Feel the Flames

by BJ Sheldon

  I lowered my hands to my side and imagined the potential, trying to force an idea to the forefront of my mind. My fingers found their way the hilt of my sword that hung from my waist. It never left my side. I wore it when I flew, when I painted, and even while lying on my old metal bed as I read. I would often hold it in my hands while meditating, not wanting to be caught off guard—just in case. And even though we’d won the battle against Azazel and his army, I had an uneasy feeling that I just couldn’t shake. And at times, it felt like someone was watching me. I knew it was probably just paranoia setting in, but with everything I’d experienced and witnessed over that summer, it couldn’t hurt to be hyper vigilant.

  “What are you reading?” I asked, stepping away from the easel.

  Dorian peeked over the pages and gave me a quizzical look. He held the Bible up in front of his face as he continued to read.

  “I can see that, you idiot. What I meant was what are you reading in the Bible?” I asked wryly.

  “Oh. Proverbs 11,” he replied, not looking up.

  “Solomon,” I replied casually.

  Dorian stopped reading and glanced up at me. “Huh?”

  “Solomon. It’s believed he wrote most of Proverbs.” I closed my eyes briefly, trying to access the data banks in the far recesses of my mind. “Proverbs 11 is about what defines the righteous—the difference between good and evil.”

  “Something like that,” he said, using his finger as a bookmark, shutting the book. “Ironic, really. Solomon is widely considered one of the wisest men to have ever lived. There’s an ancient myth about how he built the first temple in Jerusalem using demons. Or so they say.”

  “I don’t remember reading about that in there,” I said, nodding at the book in his hands.

  “It’s not in the Bible, but there are ancient texts that talk about it a bit. I just find it funny that Solomon is still considered to be such a righteous person when he had seven hundred wives, three hundred concubines, and swayed from his faith to build idols. All anyone remembers is the story of how he ordered the baby to be cut in half to settle a dispute between two mothers…which when you really think about it isn’t genius. It’s diabolical. Weird how the perception of people can change through the centuries.”

  I cocked my head at him as he spoke. He’d been a warrior for most of his life, but since coming back from the dead I’d found he was far deeper than just some guy who was highly skilled with a weapon. He was always surprising me with his depth of knowledge, especially regarding anything having to do with ancient Bible texts—not to mention kung fu movies from the seventies.

  He loved kung fu movies.

  After everything I’d read over the past three centuries, I was amazed that I’d never come across the story of Solomon using demons to build the temple. But then, there were a lot of books in existence I hadn’t read, yet.

  Dorian opened the Bible back up and continued to read.

  I closed my eyes and emptied my thoughts, giving my creativity an opportunity to manifest itself.

  Seconds passed but nothing came to me.

  “Ugh!” I grunted loudly.

  “Having issues?”

  “I’m drawing a complete blank. It’s frustrating.”

  “Stop trying to force it. Let it flow through you. You’re trying too hard.”

  “What do you know?” I teased. “Mind your own business, big guy.”

  I took in a long, deep breath and held it, counting to ten. Then, I let the air slowly escape my lips as I tried to focus.

  My inner muse suddenly began to speak. It started softly as a whisper in the wind, but it quickly gained momentum until it was screaming at me to listen. I grabbed both sides of my head and closed my eyes coming to the upsetting realization that it wasn’t inspiration striking me…it was a brain-splitting vision.

  It struck me like a two-by-four to the back of the head. And it wasn’t a welcome visitor.

  My head spun out of control as images of a symbol crashed about in my mind. The paintbrush in my hand sprung to life, taking on a life of its own. Two lines—one vertical and one horizontal—intersected in the middle and were surrounded by a circle, various strange images placed in each quadrant.

  I painted it repeatedly over and over until my canvas was covered in the symbol.

  The brush fell from my hand as a rush of energy traveled throughout my body. I collapsed to the ground, my head pounding.

  “Skyy? Are you okay?” I could hear Dorian calling out to me, but I was weak and couldn’t respond.

  Here we go again, I thought.

  Chapter 2

  I sat on the floor, curled up in the corner with my chin resting on my knees, my arms pulling my legs in tight. My gaze was fixed on the painting I’d been compelled to paint. It was as if I’d been under some kind of spell, unable to break its magical hold on me—my attention drawn inward, compelled to exorcise the pictures inside my head onto the canvas before me.

  Dorian remained silent and studied the image, carefully taking in every dot, stroke, and swipe of paint. The symbol was simple. Old script, possibly Hebrew, was scribbled around the edges of the circle. And each quadrant within contained something that resembled a stone of some type.

  And that was it.

  There was nothing grand about it as a whole. It didn’t appear to be anything special. It wasn’t fancy or even alluring. There was no elegance to it. Squiggles, lines, and zig-zags were strewn about in no discerning fashion that seemed to make any kind of sense. In fact, it looked quite ordinary.

  But it must have been important. After all, it covered the canvas.

  Dorian leaned in and examined the painting. He squinted a bit as his gaze sporadically moved from one symbol to the next.

  I struggled to stand, eventually steadying myself, getting my legs under me. I stood behind him and nervously chewed on my nails. Together we glared at the canvas for a few minutes, carefully going over every little detail in every paint stroke, trying to make sense of it all.

  “Well?” I asked, my thumb nail nervously clicking against my lower front teeth.

  “That—that symbol—I feel like I’ve seen it before. But…” Dorian shook his head, his expression growing bleak. “I can’t place it.”

  The last time I had painted like that—neurotically and without abandon, I ended up foreseeing a battle between Watchers and Hybrids. I was afraid to think what the new painting could mean. That symbol had to have some kind of significance. Otherwise I wouldn’t have felt compelled to paint it.

  “I think I know someone who can help us figure out what it means.” Dorian turned to face me, determination in his eyes. “But since I don’t seem to have the ability to summon a portal anymore, I’m going to need a computer.”

  “A computer?” I asked.

  “Yeah. You know…a keyboard and screen you use to look up information and communicate with people?”

  “I know what a computer is, you smartass. What I meant was, where do you expect to get your hands on one?”

  Dorian smiled, basking in his ability to get under my skin.

  “I don’t know. But we’re going to need one. Otherwise, we’re going to have to fly to New Jersey. And while your flying abilities are top notch, mine are less than subpar. So, I suggest we figure out how to get our hands on a computer.”

  “What’s in New Jersey?” I asked.

  “Not what. Who. Oscar. Oscar Bates. He’s probably the most knowledgeable person I know when it comes to ancient history and symbology. If anyone will know what that image means, it’ll be Oscar. I just need him to get a look at what you painted.”

  “Okay. Fine. So where do we find a computer?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the one who’s lived around here the longest. Think.”

  “Well…” I grew quiet. I knew exactly where we needed to go. It was obvious, but I’d been avoiding it for weeks. The thought alone caused my eyes to well, but it was time to face it and do what needed to be done. “Sean had a com
puter at his place. A couple of them, actually. We could head over to his trailer tonight after dark and borrow one.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Dorian asked. He knew I’d been struggling with Sean’s absence those past few weeks. And even though I knew Sean had died a hero’s death, helping to save the world, it didn’t make missing him any easier.

  There were times I still expected Sean to walk through my studio door, books and supplies in hand, with his infectious grin and sarcastic wit ready to take me on as his intellectual equal. Having Dorian around definitely helped—alleviated the inevitable loneliness I would have suffered if not for his presence. But I’d grown used to Sean’s face over the years. His blunt, unadulterated advice about my personal life and multiple suicide attempts had been a daily occurrence, and I missed that. Of course, having someone think that I was a real-life superhero didn’t hurt, either.

  I had purposely been avoiding Sean’s house, knowing it was only a matter of time before I resigned myself to get there and go through his things. He didn’t have any family, so it would be up to me to make sure everything was dealt with eventually.

  “I’m sure. I’ve been meaning to get over there anyway. Two birds. One really big stone,” I said, awkwardly shifting my weight back and forth. “We can leave tonight.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. I hope you know how to use a computer, because I don’t have a clue.” I stepped back from the painting and hooked my thumbs into my back pockets, setting my gaze on Dorian. “How do you do it?” I asked.

  “Do what?”

  “You seem so stoic about Lillith. How do you get through it without completely losing it once in a while?”

  “I’m not sure I get what you mean. Death is death. People die all the time. It’s no big deal,” he said, shrugging.

  I squinted at him a bit, not quite sure how to take his statement.

  “You don’t miss her?” I asked.

  “Of course I miss her. But she died defending humanity—doing exactly what she’d been trained to do her entire life. Death is natural and just the next step after living a mortal life, Hybrid or not. She was going to die one way or another, and she went out the way she wanted. And me pining over her isn’t going to bring her back. Plus, she lived a full hundred and twenty years. She had no regrets, so why should I?”

  I nodded. “I guess you’re right.” My chest tightened as I tried to be brave and not show Dorian the emotions I was feeling over my loss. In a way, Dorian’s words made me feel a bit silly about missing Sean. “Sean wasn’t that lucky, you know. He didn’t get the long, life-affirming existence that Lillith did. Did you know he was only thirty-six years old? He’d barely lived half his life. And I keep thinking he’s going to come barging into the studio any minute acting like an asshole, his arms full of books for me to read. He always had something to say. And he always had to be right.” My mouth hinted at a smile, but my sadness quickly took over. “I wish I could be more clinical about his death the way you are with Lillith’s.”

  Dorian’s eyes narrowed, his head cocking to the side with an expression I’d never seen before.

  “Are you saying I’m cold and uncaring?” he asked. His voice was accusatory and sharp, his eyes narrow slits, judging me.

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying at all,” I said, my voice unable to hide its shock at his tone. “I just wish I was able to deal with Sean’s death as well as you’re dealing with your sister’s. That’s all.”

  He mumbled a low “hmm” as if to tell me he didn’t believe my response.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. My stomach rolled, Dorian’s reaction causing me to feel nauseated.

  “I’m fine.” His attitude was a bit too dismissive. I squinted at him, studying his mood as he began to wander about the studio. He appeared agitated, yet I could hardly believe that what I’d said about Lillith could have aggravated him like that. Dorian started to rifle through some old books sitting on my workbench, mindlessly flipping through random pages. Maybe I was crazy, but it almost seemed like he was going out of his way to avoid eye contact with me, purposely focusing a little too hard on meaningless, inanimate objects rather than engaging with me.

  I knew it couldn’t have been easy for him. One minute, he was accepting his own mortality, saying goodbye to the people he cared about, and the next he was standing at my door with black wings and no memory of how they—or he—got there. We had spent every minute of every day together since he arrived on my doorstep. It was possible, I thought, he could be getting bored with me. Maybe he finally determined his attraction for me had only been temporary—that he no longer felt the same way.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I heard Dorian say aloud. He turned and was staring at me with a copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “You forgot to shut me out of your thoughts again,” he replied.

  “Crap,” I muttered under my breath.

  Dorian placed the book on the stack behind him and faced me. “Get over here,” he said. His body language and expression both softened, his eyes dancing mischievously as I slowly sauntered over to where he stood. As I reached him, his hands immediately grasped my waist, gently pulling me closer to him. Our faces were merely inches apart, and I felt my heart begin to race through my chest as I caught my breath.

  “Don’t ever think for one minute that I could grow tired of you,” he began, gazing directly into my eyes. “I can’t imagine spending my endless years with anyone but you. Every day, I discover some nuance—some new little thing I didn’t know about you before. You’re beautifully complex and frustrating, and I wouldn’t want you any other way. I might not remember why I was sent back, but I’m certain that it had something to do with you.”

  His words gripped my heart, causing my chest to tighten. I knew he cared about me deeply, but it was good to hear the words spoken aloud. In all my years, I had no clue I could feel that way about another person. Sean had given me insight into friendship and what it meant to care about someone other than myself. But Dorian taught me that my heart was capable of so much more.

  His effect on me was strong. We hadn’t known each other long, but there was an inexplicable bond between us that was a mystery—even to me. I often wondered if what I’d been feeling was love. Considering I’d never been in love before and had nothing to compare it to, I couldn’t be positive. But if love was aching for someone when they were away, finding joy in the silence of togetherness, and worrying more about the other person’s well-being than your own, then love was what I was in.

  I began to speak but was stopped suddenly as his lips met mine. My face grew warm, the heat radiating throughout my body. It never ceased to amaze me how his touch could affect me so quickly. His left hand reached around my back and pulled me closer as his right hand moved up and cradled my cheek, his fingers gripping the back of my head. His lips felt hot as they drew me in further. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck and pulled him as close as I possibly could. The space between us no longer existed. My hunger for him rose as his own passion began to heighten. His breathing quickened, his hands tightening their grip on me.

  My mind raced with thoughts of forever, living right there in his arms for eternity, when pictures of the symbol once again found their way into my consciousness. I tried to block them from my mind, but they were persistent and clearly wanted me to pay attention to their presence. And then something even darker appeared. Shadows of darkness and flames of fire seemed to consume the images in my mind. The symbols burned and vanished from my thoughts and were replaced with nothingness. It felt as though someone, somewhere, was trying to tell me something. I couldn’t explain the feeling, but it was as if a higher power were planting the seeds of things to come…and it was terrifying.

  I slowly unwrapped my arms from his neck, gripping Dorian’s face on either side, and reluctantly pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his chest he
aving, as he searched my face for clues.

  I grinned sheepishly, trying to hide my inner fear, and slowly regained my composure as I ran my fingers through his hair.

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  But I wasn’t so sure I believed it myself.

  Chapter 3

  Dorian and I spent a good part of the day reading through a bunch of my mythology and theology history books, combing the pages for any clue as to what that symbol meant. After hours of not finding anything we could use, we spent the rest of the day curled up together on the rod iron bed in my trailer talking about our respective pasts.

  He regaled me with stories about adventures that he and Lillith had experienced over the years while I listened intently to every word. I knew he wanted me to share my own history with him, but I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

  I still wasn’t comfortable being completely open with Dorian. After all those years of living in seclusion, I didn’t know how to be transparent with someone I cared about. Sean and I had known each other for over fifteen years, and even he didn’t know much about my past. I had lived the majority of my life hidden away from the world, trying to keep my wings concealed from those who would wish me harm. I found myself training with the great warriors of the day in hopes that I could better learn to defend myself when the time came.

  I had killed people in my past, but never in cold blood—or at least that’s what I told myself. Most of those kills had been in self-defense, even before the great Badlands battle. People who had been out to capture me for my wings had been dealt with swiftly. But there were a few…a few I wasn’t necessarily proud of. Some had simply stumbled upon my presence as Sean once had. But unlike Sean, those morons immediately ran to tell the authorities about my existence in hopes of earning some kind of bounty for the find of a lifetime. I told myself that I had no choice but to dispel their lives to keep my presence in the world a secret—but that rationale never made it any easier to swallow what I’d done.