by G. P. Ching
Finn frowned. “I don’t understand. How do I do it without hurting myself?”
Orelon laughed. “You will most certainly hurt yourself. No pain, no gain.”
Was he serious? With a jerk of his head, Finn focused on the dirt floor, so close but so far away.
“Fall!” Orelon barked, that soft breeze of a voice turning into a gust of raging wind.
Finn leaned forward, hands to his sides. The ground came up fast. At the last second, he caught himself on his hands and one knee and rolled out of the fall. All his breath left his lungs in an oomph. The dirt dug into the skin of his cheek and the resulting puff of dust stung his eyes.
“Sloppy,” Orelon concluded as Finn worked to draw air into his protesting lungs. “You fall as if you want to hit the ground.”
Finn stood, cradling his stomach. “What other choice is there?”
“Fall as though you don’t believe you have to. Fall as if you know you can fly.”
Wendy huffed. “People can’t fly.”
“That attitude will get you nowhere, Ms. Matthews. Your turn. On the stool.”
Terrified, Wendy’s gaze hooked onto Finn as if he were a life raft. She trembled and paled like she might be ill.
“Easy as falling off a log,” Finn said to lighten the mood. He stood up straighter and dusted off his cheek. It stung. His hand came away bloody.
With slow, reluctant steps, Wendy stepped up on the stool.
“Your glasses,” Finn said, holding out his hand to accept the purple-rimmed pair from her. Her fingers brushed his, cold and clammy. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered, meeting her gaze. He backed away and set the glasses on a ledge near the door.
“Now, Ms. Matthews.”
She placed her hands against her sides. Orelon straightened each of her arms before slapping her back to get her to straighten.
“Fall.”
Seconds ticked by. A bead of sweat trickled down Wendy’s temple. “No,” she said softly. “This is wrong. It’s abusive. I want to talk to the headmistress.”
Thwack. Orelon’s leg connected with her shins. Wendy sprawled into the air, arms outstretched as the stool knocked out from under her feet. She landed with a sickening thump, and when she finally curled on her side gasping, blood coated her face. She’d broken her nose. A sickening wheeze came from her parted lips.
Finn started for her, but Orelon cut him off. He squatted beside Wendy and tugged at the skin of her cheek. “Natalie, the kit, please.”
Wind whistled through the rafters above them, and a linen package tied with string dropped into Orelon’s hands. He dusted it off and untied the string. From inside, he retrieved a square of cloth and a tub of salve. He gouged out a blob of the second and smeared it both inside and outside Wendy’s nose, ignoring her cry as his fingers reset the break. He placed the cloth on top and taped it into place, then wiped his bloody hands off on a second cloth.
That was definitely not hygienic. Finn winced.
“There.” Orelon lifted Wendy to her feet and wiped the blood from her cheek with the towel. She hobbled over to Finn, sliding in behind him as if he could offer her some measure of protection. He couldn’t. What could he do? He’d seen what happened to people who didn’t follow the rules.
Orelon’s eyes fell on Finn. “Up on the stool.”
“I’m hurt. My ribs.” Finn lifted his shirt to reveal the start of a major bruise. “I can’t do it again.”
“You can, and you will,” Orelon said through his teeth.
Shaking more than a little, Finn stepped up on the stool. Orelon straightened Finn’s arms again and grabbed his face with both hands.
“This time, do not believe you must hit the floor. Believe you can fly. Close your eyes.”
Finn obeyed. He was sore and stiff. He didn’t want to fall again. But he leaned forward, body tensing into a plank. He hit the ground, catching himself with his hands at the last second. As before, it knocked the wind out of him, but he had to admit, it wasn’t as bad as the first time. It still hurt, but he wasn’t bleeding any more than before, and he didn’t skid painfully across the dirt. Was he getting better at falling or getting used to the pain?
“Good, Mr. Wager. As I said, you have the build of a flyer.”
By the time Finn was dismissed from aerial, his torso ached and was black and blue from neck to groin. He got off easy. Wendy’s packed nose was bleeding through the gauze, and she breathed heavily through her mouth. She’d broken her nose multiple times, and her body was as beaten up as his was. At least he could still breathe.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked on their way back to the school.
She shook her head. Tears cut through the dried blood on her cheeks.
“Maybe we should tell the headmistress.”
“Are you kidding? The person who told Mrs. Wilhelm to punch Mike in the stomach? I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said, taking breaths between words because her nose was plugged.
Finn frowned. “Where are you headed next?”
“Menagerie.” Her delicate eyebrows pinched together with worry.
“Hey, we forgot your glasses!” Finn left her side and rushed back to the gazebo to get them for her. He’d left them on a crossbeam that formed a small ledge near the door and was in better shape than Wendy to retrieve them. When he poked his head inside the shadowed interior, he froze.
He noticed the black and white stripes first. The movement made him stop just outside the door and peek around the corner. A clown, like the one he and Jenny had seen in the window their first day, squatted beside the spot where Finn and Wendy had fallen again and again. White-gloved fingers dipped into the bright red blood splattered in the dirt. It scraped the blood and dirt into a glass vile, screwed on a cap, and dropped the specimen into the pocket of his black pants.
From behind the archway that served as a door, Finn reached around to retrieve the glasses from the ledge using only his thumb and forefinger as not to make a sound. He rushed back to Wendy’s side, praying the clown hadn’t seen him.
“What’s wrong, Finn? You look like you might be sick,” Wendy said, accepting her glasses and placing them on her face, an action that made her wince.
Finn didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what he’d seen exactly. “We’re going to be late for class.”
“Where are you going?”
“Pyro.”
Wendy’s throat contracted on a swallow. “Good luck.” Quickly, she pulled Finn into a hug and took off in the direction of the woods. Finn’s lips tugged upward into a painful smile.
“Move along, Mr. Wager,” Orelon called from behind him. Had he been there the entire time? Had he seen the clown and the blood?
With a quick glance back, Finn hurried toward the school. Pyro was held in the theater itself, an ornately carved gold-and-red venue where his footsteps echoed over the empty seats. Fuse waited for him onstage, her lipstick the same shade of red as the flap on her uniform.
“Looks like you had Orelon first period.” She grinned. “That’s a hell of an initiation into the theater.”
“You’re familiar?”
“We were all students once.” Her grin faded and she played with her thumbnail. “And now we’re superheroes.” She giggled at her own joke. “Where’s your partner? I’m supposed to have two.”
The doors at the back of the theater opened and Mike jogged in. His right forearm was bandaged from wrist to elbow and, as he drew closer, Finn could make out beads of sweat on his face.
“Are you okay?” Finn muttered.
Fuse didn’t allow time for Mike to answer. “Mr. Carson will be fine. Looks like he’s come from menagerie.”
Mike swallowed and hugged his bandaged arm to his chest.
“Lion or tiger?” Fuse asked.
“L-leopard.”
“You got off easy.”
Finn raised an eyebrow. Mike didn’t say a word.
Without further hesitation, Fuse selected a long baton from a rack at center stage and with
a twist of her wrist, ignited the ends. As the flames rose toward the ceiling, she twirled it between her fingers, the torches licking the underside of her arm as it rotated. “Mr. Wager, which is hotter: the top of a flame or the bottom?”
“The top.”
“If possible, which side of the flame do you want your skin on?”
“The bottom.”
“Either way, I’d rather not be lit on fire,” Mike said.
Fuse stopped rotating the baton with the torch practically in her armpit. The top of the flame engulfed her shoulder. She started twirling again and her shoulder extinguished. Somehow, her skin hadn’t burned.
“I’m not going to light you on fire, Mr. Carson, unless you piss me off. Are you going to piss me off?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. Pyro isn’t just about this.” She tossed the baton toward the ceiling, caught and twirled it around her body. “Or this.” She tipped her head back, lowered the flame to her tongue, and blew a plume of fire into the air from her mouth. “It’s about all kinds of fire play and pyrotechnics. Today, you’re going to practice fire-walking.”
She disappeared behind stage right, and a moment later the curtain behind the rack of instruments retracted to reveal a long, low box. Finn leaned forward to see over the edge and felt a blast of heat hit him in the face. Hot coals.
“What is this curtain called?” Fuse asked.
Finn and Mike looked at each other. Finn shrugged. He had no idea.
“We don’t have any actors among us? No theater tech guys? Oh well, you will rise to the occasion, I’m sure. This is a scene curtain, not to be confused with the main curtain or drape as some call it.” She motioned for them to come closer and Finn reluctantly did. “Here’s a tip—there’s a book on commonly used theater terms in the library upstairs. I recommend you read it.”
As if Finn’s bruised body was going to be anywhere but in bed after classes.
“Now”—Fuse backed toward the smoking bin—“these coals are hot, over one thousand degrees Fahrenheit.” She stepped onto the coals with her bare feet and started walking slowly backward. “So what three things keep me from burning? I’ll give you a hint.” She jogged faster.
“You’re moving,” Finn said. “Maybe there isn’t time for you to burn?”
“Excellent, Mr. Wager. What else?”
Mike narrowed his eyes on his bandaged arm, flexing and releasing his fist. “You might have tough feet, like calloused or something.”
She grinned. “Bingo. And it’s not just me; everyone has feet that are made mostly of water. They don’t burn easily.” She was almost to the end and Finn tensed his shoulders, wishing she’d finish faster. He didn’t like to see her on the coals.
“What’s the third?” she asked.
Finn shrugged. Mike didn’t know either.
Fuse stopped at the end of the coals and refused to step off.
“What are you doing?” Finn asked. The sizzle of burning flesh seemed to echo in the empty theater.
“Answer me!” she yelled. “What’s the third? Why aren’t I burning?”
Finn searched his head for something to say. “You’re not human!”
All anger leached from her expression, and she burst into laughter. Thankfully, she stepped off the coals. “Oh Finn. That’s rich. I am very much human. I was born in Hoboken.”
“Then what is it?” Mike asked.
Fuse spread her hands. “I don’t believe the flames can burn me.” She pointed at her head. “It’s all up here, boys. The minute you fear something it owns you. I’m guessing that’s what happened with the leopard.”
“Who locks a kid in a cage with a wild animal?” Mike rubbed his bandaged arm.
Fuse lifted one shoulder. “I’m guessing Amuke Mandla. Stop whining. This is what you signed up for.”
Mike’s mouth fell open.
“Take off your shoes and get to work.” She nodded toward the coals.
“You want us to walk that? Now?” Finn asked.
“Now and ten minutes from now. I have you until lunch.”
Mike took a step back. “This is insane.”
Fuse’s smile faded, and she strode toward Mike with malice in her eyes. The big guy stiffened and clenched his left fist.
“I’ll go,” Finn blurted. He regretted the offer the moment the words left his mouth.
Mike shook his head and made a face toward Finn that included a small roll of his eyes. “No. It’s okay. I got this, Finn.”
Was it obvious Finn was terrified? He breathed a sigh of relief. Not that he was surprised. It was like Mike to take the high road. Plus, if anyone could do this, it was Mike. The guy could do anything.
Mike kicked off his shoes and stepped up to the box. Biting his lip, he took a few careful steps over the coals before jumping out of the box. “Ow!” He cursed under his breath.
“Let me see.” Fuse inspected Mike’s feet. “Nothing serious. You were too slow. Next time, pick up the pace.”
Mike scowled and limped to Finn’s side.
“Okay, Wager. You’re up.”
“Come on,” Mike said. “He can’t do this.”
The look Fuse gave Mike could have soldered iron. “You need another punch in the stomach to get with the program?”
Mike took a half step back and rubbed his injured arm.
“Mr. Wager.” Fuse swept her open palm toward the coals.
Cracking his neck to the right and the left, Finn shook his arms and legs to try to relax. Don’t believe in the coals, he repeated in his head. Or was he not supposed to believe in the heat? Or that he could burn? He couldn’t remember. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
Fuse tapped her foot expectantly. “Any year now, Wager.”
Heat radiated against his face at the edge of the coals, as if he’d stuck his head in the oven. His feet were going to burn. It would hurt and he’d be walking on burned skin for the rest of the day. He hadn’t even taken his first step, and he was already burning up. He lifted his foot and removed one shoe, then the other. The tips of his toes burned with their proximity to the coals.
“Get on with it, Shady,” Fuse said.
Finn looked at her in surprise. “Why did you call me that?” Only his friends in Deviant Joe ever called him Shady. Not even his father knew the nickname.
“I guess you look shady,” she said. “Plus, I read it in your chart.”
Finn frowned. How did his nickname get into his chart?
“If you don’t set your foot to those coals, I’m pushing you into them, and I promise you, your face is a lot less fire resistant than your feet.”
With another deep breath, Finn blinked his eyes hard. Then he ran. He curled his toes up so that only the hard part of his feet touched the coals and he sprinted, fast and steady, across the box. The pain was instantaneous. He danced over embers, yelling with each step, the scent of roasting meat filling his nostrils. Was that his skin? His hair? He practically threw himself off the end of the coals, which was a problem because in his haste he kicked up a spray of sparks that burned his calf. “Argh!” He scrambled forward on elbows and knees until he was far enough from the coals to brush off the sparks.
Fuse knelt at his side. “I told you not to fall, Shady. Let me take a look.” She rolled up the leg of his uniform. The skin below was bright red, but the uniform itself was intact. “The material is fireproof, but the contact was enough to burn your skin. Not too bad.” She reached into the pouch around her waist and retrieved a canister of salve identical to the one he’d seen Orelon use on Wendy. As soon as it touched the burn, the pain stopped.
“What is that stuff?”
“Mangfruit salve. The fruit only grows on this island. Enhances the natural healing properties of this place.”
“The school has healing properties?”
“Not the school, Veil Island. How do you think we can do the things we do?” Fuse smiled and taped a bandage over the salve. “If you work hard here, Finn, you wil
l change for the better. The island will help you do that. Whatever you do on your own, it will magnify. You will be faster, stronger, more capable than you ever imagined.”
Finn’s jaw slackened. The thing about the instructors here that set him off balance was how much they seemed to believe what they said. Orelon was certain that if he didn’t believe in gravity, he didn’t have to fall. Fuse said burning was all in your head. Finn understood that it wasn’t true, not scientifically at least, although he supposed there was some psychology behind it. His eighth-grade science teacher once told him that forcing a smile could release endorphins that made you feel happy. But gravity was real and flesh could burn.
Fuse turned to Mike, who was staring at Finn like he was seeing him for the first time. “Looks like you underestimated your little friend here. You gonna let him show you up?” She tipped her head toward the box of coals.
Finn grabbed his ankle and looked at the bottom of his foot. “Look, Mike, my feet didn’t burn. I only hurt myself because I fell. You can do this.”
Mike’s gaze shifted between the box of coals and Finn’s healthy feet. Cradling his arm, he crouched. Football stance. He took to the coals like a tire drill, his feet landing lightly before high-stepping forward. He was across and off the other side in no time. He pumped his fist in the air. “Right? You see that?”
Fuse slow clapped. “You might be a natural at this, Mikey.” She held out her hand to Finn and helped him up. “Again. And this time don’t fall.”
13
Lunch
Finn and Mike navigated the school to the dining hall feeling exhilarated. After successfully walking the coals more than thirty times each, they were relatively unharmed. Finn had a burn on his lower leg and Mike had a blister between his toes where a small ember had gotten caught, but that was the extent of the damage.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Finn said, pausing to tear the bandage from his burn. He ran his fingers over the spot. “It’s healed.”
Mike stopped. “Actually…” He held out his arm and peeled back the bandage. Small dents marked his flesh, but the leopard bite looked weeks, rather than hours, old. It was filled in, pink, healed over.