Singe

by Casey Hays

  “Look, I know I should be grateful for everything Rylin has done. Lately.” He makes sure to emphasize the word “lately” begrudgingly. It’s hard for him to go here, and that he does is progress. “It’s just… I didn’t think our life together was going to consist of Rylin McDowell.”

  “Neither did I,” I laugh. He offers me a smile that makes me feel a little better. It also lures me to him. I move close and play with the hem of his tee shirt. “But… he’s kind of important to us right now.”

  To me. I don’t say this aloud.

  “Yeah, yeah, he’s important.” Kane pinches my chin, giving it a little tug. “You can stop saying it.”

  I press up against him, sliding all of my fingers between his, palm to palm in a swirl of dual heat. His mantra answers, a quick leap that assures me he’s in this thing with me, even if the rest of him hasn’t quite realized it yet.

  Lyric 2

  “The papers will be ready tomorrow.”

  I open groggy eyes. It’s my father’s voice, soft and warm in my sharp ears. I turn, see his tall frame through a stand of thick lines. It takes me a minute to realize I’m lying on my back in a crib. I shift my gaze to the ceiling above me. It takes a minute to focus on the new spot in my line of vision. I roll my head to my left. A window. The light hurts until they adjust to the brightness. Then, I can see so clearly. A green swath of trees or bushes crowd up against the glass. They’re crying. No. It’s raining, and every trickle of water that slides down the pane is distinct. I perk up, hear the beating on the metal roof. With a baby squeak, I kick my feet upward. They come into view, hovering above my face. Chubby toes, wiggling. I giggle, reach for one foot and pull it into my mouth.

  “We can’t take her to Nevada like this.” My mother’s voice. She’s worried.

  “We can.” He grasps her shoulders, holding her firmly.

  “We could stay here, hidden in the jungle.”

  “And never see our son again?” he answers. Mom covers her face with her hands. “I’ve figured some things out this time. It will be different for her.”

  “You don’t believe that.” I turn as her voice moves closer. She’s wrangled out of his grip to lean over the railing of the crib, smiling. She’s so beautiful, and my chubby cheeks bunch up beneath my eyes when I return her smile. A hand runs over my head before she disappears from sight again. “She isn’t the same, Rafe. She looks… almost… human. If it weren’t for…”

  She bursts into tears. My father mumbles something, pulling her into his arms.

  “I want her to have a normal life,” Mom gurgles. “I can’t lock another child away.”

  “I can do that for her, Ell.”

  Ell. I forgot Dad called her that sometimes. My smile deepens, remembering.

  Remembering?

  I pause flexing my tiny fingers. This is a dream, right?

  “How, Rafe?” Mom’s voice penetrates the room. “How will you camouflage all three of you? They will take more of your energy as they grow. You’re not being reasonable.”

  “I’ve done my homework,” Dad says. “I can keep her hidden.”

  The room grows eerily still.

  “I don’t understand,” Mom whispers.

  “Jude is more stable than Jarron,” he answers. “She will be easier to camouflage, but… we will have to do something first. Something drastic.”

  A song crowds into my brain. I feel myself leave the crib on the melody. The thin mattress falls away behind me. I float toward the ceiling, giggling. My body rolls in the air, bringing my parents in focus beneath me. They watch me, not a bit surprised as I hover above them. A wisp of breath sweeps in near my cheek.

  “Something drastic,” Mom whispers.

  It’s all she says.

  Eight

  “You are in excellent physical health.”

  It’s mid-afternoon. I sit in a dark leather chair in an office in the basement lab. A cushy psychiatrist’s office, with red carpet, a comfortable lounger with fluffy pillows, a large oak desk piled with an assortment of papers, and soft music in the background. There’s even an electric fireplace in the corner with a lush white rug thrown in front of it. Cozy.

  Dr. Joshua Kennedy stands stiffly behind his own desk next to the high-backed leather chair, as if he’s afraid sitting will scare me off. He has nothing to fear; I’m in this for the long haul, and I mean it. Am I nervous? Of course. I’m about to let strangers needle around inside my mind, and even with Petra’s explanations this morning, I’m not sure what they’ll find inside my head. It’s a bit terrifying.

  Joshua studies his ever-present clipboard, tapping his pen intermittently against the edge. The air circulating in the room is cold, but this time, it feels heavenly on my hot skin. I caught a glimpse of my eyes in the elevator and became fully aware of my lack of control. They blaze like a wildfire.

  “So what’s next?” I ask.

  Joshua pulls his glasses free to look at me with the bluest eyes. Not sapphire blue like my brother’s, but blue like the ocean. I guess I didn’t pay much attention to them this morning. Now, they search my face with a keen wisdom. He settles his clipboard into the crook of his elbow and tugs open the top drawer of the desk.

  “It’s time to assess your mental health.” He draws out a second clipboard loaded with a ream-sized stack of papers and slides it toward me across the desk’s protective glass surface. “This is a lengthy questionnaire. You’ll want to answer the questions as honestly and to the best of your knowledge as you possibly can.”

  I examine the top page, flip through a few underneath it, an apprehension pinching me. I know exactly what this is: a psych evaluation. I was administered a couple of these after my dad’s death; I’m familiar with the nature of the questions. They can be one of two things: soothing or dangerous to your soul, depending.

  “So you are going to be my new shrink.” I give him my best exasperated face. An ocean blue twinkle answers.

  “I’d prefer mental assessor.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “I’ll give you time to complete the survey.” He tucks his glasses into the upper front pocket of his suit jacket and straightens his red tie with one hand. “Make yourself at home. When you’re finished, just leave them here on my desk, and you’re free to go.”

  “Okay.”

  Joshua dips out closing the door. I sigh, staring at the huge task in front of me. It’s daunting. I fall against the back of the chair, my hands dangling over the solid oak arms. I need to gear myself up for at least five minutes.

  Finally, I pluck up the pen and get going.

  Six hundred and forty. That’s how many very personal and extremely invasive questions make up this mental survey. My previous answers from years past rotate around me like a carousel, but these aren’t the answers I give. Those answers are no longer relevant. Today, I answer them like a Fireblood.

  The questions are the same as they’ve always been, not so intense at first. They always generously work up to the sludge, attempting to lighten the discomfort of the questions to come. When was the first time you understood rejection? How often were you hugged as a child? Has this changed in anyway over the years? Have you ever been deceived? Manipulated? Coerced? Have you ever lost a loved one to tragedy? How did it make you feel? Are you ever anxious in a crowd? Do you ever feel suicidal? Have you ever been the victim of an assault? On and on…

  I slowly climb that mountain that grows steeper with each step to the peak. Eventually, I throw the pen down with a sigh. I rub at my tired eyes.

  “I swear, that’s the last time.”

  The clipboard hits the oak desk with a thunk, and I’m out of there.

  I escape into the elevator, working to shrug off the feel of the brown mahogany paneling of Joshua’s office closing in on me with each question. So many of them brought my dad to the forefront of my mind, and the memories of him still tumble around inside my head. Some good, but most inevitably forcing me to relive the emotional trauma I suffered when he d
ied. And bringing my recent conversation with Rylin to the surface.

  The Contingent killed my dad.

  I head straight through the adjoining door to Kane’s room the second I get to my suite.

  “Kane?”

  He doesn’t answer, and for a second, I panic.

  Please, please don’t tell me he went to the hearing.

  “Kane!”

  The balcony door slides open, and his jet black head pops through the drapes.

  “Hey.” He steps in; I blow a sigh of relief into the room. “How’d it go?”

  “It was long. And grueling. And I hated every second of it.”

  “Come here.” He gestures with two fingers. “You look like you need hug.”

  He’s beautiful, standing there in his natural form, his chest rippling with muscle, his hair tousled, and boy, I do need a hug. One step, and I’m encased in his warmth, releasing all my pent-up tension in a long, loud exhale. He folds his wings around us.

  “That bad, huh?”

  I smash into his bare chest, and his hug tightens, forcing a sob that’s been dying to get out since around question three-hundred.

  “Hey.” He cups my head. “What, Jude? Tell me.”

  I pull away and sink onto the white couch that faces the balcony, my face in my hands. “My dad.” I sniffle. “It was like he was all over that evaluation. It’s just… it’s hard.”

  “Yeah.” He drops down beside me leaning forward on his knees. “I’m sorry.”

  “Be honest with me.” I study my fingernails.

  “Always.”

  I swallow. “Do you think the Contingent killed him?”

  He raises a dark brow at my abruptness, but it’s not like we haven’t talked about my dad’s death. We have. A lot. We just never established a real solid opinion. And how could we when I didn’t know what my father was? What I was? It’s the first time I’ve asked the question since I learned the truth.

  “What kinds of questions were on that thing?”

  “You don’t want to know.” I peer at him. “So? Do you think they had something to do with it?”

  “Do you?” Kane’s eyes grow intense with the question.

  “Rylin told me they did it.” Kane noticeably stiffens. “And I think it had something to do with Jarron. And if you know something you’ve never told me, I want you to tell me now.”

  He mulls this over, stalling obviously. I nudge his foot with the toe of my shoe, forcing him to say something.

  “I mean… it’s possible,” he shrugs.

  “Possible?”

  He looks awfully uncomfortable. He hops up, pacing across the rug like he needs to put space between us before he says more. His wings ruffle up like I’ve caught him in a bear trap.

  “The Contingent didn’t know about you or Jarron, right?” He scratches his head. “Unless we’re missing something. And if we are, then, yeah. That would have given them a justified reason to… kill him.”

  I straighten. “You think they knew?”

  “I don’t know, Jude.” I’m unintentionally putting him in an uncomfortable corner, and his voice wavers under the pressure. “I’m speculating. It’s possible… maybe.”

  “I don’t want to speculate.”

  “Well, I don’t have the answer.”

  He doesn’t. I know this. But…

  “What about your parents?” I press. “Have you ever heard them say anything?”

  His discomfort thickens, a hard swallow constricting the muscles along his throat and causing the orange veins to brighten slightly. And there we go. I’ve never asked, but Connor and Gema chose to protect me—to keep my identity hidden after Dad died. It became an oath. A dangerous duty. Suddenly, what they may know about his death—what they’ve never revealed, the same as my mother—this seems like the most important piece of information in the world. Maybe they’ve always known about my brother.

  I stand, moving in close. “Do they know something, Kane?”

  “I’m really not sure if they have anything concrete, but they’ve always been suspicious.”

  I stare at him, stunned that he has this information.

  “Why did you never tell me?”

  “Because it’s not the truth. They suspect the Contingent was involved; they don’t have real proof. And what could they do about it if they did? They can’t go making accusations, and they certainly can’t file a report against the Contingent. The coroner’s report said it was an animal attack. Maybe the coroner was compelled to believe it even if he knew that wasn’t the case, but it’s hard to dispute an expert. And anything my parents may have said could have gotten your mom killed too. It could have gotten you killed.” His hand is in my hair tugging downward until it rests in a nest of locks against my neck. “Their first priority was to keep you and your mom safe. But they never believed an animal killed your dad.”

  He pauses, letting that sit with me for a few seconds. This is why my mom didn’t want me to know what really happened to Dad. She never believed the coroner’s report either, but she kept her mouth shut to protect me. So did the O’Reillys. None of them could run off to the police and tell them the Contingent killed the love of Mom’s life because he’d borne her a couple of kids with Phoenix blood running through their veins. They likely would have blown her off as a mentally distraught widow who was in denial about her husband’s death. And, even if they had believed her, they could have done nothing against the powers of the Contingent.

  A move like that would have infuriated the Contingent. Who knows what they would have done?

  Kane tows me in a little closer. “Rylin shouldn’t have dredged this up.”

  I sense his irritation, accentuated in full by the slight flare of his nostrils. Another reason for him to resent Rylin, but that’s not really where my head is right now.

  When I found the newspaper clipping describing my dad’s death, I mourned him all over again. Kane held me while I cried, his strong arms supporting the weakness my sorrow had unfolded. Like always, he was there for me. In fact, that might have been the night he decided he was always going to be there for me, one way or another. But he had no more answers than I did. Just questions. Like, if a wild animal had killed my dad, why was he burnt?

  Two years ago, I had no idea my father was a Fireblood. Fire makes sense now.

  I’d never given much thought to the inconsistencies before. I can’t even remember what I tried to convince my grieving heart to believe. Whatever it was, I don’t believe it anymore. Today, in that room that was so similar to the one where my therapy sessions were held as a kid, I sensed myself sliding backwards into memories of the night the cops came to our door. Of the smell of the morgue. The blurred words of the newspaper article that hid the truth. I absorb all of it.

  Now, I have someone to blame.

  “Jude?”

  Kane waves a hand in front of my face, centering me, and the glaring white walls of the room zoom backwards and fly into place. But that small walk down memory lane opens a big door in my resolve. The Contingent destroyed my family. They killed my dad and ruined my mother, but I determine right here and now, I will not let them find my brother. I will do whatever I have to do to bring him here. I will make things better for him. And if I find a little bit of peace for my mom and justice for my dad along the way, so be it. I focus on Kane, determination flooding over my body in a rippling wave.

  “I’m ready to kick the Contingent’s ass,” I whisper.

  If I were having this conversation with Rylin, we’d already be loading our guns, but Kane has always been hesitant, continuously riding a pendulum that swings between his devotion to the Contingent and his aversion to them. But he’s here with me today because we’re a team. We’ve always been a team. His pendulum halts with me, and I’m so grateful. Because without him, everything I do these days seems impossible.

  His reveals his dimples, and I relax.

  Nine

  “Do you think the hearing is over by now?”

&n
bsp; We lie on Kane’s bed, his wings propped up behind us like a pillow, the television tuned in to an easy listening station. Because both of us felt like not thinking, and easy listening seemed appropriate for the cause. We just wanted to be together, doing nothing. Re-centering. And then… I ask this. So much for not thinking.

  “I hope so.” His breath eases out in a long slow puff. He checks the time on the digital clock. “It’s been four hours.”

  I toy with one of his black feathers while he taps his fist into the palm of his opposite hand a couple of times, the sudden shift in our conversation bringing the anticipation of waiting for any news of the hearing roaring in. I’ve kept it off my mind, but now, as the day draws closer to an end, even I begin to feel a little anxious. I lay still a couple more beats and then, with a decidedness, I roll onto my stomach, elbows propped.

  “Let’s do something fun.”

  “It’s funny you should mention that.” He pinches a lock of my hair. “Because I was thinking…”

  “Oh, yeah?” I pull on my most devilish grin. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  His own grin deepens.

  “You want to… get out of here?”

  He says it low… in his most adorably sensual voice.

  “You mean… out? Like, on the town?”

  His shrug is noncommittal. “I was thinking we could at least check out the rest of the place. There’s a restaurant on the first floor.”

  Hopeful, he waits for my answer. I chew on his idea for a second, wondering what Petra would think. The last thing we need is for someone to recognize us. Still, it’s been one heck of a day for both of us, and I’m feeling a little caged in. Another beat, and I take a quick, excited breath.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Kane’s grin ripples with anticipation. This will be good for us. It beats sitting around twiddling our thumbs.

  Back in my room, I wash my face and rummage through my bag for a simple strapless dress. I hold it up; it’s only slightly wrinkled. I have no idea what the dress code is for the restaurant, so this will have to do.