Elemental Origins: The Complete Series

by A. L. Knorr

  Isaia coughed and then pointed repeatedly and urgently at the flames. I knew instantly what he was trying to tell me. It was plain on his face and plain in the knowledge that I had only moments ago acquired.

  The knowledge of fire.

  It was sitting in my guts and talking to me. I had been inducted. I understood now why it had been making him sick—he was far too frail for what I now carried. What he had wasn't an illness, it was power. The pain of it was there, but I was strong enough to bear it. I was strong enough to wield it, strong enough to take on the flames now growing out of control and licking from the back room and into the shop.

  Isaia coughed harder. The elderly man moved toward the shutter, coughing all the while. He and Isaia put their faces down low - close to the holes in the shutter to inhale clean air. They both had their backs to me now.

  "Fuoco! Fuoco!" Shouts could be heard outside.

  But I was in here, and I could do something. I looked at the flames and felt... affection. I stood and crossed quickly to the back room. I sucked smoke into my lungs, but it didn't bother me anymore. I tickled across my skin, soft and warm.

  The shutter screeched again, but it was a distant sound. I raised my hands to the flames. They flickered toward me in response. A choice—should I call it forward and absorb it, or push it back and snuff it? The fire inside me had power over the fire outside of me. It felt not unlike trying to calm a bucking horse or a panicked dog.

  Using my hands to coach the flames, I stroked them back and back, toward the back room from which they'd come. Whatever magic Isaia had given me, I could see it in the wavering heat that streamed from my fingertips. The flames had been fed by oxygen through the window in the back of the shop. But though there was plenty of air to feed this fire, it was now dying instead. Because of me.

  As the fire dwindled, blackened shelves and smoldering boxes were revealed in its wake. The flames licked through the doorway. They curled like fingertips clawing for purchase on the smoking doorjamb. The fingers disappeared and I followed them, pushing the fire back.

  I stepped through the doorway. Shadows of shelving and boxes appeared and disappeared in my vision, all of it lined with glowing embers. The sound of crackling flames had become a kind of music in my ears. The curling smoke made a stream in the air as it was sucked out the rear window.

  The last of the flames flickered and went out. I lowered my hands. I felt as though I'd just woken from a dream. Goosebumps swept across my skin at the power I held.

  I watched currents of smoke curl and drift. Dying embers highlighted the edges of the ruined contents of the room. Charred boxes lined the shelves like rows of lumpy headstones. Unrecognizable items smoldered and jutted from holes in boxes like broken bones poking up through blackened skin.

  Voices called and I turned. Light streamed in through the front door of the shop. It lit up the mess on the floor and illuminated the smoke. The shutter juddered and jarred as it was shoved upward the rest of the way, filling the air with a horrible sound. I winced and covered my ears.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as vertigo swept over me. Had it all been a dream? As though in answer, the fire inside me flickered and danced underneath my ribcage. There was nothing dreamy about the heat residing in me now. I opened my eyes, thinking of Isaia.

  He looked back at me, his little chest heaving with coughs, but his eyes void of pain for the first time since I'd met him. He actually smiled, coughed again, and then beckoned me with his hand.

  "I'm coming," I croaked.

  The man looked over his shoulder. He took Isaia's hand and gestured to me with a jerk of his head. He cradled his injured hand against his chest.

  I crossed the shop in a few quick strides, my feet crunching on broken glass. The stinging of my left palm and my knee reminded me that I was still human. My ankles ached from having been twisted earlier.

  I took Isaia's other hand, and as hands reached to steady us, we ducked under the shutter and stepped out into the sunlight.

  Chapter 12

  Less than an hour later, I sat on a park bench under the trees with Isaia cuddled on my lap. He coughed occasionally, but seemed otherwise relaxed. The emergency personnel hadn't allowed us to leave in spite of my pleas to take Isaia home. Caution tape had sprung up in a wide berth around the tabacchi, and a crowd had gathered to watch the uniformed police and firemen going in and out of the shop and talking with each other, taking notes.

  My phone chirped and I pulled it out and blinked at it, feeling dazed.

  Fed: Ciao Bella. I'm off tomorrow eve. Meet me?

  I stared at the message, not really comprehending it. I couldn't even bring Federica's face to my mind right now. I tucked my phone away without responding.

  When we'd finally escaped the shop, a medic had pulled the man aside to where a gurney had been erected. Isaia and I had been taken into an ambulance boat in a nearby canal. Medics fussed over us, checked our vitals, and listened to our lungs. They cleaned and bandaged my hand and knee. My ankles had been twisted, but not sprained. They'd iced and wrapped them.

  Isaia showed more fascination for the ambulance boat than distress from the ordeal. He had suffered some smoke inhalation but the medics said that otherwise, he was unharmed. He was to rest, and he would cough for a few days but it should clear up on its own. If anything else arose, I was to bring him to the hospital.

  While my hand was bandaged, I had numbly given an account of what happened to an English-speaking police officer. I told them about the man in the green sweater. I left out everything about Isaia passing his fire to me. I thought the officer had bought my story that the flames had gone out on their own. Isaia and I had been released from the ambulance and told to wait until we were dismissed to go home.

  I watched from the park bench, moths fluttering in my stomach, as the man told his version of the story to another officer. His cheek had been bandaged. He gestured toward me, and his voice rose and fell with emphasis.

  The officer shot several glances in my direction. When he was finished taking the man's statement, he made a beeline for me. I shrank down against the bench, holding Isaia tighter. The fluttering moths morphed into panicked bats flapping against my ribcage.

  The officer looked down at me, his dark eyes serious. "I'm Officer Zambelli. I am told you are a hero," he said in a thick accent.

  I shook my head emphatically. "No, no, definitely not."

  "If what Signor Fantelli told me is true, you are. You were the first person on the scene after the break-in and assault, and you called for help. After the shutter collapsed, you put out the fire. Is all that true?"

  I shook my head. "The fire went out on its own." Maybe the old guy hadn't said anything about the white light that passed from Isaia to me. I shot him a grateful look. He was just staring at me, watching while the officer and I talked.

  "You didn't put it out? He seems to think you did."

  "No. The flames just went out," I croaked weakly.

  "Signor Fantelli says the storage room had fireworks inventory and benzene lighters. All three of you are very lucky to have survived. It's very strange. A small window in the rear was wide open. That fire should not have gone out on its own." He studied my face, his gaze unwavering.

  "Thank God it did," I rasped. "May I take Isaia home now? He's been awfully frightened. We both have."

  We looked down at Isaia, sitting on the bench beside me. He dangled his legs and watched the action. He looked up at us. He was covered in soot and looked like a street urchin, but he was as happy as I'd ever seen him.

  "A few more minutes, signorina," Officer Zambelli said. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. "Please take this. If you happen to remember anything else, call me."

  I took the card and watched as he joined his colleagues. They spoke to one another and sent more glances our way than I was comfortable with. I pulled Isaia onto my lap again, more for my comfort than for his. I prayed for Elda to arrive. I had called her immediately
after stepping out of the tabacchi. My hoarse voice had probably done more to freak her out than my actual words. I’d tried to downplay the level of danger we’d been in, but she’d interrupted, saying she was on her way.

  A younger version of the elderly man had appeared at his side. The younger man wore a business suit and tie. They spoke, and the younger Fantelli looked my way. I dropped my lips to Isaia's head and closed my eyes, taking deep breaths.

  A moment later, "Excuse me. What's your name, Miss?" His voice was softly accented.

  I looked up to see the younger Fantelli standing at my elbow. The elder stood behind him, peering at me. I set Isaia on the bench and stood up, feeling a little dizzy. I was very distracted by the new and mostly unpleasant sensation of fire inside my pelvis.

  "Saxony," I croaked, and managed a smile for him. "How is your... father?"

  "My Uncle, actually. He has a broken bone in his wrist, but he'll be okay. We want to say thank you for what you did." He held out his hand and I took it. He shook it warmly in a two-handed clasp. He pulled me forward and kissed my right cheek, then my left. His eyes were lined with moisture. "Really, I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there. We are so much grateful."

  I blushed. "It's nothing. Anyone would have done it."

  "No, they wouldn't."

  Signor Fantelli stepped closer. He took my hand in his good one, kissed my right cheek, then my left, then my right again. "Grazie. Grazie voi. Grazie mille. Bella angelo." Tears glistened in his eyes as well.

  I swallowed my own tears back at the look on his face. My emotions were already riding close to the surface. "Prego," I rasped.

  Elda appeared on the other side of the courtyard, her eyes scanning the courtyard frantically. I waved at her. She began to run, and the sound of her heels on the stone echoed across the courtyard. She was halted by an officer and the two exchanged words. He looked over at us and let her go.

  "What were you thinking?" Elda hissed as she took Isaia in her arms. She was visibly shaking. Her chin wobbled and her eyes flashed.

  I took an involuntary step back, stung. Rationally, I understood her fear, but after everything we had just been through, my self-control was already stretched thin. My face flushed with heat. My body tightened up and I closed my eyes and visualized Jack. I took a deep breath.

  The two Fantelli men stared at Elda, wide-eyed. The sweetness of our interaction had been swallowed up by awkwardness and embarrassment.

  Elda ignored them. "You entered the scene of a crime?" she cried, her voice sharp. "For all you knew the... the... the criminals could still have been inside, and you thought it was a good idea to take my son in there?" She wrapped her arms around Isaia and squeezed him so hard, he squirmed.

  I opened my mouth but I was too stunned for words. She was right, actually. I had exposed Isaia to danger. My vision wavered, like I was looking at her from across the top of a bonfire.

  "This girl is a hero, signora," said the younger Fantelli, his voice soft. "She may have saved my uncle's life."

  "She may have," said Elda, rounding on him. "But it could have been at the expense of my son."

  Mr. Fantelli took a step back at the venom in her voice and put up his palms. He looked at me with pity-filled eyes and put an arm around his uncle. Fantelli senior was staring at Elda, his brow wrinkled. He pulled away from his nephew and let out a stream of angry Italian at her. He gestured emphatically toward me and then toward the burnt out tabacchi shop, clearly defending me.

  Elda spouted angry Italian back at him, her voice growing louder. Spectators began to look our direction. An officer started to walk our way.

  My focus passed back and forth between Elda and the elderly man. My mind whirled. I needed them to stop fighting. Black spots appeared in my vision and their voices blurred together. I reached a hand out for something to hold on to, but there was nothing. My hand patted the air uselessly. The world turned sideways. Everything went black.

  Chapter 13

  Voices argued. My head throbbed. My vision swam as I opened my eyes, so I squeezed them shut again.

  "Miss? Can you hear me?"

  I forced my eyes open. "I can hear you."

  "How many fingers am I holding up?"

  I looked at the medic’s gloved hand. "Quattro. Do I get double points for answering in Italian?"

  She smiled and took my pulse, then listened to my heart with a stethoscope.

  I tried to lift my head.

  "Stay down, please. You fainted. We'll take you to hospital soon, but emergency is backed up so it'll be a wait."

  My heart began to pound along with my head. The last thing I wanted was to go to the hospital. Anxiety swamped my stomach at the very thought of it. "That won't be necessary. I'm feeling much better. I'm just tired. I didn't sleep last night," I lied. "I hate hospitals, so taking me there will only stress me out further. Please, just send me home to rest."

  The medic frowned and spoke to a nearby colleague. I understood the words for 'delay' and 'four hours.' It sounded like if they sent me to hospital I would just be sitting around a waiting room for a long time.

  "Really, I'm okay." I sat up slowly and she didn't prevent me. "May I have some water, please?"

  Someone handed me a bottle of cold water and I drank it. I smiled at the medic, "See? Just a fainting spell. I have low blood pressure. Sometimes it happens."

  She didn't look happy, but Elda, who was carrying Isaia, spoke to her in Italian and the medic finally agreed to let me go.

  We were released from the courtyard and as soon as we were out of view of everyone, I leaned against the calle wall. Shock made my legs weak.

  "Saxony?" It seemed Elda had passed over the worst of her anger.

  "I just have a headache," I rasped. "I'm okay." The fire flickered in my belly, reminding me of its presence.

  "Your voice sounds terrible." She put a hand to my head. Her eyebrows shot up. "You're feverish. Can you make it home? Maybe we should go to hospital after all? We need to call your parents."

  "I will," I said. "The hospital is not necessary, though. I just need to rest." My head pounded and thoughts of my bed beckoned. I walked toward home. Elda and Isaia followed. If Elda was still upset, I couldn't tell. I couldn't pay attention to anything other than putting one foot after the other.

  Once we'd arrived home, Elda forced me to lie on her bed where she could keep an eye on me. I collapsed, not caring which bed I was in. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 14

  It was the fire that woke me—it licked at the insides of my ribcage. I winced. My mouth and eyes felt hot and dry. I sat up on my elbow and took a drink from the glass of water on the beside table. Instantly, it took the edge off the pain. I spotted the digital thermometer sitting there and frowned. I brought to my ear and pressed the button. When it beeped, I watched the screen.

  85.

  I no longer thought the thermometer was broken. I really was that hot. Any normal person would be dead by now.

  There was a knock on the door and Elda poked her head in. "Saxony?" she whispered.

  "I'm awake."

  "How do you feel?" She approached the bed.

  "You know that saying death warmed over?" I gave a rough, dry laugh and pushed myself upright.

  "No, what does it mean?"

  "Never mind. I'm okay." I wasn't, but I wasn't going to admit that. "How is Isaia?" I dropped my legs over the side of the bed.

  "He's—" She paused, her brows creased. "It's strange, but he's really cold. It's the first time I've seen him be cold in his whole life."

  This made some kind of sense. After all, the fire that had been giving him fevers had now taken up residence inside me. "Is he in his room?"

  Elda nodded.

  I got up, passing her as I went to the door. My vision still wavered and I walked on unsteady legs. She followed me down the hallway and into Isaia's room. I opened the door to see a little lump in Isaia's bed, huddling under thick blankets nor
mally reserved for winter.

  "Isaia?" I said softly, approaching his bed.

  A little hand pushed the blankets away from his face and his black eyes peeked out.

  "Are you cold, buddy?" I sat on the side of his bed. I took his hand and gasped. His fingers were little popsicles.

  I looked up at Elda with alarm. She crossed her arms, her brows drawn tight.

  I was burning up while he was nearly hypothermic. I pulled his blanket back. "Scootch over, little dude."

  He wriggled sideways and I lay down beside him and pulled his narrow back up against my stomach. He was in full flannel pajamas but his entire body was rigid with cold. His icy frame felt delicious against my roasting torso. I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my fire against his back.

  Elda sat on the side of his bed and we stayed like that for a long time. Isaia slowly began to relax. At some point, Elda got up and left. I dozed in and out of consciousness. Every time I came to, my head felt a little clearer. Isaia warmed up as I cooled down. He jarred me fully awake when he began to squirm.

  "Feeling better? I know I am." I didn't feel like jumping up and down, but the worst seemed over.

  Isaia crawled over me and left the room. I sat up as well, and my face cracked with an enormous yawn.

  Elda appeared in the doorway, holding Isaia. Her expression was unreadable.

  "I guess I'll go upstairs, now," I said, feeling awkward.

  "Saxony," she said, quietly. Relief was etched into her face. "Thank you. I'll look after the boys tomorrow, you just rest. Okay?"

  I nodded. "Okay, thanks." I gave Isaia's fingers a little tug and smiled at him.

  He smiled back.

  My body felt light with relief. Isaia was okay, and Elda wasn't angry anymore. But I needed time to think. Would I ever be normal again?