by Casey Hays
It isn’t. I need to make that my reality. Plus, my little ring has always kept me safe from discovery. I have a pretty good feeling that it won’t let me down today.
And so, I’ll head to the pool with Devan like I’ve done at least a dozen times. I’ll rub on some sunscreen and perch a pair of sunglasses on the end of my nose. If I’m lucky, the snack bar won’t be out of fruit punch, and the bathroom will have mountains of toilet paper. I’ll burn my skin a little, eat a melted chocolate bar, and watch Devan flirt with the cute lifeguard who’s been filling in from the city pool. And by damn, my afternoon is going to be as ordinary as anyone else’s.
Ordinary.
Right.
Sonata
Kane and Jude
Did I mention that Kane and I talked all night? Yes? Well… the conversation went a little something like this:
***
“When did you start compelling my ring?”
“We were thirteen. My parents decided I was old enough to try.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, they eased me into the role. But I wanted to do it.”
“Is it hard?”
“It just takes some extra energy.” He hugs me closer. “You’re worth it.”
I smile, my cheek resting against his chest. The ring watches us from the coffee table’s edge. I lean in and pick it up. Nothing happens.
“It’s not compelled now. Why?”
“I let it wear off. I’ll compel it again.” His fingers brush my glowing skin, just at the elbow. “Later. Unless… you’re ready to camouflage now.”
“No.” The word is definitive. “Not ever again.”
He laughs, soft and sultry. “That would be nice.”
I concentrate on the ring’s weight.
“Why the ring? Why can’t you just compel me?”
“You’re a hybrid. You can’t be compelled like other humans. You can’t inner-compel, so you can’t camouflage yourself, either.” A pause. “It was your dad who figured out an object would work. Otherwise, well, I’m guessing you would have been home-schooled.”
“Very funny.”
His laughter bobs his chest up and down beneath my cheek.
“You can compel from a distance?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “It’s easier when we’re in the same building. Same room, even better. But, yeah, I can.”
“And Angelica?”
He nods again. “She’s stationary, so she’s easy. I use her to compel your room mostly. Her reach helps to camouflage the house some, but not a lot. And it works best if you’re holding her.” A pause. “I tried to compel your whole house once. That took a lot out of me. Too big.”
“No kidding,” I whisper, tucking a little deeper into his side.
“I had to miss a day of school because I couldn’t camouflage myself. So it was back to making sure you always had your ring on.”
This makes me smile.
“So when I take off my ring, how long does it take to decamouflage? Without your help, I mean?”
He nudges in. “Why? Are you planning to be a rebel?”
I nudge back. “Just tell me.”
“Well, I’ve noticed the speckles in your eyes about fifteen or twenty minutes after you’ve taken off your ring. You might notice a little heat in the blood. But that’s about all you’ll get, I think. You can’t fully decamouflage on your own if a compelled object is nearby.”
“Oh.” Disappointment laces my voice.
“So I guess we don’t know how long it would take.” He kisses my palm. “You’ve never tried it.”
“So… hypothetically speaking, if I threw my ring into the ocean…”
He frowns. “Let’s not do that.”
“But really, my camouflage would wear off?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Especially once you hear your mantra.”
“Really?” I perk up. “I can decamouflage myself once I hear my mantra?”
“Really,” he laughs. “All it takes is a song, and you’re a Fireblood in the flesh.”
Wow. Those mantras are powerful little suckers. Kane squeezes me, feeling the need to add a warning.
“Please promise me you’ll stay away from the ocean.” His teasing tone is complimented by a seriousness in his eyes.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I whisper. But it is fulfilling to know I have some power over myself.
The hot, white glow of our skin melds together. It’s been this way for three glorious hours now. His vivid orange markings burn against my barely visible ones, but they’re definitely there. I smile.
“You can drop my camouflage whenever you want to? Just like that?”
“If you’re not wearing something compelled, yeah.”
“And what does that feel like?”
He thinks.
“I guess like dropping a huge pile of bricks one by one. Or all at once, depending.”
Heavy.
“It has to be hard to carry both of us, then. I’m really sorry.”
I whisper it. I hate being his burden.
“I’m not,” he says.
Silence. Then…
“I haven’t been completely decamouflaged in a long time.” He presses his lips into my hairline and says the rest of the sentence against my skin. “It feels nice.”
“I haven’t been completely decamouflaged… ever,” I tease. “It feels… like I’m finally alive.”
I peek at him; he kisses me. It scorches like fire and soothes like water in the same breath…
Two
The pool is full of lazy loungers today. Fathers with little boys perched on their burnt shoulders take advantage of their one day off by enjoying a game of chicken. Mothers lather sunscreen on their toddlers, slide blow-up wings over their chubby arms, and toss them into the water before retiring beneath umbrellas to read the latest in trashy novels. Mindy Cantwell is here, wedged up next to Lexie and glaring at me from behind her big sunglasses. Of course, she is. Her other sidekick, Eve Marin, is missing in action today, which is fine by me. Devan does her best not to roll her eyes too hard, claiming Mindy’s not worth the eye strain such a gesture causes. As for me, I peel my coverlet away from my body and climb into a lounger, avoiding the subject of Mindy altogether.
I’m not sure how Devan did it, but she somehow managed to talk Frankie into taking a break from our project to come with us. Dressed in a yellow one-piece, her frizzy blond hair piled on top of her head, she takes the seat next to me, adjusting the complimentary umbrella to ward off the sun. Not a single ray will touch her today. Still, she digs through her bag and proceeds to smear a thick layer of sunscreen over her milky white skin. She may look the part of a casual pool-goer, but she doesn’t fool me. The steady crease between her eyes proves she could throw out a whispered Vatra u Krvi fact at any moment. For my ears only, of course. But I don’t care how much she tries to pull me in, I refuse to talk about the project today. Not one word.
“Isn’t this great, girls?” Devan chirps. She drops her bag onto the end of her lounger. “I can’t remember the last time we had a testosterone-free day.” She plops down with a sigh. “Refreshing, huh?”
“Speak for yourself,” I mumble. Lately, I have no problem with testosterone. Not even a little. Devan gives me a playful shove and slides her sunglasses into place.
“You’re just so cute, you know that?” She scoots back in her seat, stretching her arms up and over her head. “Just be prepared. It wears off soon enough.”
“I hope not,” I retort.
She giggles and rolls her head toward me. “Well, since you brought it up, anything you’d like to share about stage one in your new relationship?”
She teases, but a sheen of sweat breaks out across my upper lip. Boy, do I have things to share—and can’t. I shove my sunglasses into place so Devan can’t read my eyes.
“Nope.” I lie back.
“Mm-huh.” A pause, and then she nudges my leg with her pink-painted toenail. “Come on, Jude. At leas
t assure us that you love him to the ends of the earth so we have something to gossip about later.” She nods toward the other side of the pool. “Mindy hasn’t been jealous in at least…” A quick check of the time on her phone. “… five hours.”
That pulls up a smile on my face that might not ever quit. I have to admit, being Kane O’Reilly’s girlfriend kind of makes my insides tingly… just a little bit.
“Seriously, Devan,” Frankie interjects. “Your prying is so unbecoming.”
“I’m not prying,” Devan argues. “It’s… just an inquiry.”
“Actually, it isn’t,” Frankie counters. She ignores the look of pride shining on Devan’s face for her use of vocabulary. “And for the record, Kane and Jude’s relationship is self-explanatory.”
That gets my attention.
“Oh, yeah?” Devan pulls up to look over me at Frankie. “How so?”
I toss my head back and forth between my friends, suddenly feeling like I’m about to watch a tennis match. Frankie slips her lotion into her bag, wiping her palms on her knees.
“Well, obviously, they’ve loved each other for years. Albeit, it was a platonic love initially, but that doesn’t matter. When you’ve been entwined within each other’s lives since kindergarten, it’s not difficult to transfer that love to a more romantically inclined situation.”
Devan lifts an impressed brow above her sunglasses. “I didn’t realize how poetic you were.”
“It’s not poetry,” Frankie argues. “It’s simple logistics.”
“Of course,” Devan smirks. “What was I thinking?”
“Don’t miss the point, Devan. Why wouldn’t Jude love Kane? There’s no reason for her not to.”
I’m half-amused by Frankie’s diagnosis of my feelings. Half-amused, that is. The other half of me sees her logistics as clearly as an algebraic formula on a whiteboard. When Devan lowers her glasses to get my assessment, I plead the fifth. Frankie just shrugs with a lift of her palms. Analysis complete. It’s nice to know she has me all figured out.
Despite the weird detour in the conversation, Devan was right. A day at the pool with two of my favorite people is what I needed. The splash of water, the laughter of children, the hot sun on my skin—it’s perfect. I sink lower in my seat, enjoying the “ordinary.” But eventually, the sweltering sun begins to mock me, and a flash of heat interrupts my blood. I suck all my breath into my lungs and hold still until the moment passes. Until last night, I’d never noticed it, but I know what this is now. The fight between fire and flesh is glaringly undeniable. And if I hold too still for too long, there’s a good chance I might go crazy. So I fidget, pumping my foot and twisting my ring more than once, just to assure myself that I’m still camouflaged.
“Well, well, well. Will you look at that?”
Grateful for the distraction, my eyes follow Devan’s pointing finger. Because in usual Devan fashion, she doesn’t attempt to be discreet. And so, from where he stands on the other side of the pool, tanned and muscular and as smug as ever, he sees us.
Great.
The heat surges; I give my ring another twist.
“Rylin McDowell?” Frankie lifts a surprised brow. “I thought he moved to Ireland.”
“He did,” Devan purrs. “But we recently learned he’s back… in all his glory.” She eyes me. “No wonder Charli sensed a vibe between you two. He’s yummy.”
“Really?” If my glare were a laser... “Don’t you have a boyfriend or something?”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t admire the view.” Devan uncrosses her ankles and runs a toe up her leg—seductively no less. Okay, major eye-roll moment.
“He’s not that great,” I offer. “I mean, he doesn’t even have the decency to pretend he’s not looking straight at us.” I literally feel the scowl in my gut before it reaches my face.
“What’s wrong with that?” Devan quips. “And I don’t know what you’re seeing, but from where I sit, there’s nothing but perfection.”
It’s hard not to admire the bulky muscles of his chest and arms. In my mind’s eye, he has wings for one second before I push that image away. His hair falls in soft auburn waves, the red highlights magnified in the sun. There really is something about him that draws you in, you know? Something kind of sexy.
I reel it in. Now wait one second. Rylin tried to manipulate my mind for four years. I should feel nauseous here.
Why don’t I feel nauseous?
“I’m not prone to agreeing with Devan,” Frankie chimes in. “But I see no point in arguing against that logic.”
There we go with Frankie’s logic again. Devan taps my arm.
“He’s waving.” She throws up her hand.
“That’s it.” I scramble into my coverlet. “I’m getting soaked from all the drooling. I’ll be at the snack bar.”
I slip into my flip-flops and skirt around Devan’s feet.
“Bring me a pickle, would ya?” she asks. “And some gum? And a hot Irish guy, if you can lure him over.” She giggles. “Doesn’t look like that will be a problem.”
Are you kidding me?
I refuse to make eye contact with Rylin as I round the end of the pool to the snack line, counting quarters, keeping my head down, and hating how he makes me feel so awkward just by being in the vicinity. A week ago, Rylin McDowell was no more than a bad melody that had vanished across the sea, and I liked it that way. Not a single one of my brain cells had wasted more than half a thought on him—not in five years. And why? Because when it was all said and done, Rylin meant nothing to me.
Nothing.
But see, last night, Kane lifted my camouflage for the first time in my life, and not some of it. Complete decamouflage—for hours. Free and unhindered by the restraints of illusion, that is how I was meant to live. Every single second was exhilarating, and to experience it with Kane? Well, there are no words. Just thinking about it now makes my blood boil with desire—a longing that sends a shiver the course of my spine despite the heat of the sun’s rays.
Only one thing hindered the experience: I started to remember stuff. Repressed memories, I guess, of Rylin and his stupid music. That put a small damper on the night.
The memories came back to me gradually, fumbled pieces of broken flashbacks. Pictures and sounds and smells. Sometimes they were half real—like fuzzy dreams masked in the cellophane of all the years I’d lived buried under deep layers of dolls and rings and whatever else had been used to camouflage me all of these years. Who’s to say?
I didn’t mention this to Kane. I just—I didn’t want to ruin our first night together as Firebloods by bringing up a bunch of weird visions I was having. But then, I began to feel things, and I can’t explain it, but the feelings weren’t totally mine. And somehow, inside the depths of it all, I began to understand what my daddy had done to protect me from a boy and his mantra. Not everything, but enough to make Rylin McDowell’s name a bitter taste in my mouth.
It’s all very weird. And very hard to describe. And hopefully… very much over.
Because a mantra is not something to be taken lightly.
“Jude?”
The Irish lilt gives away the boy seconds before I meet his bright eyes. Dark-headed and intense, same curls, same smile on another McDowell brother’s face. Just look at that?
I manage a weak smile for Rael McDowell.
I think I’ve probably said just about as many words to Rael as I have to Rylin over the years. That doesn’t stop him from pulling me into a tight embrace right here in front of God and everyone, stunning me a little. In his defense, Rael was so little when they moved in, and he did spend the majority of his first and second grade years peeking at me through a knothole in our shared fence. I suppose, to a six-year-old, this made us buddies. So, I stand politely, with my arms pinned at my sides, while he gets his hug on.
“I told Rylin it was you, but he didn’t believe me.” His grin deepens as he raises a hand and waves his brother over. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Yea
h.” I move a pace out of his reach, readjusting my coverlet and pushing my sunglasses to the top of my head. “Wow. It’s been a long time.”
He nods, sliding a hand into the back pocket of his swim trunks. “D’you still live over on Foxhill Drive?”
I nod. “Same house and everything.”
“Right.” He just keeps grinning, and Rylin keeps getting closer. “You look diff’rent.”
“It’s called growing up.” I swallow my smile, suddenly wary of what he might see in the all-grown-up me—my skin buzzing like a glow stick, perhaps. I rein in the ridiculous fear immediately. I’m being paranoid. “What are you, fifteen now?”
“And a half, but who’s countin’?” A beat, and then he nods toward the snack bar. “The line is moving.”
I take a backwards step with the line, keeping my eyes on him. Rylin sidles up next to his brother.
“I told you it was her.” Rael gives his shoulder a firm punch. “I don’t know if you noticed, Jude, but Rylin always fancied you a bit.” His grin invades again. “It was kind of hard to miss it.”
“Mm-huh.” I squint up, catching my reflection in Rylin’s sunglasses, all stretched and distorted out of shape. That’s fitting.
“Don’t mind him.” Rylin’s voice is soft and cooing and leaves me feeling a little dizzy.
Rael laughs. “You didn’t recognize her, did you?”
“Actually, we had burgers the other day… at The Nest,” I say before Rylin can respond.
“Oh?” Rael eyes his brother. “You never said.”
“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Rylin shrugs. I don’t shift a muscle. He watches me; I toss my eyes away, nerves rattling.
In the awkward silence, I twist my ring once and quickly tuck my fingers into the pocket of my coverlet. No need to broadcast the source of my camouflage even if Rylin’s already figured it out. I certainly don’t need to invite him back into my head. As a decoy, I reach for the key nestled against my chest.
“The line’s moving,” Rael offers again. I take another backwards step. What is he? The snack line police?