Spring Rain

by Lizzy Ford

  “That doesn’t help me,” Morgan whispered, thoughts on Beck.

  “It’s more than duty bothering you,” her mother guessed, studying her.

  “Yeah. There’s a guy I like. He’s Light. I can’t be around him with this,” Morgan rushed through the words.

  “It’s part of the burden. Your grandmother and great grandmother committed suicide after their duty was up. Great-great gran ended up in a nuthouse.” Tandy frowned. “I don’t want that for us, baby, but I don’t think I have the answers you need either.”

  Morgan tightened her fist around the stone and shoved it into her pocket. “Is there anything at all about our family that’s special?”

  “We’re strong fire witchlings,” her mother said with a shrug. “It’s all your grandmother ever told me. We were chosen because of how strong we are.”

  “There’s no way to contain it? How did you keep it hidden from Connor and me? We were into everything as kids.”

  “I kept it in my pocket most of the time. When you were old enough to go to school, I put it in a jewelry box.”

  Morgan had left the stone out on top of her dresser at the boarding school once. It was how Beck ended up touching it. She couldn’t imagine keeping the stone out of reach of children. “So nothing there,” Morgan said, shifting in frustration. “What about … fire witchlings? I didn’t learn much at school before being tossed out. What is special about a fire witchling?”

  “Fire burns, warms, purifies. It’s a powerful element, one that is also difficult to control, which is how most fire witchlings go Dark.”

  “Are there any Light fire witchlings in our family?”

  Her mother was pensive. “One. The first in our family to be charged with the stone. It was a very long time ago. Do you remember me telling you kids about Elsa when you were little?”

  Morgan nodded.

  “She’s the only Light fire witchling in our family and pretty much the only one of any distinction.”

  “What was special about her?”

  Her mother shrugged. “She was stronger than the other fire witchlings. The story goes that her father was Hessian, which was a warrior tribe in Germany. He was a Dark air witchling who used his magick in battle to defeat other tribes. Elsa’s mother was struck down in battle, and her father went crazy and defied the Rules of Dark and broke them all to try to bring her back to life. She was sixteen, and there was no stone in our family yet. So she buried her mother and went to confront the Master of Dark, ready to burn him to a crisp if he turned down her pleas. The women in our family are fireballs,” her mother said with a smile.

  Morgan returned the smile and leaned her temple against the seat, listening. She’d heard the story before as a child, minus the part about the soul stone, but paid as much attention as possible this time around for any clue as to why her family was special.

  “When the Master of Dark came for him, Elsa begged for his life, knowing his fate was death. The Master of Dark felt sorry for her, but he couldn’t exactly let her father live after what he’d done,” her mother continued. “He was the son of Bartholomew-the-Terrible, the brother of the Restorer.”

  “So, Elsa used her magick to turn her father from Dark to Light,” Morgan recited the end of the story.

  “And the Master of Dark realized he now had the right person to safeguard the soul stone he and his brother didn’t know what to do with.”

  “How much of it is true?” Morgan asked. “It sounds crazy that Elsa could turn someone from Dark to Light. How is that possible?”

  “Stories are exaggerated and twisted as they pass from generation to generation,” her mother agreed. “But … how hard is it to want to believe it’s possible? I tried it with your father.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. I was already Dark when we met, and he went Dark soon after. I wanted to save him. It was stupid, teenage angst and emotion, but I tried to burn the Dark out of him. It did not go well.”

  “You didn’t cripple him!”

  “Oh, no!” her mother exclaimed. “That was a workplace incident. He was in the burn trauma unit for a few months, though.”

  Morgan stared at her.

  “Fireballs,” Tandy said again. “I was a stupid, idealistic kid.”

  But what if it could work? Morgan fingered the soul stone in her pocket. A solid piece of Darkness was very different than someone with a fleck of Dark in them. It almost seemed easier to burn Darkness out of someone than to mess with the soul stone.

  It wasn’t going to help her find a solution to being with Beck and safeguarding the stone. But for Dawn … she considered.

  Why couldn’t it work? Beck had once claimed she could help him with the Light, and Decker seemed to think she was supposed to be doing that as a counterbalance. Was this how? By frying the Dark out of Dark witchlings?

  Elsa was a Light fire witchling, one powerful enough to pass down her magick through a thousand years of witchlings at least.

  “What happened to Elsa’s father?” she asked finally, tossing new ideas around in her head.

  “Not sure. The story Grandma told me never said.”

  Morgan chewed on her lower lip, pensive. “You’re right. I want to believe it to be possible.”

  “It’s a nice thought.” Tandy dug out snacks from her backpack.

  “How much damage did you do to Dad?” Her mind went to Dawn and the baby. She didn’t care at all about hurting Dawn, but Beck’s daughter was a different story.

  “Third degree burns over most of his body. There was an earth witchling with me who was healing him as I burned him. I lost control at one point and the earth witchling couldn’t keep up, so your father bears some scarring.”

  Fire burns. Earth heals. An odd sensation drifted through Morgan. Beck was the Master of Light, which meant he was the most powerful earth witchling alive. And there was Sam, the forest yeti who healed her when her leg was broken trying to flee Dawn.

  So there were people powerful enough to heal the damage she caused. The question wasn’t if they could protect Beck’s daughter, but if she could burn hot enough to char the Darkness out of Dawn.

  “Am I stronger than you, Mama?” she asked.

  “In many ways, if what I suspect about your uncle is true.”

  Morgan flushed and ducked her gaze, not ready to discuss that topic. “I mean magick-wise.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Strong enough to burn the Dark out of someone?”

  “I don’t know what that’d take, Morgan, and I don’t think it’s even possible. I know Elsa was said to have done it, but that’s just a story. We can’t verify any part of it.”

  Morgan fell silent, unable to let go of the idea. If it became her only option, she didn’t know how she wasn’t going to try it. She had to try something.

  “How did Gordon find out about the soul stone?” she asked.

  “I told your father after we got married,” Tandy said sadly. “I think, after the divorce, he was angry and wanted to hurt me. He took you and told Gordon my secret. Gordon threatened to tell others if I kept fighting in court to get you back, but I did it anyway.”

  “Did he tell?”

  “As far as I know, he didn’t. But there’s no telling. He’s unstable.”

  I already know that much. Gordon’s lack of action eased Morgan’s concern for her father. Perhaps her uncle was all talk when it came to other people and he wasn’t alone with her.

  “You know our flame colors?” Her mother’s hand ignited, each finger flickering with a different color flame.

  Morgan nodded. “Red is warm, blue the hottest.” She tapped her mother’s flames.

  “There’s a color hotter than blue,” her mother said. “Grandma said Elsa had flames that burned purple-black before turning pure white. I never really gave that much thought, though. Can you imagine how pretty a purple flame would be?”

  Purple. Morgan had seen flecks of purple in her white flames, those brought on by extreme emoti
on. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen purple, either. The first time she met Sam in the forest, before the events of December, she’d summoned flames that randomly burned purple. She hadn’t though them special before, just a new expression of her magick.

  She held her mother’s hand an inch from her face to study the flame colors. Her mother’s blue flame had no trace of purple or white. She didn’t have her mother’s control yet to try to summon a single flame that was hotter than blue. She’d have to try it somewhere away from anything flammable.

  “Mom, my candy flames were always pink,” she said, referring to the bursts of warmth she often handed to others that needed the comfort.

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “When did you start making them? After the divorce?”

  Morgan nodded.

  “Morgan, a normal fire witchling’s flames don’t range from outside the colors of a natural fire.”

  Morgan willed a candy flame to appear in her palm and held it out.

  Her mother summoned one as well and placed her hand beside Morgan’s.

  Tandy’s flame was orange, while Morgan’s was brilliant pink.

  “It’s beautiful, Morgan.” Her mother took the pink fire, a smile crossing her features as the flame melted into her skin and gave her a hug from the inside out.

  I’m special. Morgan’s mind began to race down a different track. Whether or not she had an earth witchling to help her, if she could burn hot enough to turn Dawn Light and possibly remove the threat of her using Darkness to hurt others, would that be enough? Or did she need to find a way to deal with Bartholomew first, and Dawn second?

  Or … were they the same thing, and she needed to purify Bartholomew, not Dawn?

  “You’ve been with your father since you were ten,” Tandy said. “I hardly know you anymore.”

  “I’m still me, Mama,” Morgan said, touched by the sadness in her mother’s voice.

  “I should’ve kidnapped you and run long ago. Looks like you had the same idea.”

  Morgan laughed. “I didn’t kidnap you! You volunteered!”

  “Of course I did! I haven’t spent more than half a day with my little girl in four years. After hearing you’d died in December …” Tandy’s eyes watered. “You think I was going to let you face whatever this is on your own?”

  Morgan had the urge to hug her but didn’t. She was too unaccustomed to physical contact, too used to it hurting, for her to want to test the waters now. She’d hidden the bruises and marks from her mother and the rest of the world for too long. It was hard to lower her guard again, except with Beck.

  “How is daddy?” she asked the question she’d feared posing.

  “Gordon said he might put him in a nursing home. He said it’s getting too hard to take care of him.”

  But he’s alive. Morgan didn’t think her father deserved the relief she felt at knowing this, not after all he’d let happen to her in his own household. “He might be better off away from Gordon,” she whispered.

  “You wanna talk about it?” Tandy continued.

  Morgan blinked out of her thoughts to glance at her mother again. “About …”

  “Your uncle.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “You should talk to someone, Morgan. You can’t keep that kind of negative energy inside you. It’ll eat you up.”

  “Nope.”

  “Look, girl, I’m a fire witchling, too! I can match that stubbornness seven ways from Sunday!”

  Morgan rolled her eyes.

  “Fine. But we will talk about it one day.”

  “Whatever, Mom.”

  “Wanna tell me about the boy you like?”

  “No. I don’t like him!”

  “It’s written all over your face every time you allude to him!”

  “It is not!”

  “You’re eighteen.” Tandy sighed. “Shouldn’t you be out of this stage?”

  “Omigod! I should’ve gotten you a ticket for a bus leaving at a different time!”

  Her mother laughed loudly. Morgan glanced at her, unable to help the smile tugging up the corner of her mouth. She hadn’t seen her mother smile or laugh this much in too many years.

  It was nice to think there were three people she might be able to trust. Her brother, Beck, and her mother. It was difficult, even knowing how good they all were, and Morgan began to suspect she’d missed a lot the years she was separated from her mother. More than stories of witchlings with purple flames … Being with her mother was … nice. Peaceful. Warm, like being in a bonfire.

  I want my life … me … to be different. She wanted to laugh with her mother and share Beck’s faith in others.

  What would it take to become like them? To become someone who wasn’t damaged or afraid, to take a chance on the guy waiting for her and live even a day without fear?

  What if she really could burn the Darkness out of someone? Would it help her fix herself, too? Caught between Light and Dark, she knew she was likely destined for the Dark, but what if she could burn it out of herself if that happened and guarantee a life with Beck?

  She itched to try it, but who on earth would be crazy enough to let her? Who would want to be Light badly enough that they’d let her burn them to a crisp? She had no illusions about it being a peaceful event. To burn that hot, she’d have to loosen what little control she had on her fire and unleash it fully.

  She sat pensive for a moment, unable to identify anyone desperate or stupid enough to let her …

  Noah. If not for himself then maybe when she told him she thought she could save Dawn that way. Morgan debated for a moment, then glanced at her phone. Beck had told her Noah was okay and Dawn had taken his phone. She reread Beck’s sweet text before responding.

  I want to try something. I’ll let you know if it works, she said. Does Noah have a new number?

  She saw the bubble pop up on her screen indicating Beck was typing a response. It disappeared, reappeared, then disappeared again. Morgan cringed, hoping he didn’t think she’d completely ignored his beautiful message from earlier. She hadn’t, but neither did she know what to say about the unusual relationship between them. There was too much emotion she was avoiding when it came to Beck, not because she didn’t want to care, but because she feared letting herself care too much and lose focus of her goal to protect him.

  Finally, Beck responded with nothing more than a phone number. Certain she’d pissed him off, she sighed and texted Noah.

  Hey, it’s Morgan. Can you meet me at the Light school in two days, after dark? She texted. I have an idea about how to turn you Light again.

  There was a long pause, and she guessed Noah was weighing the seriousness of her statement. He had to be thinking of Dawn or maybe, about Biji, who he wanted a shot with, but was afraid to approach. She expected a question or two at least or maybe an initial refusal and held her breath.

  Okay. Was his short answer.

  Morgan blinked, barely believing he’d all but blindly agreed.

  If anything, it made her feel worse for him. It meant he was hurting, willing to do whatever it took, even blindly trusting an unstable fire witchling known for her temper and the danger in her pocket.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two days later, Morgan left her mother at a hotel in town and then took the taxi to the driveway of the school. She had him drop her off and trotted towards the buildings.

  Part of her doubted he would show, but Noah was waiting halfway up the driveway to the boarding school in the chilly spring drizzle. Morgan approached, uncertain why he chose a random spot such as this to greet her. His motorcycle was on the side of the road, and he was staring towards the school.

  She eyed him curiously as she reached him and paused. “You, uh, waiting for me?” she asked.

  “Try it.”

  “Try what?”

  “Getting to the school.”

  She looked down the open driveway between them and the log building. Noah’s blue eyes went to her, and she shook her head, suspecti
ng Dawn had scrambled her brother’s brain.

  Morgan took two steps – and smacked into an invisible wall that gave off faint sparks at the impact. “What the hell is this?” she asked and reached out. Her hand met the wall.

  “I’ve been testing it for ten minutes. I called a friend, who told me Beck sealed off the Light campus to everyone but Light students.”

  “Because Dawn wants to destroy him and the Light,” Morgan said. “Smart.” A tremble of shame went through her, and she reached into the pocket not holding the soul stone to touch her amulet. It was … cloudy. Neither Light nor Dark but something in between.

  She’d been lumped in with the Dark students and locked out of Beck’s warmth as well.

  Too much had happened for the exclusion from the Light to hurt her. She was tired of being ashamed of what she was and helpless to balance duty and her heart. “I had wanted to use the stone near the stream,” she said and turned away. “We can find someplace similar.”

  “You wanna tell me what we’re doing?”

  “Well.” She drew a breath and prepared for him to run away screaming once she revealed her intention. “According to family legend, my ancestor was able to turn a Dark witchling Light using purple flames that burned so hot, they turned white. My mother says no one in our family can create these flames except me.” She focused her magick until a flame of purple-blue blazed in her palm. “We need someplace where I won’t burn things down, preferably a rock or platform in a stream.”

  “You’re going to burn the Dark out of me?” Noah asked, crossing his arms. He studied her. “That’s the plan?”

  “Yes.” She met his gaze. “If it works, and I turn you Light, then maybe I can do the same for Dawn.”

  “And if you don’t … I get burnt.”

  “You’re a water witchling. Your defenses are naturally more capable of handling an onslaught of fire than anyone else.” I think.

  He wasn’t laughing or running away from her. If anything, Noah appeared to be considering her offer of burning him alive in the hopes of ridding him of the Darkness.

  “This will hurt, won’t it?” he asked and shoved his hands into his pocket.