Singe

by Casey Hays

  “So you became a doctor.”

  “Yes.” The cuff hisses as the pressure releases. The heavy thudding of my pulse beats against the crook of my elbow for a few seconds before the constricted sensation eases. “Grandfather saw something special in me, and he began to nurture it while I was still a girl, sometimes only through letters or phone calls. I grew to admire him and his work. After college, I joined him. Eventually, he put me in charge of this lab.”

  “And the Contingent? How do they fit into the story?”

  “They don’t,” she answers. “Grandfather closed all his labs except this one. It became a classified location over twenty years ago, and its whereabouts are revealed on a need to know basis. The casino was approved by the Contingent board of regents, but as far as they know, this is merely a safe haven for Firebloods to express themselves undetected. A few even see it as a brilliant form of release and come here themselves to ‘unwind.’ But the lab beneath it?” She raises her brows, knowingly. “It is non-existent to the Contingent’s knowledge. They have been led to believe that the last of Grandfather’s work died along with him. Grandfather was a scientist. A visionary. He was not a politician, and sadly, he never anticipated what it would mean for an entire community of Firebloods to live among us. At most, he’d expected his genetic cross study to access some elevated sensory abilities. Perhaps his volunteers would exhibit some super-strength or speed or a slowing of the aging process. But then, a Fireblood with all those qualities was born naturally, and he knew he’d stumbled across something extraordinary. There was no going back in his mind.”

  She takes a seat on a rolling stool.

  “So this lab is a secret? Really?”

  “Really. My grandfather had nothing to do with the Contingent’s formation. The first members consulted with him about genetics, deformities, and other health concerns that might directly affect a natural born Fireblood’s quality of life, but that was the extent of it. Firebloods chose to instate their own set of laws for the protection of their race.”

  “One being that humans and Firebloods cannot breed,” I say.

  “Correct.” A sadness laces her voice, but she clears her throat quickly, patting the perfectly twisted bun at the base of her neck like it needs an adjustment. “This was a sensible mandate. Forbidding it keeps risk of exposing Firebloods to a minimum.”

  “Why didn’t they just forbid marriage or sexual relations altogether?”

  “They did, at first. Until they were reminded, mostly by their own hearts, that Firebloods are also full of human DNA. A Fireblood will love whom he or she loves, and the mantra will guide this. Even some of the regents on the Contingent board are married to humans.”

  “Oh.” That comes as a shock. I don’t know why. I guess I just figured the board would not cross that line.

  “Your vitals look good.” She slides the thermometer across my forehead again and checks the reading. “Up to 107.” She chucks the thermometer onto the tray and crosses her arms. “Now that you’re glowing like a lamppost, the rest of you is heating up.”

  I study my hands; they’re white hot, the edges emitting a fuzzy yellow illumination. It’s been a week since I was in my fully natural form, and this feels fabulous. I hand Petra a grin. She chuckles.

  “I’m going to send a tech in to take some blood. He’ll take you for a full body scan and x-rays as well. I want to be thorough.” She unlocks the door and swings it open. “I’m delighted to be working with you, Jude. I hope our work here will be a first step in changing the circumstances of other hybrids to come.”

  “Me too.”

  A quick nod of her head, and she leaves me.

  Six

  Kane is in the shower when I get back to my room. He’s singing—off key—and it faintly carries through the open door that connects our suites. After how down he was earlier, it’s good to hear it.

  I stopped off at the lab’s kitchen on the way up and grabbed us today’s lunch special: brisket sandwiches. The spicy tang of barbecue sauce has just touched my tongue when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Wow.” Rylin’s easy smile slides into place when I open it. He runs a quick check of me, up and down. “Your natural form looks good on you.”

  With a grin, I pull the door a bit wider, examining my hand. I’m covered in subtle, warm, white fire, the veiny, light orange markings crawling out like tiny branches all over my skin. It’s kind of beautiful, and still hard to believe it’s me. I stare at my fingers a few seconds longer.

  “Thanks. I shed the camouflage all by myself too. No help.” That comes off a little too proudly, but it’s a big step for me. I move aside to let him in. “And you’re still camouflaged.”

  “Yeah,” he shrugs. “I’m about to head out, so…”

  “Head out?” That startles me.

  “With me dad.”

  He eases into his full Irish accent for a minute, tipping his head with a forced grin, but there’s no way to miss the strain in his voice when he says it. I close the door and return to the coffee table and my sandwich. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, his Adam’s apple jolting with a swallow. I take in his clothes. He’s dressed nicer than usual, in trousers and a crisp white shirt. I take a bite and chew slowly. Something’s up.

  “You’re okay with him being here?” I sound so timid, like I’m really not asking a question at all.

  He tilts his head, his smile appearing and then vanishing with a huff of his breath, as if I’ve picked up on some clue he was certain he’d hidden deep and well. And he’s right. Because I sense a change in his demeanor. That confident guy who escorted me to Portland has been replaced by someone much more timid, cautious. As if the close proximity of his father has sucked the courage right out of him. I take another bite, waiting for his answer. He watches for a few seconds, his jaw clenched, as if he’s trying so hard to prevent anymore words from escaping through his loose lips. I chew, crinkling my brow. I don’t like this wary Rylin. It doesn’t fit him.

  “I guess I have to be,” he finally says. He sighs, long and deep, casting a glance out the sliding glass balcony door. “Since he’s here.”

  “But… how did he know where to find you?”

  “My aunt called him.” Those hands slide an inch deeper into his pockets. “This has been a safe house for my family for years. We need sanctuary, we come here. Suite 12C every time. Megan knew this; I just underestimated her devotion to my father. I didn’t think she’d say anything, but she got worried.” A pause, and then. “I’m going to the hearing, Jude.”

  I stop chewing, swallow, shock pummeling into me.

  “You’re going?” Every nerve in my body suddenly stands on edge. The shower cuts off in the background, leaving a sudden, strange silence lingering on the air. It’s the most inopportune time for it. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I have to.”

  “No, you don’t.” Confusion works its way into every facet of my being, but it quickly turns to fear. A heavy curtain seems to fall down over the room, suffocating.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I can’t seem to get control of my racing heart. I take a breath to calm it down. No use. “You just don’t go.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  Fear rumbles in my next heartbeat as my brother’s crystal, blue eyes pop into my head, glowing with hope and complete dependence on me to fix things for him. He trusted Rylin too, trusted in his plan. And now, Rylin risks sending our whole agenda up in flames? What happened to that self-assured, determined guy who always goes after what he wants despite the consequences he’ll have to face later?

  Nausea creeps in; I stand and clutch my stomach.

  “Why did you bother to bring me here if you’re just going to run right into the arms of the Contingent?” It’s a condemnation, and the accusatory quality in my voice reverberates against my skull. “What about Cedar Hills? My brother? If they
probe you—”

  “They won’t.” He takes a chance, gripping my shoulders with warm hands, squaring me even with him so that I have to look into his eyes. Eyes full of promises that have hooked me like a fish and drawn me in since I was a little girl. But his touch? Today, it does the reverse, magnifying my nausea. All I see is him—holding out his traitorous heart like a torch.

  “How do you know?” I ask. I can’t believe this is happening.

  “Because my—” He hesitates, drops his hands away. “My dad will be with me. He’s a prominent figure in the Fireblood community. He’s respected by the Contingent and renegades alike, and—”

  “I thought he was a traitor.” Confusion pricks me as he keeps babbling, trying to convince me of what a powerful man his father is. A colossal giant who will cause the Contingent to turn tail and run. I don’t think so. And honestly, from the wavering in Rylin’s voice, I doubt he believes it either, and this only causes my dread to nip at me all the harder.

  “They’re in a tentative truce.” He doesn’t sound convinced of this. “He’s rich. He owns a lot of land both here and in Ireland. He’s smart. He’s brave. And people fear him. The Contingent needs him for many reasons. And because of him, they won’t touch me, Jude. And if they do try to probe me, they won’t get far.”

  I’m not buying it. “Why do you think that?”

  “I’ve lived in my natural form longer than any of the old gaffers that will be at that hearing.” He settles his hands on his hips, confident-like. “My mind is strong; they’ll have a hard time getting in.” Another promise written in a flash of fire that ignites like lightening. “I won’t give away Jarron’s location, and they will not find you inside my head.”

  He’s so sure of this one thing, which rolls the ball into my court. He’s going, and I have to decide here and now if I believe this. I’ve seen Rylin’s strength, and don’t have a lot of room to doubt what he says. I don’t remember much about Mr. McDowell except that he and my father would occasionally have a beer on the front porch. That isn’t enough history to place my bets on his wealth and prestige, and the thought of Rylin leaving this casino with what he knows about me and my brother scares me to death.

  “You can’t do this, Rylin.”

  A harsh rap on the door causes me to jump. Rylin runs a nervous hand through his hair.

  “That’s him,” he whispers.

  I blink at him, dumbfounded by how much his father intimidates the backbone right out of him. His spine seems to just slither out of his body to land in a heap on the floor at his heels. He looks straight at me, but I can’t describe what I see. Not really. Just… an echo of fear trying its best to hide in the depths. I never knew. In all those years we were neighbors, I never saw the hold his father had over him. Then again, we were just kids.

  Rylin is strong, but I think I’ve discovered his weakness.

  “Rylin?”

  Sean McDowell’s voice, muffled but sharp, slices through the closed door. The atmosphere shifts, a tunnel where two trains are racing head-on toward each other, and there’s no stopping the crash.

  Rylin slides into motion, moving toward the only barrier between him and his father.

  “We aren’t finished talking about this,” I insist.

  “I’m going to the hearing.” His hand finds the doorknob. “The plan has only been altered a bit. Everything will be fine.”

  Everything will be fine. Will it?

  Rylin swings open the door, and without an invite, Mr. McDowell sweeps into the room. He barely gives me a passing glance before he plants his full forceful attention on his son.

  “The car is waiting.”

  “Da, you remember Jude?” Rylin gestures toward me, and Mr. McDowell hands me a half-handed glance.

  “Yes,” he says, straightening his red and gold striped tie. “Rafe’s half-breed. You’re the reason we’re in this pickle, are you not? You and that O’Reilly boy who couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

  Like my father, his Irish accent is evident, but can easily be blended in with his American influence. He accentuates certain words, my father’s name for one, with his full-on Irish lilt… and bucketsful of disdain. As if his mother tongue is more practiced at insults. I narrow in on him.

  He’s dressed in a dark-blue, high-dollar pin-striped suit, his full head of golden hair styled into a wavy mass that looks intentionally messy. Suave, confident, and completely stuck-up, I dislike him at first glance. I dislike him even more as I watch Rylin sink in on himself, disappearing behind the large presence of his overbearing father. I guess we’ve all got our parental problems, don’t we?

  Somehow, I manage to keep the scowl off my face, but I’m not gonna lie, it’s difficult. I make a conscious decision not to let this man intimidate me.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. McDowell.” I hand him a sweet, girlish smile. He glances at me, perusing my glowing frame, his guard firmly in place. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, well, I barely remember you.” He straightens his stupid, ugly tie again. “How’s your mother?”

  “A mess,” I answer.

  His eyes flash once, sharp and hot. He’s surprised by my honesty.

  “Please tell her I said hello.” He waves an impatient hand toward the door. “Come, Rylin. We don’t want to be late.”

  “Mr. McDowell?”

  I take a quick step, tugging on the sleeve of his suit jacket. I know I’ve overstepped the second his eyes drop to the spot my fingers touched. As if I just tarnished his entire reputation with my contact. I ignore this and keep talking.

  “You obviously know I’m half Fireblood.” He studies me as if he’s never seen me in all of his life. I press on. “And I’m pretty sure you know my whole story.”

  I glance at Rylin without meaning too. Mr. McDowell simply stares at me, lips pursed, nostrils flaring. I make a bold decision then—a last desperate effort to change his mind and convince him to stay here. I breeze right past him and slip my hand into Rylin’s. He immediately folds his fingers over the back of my hand, almost involuntarily. I sense that he doesn’t see how this will help the cause though, but it’s not really for Mr. McDowell that I do it. The “wishful thinking” part of me hopes my touch will revive the Rylin I admire so much.

  “You see, Mr. McDowell, Rylin? Kane? Myself? We ran for a reason. A good reason, and I think you shouldn’t jeopardize that. I don’t think it’s smart to expose your son to a dangerous situation. We’re safe here. And if you’ll just give me some time—”

  “I know what the aim is.” Mr. McDowell cuts me off. “I’ve been fully briefed by both Dr. Ademov and Dr. Kennedy, and I wish you all the luck with your endeavors. I’m rooting for you. But that changes nothing.” His frown is for his son. “As far as the Contingent knows, Rylin has had no contact with an unregistered Fireblood, and it is in his best interest that he face the consequences for his actions at Spooner Lake. Those are the sole charges we will answer to.” He adjusts his jacket. “Kane O’Reilly is not my concern, and his part in this will not be raised by myself or my son. It’s up to his parents to defend the issue on his behalf, which I’m sure they will do.”

  I pause, digesting, a huge bubble of tension popping somewhere inside me. I think I may have misjudged Mr. McDowell. Maybe he’s harsh. Maybe he’s not personable. No doubt, he’s a stuck-up ass, but maybe I shouldn’t weigh his relationship with Rylin while my emotions are running so high. Because what he just said? It was truly honorable. And if he’s telling the truth, he has no intentions of throwing Kane under the bus.

  Mr. McDowell sighs, gripping both sides of his lapel flaps and keeps talking.

  “I am aware that the Contingent summoned you to this hearing as well. Again, as far as I’m concerned my son and I have no idea who you are. And as much as I advise him to go to the hearing, I advise you to stay as far away from them as you possibly can. Run to the ends of the earth if you must. As for your whereabouts, they will be kept confidential. You have my wo
rd.”

  There’s a hint of tenderness, and when his mouth twitches—just slightly—I think he might actually crack his stern expression for a smile. But the moment fades like a mirage. Rylin squeezes my fingers, and I turn, surprised to find him here. That’s how much Mr. McDowell monopolizes my attention.

  “Dad, can you give me just a minute alone with Jude?”

  Mr. McDowell rubs at his temple, the fine lines across his forehead wrinkling with impatience. Everything about his demeanor spells out his distaste for the fact that Rylin got mixed up with Rafe Gallagher’s hybrid. Still, he concedes.

  “I’ll be waiting downstairs,” he snips. “Don’t be long.”

  Rylin closes the door after his father, pressing his back against it, as if to make doubly-sure he won’t reenter. He probes me, hoping to find even a tiny glimpse of understanding. But I don’t understand at all, and the moment Mr. McDowell is out of sight, my head seems to clear of his influence. I look into Rylin’s eyes as frightened as ever.

  “My father is right about a lot of it. You have to agree.”

  “I don’t have to agree with anything, and you’re going to give us away.” I throw up my hands, feeling totally defeated and scared and angry—so angry at the boy I trusted with my life. With my brother’s life. “They’ll find Jarron inside your head.”

  “Jude, don’t.” His voice grows soft, matching his suddenly pain-filled eyes.

  “They killed your sister, Rylin. Your father couldn’t save her. Why do you think he can save you?”

  “She died in Ireland while he was in the States. It never would have happened otherwise.”

  My whole body sinks in on itself. He has an answer for everything.

  “You’re ditching me.” I throw in that last jab and turn away.

  “I would never do this if I had a say.” He comes after me, his fingers on my elbow, spinning me back toward him. “I just… I couldn’t convince my father. It’s out of my hands. But I’m comin’ back. I promise.”