Singe

by Casey Hays

  “Isn’t it intriguing?” Frankie chirps in my ear, and I jump, unaware that she’d moved to my side. She shoves at her glasses, a smile plastered to her face. “Not only can you open a portal in your mind… but you don’t need sleep.”

  I read the notes again. “Can this be right?”

  “A brain doesn’t lie,” Joshua says. “It’s a body’s computer after all.”

  I look at Petra, catch a glimpse of Frankie’s excited expression in my peripheral.

  “This is crazy,” I whisper. As if everything else I’ve learned about myself is sane. Right.

  “I suppose it would be, if you were an ordinary hybrid.” Petra slides away from her screen and spreads the printed scans on a table next to her computer. “But you are not.”

  She has marked and labeled several sections. She caps a black marker, and taps it against her palm.

  “We can go a while with no sleep,” Kane reasons. “So how is this different?”

  “Every hybrid we’ve ever studied, including our own children, exhibits the four stages of sleep. And… they need it.”

  “So, I sleep like, two hours?” That doesn’t seem right. “What am I doing the rest of the time I’m out?”

  “I’d call your unconscious periods not so much sleeping but more of a trance-like transition to allow your body to rejuvenate. Your brain activity is miles from sleep. At least in your natural hybrid form, that is.” She positions her fingers over a section of my readings. “Here we see cognitive reasoning. Your mind is not resting. You seem to be planning, plotting, solving problems.” She spins to fully take me in. “As I’ve already assessed, your brain is functioning like a person who is wide awake. I just never realized the extent of it until now.”

  I simply stare at her. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m positive. And it’s phenomenal. In your natural form, your mind needs very little rest to keep you fully functional.” She taps at another marked section. “You spend almost all of your unconscious hours in REM. Only, I’m not going to call it that anymore. You’re experiencing a type of REM. Dreaming. But… perhaps role-playing inside your head is a better term.”

  “Perhaps we should call it, A-REM,” Frankie offers, and she’s totally serious. “Alert Rapid Eye Movement.”

  “I like that,” Petra chuckles.

  Frankie lifts her shoulders a little, pleased that she was clever enough to redefine the term in a way that would satisfy Petra. My head spins too much to appreciate it. As has been every aspect of the unveiling of me as a Fireblood, this is hard to swallow.

  “Why am I like this?”

  Petra tips her head toward her husband. “Would you like to answer that one?”

  “We believe it has something to do with the last seventeen years,” Joshua begins. “You were never once decamouflaged, and once you were, your brain sort of overloaded, quickly acclimating you to a part of yourself that had been deprived for too long. Somehow, during that process, you developed the ability to forego sleep.”

  I’m speechless as I take it all in.

  “Under the compelling effect of your doll, your ring, whatever else your father may have used, you were trained to be human, and only human. As long as you wear that compelled object, you’ll function as a human, including your sleep patterns. One night in the sleep monitor while you’re camouflaged will likely prove this theory.”

  “You’re bilingual in human and Fireblood,” Frankie chirps. “That’s fascinating.”

  “Bilingual. Now that’s a decent definition.” Joshua eases forward, resting his elbows on his desk. He eyes me. “Petra told me about your wing theory.” He gives his head a small, resigned shake. “I don’t think it’s a theory at all.”

  “Neither do I,” I agree.

  “He had as much luck camouflaging Jarron as I have had with Anika. But with you? His luck changed. He learned what to do.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “He sure did.”

  “It’s a harsh thing,” Joshua’s voice floods with regret, and he veers his eyes toward Petra. “Losing in order to gain.”

  The room grows uncomfortably quiet for a good five minutes, as we process this concept. Because honestly, what’s the right choice? When it comes right down to it, I am what I am, the only thing I know to be: a girl—without wings—who happens to be the daughter of a Fireblood. Anika and Adam? They know nothing other than what they are. They’ve lived nothing other than what they know. So… what is the right answer, really?

  Joshua visibly swallows when his eyes meet Petra’s over the tops of their monitors, and I feel nauseous. I’m not certain we should start endorsing the widespread removal of hybrid wings. But then, I think of my brother and Dad’s inability to continue camouflaging him as he grew older, and the what-ifs begin to plague me, and I don’t know how to feel.

  Kane is quiet beside me, electing to let me process, but he takes my hand, and in its warmth, I’m reminded once again of the sacrifice he makes for me. I think of the Fireblood we saw on the way in with all the electrical wires dangling from every part of his body. He tries to normalize himself with technology the way my father tried to normalize me with surgery. Nobody wants to accept what already is, and I have no solutions to offer one way or the other.

  Frankie pokes me in the rib. “This beats a science fair project by every stretch of the imagination, don’t you think?”

  With a sigh, I focus on my colorful brainwaves. I might agree if I weren’t the experiment.

  ***

  It takes four maids, a huge shop vac, and large fans to clean up the water damage in our suites, and they’re still working away when we make it back. Every one of them is most definitely human, and none of them speak English, which prevents us from being unable to explain what in the heck we did in here last night. Not that we could anyway, and I’m sure a number of possibilities are swimming inside their heads, but all I get is an ungrateful frown when I smile at one chubby woman with jet black hair piled on top of her head. She turns her back and continues to slurp water out of the carpet with a long hose as the machine at her side whirs.

  I’m not sure if they know what we are and have been compelled to never tell, or if they just think we’re another set of wacky patrons of the casino who have mastered how to dress the part of fire angels, but they don’t blink an eye at our decamouflaged skin. Only Kane gets a smile out of them. Not because he’s the hottest thing in the room, literally, but because he hands a tiny lady fifty bucks to split between them on the way out.

  Kane makes us a late breakfast of blueberry waffles. We talk about me and my “non-sleep” habits for a little while. And as part of our grand plan to solicit Frankie’s help in finding out where the heck Rylin is, we recap my dream one more time for her, filling in each other’s experiences. Frankie listens without interruption, absorbing the details, a small wrinkle concentrated just above the middle section of her glasses.

  “What kind of corn is it?” She licks a swirl of syrup off of her fork and drops it with a clink.

  “What?” I look at Kane. “It’s just… corn.”

  “Sweet corn? Pod corn? Maize?”

  “I don’t know. It was yellow.”

  “That doesn’t help. And besides the water, this corn image is one of the biggest clues. So think.”

  I search my mind, trying to remember the corn.

  “It wasn’t sweet,” Kane says. “It was kind of grainy. It needed salt, but even that wouldn’t have made it better. The kernels were pretty hard.”

  “Were there dents in the tops of the kernels?”

  He thinks. “Yeah. I guess there were.”

  “Dent corn,” Frankie takes a swig of milk. “Used mostly for animal feed. Or for making sanitizing products. Also a good source of ethanol.” She tosses Kane a knowing look. “It’s not favored as a human food source.”

  “You think?”

  “Okay, so there’s one clue.” I jot the words “dent corn” onto the list Frankie started this morning. “We need to find
a dent cornfield.”

  “Right. There should be a few around here. Maybe near Lake Mead or one of the rivers.”

  “What about the river in my dream?” Only really, it started out as just a flooded street.

  Frankie takes the notepad and rips off the list. She poises her pen over a clean sheet and begins to sketch out a map of Nevada, adding in a series of lines near the bottom right corner. She works, shading them in until distinguishable rivers begin to form.

  “Let’s see, there’s the Colorado River here, farthest south. It runs into Lake Mohave below.” She labels each body of water as they form on the page. “Off the top of the Colorado is Lake Mead, which is the deposit for four separate rivers. The Virgin River off to the left. From the north comes the Meadow Valley Wash and White River, which turns into Muddy River just before hitting the lake. And so… farms exist all over this area due to this natural irrigation.”

  She leans back, satisfied, and examines her perfectly sketched image, complete with tiny ripples and carefully placed rocks.

  “Damn, Frankie.” Kane slaps a hand on the bar and picks up the picture for a better look. “You knew all that from memory?”

  “I had to memorize every body of water in the state for my local geography credit at the college.” Frankie’s voice is matter of fact.

  “Only you,” he drawls.

  See? Who needs the internet?

  “So you think the cornfield I’m dreaming about could be somewhere on this map?”

  “Possibly.” She leans on her elbows. “My favorite farm is Quail Hollow in Moapa Valley. It’s about fifty miles north of here and ten miles south of Lake Mead. It overlooks the Valley of Fire and Red Rocks.”

  “Okay, but do they grow corn?”

  The grin plastered across her face dims.

  “No. But Moapa Valley Corn Maze sure does. It’s right off of I-15, and Muddy River runs right through the valley.”

  “There are other bodies of water in Nevada.” Kane drops the sketch and leans against the sink, playing the devil’s advocate as usual. “What makes you think this is the right place?”

  “Logically, it fits. The disciplinary hearing was here in Vegas, so we start with the rivers and lakes in Clark County and move out from there.”

  “Why would Rylin be on a farm?” I say quietly, half way to myself. I’m beginning to doubt the images in my head. What if, despite what Frankie says, all of these things are just symbols? What if dented corn means something else?

  “I wouldn’t know.” Frankie stands and carries her dishes to the sink. “It’s not my dream.”

  Exactly.

  “So what do you think?” Kane tips his chin at me. “Should we go find this place?”

  “What?” Frankie turns, hands raised up in front of her like she’s about to shove a moving object to a stop. “You are not planning to go there.”

  Kane and I exchange a glance, and I know what he’s thinking. We have a general location that fits the images in my dream. He wants to go. Every bit of him wants to get the hell out of this place and go find someone who can help him locate his parents. This is as good an excuse as any.

  “I’m not opposed,” Kane shrugs, one hand deep in his shorts pocket. “I’m tired of sitting around and—” Frankie thumps his bicep with a flick of her finger. “Ouch.” He slides away, rubbing the spot. “Cut it out, Frankie.”

  “I will not.” She puts on her lecture face with a lift of her tiny pointed chin, and here we go. “When we left with Petra this morning, I took a detour to the kitchen for juice and muffins before joining her and Joshua in the lab. They didn’t hear me come in, and I overheard something.”

  Well… that’s not a lecture.

  “Overheard what?” I keep my voice casual, but I tense under her sweaty grip. Something in her demeanor puts me on full alert.

  “Word about the hearing.” She pauses, hesitant while both Kane and I perk up. “They haven’t told you everything.”

  Kane’s body language mimics the tension coursing through every fiber of my body. Two thoughts flood into my brain simultaneously: Frankie needs to quit stalling and spit it out, or Frankie should shut her mouth before we hear something we don’t want to know.

  “You’ve been sitting on this news all morning?” Kane breaks through the barrier. I hold my breath.

  “And I still would be,” she quips. “But I feel obligated to prevent you from doing something stupid, like leaving the safety of the fortified casino. This appears to be the only recourse.”

  “Well?” He drops his crossed arms. “Tell me what you know, and we’ll see how stupid I am.”

  She hesitates another couple of seconds while I stand frozen. But Kane’s about to lose his cork. His skin deepens, the veins announcing themselves with a fury, so I prod her.

  “Frankie?”

  She slams her hands against her temples, dangerously tipping her frames to the side.

  “Mr. McDowell is dead.”

  The silence that follows is like the opening of a cavern on a quiet morning when even the bats that hang from its rafters are still sound asleep. I stare at her, unable to blink. She stares back, a sick, green look on her face. It’s hard to be the bearer of news that isn’t yours to share. News you shouldn’t have in your warehouse. Explosive news. Important news. News that changes lives.

  “What?” I finally spew out my questions. “How?”

  “Executed,” she answers.

  Kane doesn’t move, but his lips part, just a thin opening between them, and my mind reels, unable to grasp all the uncomfortable meanings behind what she just said. It’s unbelievable. Unfathomable. Someone like Mr. McDowell does not get executed. People respect someone like him. They wouldn’t dare touch him. They wouldn’t touch his son. Rylin said so. He was so sure he would be safe.

  So where the hell is he?

  I hear Kane’s heartbeat thrumming a low shocked beat as Frankie’s words sink in. I see the fear surface too. Reaching, I take his hand and climb into his head. And I know right away: telling him this information will not keep him here. It’s all the more reason for him to go find his parents.

  “Kane?” He looks at me. I continue speaking in Jezik inside his head—our comforting language. “It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  But I know he already has. Mr. McDowell was a powerful man. An important man. And if the Contingent has no qualms about killing him…

  I swallow. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Even as I say it, I don’t mean it. They killed my dad, and he was not prestigious. Gema and Connor are plain, hard-working people. They are not any safer.

  “You two can’t leave this casino,” Frankie says again. She pulls back her shoulders, trying on a little bit of authority; it only makes her hair taller and frizzier somehow. It does nothing to convince either one of us that staying at Singe will make a difference. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

  “What did they say about Rylin?” I dare to ask.

  “I don’t know.” She tips her head toward me, shoving at her glasses. “They spotted me in the doorway and shut up after that.”

  “See?” I squeeze Kane’s fingers. “No news is good news, right?”

  I don’t have to be inside his head to know how very little he believes this old cliché. And I can’t blame him. It’s the least convincing thing I’ve ever said in the least convincing tone I’ve ever used.

  “Screw this,” he blurts, pulling away from me. “If Rylin is in a damn cornfield, I’ll search every single one in Vegas until I find him. And then he’s going to tell me what he knows about my parents.”

  “They will be looking for you,” Frankie argues, her glasses glinting.

  “They already are, and we’ve been fooling ourselves.” Kane’s voice is harsh. Harsher than he means it to be, I think. But he doesn’t take it back. He swoops past me. “If they want to find us bad enough, this safe house won’t stop them. I’m heading out as soon as it gets dark.”

&
nbsp; I watch him go before I meet Frankie’s remorseful gaze.

  “You can’t let him do this.”

  “You know better than that,” I say quietly.

  “You’re not going with him, are you?”

  I toy with my water bottle. “I don’t know. I want to find Rylin.”

  “You don’t have to leave to do that.” She peers at me, the lenses of her glasses catching a wisp of light and hiding her eyes. “You can dream about him. Let Kane go on his own. He can fly; his chances are better. You will die… if they catch you.”

  She ends her sentence on a dramatic whisper that is terribly foreboding.

  “Or not,” I quip. “How about we pretend to be optimists for a second here.”

  Right. That’s easier said than done. To this day, I haven’t laid eyes on a Contingent member—not one. And to this day, they are my worst enemy. They may only be shadows at the moment, but with each breath, they move closer. And just as my parents could not possibly have kept my identity hidden from me my entire life, so it is with the Contingent. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up to me.

  Suddenly, in light of that thought, I feel something break inside me. Like a tiny dam cracking under pressure, a reality begins to seep in and take over. As it crawls through me, it says many things, but one voice dominates all of the others. I live in fear of an enemy I’ve never met. They threaten me, my brother, my mom. I’m not in their grip, but I am their prisoner. I always have been.

  The fire inside me shifts, and I feel it to the core of my heart. I’m done. I will live my life as me, and I will not cower. I will make them see beyond my hybrid status.

  In one quick motion, I reach across the bar and take Frankie’s hand.

  “I’ve been here four days. I’ve learned so much in one hand and nothing at all in the other. And the more we learn, the more things change. I would give anything to reach Rylin in my dreams, but I’m just not getting through to him. I’ve tried.” I sense my emotions welling up inside me, and I push hard to keep from crying. “All I want to do is save my brother, and things keep getting in the way of reaching my goal. I couldn’t care less if I sleep one hour a night or fifty. That information is not preparing me for reality. I have to do something.”