Phoenix Fire

by S. D. Grimm

  “I’m sorry. I dropped it when I saw the guys in my yard.” I pointed down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Guys?” Wyatt clenched his jaw and the look in his eyes turned quite dark. He stopped petting Ajax and raced into the kitchen. Ajax and I followed.

  “They’re gone. Ajax does a good job of scaring unwanted people away.”

  “I’m sure.” The skepticism in his eyes remained. He picked up my phone, the dismantled case, and the battery. “You really need a better case.”

  “Apparently.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” He handed the phone back to me. “That’s a lot of blood.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Glass crunched under his shoe. “Looks like you need some help cleaning up. Do you have a broom?”

  I pulled the broom out of the closet and handed it to him. Then I grabbed the first-aid kit and called Ajax over to me. He limped.

  Wyatt paused his sweeping. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I think he stepped on glass.”

  “Rough night, huh?” He offered a lopsided smile, and it was contagious.

  “You could say that.” I reached for Ajax’s paw and he stepped back. I managed to get ahold of him. “It’s okay, boy. This will sting, but—” Ajax pulled his paw from me and hunkered in the corner, head down and ears laid back.

  “Can I try?” Wyatt held out his hand for the gauze and peroxide.

  “Umm, he’s not always the nicest to strangers.”

  He looked over at Ajax and smiled. “We go way back.”

  “He’s only five.”

  Wyatt crouched down and Ajax walked over, all loose and wiggly. He sat and placed his paw in Wyatt’s offered hand. The look he gave Wyatt, with a wrinkle in between his huge ears, pleaded for Wyatt not to hurt him.

  Wyatt sort of frowned. “Sorry, buddy, this’ll hurt a little. Ava, can you hand me a bowl?”

  I complied and knelt close, on the other side of the glass mess. Something about Wyatt’s calm demeanor helped me, too. He poured peroxide into the bowl and then took Ajax’s offered paw. Slowly, he held the bowl up to Ajax’s paw, talking softly to him. Ajax sat still while the white foam bubbled around his cut. “So, tell me something about yourself.”

  “Umm, you are aware he’s a dog, right?”

  His return chuckle was soft and deep. “I mean you, Ava.” He glanced up at me, smile in his eyes.

  I really liked when he said my name. “Like what?”

  “Anything. Sometimes it helps to talk. Ajax can’t, but he’s a really good listener. Aren’t you, boy?”

  His tail swept back and forth across the floor as he looked up at Wyatt. He leaned forward and licked the tip of Wyatt’s nose.

  “Apparently he likes you.”

  “I’m a likeable guy.” He lowered the bowl from Ajax’s paw and inspected the cut. “Almost done.” He glanced at me. “Hand me the gauze?”

  I did. Wyatt’s fingers grazed mine as he took it from me. He wasn’t what he seemed. Not in the slightest. At school he always kept to himself in a way that made me write him off as some awkward guy. But here, helping the dog, he was confident. More like the guy who’d shielded me from wreckage, pulled a car door off its hinges, and tried to bust down my front door to come to my rescue. Not some weakling who couldn’t stand up for himself.

  “Why do you let the guys at school push your books out of your hands every day?”

  He paused in wrapping the gauze around Ajax’s paw for a heartbeat and glanced at me over his shoulder, a smile lighting his eyes. “Not every day. Besides, who will they pick on if not me?” This close, I caught sight of the depth of color in his eyes. Layers of blue and green and a bit of gold.

  “You can’t possibly mean you let them pick on you so they don’t hurt someone else.”

  He let go of Ajax’s paw. “Good boy.” He patted the dog’s head, and Ajax granted him another kiss. Then Wyatt faced me. “I said tell me something about yourself, Ava.”

  Those layers of blue, light over greenish over bright. It was an amazing combination. I had to stop staring. I picked up the bowl and set it in the sink. Now that I was farther away from him, I faced him again. “I’m parentless.”

  He pulled his eyebrows together as he stood and grabbed the broom. “That’s a strange label. Does it define you?”

  Did it? “I don’t think so. The fact that I had parents defines me, though.”

  “The fact that someone loved you?”

  Whoa. Close to the mark, and I wasn’t in a sharing mood. “My, my, this is some deep territory.”

  “Sorry.”

  I held the dustpan on the floor, and he swept glass shards onto it. If only a shattered life could be this easily swept up.

  With the glass picked up, I got to work scrubbing blood from the floor. Wyatt helped without a word.

  “Were you and Danny close?” I asked, trying to figure out why Danny never hung out with him anymore.

  He tossed a bloody paper towel into the trash. “I guess. We were both adopted so we had some common ground. You know?”

  “You’re adopted? I didn’t know.” Maybe I should have. It seemed like half the population in this tiny town was adopted.

  “I was young. Four.”

  Four. That was the age they’d found me. I’d wandered up to the edge of town, still in the shadow of the woods, with nothing but tattered clothes on my back—singed on the edges as if I escaped a fire—and they’d taken me to the police. No one claimed me. No one knew me. They figured my parents had died in a fire.

  I didn’t recall a thing except my name. Ava Elderson. It didn’t help them find me or my parents. I was no one. They let me keep my name.

  And then something on the edge of my mind infiltrated the corner of my memory. Like a loose string, I pulled it, and a picture filled my head. Barefoot, wearing a singed white nightgown, I walked through the woods. This I’d seen before. My earliest memory.

  “Ava.” A young voice, a child’s voice, called after me. “Ava, where are you going?”

  “Follow the light, Cade. Follow the light.”

  Cade.

  My heart seemed to pause then rev, like a sputtering car. That last part was new. I’d heard that name before, in a memory. Not my memory. But this was my memory, right? And the little boy, who was he? A neighbor? A brother? Why hadn’t I recalled him before?

  “Ava?” Another voice overlapped my memory, and I looked up to see Wyatt very close, and very concerned.

  “I’m sorry.” I turned toward the fridge as my face heated. I didn’t want Wyatt to think it had anything to do with him. Then again, explaining that I was having memories that weren’t mine might actually be a worse excuse. “I’ve been a terrible hostess. Do you want something to drink?” I opened the door. The refrigerator expelled cold air, at least. “We have orange juice or apple juice or—”

  “Water’s fine.”

  “No problem.” I pulled the Brita pitcher out of the fridge with one hand and then reached for the cupboard with the other. My fingertips grazed something soft and warm—Wyatt’s hand.

  He pulled back so fast I would have thought I burned him. “Sorry.” Wyatt motioned to the cupboard. “Just trying to be helpful.”

  “No problem.” I smiled my most sincere, recalling how he flinched earlier at the hospital when I had playfully pushed his arm. I tilted my head, taking in his guarded expression. “You all right?”

  “What? Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. Not wanting to make him more uncomfortable, I turned my attention to the water. No. Not again. My heart thundered, sending a pulse of blood through my system as I stared at the water. It seemed to flicker for a moment. It was a Brita pitcher. Then it was a wooden bucket. I recognized that bucket. My hands—they were bloody. Not now. The room started to spin as I fought the stupid vision. I squeezed my eyes closed.

  A strong, gentle grip latched on to my arms, steadying me, and I opened my eyes—back in the kitchen. Wyatt’s concerned express
ion met my gaze. “You okay?”

  I pressed the back of my shaking hand to my forehead as I stared into those blue eyes. “I’m just a bit rattled, I think.” My words came out soft and airy.

  “Maybe we should sit down?” He grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled them both with water. “You had a really stressful night.”

  Understatement.

  His gentle touch on my elbow shook me of my momentary trance caused by that…vision? Memory? Something about his touch sent strange feelings through me. I looked up at him and he dropped his hand, eyebrows pulling together in what looked a bit like embarrassment. He sort of winced. “U-unless you want me to go.”

  “No.” The speed at which I answered surprised me. I sounded almost desperate. I kind of was. I needed to know what was happening to me, and the only person right now who might have answers was standing in front of me.

  “Okay. Then I’ll stay.” He smiled and heat spread over my skin in a wave. I looked at the cleaned-up kitchen. At least that was done. Then I turned away, heading to the living room and trying to get my skin to cool. I pulled my hood up in case it helped block the view of my burning cheeks. Whoa. Where was this coming from?

  “Have a seat.” I plopped on one side of the couch, trying to look casual. Probably failing. Everything inside of me felt on edge. Guarded. How was I supposed to coax this kind of information out of him without sounding crazy?

  He sat on the other end of the couch.

  Slipping off my shoes and curling my legs under me, I faced him. “So tell me something about yourself, Wyatt.” I tried to make my tone challenging, while keeping an edge of humor to it. After all, I was playing his game now, using his words from earlier.

  His chuckle was deep, lyrical almost. I bet he could sing.

  “Not into sharing? That’s kind of a double standard.” I was sure to smirk playfully so he knew I was teasing.

  That just made him laugh more, though it sounded sort of uncomfortable. “No. I just don’t know what to say.”

  “Come on. You’ve got to be a man of hidden talents. Just pick one to share.” I set my glass on a coaster on the coffee table and pulled my knees up, folding my hands across the tops of them. How was I going to get him to open up? And why was he being so shy?

  “Hidden talents, huh? What kind of hidden talents do you have, Ava?”

  “You know, like double-jointed thumbs.” I rolled my thumbs and they jumped out of their sockets with a little pop. “Amazing singing voice?” I wiggled my eyebrows to let him know I suspected that as one of his, along with the ability to self-heal. “Or something about you that no one would guess.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

  I shrugged. Trying to make him feel at ease was harder than I thought. “That you don’t actually know all the members of the Justice League by heart, or maybe that you secretly hate school, or that you let people knock books out of your hands so no one else gets picked on.” Something in my chest warmed as I said that, and I looked right into his eyes in time to watch them round a little. He swallowed, seeming a bit more uncomfortable. Not my goal. “Maybe you’re a romantic. I know…you probably love stargazing.”

  He seemed to study me with his eyes. “You didn’t tell me you were so good at reading people.”

  “I was right?” I sat up straighter. “About which thing?”

  He shook his head. “All of them.”

  I stared at him with my mouth open. “You’re a secret romantic?”

  He laughed and ducked his head. For some reason, I wanted to move closer to him. This Wyatt seemed so unlike any of Danny’s other friends. “You’re different than I thought you’d be.”

  His gaze met mine and seemed to hold as much curiosity as amusement. “How so?”

  I shrugged, pulling my knees closer. “First of all, why do you hate school? Aren’t you really good at it?”

  “Doesn’t mean I like it.” He leaned down and fondled the tips of Ajax’s ears. “Bullies. Cliques. Fake people. Not really worth my time.”

  “I get that.” That was the biggest thing about going to a new place. Wading through all the fake people. “But everyone wears masks.” As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back; it was too revealing. The intense look in Wyatt’s eyes—the way he really paid attention to me when I talked to him—made it so strangely easy for me to open up. That unnerved me. “It’s like a defense mechanism. We can’t just let everyone in all the time.” My first foster home landed me in a new place because I’d been too much of myself and I wasn’t what they called “a good fit.”

  “Well, yeah. But revealing things as you get to know someone isn’t the same as pretending to be someone you aren’t.”

  “True.” I leaned closer. “It takes a level of trust for that.”

  He nodded.

  I lowered my knees and scooted closer to him. If I’d learned one thing about trust, it was that you have to give it to get it. I wasn’t going to give it, but I was good at giving the impression that I trusted someone. “I was lucky you were there today. Thank you for saving me.”

  Eye contact achieved. “I just did what anyone in my position would do.”

  “No. You—you’re a good person, Wyatt.”

  The momentary lift of his eyebrows told me he didn’t exactly believe that. Interesting. “No, I just—”

  “Give yourself some credit.”

  He shook his head in what looked like a blatant denial, but then he smiled. I was about to ask him another question about the accident site. My heart racing. I didn’t know how to jump into this conversation without sounding crazy.

  Headlights pulled into the driveway.

  With a clatter of claws on wood, Ajax raced to the kitchen, likely waiting by the garage door, wagging his tail.

  “I guess that’s my cue.” Wyatt stood up and headed to the front door.

  I sighed. My questions remained unanswered. At least I could continue this conversation if I could get him to trust me. “Wyatt.” I said his name at the same time as he said mine.

  “You first.” He motioned toward me.

  “I—thank you so much. For—for everything.”

  “No problem, Ava. Anytime. Really. You sound the alarm, I’ll be here.”

  “Just say the word, huh?”

  He smiled. “You got it.”

  “But we never picked one.”

  His eyes lit up. “What did you have in mind?”

  A word seemed to whisper in the back of my mind like a soft reminder of something nostalgic. Something that made me think of the outdoors. Beautiful stars and warm, clear nights. I doubted it meant anything, but it made me feel safe, just like Wyatt seemed to. “How about Andromeda.”

  All trace of humor left his face and his mouth opened slowly. “You remembered?”

  My heart leapt off the starting block. “Remembered what?”

  He shook his head and laughed, but it sounded nervous. “Never mind. I—never mind.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It was just some report I did. On Andromeda. I thought—never mind.”

  He thought what? I stepped closer to him. I wanted to stop him from looking so embarrassed. But he kept backing away from me. The door from the garage into the kitchen opened, interrupting everything.

  Chapter Seven

  Cade

  Nick fumbled with the keys and finally the huge, dusty oak door squealed open. He leaned into it and half stumbled into the house.

  I reached for him, not exactly sure how to help. “Hey, dude. Do you need—”

  “Yes. There’s a metal lockbox in the trunk.” He tossed the keys at me and hunched over as he stepped inside, flicking on a light switch that yielded in no extra lights. “Bring it in. Please.”

  I headed out to the trunk and opened it. Apparently, organization was a skill he possessed. The lockbox was behind a brown, wooden chest that I really wanted to open, but since Nick was bleeding out in an abandoned house, I decided not to right no
w. I brought it with me, anyway.

  From the bright glow on the west side of the house, I gathered he must have found a working light. The screen door slammed behind me, and Nick yelled “ouch” from around the corner. I followed the sound through the living room and kitchen and to the bathroom off the side.

  I set the wooden box on the kitchen island and took the other to the entrance of the bathroom. “Found your tin can.”

  The huge gashes on his side and shoulder looked pretty nasty. And infected. How was that even possible? My mouth seemed suddenly dry. This looked way worse than he’d made me believe. “Are you okay? What—?”

  “Wraith saliva will do that to a Phoenix. It stops our healing ability. They lick their claws before they fight us.” He seemed so calm.

  Gross. Wait. My jaw dropped. “We have healing abilities?”

  “Yeah. Can you open it?”

  I opened the box.

  “There should be a bottle of blue liquid in there marked ‘Wraith.’”

  I handed it to him. He pulled out the stopper with his teeth and poured a few drops onto his shirt, which he’d set aside. Then he dabbed some onto the wound. A sizzling sound followed, and he sucked in air through clenched teeth.

  Slowly, the bubbling skin smoothed, redness abating, and the long gash turned into a thin cut. Then nothing but healed skin. Not even a scar.

  I dropped the keys. “Y-you just healed.” My voice came out at a higher pitch than normal.

  He chuckled. “Yeah. That saliva stings like a—”

  “I can do that, too?”

  “Well…” He replaced the liquid, locked the box, and pocketed the keys. “Technically you can. Your powers are a little spottier than mine. Sometimes. Not always.”

  I narrowed my eyes, not liking where this was going. “Define spotty.”

  “You heal, but sometimes it takes you longer, especially during the memory phase.” He tossed his shirt over his shoulder and headed out of the bathroom, which meant nearly running into me as I stood rooted in the doorway.

  I stared at his back. So, that was why he’d pushed me out of the way and let the monster stab him instead. Something inside my chest felt strangely full. I didn’t exactly want to latch on to that feeling, but I didn’t want to forget it, either. I followed after him as he headed into the kitchen and opened a rickety fridge. Willingness to keep me from getting hurt aside, he still hadn’t answered my questions about my powers. “Define longer.”