The Fire Artist

by Whitney, Daisy

  She rushes to the nearest parked car at the edge of the park and looks at her reflection. “I am beautiful,” she says, then she runs back to me and gives me a hug. “Thank you.”

  “I’m still hungry,” I say, but she’s off in another direction, and I’m forgotten. Because she got what she thought she wanted, and I’m gone now too.

  I’m suddenly back in the library, like I was snapped through time and space. I’m weary, though I’ve had more sleep in the last month than I’ve had in ages. My feet are heavy, my eyes are so sleepy, but I still have form, I still have shape, so I make my way to the desk, sink down in the leather chair, and pull the registry closer to me so I can enter Blake Vater’s name. The registry is open to the last entry made. The Ks. The spot where my name was entered. I stave off sleep, I fend off hibernation as I run my thumb over the names, searching out mine. I need to know why the Leagues never made an example of me. Why they never strutted me around for stealing—the worst crime, the crime that echoes through your family forever.

  I find my entry. I slide my index finger across the ruled line. My name—Aria Kilandros—back when I still had two names. Then the date, then the wish.

  I take a sharp breath, bring a hand to my mouth.

  The marks are scratchy, as if someone wrote my name while fighting off an invisible hand trying to pen something else. As if the granter recording this wish was resisting all the granter magic, all the granter orders and rules and regulations and stipulations and provisos and quid pro quos, with every ounce of strength inside him.

  Because it doesn’t say natural-born fire.

  It says whole fire.

  Whole Fire.

  It’s not the full truth, but it’s not a lie either.

  What it is, however, was enough of the truth for the registry of wishes and enough of a lie for my family to be safe from my stealing. For Jana to have a chance to perform if she wants. For her kids, for the next generation to not be subjected to the League’s rules of family banishment for all time. Because natural-born fire would tip off the Leagues that I had stolen. Whole fire merely suggests I topped myself off and wished for a little more. A small difference in wording, but a big difference in penalties since no one knows I stole now.

  Taj recorded my wish, as he had to, but he recorded it in a way that satisfied the granters and gave my family a chance.

  He protected them, and something inside me lightens and starts to hope again.

  One of his very last acts as a granter was to try to keep me safe.

  Then, the choking feeling comes, and it hurts. I’m crushed into vapor.

  It goes like this for the next several weeks. I’m rousted from the dead of sleep by the greedy, I grant their basest desires for a price, then I choke until I’m obliterated.

  Then it happens again.

  I grant a man millions of dollars in exchange for his right hand.

  Literally—that is what he offers to pay with. I give him a sharp and heavy knife, and he cuts it off himself, handing me the bloody stump one starless night in a dark corner of Central Park. I try to give it back to him, to tell him to take it to the nearest hospital emergency room and have the doctors sew it back on. But then the hand disappears. It’s gone forever. He cries in pain, and I imagine he’ll keep crying for weeks and months and years to come even as he counts his money with his left hand.

  I grant an older woman a job. She’s been looking for three years, and she offers me her happiness. I don’t know where it goes when I take it. All I know is she’ll no longer have it, and it’ll be in the same place where that man’s hand is, where Blake’s shortened life is. In a bank full of horrid desires.

  Then I meet a boy who wishes for his sick father to be healthy. His dad has been ill for a year, and the boy offers himself as a trade. I remember the security guard with the sick sister who gave keys to Taj. I ask the boy if he’d instead be willing to give me his most valuable teddy bear, or baseball card, or even a book.

  He brings me his entire collection of invaluable first-edition comic books the next day, and I grant his father health.

  Then I take the comic books back to my library. I wonder why I couldn’t take the hand or the happiness with me. But maybe you can only take payments that aren’t beyond measure. Maybe we get to keep only the things that are bartered in exchange for a better life for others, like when Taj kept the keys from the security guard. Maybe there are some noble wishes.

  Then again, Taj’s parents didn’t get to keep him when they traded him for peace.

  Maybe there are no good wishes.

  But if I could wish for one thing now, it would be for Taj to be enjoying his freedom. For the boy who protected my family to be living his life fully. I miss him. I miss him terribly.

  32

  The Only Payment

  The alarm sounds again, and I rise, rub my eyes, and go through the same motions I went through with Blake and the one-handed man and the job-hunting woman and the boy with the sick dad. I brush my hair, wash my face, grab a new outfit, tsk-tsking the selection in the closet as I snag the least boring of all the boringest skirt-blouse-shoes ensembles.

  I open the door, walk through the tunnel, desperate for sunshine and air after this latest nap. I push up on the grate, wondering who I’ll see, and there’s a hand reaching for me, taking mine, and helping me the rest of the way up.

  I’m aboveground, looking at my potential wisher, looking into eyes I know so well.

  Taj.

  I want to kick him. I want to wail on him with my fists. I want to to yell at him, to ask him how he could have used me.

  I want to ask him why he tried to protect my family. I want to know if he missed me terribly too. But it would be stupid to ask. He doesn’t miss me. He needs something, just like I did.

  Instead, I fold my arms over my chest and stand against the side of the Flatiron Building. I climbed out of a different grate tonight. I’ve started to learn the labyrinths.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve been looking for you,” he says. “Two months. Every day for two months. I have been looking for you, and it’s not as if I didn’t know exactly where you’d be. But it took this long to find you, Aria.”

  “You’ve been looking for me?”

  “Yes. God, yes. All the time. Every day. And I guess it’s true—I had to be desperate enough, I had to be at my wit’s end before you appeared.”

  “But why? What could you possibly need from me? Isn’t this the only thing you wanted? To be free?” I gesture at him, taking in his new look. He’s wearing jeans and a button-down. Not quite the same as his sharp-dressed granter look, but not that different either. Maybe he wasn’t that different as a granter and as a boy. But what do I know? Everything I thought I knew about him was a mask.

  There’s a shopping bag at his feet.

  “Yes, and it’s great. I’m going to college and I’ve seen my mom again, and I’m wearing normal clothes, and it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. Except—”

  I cut him off. “Then what do you want? What could you possibly have to wish for if you have everything you want? You used me. You tricked me into freeing you, and you admitted it at my house. That it was all a story to set you free.”

  He reaches for me, but I back up.

  “Aria, I’ve been looking for you. Not for me. But for you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He dips a hand inside the shopping bag. He takes out my combat boots. The sight of them reminds me of all I don’t have, and it’s as if he just yanked a bandage off a still-sore wound.

  “I brought these for you. I thought you might need them.” There’s a glint in his eye.

  “Why would I need them?”

  “Aria, when I came to your house, the reason I lied to you and said all those awful things was because I didn’t want the union officials to have a clue. I couldn’t let on how I felt about you. They already knew you tried to free me and that it didn’t work, so they knew how you felt
. I had to act like I’d used you. Like I’d tricked you. That your feelings were all just a wisher’s folly. I told you that it happened before, that wishers fell into infatuation. I had to make it seem like that’s all that had happened with you. Because if I let on that I felt the same way, they’d have reassigned you. Given you a new jurisdiction and then I’d never have found you.”

  I hold up a hand in a stop sign. “Wait. Did you say felt the same way?”

  He nods and grins, a sweet sheepish grin. The smile of a boy, not the smile of a onetime granter. The boy who kissed me. The boy who looked at stars with me. The boy who believed in the green light at the end of the dock.

  Maybe it wasn’t an act?

  “Yes,” he says, and he sounds innocent and shy as he admits it. “Felt and feel, Aria. It was never just a tale told for freedom. The way I feel for you is a true story. It’s real.”

  My heart is beating fast, and I’m scared and hopeful at the same time. It’s so strange to feel this way. “Really?”

  “Yes. Really and truly. And more than like, Aria. I’m in love with you. And I want to make a wish.”

  My heart catches and plummets at the same time. Wishes and wants. It always comes down to that.

  I assume my best businesslike pose as I reach into my pocket for the small notebook that’s magically there, in every outfit, every uniform I now possess. I take it out, flip it open, and begin to take notes. “Let’s get down to business. Your wish, sir? And what is it you want to offer in exchange?”

  He shakes his head, steps closer, and takes away my notebook. “The only wish that requires no payment,” he says, as he drops my notebook to the sidewalk. I watch it hit the ground before I realize my hands are shaking, my fingers are trembling. I can taste something, I can feel something, and it’s so perilously close. I want to reach it, but I don’t want to miss.

  The thing I’ve wanted most of all, my whole life over. The thing I’ve sought in different forms, in different shapes, trying on the wrong size, fumbling and stumbling and getting it wrong. But wanting it—always wanting it.

  Freedom.

  I hope and I wait and I want. There is only one wish that costs nothing.

  His lips quirk up, and he speaks again. “You freed me. And now, Aria, I wish you free.”

  I hold out my hands, and no sweet smoke rises from them, no mist to bring forth desires. Instead I can feel the smoke coursing out of me, mingling with the real elements, with the air surrounding me, then being carried off on a current to become one with the atmosphere. I don’t know where granter magic goes when it’s drained away, when you’re freed of the bonds that come with incredible cosmic power and no free will.

  But it’s no longer inside me.

  My body is mine, my will is mine.

  I am safe, finally.

  “Your wish is my command,” I say as he takes my hands in his, pulls me close, and kisses me. He tastes like oranges, like he did that night we first kissed. Only this is better. Because my heart is healed, all my wish-giving magic stripped away, and he’s free too. I am me now, only me, and there’s nothing better than this.

  Except one little thing.

  I break the kiss.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d really like to get out of these awful shoes.”

  I take the black patent leather shoes I vow to never wear again and leave them on the sidewalk. Someone will pick them up. Someone will wear them. Just not me.

  Instead I pull on my lace-up boots, tying them the way I like. I look down at my footwear, at my worn and beaten-up boots that don’t match my outfit. But they sure make this skirt look a heck of a lot better.

  “Ah, that’s the girl I fell in love with, boots and all.”

  “Boots and all,” I repeat. I take his hand. “What would you say to going to New Jersey with me right now? There are some people I want to see.”

  “I would say let’s catch the next bus.”

  33

  New Life

  “Where’s my math homework? I can’t find it!”

  Jana shrieks and runs her hands through her hair, holding it hard.

  I place a hand on her shoulder to settle her. “Did you look in your backpack? I saw you put it in there last night when you finished.”

  Jana unzips her backpack and digs through the mountains of paper inside her binder, like a dog hunting for a bone. “Ah! There is it.”

  “Dork,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Now, c’mon. My first class isn’t for an hour, so I’m going to walk you to the bus stop.”

  “I know where the bus stop is. You don’t have to walk me.”

  “I want to and I’m going to,” I say.

  She narrows her eyes at me, shoots me a sharp stare.

  “Just let me be the big sister, please.”

  “Fine,” she says, then she lowers her voice. “I’m so glad you’re back. And safe.”

  “Me too.”

  I’ve been home for a month now, catching up on school. It’s not easy, but I find the SparkNotes are helpful. I did read The Great Gatsby last week for English though, and Taj was right. It’s so beautiful.

  Then I zip up my coat and tell Jana to put on a hat. “It’s freezing outside.”

  “It’s ridiculous here,” she says. “It’s so cold in December. I don’t know how people survive like this.”

  I love that we can talk about the weather, and the temperature truly is one of the few things we have to worry about.

  On the way to the bus stop, Jana chatters about a boy she likes.

  “You should ask him out,” I say.

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  She nods several times. “Yeah, why not?”

  “And don’t forget. Be home by three. You and mom are taking me to the airport tonight.”

  “I’ll be home.”

  They let Xavi into the visiting room. He sits next to me on the couch. He shrugs at me, an admission that he’s sorry we’re back like this.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You too.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “The same. Always the same.”

  I suspect he’ll always be the same.

  “But what about you?”

  “I’m good.” Except for my brother being behind bars, life is extraordinarily good. It’s also completely different from what I imagined. I always thought I’d have to save everyone—Jana, my mom, myself. In the end, I couldn’t save myself. I had to be saved. But then, knowing who to trust and who to love—Taj—was what saved me in the end. He saved me, because I finally let someone know me.

  “How’s school?”

  “I’m finishing my senior year of high school,” I tell him. “I started late. I missed the first two months of the school year with that whole granter thing. But I’m making up for lost time.”

  “And Jana?”

  “Oh, you know. She still misses Florida. But she’s getting used to Jersey.”

  He shakes his head and laughs. “Can’t believe you live in New Jersey of all places.”

  “I know, right? But Mom likes the change. We have a small apartment, and she had enough money to buy it from the sale of the house.”

  “And you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you, dork. You.”

  How am I? I don’t perform anymore, and I don’t miss it at all. And I haven’t gone dark inside like Xavi said would happen. Turns out we are different in some ways. Some people go crazy when they don’t use their fire. Some people grow saner. No one’s coming to get me, no one’s coming to lock me up. I may have stolen fire, but I don’t use it anymore. I’d like to say it’s my penance, my punishment for the crime, but truth be told, I actually like not making fire.

  “I’m happy. I’m going to apply to college. Maybe study English or something. I don’t know. Or maybe I’ll just be a barista. I don’t really know what I want to do with my life.”

  But I don
’t have to. Because my life is finally mine.

  Taj waits for me outside, reading a book. He’s sitting on a bench just beyond the chain-link fence that keeps the prisoners inside. I watch him as he flips back a few pages, scans the words for whatever he’s looking for, then returns to where he left off. He likes reading even more now that he can take his time with books, now that he has time. He doesn’t have to race against a clock.

  I sit down next to him. “Good book?” I ask.

  “Great book.”

  “I’m going to need to get you a how-to-take-care-of-Florida-wildlife one next.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  I nod. “Yep. I need to go check on the gator. I promised I’d look out for him.”

  A deal is a deal, after all.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you so much to my agent, Michelle Wolfson, for her tireless and always passionate dedication to my books, to my editors Caroline Abbey and Michelle Nagler for their keen insight into how to make the story better, and to Brett Wright for getting the book over the finish line.

  I am ever grateful to the entire team at Bloomsbury for their care and attention to books, especially Lizzy Mason and Cindy Loh.

  Hugs and pizza and tea and chatter to my local girls, Cynthia, Malinda, and Cheryl.

  Thank you to the librarians, teachers, and fantastic booksellers who share their love of books with readers of all ages.

  As always, my husband and children are my loves, and my dogs are my writing companions.

  And most of all, thank you to you—the person reading this book. I hope you enjoyed your time with Aria.

  Also by Daisy Whitney

  Starry Nights

  Copyright © 2014 by Daisy Whitney

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.