by Casey Hays
My mantra hums lows in the back of my mind—waiting for me to need it. That’s what it does these days. It waits, like a loyal servant. I don’t have the energy to beckon it, so I let it sit, stranded on the edge of sound.
Until another song begins to play.
Rylin’s mantra, quiet and soft and very, very frail, tickles me. I don’t sense it at first, not until my own mantra nudges me like an annoying child trying to get my attention. I lift my head, alert, and study Rylin’s quiet face. He hasn’t moved a muscle; I must be imagining things. Heaven knows I’ve heard his mantra enough times to recreate it myself. If I had a piano, I could strum it out by memory like a pro. I lean over the rail and instinctively brush Rylin’s sweaty hair away from his forehead. His mantra raises the volume a notch, leaving my hand stalled.
Okay, maybe I’m not hearing things.
My mantra begins a full-on tantrum then. I stand, holding the music steady, and there it is—the distinct melody that consumed my childhood for four long years. The song I feared and loved simultaneously. I inhale and hold it.
Excitement coupling with adrenaline, I give in to my song, and it does its work. It tugs, gently but firmly, lifting Rylin’s song from him, weaving it into mine. With each braiding, it grows in strength until our songs match in volume, in consistency, in beauty. Rylin is with me, soaring above the clouds, laughing at the sun, darting through a twinkle of stars. Alive.
“Rylin?” I lean close. “Can you hear me?”
The tiniest of smiles curves up the corner of his mouth, and I think I might ugly cry all over his clean white sheets. I squeeze his fingers more tightly; he squeezes back.
“Jude?”
I pull back, surprised. He’s in my head.
“Yes?”
“You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here.”
His smiles twitches.
“Will you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Go to sleep.”
Confused, I sit.
“Why?”
“I need you to sleep. And I need you to let me in. We should talk.”
“Okay.”
Our connection is cut, like someone hung up a phone. A line going dead. My eyes graze over him. Same blank face, same coloring, same rattling breaths. He’s sweating profusely, as if that one action—that one swift communication—took every ounce of his energy. And our mantras? Silent.
An alarm sounds, and all the machines scream at once. I jump, my heart pounding. Frankie pushes open the door, frantic.
“Busted,” she says.
The room is suddenly bustling with activity as nurses storm in—all of them in hyper-trauma mode—and for a second, I’m afraid I’ve done serious damage to Rylin’s recovery. But I can’t tell for sure. The nurses’ expressions don’t match their mannerisms. Stern, professional faces designed to prevent family members from getting alarmed at bad news. One of them steps around me to shut off the alarm on a whirring machine. Another checks Rylin’s pulse before glaring at me.
“You are not supposed to be in here.”
“I know. I—”
“Leave!”
She turns her back to me, busying herself to undo the damage I’ve caused, and I’m numb. So numb, I barely feel Frankie’s tug when she drags me from the room.
***
Two green pills left.
They stare up at me like two jaded eyes. So small, so seemingly ineffective in light of the situation. A sense of urgency batters against my rib cage. I don’t want to sleep; I want to be awake when Rylin comes to. But he asked, so…
“Are you all right?”
Frankie picks up a half full glass of water off the nightstand and hands it to me, and I mull over her question. Am I all right? Well, I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m scared. I’m not sure if I can deliver. It’s been a real hit and miss, this dreaming thing. I have done some unimaginable things in the last twenty-four hours. But am I all right?
It seems like an elusive question with an even more fleeting answer.
“Yeah.” It’s all I can say. I swallow the pills with one gulp. “I’m good.”
I clench my key, wrap the chain around my fist, and climb into bed. Frankie, like an attentive mother, tucks the blankets up around me. It actually feels nice.
“Drapes open or closed?” she asks.
“Closed.”
“Okay.” One motion and the room dims. Frankie pauses, concern pushing her brows together, and a nervous tickle causes me to shiver. I don’t like that look.
“What?” I ask.
“I was just thinking about portals.” She stands still a beat, and sits on the edge of my bed. “You aren’t going to accidentally… transport Rylin to somewhere else, are you?”
“I don’t think it works that way.” I recall Adam’s explanation. “I have to be grounded in one place to let a Fireblood into a dream. And I have to be on the receiving end to pull something through.”
“You’re sure?” Her shoulders relax a tiny fraction. “Because sending him somewhere else in his condition would not bode well.”
I feel the rightness of my statement in my bones, and in my head—in my dreams. Frankie doesn’t need to worry, and my own nerves relax at the confidence in this reality.
“I’m sure,” I smile. “And this time, Rylin and I are in the same building. A portal won’t be necessary. He just wants to talk.”
“Okay.” The weight of her hand falls over my ankle. “Be careful in there.”
“I will.”
“I’ll be right out here.” She stands and flips off the light. “Unless… you want me to stay.”
“No.” I feel the need to be alone with Rylin in this dream. With no one watching me sleep. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
Already, drowsiness sets in, the effect swarming over me in warm waves. The key cuts its teeth into my palm. And then…
It’s gone.
My dream has begun, and I know it.
***
The bed tips up, straight up on its end, and drops me to the floor. I don’t hesitate. Not at all this time. I land with a thud on the carpet. Rylin is coming.
I stand at the door—waiting. All five locks are secured, but I know how to open them. He will knock soon, and I will not let him talk me out of it.
“Jude.”
The voice is behind me. I turn.
There he is—already in the room.
“How did you get in?”
“You let me in.” He smiles.
I shift my eyes from him to the door and back again.
“I don’t understand.”
“Doors and windows aren’t necessary when we’re already together.”
Oh. I see now.
“You can’t open that door, Jude. Not ever.”
I blink. “But I already did. That’s how I got to you.”
“You were lucky,” He steps close, peers down his nose at me. “Kane closed the door for you when he left.”
“He did?”
“He did.” His voice… it’s music to my ears. It mixes in with his mantra, vibrating over every inch of me. “I need you to do something for me. Only you can.”
That sounds like a big job. Too big. But I can’t refuse him.
“Anything,” I say.
“Heal me.”
Confusion riddles my brain. “Heal you?”
He clenches his fists, and with great effort, his wings burst forth. They’re ragged and bleeding and half of the feathers are missing, revealing scaly, gray flesh beneath. One is broken, hanging from a single bone near his shoulder blade. It’s a ghastly sight, and I try to look away, but Rylin grabs my wrist and makes me meet his hazel eyes.
“You’re in control, Jude. Remember. In here, you decide, and it happens out there.” One knock reverberates at the door, but I have no desire to answer it. I search his face. “You helped Kane. Now, help me.”
“I didn’t heal Kane,” I argue. “I can’t heal.”
> “But you can.” His fingers burn into my wrist. “You just have to want to.”
And I want to… so I can.
I know I can.
“Okay.”
I hear my mantra as the room begins to flood with water tinged with the smell of roses, and his desire to be healed becomes my desire also. Petals float everywhere. All colors. Red, pink, yellow—even orange—because this is what I want. I bend, wash my hands in the sweet water. My song grows louder. Rylin releases his own song. It calls to me, captures mine, entangles itself… and the link is made. The water rises up to his shins as the music increases.
“The maids aren’t going to like this,” I say.
Rylin laughs. “I know.”
I stand, water dripping from my fingertips. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
He softens, his demeanor crushed. “I know that too.”
We’re frozen on a line for a single minute as the song plays on. I feel power in it. I feel power in this dream. I don’t have to direct it. It knows my will. Rylin’s wingtips bob just beneath the water’s surface in lilting motions. Steam rises all around us. The end feathers begin to rejuvenate, climbing in a layered pattern to stop at the surface.
“It’s working,” I whisper.
I lift my hands high and touch the arch of each wing. They’re rough and bumpy under my fingertips, but immediately the gray skin deepens to a healthy pink, the feathers billowing out and kaleidoscoping into place. A domino effect running the length of each wing until they meet the healed portion at the water line. The silkiness nudges my palms when Rylin ruffles his feathers. I step back, both amazed and unsurprised. It’s an odd feeling to sense these two emotions at once. Odd, and satisfying.
Rylin spreads his huge, iridescent wings, and they burst into refining flames. They burn hot like a clay pot in a kiln. Slowly, all around, the water begins to sizzle, then boil, then evaporate until not a drop remains. A wind kicks up, blowing out the last of Rylin’s flames. He folds his wings in, his fire goes out, and he stands before me—just Rylin and his wings.
“I knew you could do it.”
He smiles; I smile. I leap into his arms. With a chuckle, he encloses me, arms and wings and all.
“It’s time to wake up now,” he whispers against my cheek. “We have things to do.”
Thirty-one
The suite is dry when I return to the waking world… but it wasn’t. Frankie watched the water rise from her place on the couch. She even smelled the roses.
“It was incredible,” she relates. We’re in the elevator headed back to the lab and Rylin’s room. “Water began to seep out from under your door, and I knew it. I just knew something beyond imagination was happening inside your head. And then, fifteen minutes later, it evaporated. Not a drop of water left to be seen.” She leans against the mirrored wall in total disbelief. “I think you decided to clean up the mess yourself this time.”
I smile. She doesn’t know the half of it.
It takes everything in me not to bolt out of that elevator once it hits the basement floor. On the inside, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I take a breath, rein in my excitement, and walk calmly. You’d think I’d still be wondering what I might find, but I’m not. I know exactly what I’ll see. I can’t explain it, but I have full confidence.
The lobby isn’t empty this time. Two attendants play a card game at the small desk. Behind them, a nurse works on a stack of charts—the same nurse who ordered us out of Rylin’s room earlier. Without a word, we slide past, hoping they won’t notice. No chance.
“Can I help you girls?” One of them, a stout man with big muscles rounds the desk to stop us.
“We’re here to see Rylin McDowell,” Frankie says.
“He’s still critical.” The nurse leaves her work to speak with us. “No visitors allowed under doctor’s orders.”
“Maybe the doctor would make an exception for me?” I ask, as timid as I can muster. What I wouldn’t give for the ability to compel right now.
“I’m sorry.” Sympathy is written all over her face. But both attendants flank her defensively, ready to step in and remove us from the area if necessary. “Rylin’s surgery was extensive, and there has been no change in his condition. He’s… terribly injured, and we don’t need you in there exciting him again.”
“Okay. I understand, but—” I pause as Rylin’s voice filters into my head. I lift my eyes as his words play over my brainwaves like piano keys. My smile peeks out, and I play the best card in my deck. “Are you aware that Firebloods can speak to one another telepathically?”
“This is true,” Frankie chimes in. “A built-in cell phone, really.”
“I’m aware.” She lifts her chin with a slight, barely discernable defiance. “And?”
“I’m speaking to Rylin right now.” I pause, listening.
“Right… now?” She’s not amused. “That’s ridiculous.”
“He’s asking for you.” My reflection winks at me from her eyes, all fire and warmth. “Would you mind checking in on him?”
The nurse purses her lips, a flash of hesitation crossing her face. She can’t confirm if what I just told her is true without going to Rylin’s room. It takes half a second for her to relent. She skirts the desk and marches off while we watch. A second later, she disappears through his door. And a second after that… she slowly backs out into the hall, rigid.
“Brad?” Her voice is trembling. “Call Dr. Bonnett, please.”
I never had any intention of waiting for permission to get to Rylin. So while the attendant moves for the phone; I move for the door with Frankie on my heels. The second attendant lurches after us.
“Just a minute. You can’t—”
“It’s okay.” The nurse holds up her hand. “Let them come.”
I edge past her and take in the vision. I’m not surprised. Still, it’s something to see the reality of what my dream created.
Rylin sits, bare-chested, his legs dangling off the side of the bed. With a tilt of his head, he takes me in, the fire inside him rising enough to deepen his complexion. Towering high overhead, his wings shimmer. He settles a crooked smile on me.
“Jude Gallagher,” he whispers. “My hero.”
His voice—his beautiful Irish voice that I thought I’d never hear again—beckons my tears. With a gasping sob, I bound across the room and crash into him, knocking us backwards with such force that we almost topple together over the other side of the bed. He laughs, his arms tight around me, and to the right something catches my peripheral. I look up startled, then sit up completely. It looks like someone had a pillow fight up in here. Feathers float in the air, fall to the ground, cast a myriad of prisms on every wall.
“What in the world?” Frankie blows a feather off the end of her palm. It twirls away, casting a whirling a rainbow across the ceiling to join the others. “Whoa!”
“Yeah, I may have molted.” Rylin’s wistful expression is almost humorous. He eases upright. “It’s never happened before.”
I just laugh, clinging to his neck. And he laughs. And Frankie joins in. The nurse has disappeared, but both attendants stand in the doorway, gawking for another stunned minute before they leave the three of us alone. Rylin swings an arm around my shoulders.
“How did you know I could do this?” I strum my nails through a row of his feathers, and the prisms dance, and it’s like they’re magnified by new life.
“I didn’t know at all.” He tugs me closer. “But I felt your power when you pulled me into your suite. I was in my bed at the farm, and then I was here, and I couldn’t believe it at first. You made my rescue a reality inside your head. You made it my reality.”
“Boy did she,” Frankie interjects. “You should have seen that feat from my end.”
“I can imagine.” Rylin studies me, amazement bright in his eyes. “You saved my life.”
“Someone had to.” I whisper it, but on the inside, I’m leaping for joy. Because Rylin is alive and whole, and it’s all going
to be okay now. This little detour from our grand plan did nothing but encourage me.
“So you were fully cognizant inside your head, I take it.” Frankie plops into the chair at the foot of the bed, her frizzy curls bouncing. “Since you were able to connect with Jude.”
“I was.” He focuses on me. “And I was lying here… dying. I could feel myself slippin’ away. I knew I had nothin’ to lose. So when you came in, I thought… Jude can let me into her dreams. And if she can control the elements, perhaps she could change my reality again.” A wisp of breath escapes him. His eyes fill with water. “And you did it. You did it, Jude.”
His hand stretches, and his fingers are in my hair just where it touches my cheek. I take in a deep breath that I can’t seem to release, so I just hold it. And the look on his face melts me from the inside out. It’s so sensual and personal, and my heart blushes… because I love how he’s seeing me right now. And I shouldn’t.
“You are more than everything I thought you could be,” he whispers.
In the long, intimate quiet that follows, Frankie clears her throat, and my blush deepens my skin. I pull away, totally ashamed. I thought I was past this with Rylin. And I am. I am. It’s just the heightened emotions of this amazing circumstance that teeters me off balance. I regain my footing, and to prove this to myself, I give Rylin a wet smack on the cheek that brings the levels down to friendship status again. He grins with a knowing nod of his head.
Dr. Bonnett whisks into the room breaking up the awkward moment even more. He’s jarred to a stop pretty quickly. The nurse trails in after him.
“I told you,” she whispers. “It’s…” She can’t even finish her sentence.
“Incredible,” Dr. Bonnett wheezes. He steps closer, scrutinizing.
“Surprise.” Rylin sits, one hand crossed over the other, completely serene. “It appears I’m going to live after all.”
Like a robot, the doctor mechanically takes Rylin’s pulse… like he thinks he sees a ghost. He runs his fingers under Rylin’s jawline, feels his glands. He listens to his heartbeat, his breathing, checks his blood pressure, and finally… he goes for the gold. The wings.
