He sighed and stood up, folding his arms over his chest. He looked over to me and shook his head.
"Way to let the cat out of the bag, Essie."
"I didn't mean to," I gasped and shook my hands vigorously until the flames vanished. "I don't know what happened. One second she was talking to you and the next the whole room went white." I turned to Ursula, who remarkably hadn't said a word. "I am so sorry Ursula, really I didn't mean to."
Kayden helped Ursula up from the ground. He examined the burn on her arm, blood pressing through the charred skin as the remaining skin started to turn red and swell. He leaned in and whispered into her ear, running his fingers over the wound. The edges began to grow inward, shrinking the wound until nothing was left. Her skin looked perfect and untouched.
"Not even a scar," Kayden said aloud, stepping back from Ursula. "Now, the library?"
Ursula nodded and led the way. We came to a small study office where she flipped a light switch to open a wall that led down a series of steps lined in crimson carpet and fake torches. The staircase winded down to what looked initially like a large wine cellar until the lights came on. Bookshelves packed to the brim lined every wall and filled every nook and cranny. Aisles stretched on forever, standing bookshelves creating and endless sea of rows that held no end. Every so often a chair would be randomly placed in front of the end of an aisle, books clustered around the feet of the chair and on the cushions.
Kayden and Ursula seemed completely unimpressed. I however couldn't stop staring. It was hard to not appreciate the mass of the collection that had to have taken them hundreds of years easily.
"Careful with the ones on the red shelf, they require a blood payment to read them," Ursula said over her shoulder. A thin smile stretched on her lips as she touched her neck. I spotted a small butterfly shaped scar I had never seen there before. Maybe she spoke from experience. I wondered how much she had to sacrifice to get what she wanted in the end.
Kayden walked down the aisles slowly, scanning up and down. He finally settled on a small blue leather-bound book with a detailed gold leafing. Unlike most of the musty texts around it this one looked virtually untouched, as perfect as the day the creator finished it.
He set the book down on the nearest table and beckoned us closer. Opening it to the middle he began to flip around through the pages. Every couple of pages I saw drawings illustrating people with wings drawn inside a ball of blue fire.
"Why would you have a library of the supernatural in your basement?" I looked at Ursula out of the corner of my eyes.
She didn't meet my gaze. "It belonged to my other half." She sniffed and made a face. "He was the academic out of us both. First it was just a few books, next thing you knew it was every book on spells and blood curses and creatures."
"What happened to him?"
"He died as all mortals do," she replied dryly. I felt my cheeks start to burn and started to apologize when Kayden shushed us both.
Pointing to a part in the book he frowned. "This whole damn book is in scripture." He looked at Ursula. "Do you have the key?"
"Somewhere in here, I think," she said slowly, biting her lower lip. "I don't know where, though."
"You mean to tell me you don't have all of this in a computer for reference?"
"Be my guest," she snapped. "I still only have 24 hours in a day to get things done, immortal or not."
They both began to bicker, arguing over keeping up appearances for humans. I stared at the page Kayden had left open. A small picture in the top right showed two people, one of them extending a book to the other. The one with wings, an angel I presumed, accepted the book.
"It doesn't look like scripture to me," I said aloud. Both stopped arguing and turned to look at me. "I can read it just fine." I understood the scribbles on the pages perfectly, as if I had known it all along.
"What?" Kayden paused for a moment before smacking his head. A huge grin spread across his face. "Of course you can read it. Don't know why I didn't think to ask you first. Well, what does it say?"
I started at the top of the page and worked my way down. The aged paper crinkled under my touch. "'Their bodies are not temples like their creators, but prisons of fire and destruction. Once they come into age they ignite the matches of war against all of the unholy and inhuman, leaving none safe in their path.'"
I could feel their eyes on me, their silence deafening to my fears. "What does that mean?"
"It means you were created for war, Essallie. You're the perfect soldier."
T E N
The next few days withered by in an uneven haze. I went through the motions like any other person, only inside I felt trapped. The words 'prisons of fire and destruction' sounded inside me with every heartbeat, as if my own blood was agreeing with it. It made me feel sick.
I had barely even realized I was distancing myself from my friends. Abigail was the one who took it most to heart. She continued to make it a point to come over to my house and do something, anything, just to see if she could snap me out of my frozen mind. Each day ended virtually the same; her heading off to her car while I watched from the window, emotionless. It was like I had been drained of every emotion in my heart.
Sitting down in the cafeteria, I couldn't help but feel like things were spinning out of control. Each second felt like a blessing and a curse in the same breath, and here I was choking on it. Had it been anyone else they would have relished in the thought of being able to wield fire like some freak-show person you see in the movies. I didn't want any of it.
"...Essallie, did you hear me?" Abigail's voice buzzed into my thoughts, cutting off the notions of how long it would take to down myself. Maybe with fire retarded gloves Kayden could even help.
Looking up from my tray of untouched food I shook my head. "Sorry, lost in thought." I absentmindedly picked up a fork and started to play with the pile of mashed potatoes on my plate.
"I was asking Thomas about that movie we've been wanting to see, Witch in White. Remember the trailer?" She paused long enough to roll her eyes. "Oh wait, of course you don't remember. You've been too busy moping in your corner for freaking ever."
"Easy, Abigail," Thomas muttered.
I set my fork down delicately, locking eyes with Abigail in what I hoped was a perfect death stare. "No, Thomas. She has something to say, let her say it. What's the matter, Abby? Am I not fun enough for you anymore?"
"Not when you're whining like a wannabe emo and shutting yourself in at home every day after school," she snapped. Her lip curled into the tiniest sneer. For a split second I could see exactly why everyone in the school found her annoying. "It never ends with you. You're just like all those other drama queens frolicking around this school sucking up the air."
"Good to know my problems are just a waste of your precious air," I hissed. The burning sensation in my palms began to streak up my arms. I could practically taste the fire begging to be freed from my skin.
"What is wrong with you, Essie?" Her tone dropped to a calmer sound. "You shut me out so fast. Aren't friends supposed to help each other out with their problems?"
I stood up from the chair with a rough shove at the table, my bag swung over my shoulder in the same movement. "Maybe that's just it, Abigail. Maybe you're not so much of a friend to me as I thought you were." I launched past her and out of the room, weaving through the thinned crowd in the hallways toward my car. As soon as I was sure I was alone I yanked up my sleeves. The sharp pinpricks of winter air made my skin practically steam, crackles of blue sparks dancing off of my skin in short bursts. Another minute and I probably couldn't have controlled the fire to protect Abigail or anyone in that room. I climbed into my car and made sure to drive safe home, taking deep breaths to reign in my anger.
Dinner that night was quiet. I still hadn't quite found my appetite.
Jayson seemed to have caught onto my mood. "You normally love chicken alfredo," he pointed out over a mouthful of something fishy. "Did I overcook it?"
; "No no, it's fine." I shook my head, eyes glued to the plate. We were eating on the ceramic plates we'd both made as kids. Flowers of all colors and sizes decorated mine. "I'm just sort of thinking of when we were younger. Back when Mom was still around."
I heard him scoff and looked up just in time to see him raise his eyebrows in shock at me. "Why would you want to think of that? Don't you remember what she did to you?"
My eyes drifted back down to my plate. How could I not forget running around the house all night long, hiding in the smallest spaces just to avoid her finding me? Sounds of her thundering footsteps and shrill screeching echoed in my ears. "Can't blame me for wondering if sometimes she was right."
Jayson reached out a hand to place over top mine. His expression was one of pity. "Don't ever think that, Essallie. She was bat-shit and everyone knew it. They say it started long before you came around."
I swallowed a piece of pasta and ignored the churning in my stomach. "What do you mean?" He looked away from me, his expression guarded. "You know more than you're letting on."
He refused to meet my face. Pushing his plate away he blew out his cheeks. "I heard Gram say something once, about how-" he started slow like each word killed him to speak it then cut off with no warning. Shaking his head he rose from the table and took his plate to the sink, the sound of running water hitting his plate as he scrapped of leftovers. "Mom wasn't exactly a liar. You were a little weird growing up."
Oh, well that was good to know. I heard my voice crack as the words ran over like a broken record in my head. "Weird like she said? A devil's spawn, right?"
The water shut off and Jayson came up behind my chair to place a hand on each shoulder. "No! No, Essie, not like that. You just had a lot of imaginary friends as a kid." He laughed in my ear. "You used to call them your angels. I think that's what freaked Mom out the most."
My mind replayed the night I broke out in my wild fever and the break that came afterwards. Jayson had said I even swore I saw our father. I inched out from the chair and swung around him to dump my plate into the trash. "Thank you for dinner but I'm not really hungry." I didn't wait for him to come up with any reason to save the food; I had the sinking feeling it wouldn't be long before I stopped eating altogether. "Thanks for telling me about my past."
Jayson came to stand in front of the doorway, blocking me in. He waited until I was looking up at him before he spoke. "Our past. Even though we weren't before, we're in this together now."
"Why did you stay here?" I blurted out and instantly regretted it. One heartbreaking truth was more than enough for the day, I wasn't sure if I'd be ready for another. "I always wondered why you never came with me to New York."
He looked oddly confused, as if I had asked him if we lived in Switzerland. "They never told you?" When I shook my head he frowned. "Gram had said it'd be better if we grew up apart. That we'd do better meeting later when you'd be ready."
I felt the air deflate from my lungs as I tried to picture Gram telling her first grandchild to stay away, like he was poison. Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was the poison she had been trying to protect him from. Had they known all along that I wasn't human? That blood like fire that I could never control ran rampant in my veins? Forcing myself to breathe I asked the only question burning on my tongue. "Ready for what?"
"I don't know Essallie. I don't know."
Saturday came with the perfect break in the weather that I needed. The sky opened up like the heavens spreading their arms wide, the glowing sun offered as the perfect antidote to the constant barrage of snow that had covered everything in town.
I had made sure that I appeared as perfectly normal as I could to Jayson in the morning as he busied himself around the kitchen table before work.
"Could you stop shaking your leg so much? It's kind of creeping me out," Jayson said out of nowhere as he stood in the hallway. His Eskimo suit made him look like an over-puffed marshmallow.
Shoot. I quickly relaxed my leg and shifted my anxiety to tapping my fingers on my arm instead. "So you guys are going to be trying to clear as much of the town as possible?" Apparently some freak storm had hit in the middle of the night, leaving a freshly polished war zone of pure white outside.
"That's the goal. I'd stay home for the day if I were you. That tiny little thing you call a car isn't exactly built for this kind of weather." He turned around and looked like he was going to have a heart attack. "Jesus, Essie, what the hell happened to your face?"
"What?" I picked up the untouched spoon for my cereal to see what he was gawking it. A large purplish bruise crested over my cheek bone and trailed all the way down to my jaw. Surprisingly it didn't hurt. "Oh, hit the door frame last night going to bed, no worries. And you leave my car alone, Shelly does just fine!" I pouted but quickly hitched a grin to get him to smile. "I don't think I'm going anywhere. But I am going to call the local book store and see if they have the one paperback I need for English."
He nodded as he wrapped his scarf around his neck several times. "Sounds good. I've got a fire going in the living room, don't touch it. It should last until I get back home late this afternoon. And stay away from door frames, sheesh."
"Yes, Mr. Drill-Sergeant. Bye Mr. Drill-Sergeant," I waved him out of the door, doing my best to ignore the glaring white outside. I had a plan on how to take care of that faster than any shovel or snow plow could ever accomplish.
Double-checking the door was shut and Jayson was gone I sprinted up the steps, rounding the corner and stopping at the first door on the landing. The dark mahogany wood held ornate crested swirls like all of the other doors on the landing, only this one held a subtle shimmer to it, as if someone had meticulously inserted little gems into the wood. Wrapping my hand around the brass knob I twisted it gently to push open the door.
Everything had been covered twelve years ago, back when Mom had been taken to the sanitarium in Portland to get better as Gram had told me. Thick cream sheets draped over the canopy bed but I could still see a peek of the crimson quilted comforter she would wash every morning to have it clean before bed. The brass vanity in the corner probably still held bottles of perfume far past their dates. Even the bookcase had been covered to protect each volume she had bound in some of the most expensive leather she could afford pre-children.
I walked over to her closet and opened the shutters, spotting collections of boxes upon boxes of shoes, photos, her personal journals and more. I kept my eyes peeled until I spotted it in the far top right just a hairsbreadth away. A small ornate music box filled with everything she had for me. I gave a short little leap and latched onto the box, falling to the ground with it pressed tightly to my chest. Mission completed.
Sitting down on the spotless white rug beside her bed I ran my fingers over the lid of my prize. Jewels of varying sizes decorated the top of the box and created a shimmering effect under the thin bars of sunlight that arched through the curtains. Inside was the same stuff from the last time I'd seen it- a birth certificate, two small newborn socks, and one letter folded in half. Taking the parchment from the box and tucking it safely in my pocket, I had all I needed for my trip to see Mommy-dearest for the first time in twelve years.
I took one step through the back door to the house and stopped dead. Snow stood as high as my hips, maybe even higher. Typically I'd turn around and lock myself inside until it turned to July but first there was something I had to see for myself.
Flexing my fingers experimentally I relaxed and let the fire course through my veins, rushing to my fingertips in seconds. Pointing directly at the snow I watched a single jet of fire slice right through it, steam rising.
Excellent.
Hovering my palms just over the snow I let the fire race off of my skin and melt a perfect path straight to my car. Then for good measure I cleaned up the rest of the driveway. Driving down and turning onto the highway I kept the folded piece of paper tightly pressed against my chest.
The two hour drive led me into Portland, the biggest city with
in several hours. While it wasn't any New York City it still had everything I could expect it to have, like Starbucks and malls and cramped apartments. I gazed at them pensively, replaying the night of Chase's betrayal and death with a hollow feeling in my chest.
Portland's sanitarium looked nothing like the kind I had seen in movies for years. A lush and neatly kept landscape rolled around the small property, the building made of brick instead of pure white walling. I followed the signs and parked in one of their small side lots to go inside.
Inside it smelled like someone had washed the walls head to toe in sanitizer, definitely how I had imagined it. The main white hallway past the reception desk seemed to stretch on forever, doors on either side opening in curiosity to see the stranger walking in their territory.
I took a seat towards the window in the visiting hall. Small tables held scattered checkers and chess pieces and even a few potted plants sat on the windowsills, desperate for sunlight. The far wall with no windows held a collage of paintings done by the patients, all in watercolors. I had started to stand up and see if I could pick out which one my mother could have done when the doors across from me opened and a figure shuffled inside.
At first glance she looked nothing like the mother who used to spend her nights searching the house, desperate to beat the devil out of her own child. She looked frail and brittle, her skin stretched thin over her jutting bones. Deep circles creased under her eyes and blemishes rippled across her skin. But her eyes still held the same crisp stare to them as they had all those years ago.
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