Singe

by Casey Hays

  It’s about time.

  Rylin flexes for him, contracts, hovers a few inches about the floor, and Dr. Bonnett is speechless.

  His wings are perfectly and functionally intact.

  ***

  “I can’t explain it.”

  Dr. Bonnett sits on a stool, apprising Petra and Joshua of the Rylin’s miraculous recovery. Petra examines Rylin herself. She desperately tries to keep her demeanor professional, but wonder and excitement taunt her. I see it on her face. She can’t wait to get us alone.

  “The probability of survival alone was slim,” Dr. Bonnet continues. “And aside from this significant detail, it most definitely should have taken weeks for Rylin to heal. Regaining full function of his wings after reattachment? It was highly improbable. We performed the surgery with much skepticism. Even with our best efforts, we were hoping for forty percent functionality but expecting twenty.” He looks at Rylin, and flatly states it. “You should be dead, son.”

  “I know,” Rylin says.

  “Firebloods heal quickly.” Petra’s words seem so casual. She presses her hand into the crevice where Rylin’s wings meet his shoulder. Instinctively, he flexes. She runs her hand the length of one wing, and faces Dr. Bonnett. “Is your patient stable enough to be released from under your care?”

  She minces no words, and with a half-laugh, Dr. Bonnett rubs his befuddled, bald head. “There’s no reason for me to keep him. He’s in perfect health.” He swings his stethoscope around his neck and extends his hand to Rylin in a firm shake. “Son, you are very lucky. One for the books. I never expected this outcome.”

  “I appreciate your efforts to save my life, doctor. It paid off.” Rylin flutters his wings once. “I’m especially grateful for these. Thank you for taking the time to secure them back to my body. Twenty percent odds are quite a risk.”

  “Worth it.” The doctor clamps his other hand on Rylin’s shoulder with a squeeze. “It’s a shame I’m sworn to secrecy. This would make for a great article in next month’s addition of Medicine Today.” He leans in with a wink. “If only there was a need for a Fireblood edition.”

  After he goes, I climb up next to Rylin, perching on the edge of his bed like a little, wingless bird. I have this urgent need to be near him. To make his presence definitive. To assure me that this isn’t a dream. Mint floats in the air, his mantra murmurs on the outer surface of my brain, persuading me that everything before me is real. Frankie occupies the same chair at the end of the bed, quietly observing but expectant. We all want to know what comes next. What comes after a Fireblood who was purportedly executed Contingent-style gets a second chance at life? And finally, Petra slants her eyes toward me, arms crossed, and just the tiniest sliver of a smile curving her lips.

  “You did this.”

  It’s not a question, so I lift my hands and my shoulders simultaneously with a shrug. The proof is right here.

  “I told you she was a prodigy, Petra.” Rylin tips his head in her direction. “It was only a matter of time before she found her way.”

  “It wasn’t all me,” I remind them. “Dr. Bonnett performed the surgery.”

  “Yes, and Alexandre Simon preserved Rylin’s wings,” Petra agrees. “But you got him to the lab in time for all things to fall into place. He would be dead had you not been able to transport him.”

  I’m not so sure about all this recognition. I don’t feel like I did much. Like always, things just happened. But when Rylin nudges me, and I look at him, he doesn’t have to say anything, aloud or in my head.

  There’s that look again. The one that says I’m his miracle.

  It brings my blush on.

  Geesh!

  Thirty-two

  It’s dark.

  I keep still, sensing the heaviness in the shroud of black space.

  It’s hard to breathe. I fight the air, puncture a whole in the world, and sit up.

  It smells like roses. In the next instant, I’m surrounded by them. I sit in the middle of my garden.

  “Jude.”

  I turn.

  “Daddy?”

  It’s been a long time since I saw him. I leap to my feet and run. But he stops me with outstretched arms before I reach him.

  “You’re dreaming.”

  I think. I am dreaming.

  “Don’t dream.” His sapphire eyes pierce me. “Find your brother, and wake up.”

  He vanishes. I blink once. This is a dream. And I’m supposed to do something.

  I do it.

  Suddenly, I stare into a different set of sapphire eyes. Jarron’s eyes.

  “This isn’t a dream.” I tell him. He smiles.

  “It is, and it isn’t. Either way, this is where we are together.”

  His lips don’t move. He speaks in my mind.

  “Is Mom with you?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  We walk. The rose garden melts away. We stand in the waiting room at Cedar Hills. It smells like Jarron. He looks around, studies the ceiling and the walls and the floor.

  “I’ve never been in this room before,” he says. “This must be your dream.”

  He starts down a corridor. Mom stands at the other end. She stretches her arms out as we approach and draws us both in.

  “Where have you been?” she asks, tears wetting her lashes. She pushes us away and takes a swig from a metal flask. I knock it out of her hand.

  “You have to stop, Mom. We have things to do.”

  “What things?” she snaps.

  “Important things.”

  Jarron looks at me. Sad.

  “You’re too late,” he says.

  “For what?” My heart pounds, fast.

  A knock. I turn. There’s the door with the five locks.

  I’m alone in the blackness again. Me… and the door. Another knock.

  “Hello?”

  “Open the door, little girl.”

  The knocking turns to banging. Louder and louder it comes. I cover my ears and fall to my knees.

  “They’re coming for me.”

  I look up. Jarron towers over me, his crooked wings ragged and bleeding.

  “No,” I whisper. “This is not how it ends. I save you.”

  “You’re too late.”

  He says it again.

  The locks begin to turn, one by one.

  “No!” I leap for the door. I secure one lock, two snap open. “No!”

  “Who do you need, Jude?”

  Jarron is far away now, at the end of the corridor. Mom stands beside him with a contract in her hand.

  “Who do I need?”

  “No one,” he says. “The answer is no one. Take control of your dream.”

  His power and strength and love prod me to grab hold of my dream. I hesitate.

  “What will happen to you?”

  “Whatever happens.”

  Full of courage, I face the door.

  This is my dream, and I am not dreaming.

  The knocking stops. The rattling of the locks stops. All is still.

  Slowly, I relock each bolt.

  “I decide who comes in here.”

  Another knock.

  “Jude?”

  Kane. I take a step.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “Safe.”

  Relief trembles the walls of my dream.

  “Stay safe until I come for you,” I say.

  “Don’t unlock the door.” His muffled voice grows faint. “Meet me tomorrow.”

  “Where?”

  “Where the corn always grows.”

  Jarron stands beside me. The door is gone.

  “He protects you,” Jarron says.

  “Yes.” I face him.

  “He did not lose his wings.”

  “No.”

  “Someone did.”

  I nod.

  “Sometimes, my dreams change.” He sighs.

  “Are you ready for me?” I ask.

  “You’re too late.”

  “Why?”

&n
bsp; “Mom is taking me away.”

  “Where?”

  “To another place.

  “When?”

  He doesn’t answer me.

  “Where are you now, Jarron?”

  He turns. Fear looks back at me. “I’m where you will find me.”

  His voice drowns in sizzling fire. He melts away.

  “Jarron!”

  His face fades in, ghostly. Not solid.

  “What do I do?”

  “Change things.”

  “How?

  He bursts into flames. My mom screams in the distance. Her scream is mine.

  Thirty-three

  The dream throws me out, and my own scream dies in my throat. My head throbs. I roll over and throw up on the floor. Great. Another reason for housekeeping to hate me.

  A light flickers on. Frankie sits up, groggy-eyed. She reaches for her glasses, fumbles them onto her face, and squints at me.

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  I shake my head, but I can’t stop trembling. I stagger through each element of my dream, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to decide what is real and what is only small wisps of fragmented imaginings. But one thing is certain: Jarron is front and center. And we’re running out of time.

  Frankie fetches me a cup of water, then wets a towel to mop up my vomit.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I croak.

  “It’s fine.” She disappears from view. “We can’t sleep with the stench.”

  I drink the whole glass of water and lie back.

  “My mom is going to move Jarron soon.”

  Frankie’s head pops up. “Did you dream this?”

  “Yeah.”

  She stands, clenching the soiled towel. “What’s your plan?”

  “The same as always. Go get him.”

  “That’s risky, don’t you think? In light of everything that’s happened with the hearing and Rylin? Maybe you should lay low for a while.”

  “Rylin is fine, remember?” I swing myself out of bed. The clock reads four a.m. “I’m going to wake him.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.” I whip around her to the bathroom. Straight-backed and silent, she watches me go.

  I close the door and sink onto the toilet seat, nerves rattling. A sudden fear pierces me. Mom had no intentions of uprooting Jarron. She was content with Dr. Samson and his treatments. But if she plans to move Jarron now, then… something is wrong. Something is pushing her hand, and she will never be able to take him from Cedar Hills without my help. I thought she understood this.

  And where in the world is she taking him?

  I turn on the faucet and stare at the stream of water until it mesmerizes. But I’m done sitting around. I’m going to get my brother now.

  ***

  Petra meets Rylin and me in her office just as the sun is beginning to peak over the tall buildings of the Vegas Strip. I caught a tiny glimpse of the rays reflecting off the windows of a casino across from Singe while I waited for Rylin to come to my suite. It was beautiful, and so fleeting.

  Now, I sit in a plush chair, detailing my latest dream. Rylin is quiet, leaning against the wall and giving me the lead.

  “I think I should call my Mom,” I say. “She shouldn’t be trying to move him on her own. He’s too explosive.”

  “That isn’t a good idea.” Petra’s voice is firm but full of understanding at the same time. “You have no idea why she has determined to move Jarron. Is she being watched? Is her phone bugged? Did someone actually find his whereabouts, or is your mother paranoid?”

  Paranoid? I give Petra a small lift of my shoulders. I’m not sure that I can rule that one out, given my mother’s trauma and history of alcohol abuse.

  “It’s best to continue no contact.”

  My sigh is deep, but she’s spot on. This is a safe house for a reason.

  “But you should go.” Petra gives me a confident nod. “I truly believe you are ready for this.”

  “You think?” Because I’m full of doubt.

  “You pulled me through space, Jude. You healed me.” Rylin hoists himself away from the wall and comes near us. “You’re ready.”

  I’m ready. I let the words sink in.

  “I personally expected you to need more from me than you have.” Petra breaks into a small smile and rubs at the back of her neck. “You’re extraordinary, Jude. Unlike any patient I’ve ever treated. And if we’re being honest, you’ve hardly needed me at all. You’ve been the one discovering yourself one step before I catch up.”

  “That’s not true.” My voice is definite and sure inside my head, and I lean my body over her desk and grasp hold of her hand. “You took the time to explain things to me—to figure me out—and now, I understand the science behind how my dreams work. I evolved because of you. You equipped me.”

  “Well, I suppose all of that is true.” She sighs and pulls away, her high-backed chair giving way under her slight weight. “I have one more bit of data to share.”

  “Okay.

  “Joshua has done extensive research on portals. And while you cannot let another hybrid into your dreams, it appears you can connect with them inside a dream.”

  “How does that work?”

  “Think of it as video chatting. You’re on two separate ends, but you’ve connected in the middle. You can see each other’s scenery on a limited level, but you can’t change it. Each of you has to move the camera of your brain. So you’re together… but not.”

  Yes. This is totally right.

  “This is how you must think in terms of your brother.”

  “Okay,” I nod, full understanding kicking in. I toss a glance at Rylin. “I’m ready to go get him.”

  Rylin taps a fist against his chin. His eyes shift, connecting with mine. A fire leaps and settles.

  “Then let’s go get him.”

  My heart surges.

  ***

  Kane left a few things behind when he took off on his bike, so I squeeze them into my bag. Frankie sits on the bed, cross-legged, twirling Kane’s feather between her thumb and forefinger… sulking. She’s expected home tomorrow, and she is not happy about having to leave the adventure when it’s just beginning. Not that we would allow her to come with us. It’s just too dangerous.

  “I promise a play by play, okay?”

  She leaps from the bed to hug my neck, shocking me. I steady my balance and slowly return the embrace.

  “Don’t die,” she whispers.

  “Frankie?” I pull back. “Are you crying?”

  “No.” She is. She removes her glasses, pinching at the spot where the tiny indentions grace the sides of her nose. “I hardly cry.”

  Her hair is wet and super curly from her late morning shower. She smells like fresh strawberries, and in this light, she looks really pretty. Prettier than I’ve ever seen.

  “I won’t die.” I take her face in my hands. “I plan to have two strong Fireblood bodyguards at all times.”

  “I’m not satisfied with that.” She wiggles her glasses back onto her nose.

  “Come on.” I hand her my backpack and swing an arm around her shoulders. “Help me get this stuff to the car.”

  My ring is safely in place on my finger and fully compelled thanks to Rylin. He waits for me in the parking garage. The car idles, fumes tinting the air. I toss the backpack into the backseat of Aunt Megan’s Ford Explorer while Rylin loads my bag.

  “You’d better keep her safe.” Frankie orders when he turns to say good-bye.

  “Have I ever failed her?” His voice echoes off the pylons that support the entire garage, golden wings painted across each arch. The Fireblood theme even stretches to private parking.

  “Um… you nearly died. That was not helpful.” Hands on hips, Frankie raises admonishing brows above her glasses. “Don’t do it again.”

  “I don’t see how I can with Jude on my side.”

  She falls into his hug after this. And he winks at me over the top of her head.
We can’t really make any promises, but we can sure try not to die. That’s all she asks.

  She’s still waving in our rearview mirror as we pull out of the parking garage. The sun streams in on us through the sunroof, brightening up the dashboard and turning Rylin’s auburn hair to fire. I shove a pair of sunglasses onto my face and twist my ring over, a habitual move I’ve missed. I feel extremely human, and it feels extremely weird… and good.

  Kane told me to meet him where the corn grows, so we drive north on I-15 toward Moapa Valley and Rylin’s family farm. Every once in a while, I glance at Rylin out of the corner of my eye. He’s quiet, thinking. Tears stand on his lashes, just barely noticeable. For a little while, I tell myself they’re caused by the glare from the sun, but I know better. I don’t pry into his thoughts. I’m afraid of what I’ll see. He’s honestly been through more than anyone should suffer, and I hate that for him. He’s healed, but he suffered first. Those are fresh memories.

  Not to mention, he’s had no time to process his dad’s death. In this quiet, he has his chance.

  Thinking about this sends a twitch through my heart. I feel like I should say something—tell him that I know how it feels—but in my head, it seems so cliché. And is that even true? It’s been five years. I remember, but the memory is different from the moment. It changes, loses some of its weightiness over time. So… maybe I don’t know how he feels right now.

  I don’t say a word, but I do reach over and cover his hand with mine where it lays in his lap.

  He looks at me, surprised. And his lip trembles in an avalanche of aching sadness. He grasps hold of my fingers—tight—and I let him because I know that look. I saw it on my own face once.

  “We never should have gone to that hearing,” he whispers, thick and raspy with emotion. “I tried to tell him, but he doesn’t—” He hiccups on his words, shaking, and the Explorer veers toward oncoming traffic. “He didn’t listen. I told him we should wait—”

  “Rylin, pull over.” I grab hold of the steering wheel as the car wobbles off the road. “Pull over.”

  He trades his foot from gas to brake and eases off the road. And finally, after all of it, he bursts into sobs over the steering wheel.