I don’t want him to hold me and tell me the same thing.
I can’t be that much of an idiot.
Our date ends the same way it began. We don’t speak on the drive back to Rancho Domingo. I try to make sense of what’s just happened, but I can’t. It doesn’t seem real, in the familiar surroundings of Blake’s car, the radio playing in the background. It’s all a hazy dream, another hallucination.
Except not.
Blake kissed me, and truthfully, it was amazing. I wanted to take it further. I wanted him.
This can’t be good.
The Blue Box is the only car left in the parking lot in front of Magic Beans. There are light drops of moisture settling on the windows. Blake stops the SUV next to it but leaves the engine running.
I reach for the door handle, looking at Blake for the first time since we left the beach. His forehead is creased. Beads of sweat form around his hairline. When he finally speaks, there’s a measure of desperation in his tone. “There has to be a way to undo it.”
I want to slap him, but I keep my hand fixed on the door handle. I open the door and jump out, not bothering to say goodbye. I climb into the Blue Box and slam the door, relieved to be away from him. The sputter and cough that accompanies the sound of the engine turning over is a welcome bit of normalcy. Blake’s car still sits idling as I shift into gear and drive out of the parking lot.
When I turn onto the street, a pang rises in my gut, a sharp physical pain that almost doubles me over. As I get closer to home, the pain subsides to a dull ache. I recognize it all too well. It’s the same pang that always comes when Blake ignores me. Only now it’s constant, more pronounced. And there is no stamping it out. The ache is still there when I crawl into bed, a hollow reminder of his rejection.
The morning light filters through the blinds and falls across my face, waking me from what sleep I managed to find. I reach across my bed, half-expecting to be greeted by Blake’s green eyes and warm smile, but grab only folds of comforter. I am alone. The realization is met with the same ache I’ve felt since leaving Blake. It isn’t disappointment, exactly. It’s more visceral than that.
I don’t want to be one of those girls who thinks I’m in love with a boy just because we hooked up. So there. I am not in love with Blake Williams.
I just miss him is all.
By Monday, the pain is constant, and I wonder if I should ask my parents to take me to a doctor. I don’t. It’s too shameful to admit that I’m pining for Blake Williams. Worse, I don’t want to tell my parents about the other part. If they find out I’m seeing things again, they’ll make me go back to doing homeschool. Even the meager social life I’ve managed to find here will be over.
Haley and Christy wait on the curb in front of Christy’s house when I pick them up for school. Haley’s backpack is bulging with books, most likely the ones she borrowed from the library last week to gather historical data to augment our reading of Jane Austen in lit. Christy carries only a small blue denim designer purse.
“So?” Haley says before she is even halfway in the front seat. “You didn’t return my calls. What happened with Blake?”
“You were there, remember?”
“I mean after I left.”
“We hung out at the beach for a while.”
Christy leans forward from the back seat, plainly interested in hearing the details. Not that there are going to be any. “The beach? That sounds kind of hot. And … .?”
“And we talked.”
“And?” Christy giggles from the back seat.
I feel myself blush. “He might have kissed me.”
“And?” It’s Haley this time.
“And, that’s it.” I keep my eyes focused firmly on the road. I am definitely keeping the crazy part to myself. If I stay away from Blake, I might be able to stop the silver light from happening again. “What about you? What happened with Austin?”
Haley smiles. “He took me home.”
“And?”
“He was sweet.”
I’m happy it’s working out for her. As happy as you can be for someone who’s on boyfriend number thirteen. As happy as you can be for someone who’s dating the boy who gave you your first kiss. “Did you … ?”
Haley just laughs. “It isn’t like that with Austin. He apologized for the whole scene at Hunter’s. He drove me straight home. It was just one kiss.” Haley leans back against the seat and sighs. “It was really romantic.”
What bizarre planet have I landed on? So Haley settles for a single kiss, and I lose it to the first guy to ask me out, after falling for some crazy theory involving my charm bracelet? I let myself be lured in, and then I couldn’t resist the silver fire that lit up the darkness. Oh hell. Blake might be right about it being real.
“Haley said Jonah was out with that rich horse girl.” Christy’s voice carries from the back seat, shaking me from my daydream.
“He was.” Please, please, please let Christy get over Jonah Timken already.
“I don’t think it’s going to work out with them.” Christy holds up her cell phone in the rearview mirror. “He texted.” She flips to the message and passes it to Haley.
Haley and I exchange a worried glance as she reads the message aloud. “ ‘Forgive me? I’ll make it up to you Saturday. Party at Joe’s.’ ”
“I told you the love spell is working,” Christy says.
Haley passes the phone back to her. “Are you going?”
“Will you come with me, Brie?” Christy asks. “I don’t really know Joe.”
Like I do. Near as I can tell the guy is mute.
“You can see Blake,” she adds.
The dull pang flares to a sharp sting at the mention of his name. I try to ignore it. “Please don’t do this. That Jonah guy is serious trouble.” Plus, there is no way I can stand watching Blake flirt his way around a party.
I don’t have to see Christy’s face to know she’s pouting. “Fine. Don’t help me. It’s not like I wouldn’t do it so you could see Blake. And I’m sure he’s perfect boyfriend material.”
I can’t really disagree with her. And I can’t let her go see Jonah on her own. Someone has to be there to watch out for her. I feel myself s
tart to surrender. For Christy. It has nothing to do with an overwhelming wish to see Blake. Just see him. “Fine. I’ll go.”
The school day drags by in a haze of distraction. I try to look forward to my AP biology and calculus classes, where everything will have an explanation. A right answer. When I was kicked out of middle school and put on independent study, math and science were my only friends. They helped me make sense of the world again. Today, they’re no help. There’s no comfort in the Pythagorean theorem, no solace in the Punnett square.
To make things worse, Sherri Milliken corners me again after calc. “It can’t wait any longer. We have to talk.”
Time for the direct approach. “I’m sorry, Sherri. I’m not interested in joining the math team.”
Sherri’s face twists. I forgot how she sometimes gets kind of scary when she doesn’t get her way. “Just hear me out.”
Back to Evasion 101. “Can I call you later?”
“This can’t wait much longer.” She steps aside and lets me escape from the classroom. “You need to be ready.”
I’m saved by Haley, who meets me in the hall and drags me away. “What’s with her?”
“She wants me to join the Mathletes again. Like I need that kind of social suicide.”
Haley smiles and puts her hand through my elbow. “You really think anyone would care if you were still on the math team? I think it’s cool how you can do those problems in your head. Besides, it would be fun to see you pummel the geeks from McMillan Prep.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure, why not?” Haley can still surprise me. “Besides, isn’t Blake some kind of medical student? I bet he’ll be drooling all over himself when he finds out you’re on the team.”
“Pre-med, and I’m pretty sure that my being on the math team doesn’t qualify as foreplay.”
Haley laughs. “I thought it was just a kiss? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
A lot, but I don’t know where to start. Haley knows I was homeschooled before we moved to R.D.—she just doesn’t know why. I should’ve told her, but it’s one of those conversations that’s so much easier not to have. There’s never a good time to bring it up.
Braden Finley approaches just as we get to Haley’s locker. Haley rolls her eyes when she sees him, but I know for a fact she deliberately takes the long way around the science building so she’ll arrive at her locker at the same time as Braden.
She leans back against her locker and smiles, waiting for Braden to turn toward her. I know the ritual by heart. Braden tosses his math book into his locker and grabs a key ring holding a small wooden baseball bat and the keys to his yellow Camaro. Next he turns to Haley just as he shuts the locker door.
“You look hot today.” Braden dangles the keys in front of Haley. “Want to come to lunch?”
Haley bats her eyelashes and says no, even though Braden is by far the cutest guy at R.D. High. It’s the same every day. It doesn’t matter if Braden has a girlfriend or if Haley is seeing someone. It’s all a pointless game. So why do I want so badly to be invited to play?
At home, I sit at my small desk to do some homework, irritated that I haven’t managed to finish it at school. I tap my pencil, watching the charms on my bracelet move in time to the tapping. I set down the pencil and stare at the charms.
I’ve always loved the little horse the best. Then the horseshoe. It’s the good luck part of the bracelet—the whole reason I have it. I never thought much about the monkshood.
Such an odd-shaped little flower.
I pick up my pencil and go back to my book, staring at it until the numbers run together. I finally give up, reaching for a volume on botany on the bookshelf.
I flip the pages to the monkshood entry before I can change my mind. The purple flower is eerily familiar. Wolfsbane ... an extremely poisonous flowering plant with a history steeped in myth and death. Beautiful, but deadly. It resonates in me in a way that it shouldn’t.
Deadly.
Like me.
FOURTEEN
I find Mom in the den going through the Multiple Listing Service on her computer. She’s surrounded by color signs and mock ups. Cyndi Paxton sells dreams!
I sit down on the loveseat next to the desk. I don’t say anything at first, not sure where to start. But there’s no point beating around the bush.
“What am I?” I ask.
Her face twitches, just for an instant. She still doesn’t look at me. For a minute, I think she’s not going to say anything at all. Then she says, “You should know better than to fish for compliments. It’s unbecoming.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Now that I’ve put the question out there, I’m not leaving until I get a straight answer. Mom has avoided me long enough. She’s avoided this long enough.
“Fine. You’re a smart, beautiful girl I’m proud to call my daughter. Is that better?” It’s exactly what moms are supposed to say to their kids. Probably something she heard on a talk show.
I’m not going to let her off with generic platitudes. “I’m some kind of freak.” I hold up the wrist with the bracelet. “That’s why Nana gave me this, isn’t it?”
Mom’s nose crinkles up at the corners, the same way it does when a seller is unreasonable about a listing price or when an escrow falls apart. She doesn’t like any bumps in her perfect suburban world. “Nana gave that to you because it’s part of your heritage.”
“Please. I need to understand what’s happening to me.” I wonder if she hears what I don’t say. It’s happening again. I need for you to talk to me.
Her face relaxes. “Honey, you’re just growing up. Your body is changing.” She pats my knee, her Clinique Happy perfume filling the air with the movement. “Didn’t you read that book I left in your room?”
Mom’s idea of a good talk consists of discretely placed books and magazine articles. “This isn’t about sex,” I say. At least not entirely. “Something else is happening. Like before.”
She can’t hide the wrinkles that cross her forehead. She takes a deep breath. “Honey, nothing happened before. The fire was caused when a few of the vials of chemicals broke.”
“Then why did you ask me about the wildfire? Why did you think that was me?”
Her lip quivers. “I was wrong to think that. You weren’t even in town.” She looks away. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Stop it.” She’s not going to ignore it anymore. I can’t pretend that nothing is wrong. “Nana knew something about it, but she’s not here. I have to know the truth.”
Mom weighs her response. After what seems like forever, she finally speaks. “I don’t know.” She lowers her voice, almost to a whisper. “There were stories. I never paid much attention to them. It all seemed kind of silly.”
I’d thought the same thing about Nana’s talk of faeries and witchcraft and vengeful men. Once. Now it’s all I can do to keep from hurling all over the laminate floor. “What do you know about my bracelet?”
“Not much. Nana made me promise to make sure you always wore it. But you always wore it anyway.”
“You thought I took it off last fall. Why?”
Mom pats her hair, making sure every strand is perfectly in place, as if being well-groomed will somehow prevent the truth from coming out. “The flames,” she finally says. “They were blue.”
Blue fire. The color of my fire. But it was a chemistry lab, and gas burns blue. It’s an unusual color for a brush fire, although possible if the fire is hot enough. “Why does the color matter?” I ask.
Last night at the beach, when Blake kissed me, the fire turned blue.
Mom shifts in her chair. “It was just one of your Nana’s superstitions.”
“Then why did you think I took off my bracelet? When you thought I started the wildfire?”
She puts h
er hands in her lap, wringing her fingers together. “You know Nana believed in the old legends.”
I wait, silent, until she takes a breath and goes on.
“She believed our family was touched; that every seventh generation there would be a daughter with great beauty and power.”
Nana believed a lot of things that had no application to our real lives. “What does that have to do with me?”
Mom’s hands shake now. “Honey, I don’t believe it and you shouldn’t either.”
“Believe what?”
“The stories.”
“Tell me.”
“Nana’s great-grandmother’s grandmother. She was supposed to be a seventh-generation daughter.”
“What about her?”
Mom takes a breath and then closes her mouth before she says anything. “She killed a lot of people.” She balls her hand into a fist. “Nana said she burned an entire village to get revenge on the man who broke her heart. With blue fire.”
I try to rationalize what my mother is saying. Does mental illness run in my family? Some recessive gene that manifests every seventh generation? I add up the generations between myself and my grandmother’s great-grandmother’s grandmother. Seven. “Am I going to go crazy?”
Mom shakes her head. “I don’t know. Nana said the bracelet would protect you.”
“From what?”
“From men who would burn you as a witch. From yourself. At least until your seventeenth birthday.”
“What happens on my seventeenth birthday?”
Mom looks down at her hands. When she finally looks up, her eyes shine with tears. “I don’t know, honey. You tell me.”
I can’t imagine my mom believing in anything beyond the power of a beautiful smile and firm handshake. I think back to my fire. The blue flames on my hands. The feeling that the fire came from inside me. That I could control it. It seemed so real. Am I going to go so crazy that I might really hurt someone?
I put my hands over hers. “I don’t know what to believe.”
We sit in silence, holding hands, for a long time. When I finally stand up, she turns back to the computer without saying a word.
