A Thousand Fires

by Shannon Price

  “No,” she replies. “We recruited Mako about two months before Kate. They hit it off from day one.”

  “Oh, wow.” I open the cabinets, looking for sugar. I find some and empty the crumpled packet into my mug. “What about you and Jax?”

  Nianna snorts. “You think we’re dating?”

  “Well, not anymore.”

  “Definitely not,” she says, the hint of laughter dying in her tone. “Jax is … too much to deal with. Plus, I’m queer. And damn proud of it. So, no.”

  “Oh. That’s cool. Cool cool,” I say. Come on, Valerie, you know other words besides cool. “I’m, uh, gonna go shower.”

  “Okay.”

  I go back downstairs for my towel and shampoo. Between running around last night and drinking all that booze, I reek.

  The bathroom is cramped, but with so many people’s stuff, I can’t say I’m surprised. Dry strands of gold hair bunch on the floor. Bottles upon bottles of shampoo, cologne, and shaving cream crowd the singular shelf. The trash can overflows with crumpled tissues and—Jesus Christ—a used condom.

  I turn on the shower, and the state of the bathroom melts from my mind as the water warms against my hand.

  I scrub my face twice, borrowing an apricot scrub and a green tea wash. There’s a trio of bottles on the tiled ledge that promise to keep my blond at its best. I go ahead and guess those are Kate’s. Not sure what they’ll do for my brown locks, but I’d rather borrow from Kate than Nianna. I pull my hair forward to avoid the tattoo and keep it out of the direct stream of water.

  I’m washing the last of the suds off my shins and knees when I feel them. Pausing, I run my hand over the ladder of red ridges on my thigh. Hidden skin, the kind you’d only notice if I were in a bathing suit or short shorts, neither of which are often needed in my fog-bowl city.

  I switch off the water. Goose bumps settle on my body, and I exhale. You’re fine, Valerie. You’re fine. Don’t need to cut right now.

  I dress, and quickly tidy up as best I can. After dumping out the garbage can and wiping the floor with a paper towel soaked in 409, I head back downstairs. Blotting my hair with the towel, I look around the room. Now what?

  Nianna and I seem to be the only ones up. My eyelids are heavy and I could definitely just loaf all day, but I’d hate for my second day to consist entirely of me being lazy.

  I settle on organizing the boxes in the garage. Stacking a few plastic tubs on top of each other, I set up my tiny collection of things from home—the photo album, a Kate Spade bracelet Mom gave me last Easter, my pocketknife. I set the last of these down with a clunk. I think to myself, See, Valerie? You didn’t need to resort to that.

  The upstairs door opens and Micah shuffles down. He’s in sweatpants and the same Bolinas sweatshirt he wore the other night. He cocks his head to the side.

  “What are you doing just standing there?”

  “Uh, just. Thinking.”

  Micah absorbs this with a small nod. “Come upstairs. There’s food.”

  Though my hangover makes food sound repulsive, I change my tune when I see the waffles and toast neatly prepared and laid out on the table. Mako scrapes a steaming pile of eggs into a dish just as Micah and I walk in.

  “Hey, newbie,” he says. “Survived day one.”

  “Yup, you’re stuck with me,” I reply. “Thanks for this.”

  “Eggs and toast, don’t thank me too much,” he replies as he sits down.

  Kate joins a moment later, waving sleepily at me before taking a seat on Mako’s lap.

  “You sleep okay?” she asks.

  I nod, mouth full of buttery toast. “Yef. Tank you.”

  She smiles and leans over to grab a waffle. The coffeemaker hisses and bubbles from the counter. I get up and pour myself a fresh cup. The warmth seeps into my fingers as I wrap my hands around my mug. I’m not sure if it’s the coffee or the lingering alcohol in my system, but I’m feeling almost comfortable here.

  “Did you have fun last night?” Kate asks.

  I nod. “Totally. It’s kinda surreal that this is my life now.”

  “It’ll take a week or two,” she assures me. “But then we’ll put you to work. I’m sure you don’t want to wait long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your brother,” she says. I clench my mug harder. “I’d be just as pissed as you if that happened to my sister. I’m really sorry that it happened, but I’m glad you’re here. So we can help you.”

  Mako nods. “I feel the same. It shouldn’t have happened.” Behind him, Micah and Nianna nod their assent.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, taking steady breaths to keep from crying. “That’s really nice of you guys to say.”

  But it’s better than nice. Despite barely knowing these guys, I feel my attachment to them firm up faster than lightning crackles across the sky. It’s as if someone had breathed courage into my bones, and something else too—validation. Everything I tried to explain to my therapist, to my parents, to Matthew … they all wanted me to move on.

  But you don’t move on from this kind of thing—this depth of guilt that constantly swirls and shifts, restless and unrelenting. You don’t move on without action. The Stags see that. It’s so shocking and sudden and gratifying that I have no idea what to say.

  Down the hall, a door opens and Jax saunters in. He’s wearing a faded Giants hoodie and dark jeans.

  “’Morning, guys,” he says, snagging a waffle from the table. Without asking, he pours a dollop of maple syrup onto Nianna’s plate and dunks the waffle into it. He winks when he sees her glare.

  “So what are we doing today?” he asks.

  Nianna shrugs. “Showing Val the ropes, patrolling, watching out for the other gangs to—”

  Jax shakes his head. “That can wait. We have a new recruit. That’s worth celebrating. And by celebrating I mean taking a day off.”

  “No word from her, huh?” Nianna replies.

  He ignores her, running his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. An unruly lock falls back in his face anyway. “So, newbie. What do you want to do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I reply. “Whatever you guys want to do.”

  “That’s a shit answer. Come on. Pick something, and we’ll go.”

  Crap. I rack my brain for something fun, maybe something they haven’t done in a while …

  “What about Twin Peaks?” I ask. There’s a beat of silence where I panic. “Or, seriously whatever you—”

  Jax claps me on the shoulder. “Twin Peaks it is.”

  “I don’t think I’ve been since right after I moved here,” Mako says, and even Nianna nods her assent.

  We disperse to go change. From my meager pile of clothes, I pull on jeans, boots, a long-sleeved thermal, and a pair of fleece jackets. Lyla has a saying: if you think you don’t need a jacket for a day in San Francisco, you’re wrong and you do. And if you look outside and think you do need a jacket, you’re still wrong—you need two.

  She’s a smart one, that Lyla. It’s weird to remember that her world is still turning like normal—well, sans me. She’s going to class, slogging through rehearsals, and wondering if JB Sanchez is ever going to ask her out.

  I know she’ll be okay without me, but I kinda hope she misses me as much as I miss her. All things considered, Lyla is a better friend than I deserve. She was there all through Leo’s death, the funeral. The whole emotional roller coaster that was—is—Matthew Weston. She’s the one who invites me to football games and dances with the rest of her theater friends. They’re kind to me, too. I’m the friend who bakes.

  Still, it’s a battle for me to stay motivated about stuff like that. If she hadn’t dragged me to places, I would have just stayed home, studying, sleeping, and baking my life away until I could get back at the Boars. Some days I can’t think of a reason for her to stay my friend, for all the shit I give her. I don’t know how I’ll make it a whole year without her.

  I pull my hair into a ponytail, then dig int
o my small makeup bag so I can slap some moisturizer on my face. Satisfied that I don’t look like a complete zombie, I head back up.

  Kate and Mako wait by the door, the former finishing off an intricate twist of braids that would make the dragon queen from Game of Thrones proud.

  Jax waits by the front door, tugging a leather jacket over his sweatshirt. The jacket is dotted with drips of bright paint, and both sleeves are coming away at the seams.

  Nianna’s the last, wearing all-black sportswear and a purple beanie over her hair. “My god, get a new jacket,” she says to Jax, frowning.

  “This one’s fine.”

  “It’s falling apart.”

  “It was made for me,” he says, shrugging. “Custom.”

  “Then get a new custom jacket.”

  “You’re not the boss of me,” he says cheekily. “Now let’s go.”

  Without missing another beat, Jax ushers us out the door. A huge black van sits in the driveway, and as we get close, the ever-silent Jaws starts it for us. Jax takes shotgun, and I feel a bit like a kid on the first day of school not knowing where to sit on the bus. Squeezing in next to Kate and Mako in the back, I’ve barely clicked my seat belt before Jaws takes off.

  I pay attention to the street names and buildings we pass, trying in vain to place them against the landmark of Sutro Tower. The former radio tower’s red-and-white stripes are partially hidden in the fog. The weather makes me worry—we won’t be able to see much from Twin Peaks. I should have picked a different place.

  In no time at all, Jaws makes the turn onto Twin Peaks’ winding driveway. The parking lot is full, so Jax instructs us all to get out while Jaws finds a spot. To my great relief, the clouds have parted a little and we have a clear view of downtown. Some clumps of fog hide the Oakland shipyards and some of the other landmarks, but I’ll take it.

  “Wooooo it’s cold,” Mako says, hunching his shoulders to his ears. At the same time, Kate beckons him over and he huddles around her.

  “Look at this view, though,” says Micah. He’s smiling, eyes wide like he’s never seen the city before. “Been a while.”

  “Wish the weather was a little better,” says Nianna.

  I pretend not to hear her, but smile when Mako replies, “It’s November in San Francisco, what were you expecting?”

  The group of us finds a patch of sparse grass to sit on. Micah’s brought a sketchbook, and while most of the group talks, I watch him work. He’s sketching the others in a semi-anime style. His eyes flicker to mine, acknowledging that he knows I’m watching, but he keeps drawing.

  “Good?” he says finally, running the pencil over the lines that make up Jax’s profile.

  “Really good,” I reply. “You’re really talented.”

  “Thanks. Do you draw?”

  “Not really,” I say. “I was never great at it. My skills are in baking.”

  “Really?” Immediately, he switches gears and suddenly a large, smiling cupcake is floating above anime-Jax’s head.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “It’s a stress relief for me.” It’s a conversation I’ve had tons of times with so many people. Stress relief is an easy answer. I leave out the baking frenzies as an attempt to soothe my anxiety. I leave out how sweets were the only thing I could stomach in the days after Leo died, my brain’s natural cravings beating out my despair. I leave out how I don’t make anything red velvet because the color reminds me too much of Leo’s blood. “I’ll bake for you guys sometime. If we have the time.”

  He draws a smiley face on the cupcake. “Sweeeeet.”

  “Valentine.” I turn and realize Jax has swapped places with Nianna. He scoots closer, our knees touching.

  “So,” he says. “Any questions for me?”

  “What?”

  “About anything.”

  “Um, what’s next?” I ask. “If you’re not going to tell me who killed my brother until I earn your trust, then I want to get started.”

  He gives me an approving nod. “We’re in a holding pattern right now.”

  “Still in a holding pattern, you mean,” Nianna chimes in.

  “Good things come to those who wait, Nianna,” Jax replies coolly.

  To my right, Micah’s stopped drawing. Kate smiles when I catch her eye, but I’d have to be an idiot not to notice that Jax is irritated.

  The guy in question’s phone buzzes. “Must’ve said something right,” he says to Nianna as he gets up to take the call.

  “That’s her?” she replies, and he nods as he puts the phone to his ear.

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  Nianna checks our surroundings before answering. “That’s his mom, Theresa.” She mouths a word to me. It takes me a moment—and her mouthing the word again—for me to get it.

  “Heron?” I mouth back to her.

  She nods.

  “I don’t get it,” I whisper, pulling my hood down. “You guys work with Herons?”

  “That one, yes.” Micah scoots closer to both of us, forming a small huddle. Mako puts his head on top of Kate’s. Both of them listen, too.

  “Jax’s mom, Theresa, is high up in the Heron ranks. Not at the very top, but enough to hold sway. No one in the Wars knows she’s Jax’s mom.”

  “And no one’s figured it out?”

  He shakes his head. “Their last names are different. Theresa hates Jax’s dad. He left her when she told him she was pregnant.”

  “Shit,” I say.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t good. But Theresa is old money. She had Jax in some villa near the coast. Her family kept it hidden from everyone. Theresa resumed her public life and no one was ever the wiser.”

  “I still don’t get why we work with her if she’s a Heron,” I say. “Isn’t that, like, a hundred percent against the rules?”

  Micah bobs his head. “Kinda, yeah, if anyone knew Theresa didn’t give a shit about the Wars or the Herons. She’s a Heron in name only, but their internal politics don’t interest her. She only got more invested in their dealings because of Jax. The one thing Theresa cares about is him, and she’s happy to help him fight against the Herons.”

  “Okay,” I say. “So what?”

  “Theresa gives us intel on what the older Herons are up to, what properties they’re trying to buy and build on, etcetera. The Young Herons do their parents’ bidding.”

  “I still think that’s pretty fucked up,” says Nianna.

  Micah goes on, his large eyes staring at Jax, who’s still on the phone. “Anyway, we try to get ahead of it. Herons trying to evict some folks on Such-and-Such Street? We get there first. Jax gives money to the tenants who can’t pay rent, then we tag the street. The tenants stay a little longer. The Old Herons get pissed off, and the Young Herons get the brunt of the blame.” He says this all in quick, skipping-stone rhythm, his gaze lingering on Jax.

  I put the puzzle pieces together. “So I take it you haven’t heard from Theresa in a while. That’s why you’ve been in a holding pattern.”

  “Bingo.”

  “And what do the Boars do, while you do all this?”

  “Whatever they want,” Kate interjects, tucking up her hood then lying down on the ground. “Break shit, set stuff on fire downtown. Shoplift from the bougie, Heron-owned stores downtown and in the Mission.”

  The Boars are the muscle, the Stags the strategy. “So why aren’t we and the Boars on the same side?”

  “Ah,” says a cool voice behind me. Jax stares down at us, the meager light slipping between the clouds illuminating him like a spotlight. “The Boars don’t exactly care for me much.”

  “Why not?”

  He stoops down and starts rolling up his pant leg. Scrunching it to his knee, he pivots until I can see the black tattoo on the back of his leg. I’d know the Boar emblem anywhere.

  “Because I was supposed to lead them.”

  6

  “I joined the Boars when I turned eighteen, same as everyone else.”

  We’re back in the van, jostling our way h
ome. Jax has his seat tilted back as far as it’ll go, so he can keep talking as Jaws drives. I moved up a row and am squished between Micah and Nianna.

  “Why did you leave?” I ask Jax.

  “I didn’t agree with what they were doing. They were picking fights over something that happened years ago.”

  “Yeah, well,” Nianna says, crossing her arms. “Aaron Weston fucked his whole family tree, didn’t he?”

  Wait, what? Aaron—that’s Matthew’s brother, the one who lives up in Tahoe. “What does Aaron have to do with this?”

  If she notices that I only used his first name, she doesn’t say anything. “He started this mess.”

  My pulse quickens. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t know? Aaron Weston and Annie Boreas were a couple.”

  “Who?”

  “Tyler Boreas is the correct Boar leader. Annie was his older sister.”

  So Aaron dated the Boar leader’s sister? “When was this?”

  “This was, like, twelve or so years ago. Aaron Weston and Elliott Boreas—the other Boreas brother—had been rivals for years. Some sort of bad blood between them that started when they were in school together. So when Annie and Aaron got together, it pissed Elliott off to no end. The Herons didn’t want to be associated with the Boars, and vice versa. But the two of them stuck it out. They were planning to get married.”

  Her tone tells me there’s more. “Then what?”

  Nianna’s eyes flicker to Jax, who waves his hand idly like go on and looks back to the road.

  “Then Annie drowned,” she says, shoulders slumping. “Somewhere in the bay on New Year’s Eve. Aaron wasn’t there, but it was his family’s boat, his family’s party. Everyone was too busy partying to notice she was missing. Then the coroner’s report came back. There were some high-level drugs in her system. The kind you don’t just get off the street.”

  “So sad,” Kate whispers.

  Nianna nods. “Elliott and the Boars went ballistic. They tore through Heron territory—the Marina, North Beach, down into downtown, and SoMa. Set cars on fire, broke windows, tagged everything. The group that’s now called the Young Herons retaliated. They were smaller in number, but they could hire whoever they wanted to find the Boars and hurt them.”