by Casey Hays
I have no idea how to comfort him. This is Rylin McDowell, literally one of the toughest guys I’ve ever met, and it’s agony to watch him fall apart. It’s out of place and so heart-wrenching, and on impulse, I do what any good friend would do. I hug him to me, right over the cumbersome armrest.
“Rylin, I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He falls into me, his wet face nestled into the crook of my neck, his chest heaving, and his aching, grieving heart revives the wound in my own. I do know how he feels right now. I don’t know why I thought I could ever forget it. It’s beyond memorable, and his sobs bring it all back to the surface. I ease back, take his face in my hands, press my forehead into his, mirror his pain, and my own tears well up.
We cry ourselves into silence, and we sit here on the side of the road, tangled up with each other, our heads bent together. The sun blares in a noon sky, and a gust of desert wind shakes the car.
“Thank you, Jude.”
“Sure.” I wipe a thumb across his cheek, brushing away a leftover tear.
“Does it always hurt this bad?”
“It always hurts. But some of it heals.”
He shifts backwards, his head against the headrest. Cars zoom past my window, oblivious.
“I know my dad seemed hard, but he was a good man.”
“Hey,” I whisper. “I’m not judging. You know my mom.”
His laugh comes out in a half-sob.
“He trained me to be as shrewd as him, you know?” Rylin’s voice draws me back, his words rote and stiff, like he’s rolled them through his head a thousand times to make sure they stuck. “Don’t give anyone the upper hand. Be one step ahead. Be alert. He wanted me to be smart.” He pulls his lower lip into his teeth to staunch another uproar of tears. “He didn’t always listen though.”
My mind jumps backwards to Monday morning when Mr. McDowell strutted into my suite and turned Rylin to mush. I wonder if he ever took the time to look at his son. To really take a long, hard look and see who Rylin was. A strong, smart, brave person. Bold but teeming with integrity. Witty, but tempered with kindness. I see him now, and I honestly like him. And if Mr. McDowell had taken a moment, he would’ve seen that Rylin was everything he could have wanted in a son.
Kane’s stories of Mr. McDowell taint him for me. It’s hard to imagine any kindness in him. Or love for Rylin.
I’m really trying not to judge.
Rylin swipes up a water bottle from the console and downs half the contents, regrouping his emotions.
“Well, now that I’ve got that out of my system.” He gives me a weak smile and starts the car.
He pulls back into traffic on I-15, tuning the radio to a pop station. I don’t recognize the song, but Rylin knows it. The low sounds sweep into the cab. He turns up the volume and hums a few chords, then belts out the words to the chorus, preening toward me until I laugh. He’s working hard to keep his emotions in check.
“I thought it would take you a bit longer to master your dreams, you know?” He lowers the volume.
“Oh, yeah?” The subject change is refreshing. I scoop it up and run with it. “How long?”
“Well, more than five days, obviously. What you have accomplished…” His voice trails off into a low impressed whistle.
“So… you’re saying you’re proud of me. Is that what this is?”
“I suppose I am,” he whispers.
“Well, let’s put it this way…” I angle toward him. “When a certain someone you care about decides to run off to a hearing he isn’t supposed to be attending and then nearly dies, it tends to escalate the learning process.”
“Oh, so that’s how it works.” A keen admiration emanates in the words. “I’m grateful for you, you know? I don’t think I properly said thank you.”
“You lived. That’s thanks enough.”
“Okay.” He leans his elbow against the window, cheek in hand, and just stares at me. I reach over to steady the steering wheel.
“Watch the road there, mister.”
“I am in awe of you, Jude Gallagher.”
I throw him a double-take, my whole body blushing. It’s hard to read whether he’s flirting this time. Every time before, it was a no-brainer. This time, I think he really is just that appreciative of what I’ve done. I just hope he’s not expecting some sort of hero now. I’m not comfortable with that.
A car blasts past, too close. Honking.
“Seriously, watch the road,” I laugh.
He tears away, and I relax into my seat, snapping the shoulder strap of my seatbelt to loosen it a bit. Quiet settles over us, and it’s nice. Comfortable.
“I have a plan.” His eyes stay planted on the road when I face him. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to say.”
“Then… say it quick.”
His jaw flexes, he tosses a glance out the driver’s side window. “You’re not going to Cedar Hills.”
“What?” I stiffen, my whole body tensing.
“Jude, it’s a long way to Portland. For all we know, your mother has already moved Jarron.” Desperation laces his voice, and it makes my preliminary anger take a backseat for a second. “Your dream was vague on those details.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That you stay at the farm, connect with your brother from there. There is no need to put you or Kane in senseless danger.”
“And what about you?”
“Everyone thinks I’m dead.”
“Yes,” I agree. “So they might find it a little suspicious to see Aunt Megan’s Explorer traipsing across two states.”
“I’m not planning to drive.” He hands me a half-grin. “It’s not my preferred mode of transportation anyway.”
A plane flashes through my thoughts, but that’s not what he means.
“Can’t they detect you?”
“Not if I don’t flare. I’ll leave after dark. I can get to Portland in less than half the time it would take us to drive.”
“And how will you get him back here?”
“Petra arranged it. There’s a medical supply company that delivers to the lab. They have a store in Portland. I’ll be renting a truck. And a crate.”
“A crate? Rylin, have you met my brother? A fireproof room barely contains him.”
“He won’t need a fireproof room. He has you.”
Oh, right. He has me. The girl who’s never remotely done anything like this before in my life.
“This is not how I pictured things going down.” A bug hits the windshield right in my line of vision, its yellow guts splattering across the glass. Well, that’s appropriate. “I thought I was going to be with Jarron during the move.”
“I don’t think it matters where you are.” He grips the steering wheel with both hands. Tight. “It’s not about physicality.” He glances at me. “It’s a good plan.”
Through bug guts, I focus on the license plate of a car in front of us. California plates. Rylin was right, I’m not liking this plan at all.
“I’m going to have to compel a few people,” he adds. I expected nothing less. In fact, my mom is likely included on his list.
“How will this work?” I lift a foot, pressing the sole of my shoe against the dashboard. “You heard Petra. I can’t let him into my dreams. And if I’m not with him, how will I be of use?”
He leans across me and pops open the glove box, and in plain view, a bottle of Petra’s green pills. I lift it out with a shake.
“Each of you take a full dose, and it should keep you under a good eight hours. That will give us a nice window. If Jarron needs another after that, we’ll revamp.”
“How do you know these will work on him?”
“Because they worked on you.”
“We’re nothing alike, Rylin.”
“Really? Are you sure about that?” His smile is easy. “You were tempered when your wings were removed and your identity compelled away. That’s the only difference.”
Compelled
away. My heart catches when he says this.
“Have you always known?”
“Not always.” His eyes spark. “When I was a lad, I just thought you were different. But yes, for a long time now.” There’s a clear regret in there somewhere, but he pushes it off. “There was no reason for telling you. It doesn’t bring ‘em back.”
With a sigh, I sink low in my seat. I really have mixed feelings about these wings I never got to see. And no, it doesn’t bring them back. Still…
“You do what you do, Jude. Compel the elements. Make them do what you want.”
“Compel the elements, huh?” I flash him a partial smile. “That’s the first time you’ve put it that way.”
“I’m calling it how I see it.” He wets his lips, his hand hanging loosely over the steering wheel. “You can do this thing for your brother. You’re ready.”
I thought I was, but the closer we actually come to making it a reality the more I doubt myself. I swallow, my worry thick.
“I wish I knew why Mom is planning to move him.” A thought strikes me. “Was it us? Did we give Jarron away when we went to Cedar Hills?”
“No. They were already suspicious before that.”
“They were?” This is news to me.
“Yeah.” He holds back a minute. “While we were being held at headquarters, my father and I talked more than we ever have. He told me things.”
“What did he tell you?”
He takes a breath, releases it.
“When Clara was discovered, suspicions rose about other possible hybrids. The Contingent started an investigation, determined to find every hybrid and rid our race of them. They came close to finding Jarron… five years ago.” He pauses, allowing me to absorb this. “Your father sacrificed himself so that proof of Jarron could scramble back into a rumor.”
I stare out the window, fighting tears. There’s so much Mom didn’t tell me. My parents lived an entire life I was never a part of, even though I was right there with them all along. They cut off my wings and made me human… something they failed to do for Jarron. To this day, Mom still fights. It’s hard to hear all of this from Rylin when it should have come from Mom. She had her chance to tell me everything. She didn’t.
“How can they do this?” I ask. “They killed my dad… and yours. Your sister. They’ll kill my brother if they get the chance. How do we stop them?”
“What can we do, Jude? We’re Firebloods, and they are the authority. We can’t very well report them to the police or the military. We live in this world, but we are not a part of it. We are under their rule. So our only recourse is subversion. Fighting from the inside. Like the Renegades. Like Petra and the work being done at the lab to better our lives apart from the reign of the Contingent. This is how we do it.”
He slows and takes a dirt road to the left, and we bump along while I absorb what he’s said. We are Firebloods, and we answer to the Contingent. We risk punishment and even death for our insubordination.
I allow myself a moment to digest his words. I was pulled into this war before I knew there was one. I never really had a chance, even in my ignorance. Someone has always been fighting for me, and now I have a chance to fight, to stand against the Contingent. So I’ll fight. For myself. For my brother.
Even if it’s only in my dreams… I’ll fight.
Thirty-four
The Explorer is engulfed by rows of corn on both sides as we chug over the potholed path. We drive in silence for a good while before the barn from my dream comes into view up ahead, the star symbol above the door faded to almost nothing. But it is the star. I smile to myself.
To the left is a small farmhouse with a red roof. The same farmhouse. Rylin pulls to a stop in front of it. I climb out of the car and take in my surroundings. On all sides, as far as the eye can see, nothing but tall, green stalks of fourteen-foot-high corn.
“So this is your family’s place?” The recent sound of the Explorer’s engine echoes in my ears.
“Yep.” Rylin slams his door and heads for the house. “Come on, then.”
Dust kicks up around me in little eddies that dance across the dirt drive, and besides the light wind, the quiet is as dense as the corn. Isolated, you know? Like Rylin and I are the only two people left on earth.
“Where’s Lake Mead?” I ask, climbing the porch steps behind Rylin.
“That way,” he points. “You can see it from the second level over the corn.”
The house is small. The ground floor is comprised of a kitchen and living room which are practically one and the same. Dark wood floors spread across the space, including the wooden staircase to the second floor. Up here are two bedrooms with a bathroom in between. I explore a little, opening the medicine cabinet. It’s fully stocked with toothpaste, bandages, and deodorant and anything else one could need. A shuffle. I turn. Rylin leans in the doorway.
“It’s pretty well stocked.” I close the medicine cabinet. “Clean.”
“My father has a guy,” he shrugs. “And his wife. They keep up the place for us. Da was always about being prepared.”
“So no one knows about this place, huh?” I pull back the shower curtain to reveal one of those tubs on four legs. Quaint.
“Only those who need to.” Rylin rubs a hand up the side of his face. He could use a shave, and I did find some disposable razors. “My godfather. A handful of his employees. People my father trusted.”
“You’ve left out an awful lot about yourself in our conversations.” I cross my arms and look at him.
“I was prioritizing.” He offers a sad smile. “And I feel like you’re just now beginning to like me better.”
I laugh, pinning my eyes on a knothole in the wood floor under the sink pipes. Maybe it’s better this way, to find things out gradually instead of all at once. Maybe he did me a favor.
“You want to show me that lake?”
“As you wish.” He presents the hallway with a small bow.
We pass one of the bedrooms. I pause.
“This is where I found you.”
“Well, it is my room.”
He dips in, laying a hand on the footboard. The room is spotless. Even the bed has been stripped down and remade with clean beige sheets under a red comforter. I step in.
“Petra says Mr. Simon had you brought here.”
“I couldn’t say.” The numbed pain in his eyes sears me. “I only remember the torture.”
“Oh.” My heart palpitates with a pitter-pattering dissonance. “Is Mr. Simon… is he a good guy?”
“He’s a decent man.” Rylin shows no emotion when he says it. “Good, well, that’s a relative term, I suppose. He’s still a regent. He picks his battles carefully.”
“He wants to put an end to hybrid executions, though. Petra said so. Right?”
“Yeah, sure.” His weak attempt at a smile is not convincing. “As long as he doesn’t have to put himself out there too far.” He tightens his hold on the footboard. “But… I suppose we all live in fear. I can’t really judge him.”
We all live in fear. I hate it.
A path off the back porch leads us straight to the upper side of the lake. It’s sectioned off by a strip of fence to keep out trespassers on this end. The sun is beginning to fall behind us, and our long shadows loom forward and disappear into the water. Rylin squats, picks up a flat rock and skips it along the surface. A plink, plink, plink hits my ears, and the rock sinks below.
“What do you think about your camouflage?”
The question is so random it throws me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you were in your natural form fulltime. I was just wondering… how did it feel?”
“I don’t know.” I sink into the brush next to him and pick up my own flat rock, rubbing my thumb over it like I’m making a wish. “Like I can breathe. Like I can think. Feel. Be myself.”
Then again, I’ve hardly noticed how I feel in the last twenty-four hours. My natural form has become so… natural. A part of me
. I’m getting so used to it I almost forget that I have it on. Honestly, it’s kind of refreshing to don my human form today. I needed to feel the difference so that next time I decamouflage, I’ll notice the change.
“And how do you feel right now?”
“I feel good.”
“But different?” He comes to his feet. “You can tell?”
I remember the first moment I saw myself in natural form. I stood in front of the mirror in my den with Kane at my back, our eyes burning together in unison. I felt the shift of molecules. The warming of my blood. The music. I let the memory sink in. Even in my human form, I can remember vividly what my natural form feels like. And my humanity is always present. An equal. An hour glass with sand running in one direction and then another… but never the wrong way.
“I can tell.” I peer up at him. He offers his hand and lugs me up.
“I want you to try something.” He trudges back toward the house. I throw my rock, not nearly getting as many skips.
“And what’s that?” I catch up to him and match his step.
“A little test.”
“What kind of test.”
He hands me a grin. “The kind we shouldn’t do in the open.”
Interesting. But I prod him.
“Who’s going to see out here?”
“Caution, Jude. That’s how a Fireblood should live. Especially if you can’t fix what you break.”
“Right.” He means if you can’t compel someone to forget what they saw.
He holds the screen door for me. Inside, my back pressed against the kitchen sink, I face him.
“So what’s this test?”
“Just a little something I’ve been thinking about.” He steps close. “You’ve had a taste of your true nature for what? Two, three full days?”
“Something like that.”
“All right. Then let’s see what you can do.”
Another step—close enough for the toe of his shoe to bump into the toe of mine, and I straighten as he lifts my hand and gently pulls. My ring relents. He says nothing, and the space between us seems to grow smaller. It’s uncomfortable, but it isn’t… because it’s Rylin, and that makes it both.
