Ignited

by Lily Cahill

  It was terrifying, what fear could make a person capable of.

  “You’re not bad at all. You’re so ….” He couldn’t find the words to describe what she was.

  She blushed a bit and leaned against the wall of the building. “You say the most unbelievable things.”

  Henry couldn’t help himself. He crowded her with his body, reveling in the head rush her proximity gave him. It was wrong, he needed to stop, but he couldn’t.

  Ruth glanced up at him, eyes wide, but she didn’t move away. There was no fear in her expression, only determination, and a little of something he was too scared to name that might have been desire.

  “Every word of it is true,” he said.

  He couldn’t look away from Ruth’s eyes—they were so dark, so deep, and he found himself lost in them, unable or maybe just unwilling to find a way out. They seemed to be swaying closer and closer. Henry could feel his heartbeat in his ears. Ruth’s tempting mouth was right there, so near to his own and—

  “Ruth!” a voice called from around the corner. Her father.

  They scrambled back from each other, both wide-eyed and breathing too fast. Henry broke out into an awkward laugh despite himself, and Ruth grinned at him until her father’s voice sounded off again.

  “Are you out here? Where are you?”

  Ruth sucked in a breath. “I really need to go.”

  “Be safe,” he told her. “I’ll see you tonight. Pearl Street in Aspenwood, third house on the left.”

  That same, small smile sat at the corner of her lips. “Tonight.”

  With that, she was gone. Henry sneaked around the building and back to the east side of town. Even as he swore to himself he wouldn’t let anything happen, he wished that it could.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ruth

  Ruth popped the screen out of her window and set a book on the sill, keeping it propped open even after she’d climbed through it. She had only done this once, weeks before, when all she’d wanted to see were the lights and Lover’s Bridge, just once ….

  Lying was a sin, she knew, and it weighed on her even as she told herself it was the right thing to do. She needed to be safe, to find a way out of the tangled web that currently trapped her.

  Maybe one day she’d be able to tell her father the entire truth. She thought of his softness earlier in the day and hoped so, despite everything.

  The sneaking out, the doctor’s visits—they were a necessity. And if she got to spend a bit more time with the young doctor ….

  She felt herself going red as she walked, felt her temperature rising. The fear of catching fire spiked her adrenaline and she stopped in her tracks, waiting it out.

  The sound of the river was distant in her ears as she tried to calm down. The flirtation with Henry—it needed to end. If she let herself feel too much for him, she’d never know how to stop, and the thought of trusting someone with everything, every part of herself … she shivered. The fire was extinguished.

  So much in her life was changing: the powers, the need to get away from her father and the only home she had ever known. How could she process all of that and build something new with Henry?

  They’d nearly kissed again, leaning close together against the wall of her house. She could still feel his breath, warm on her face as they got closer and closer. She’d wanted that, but now with time and distance, she wondered if it was a good idea. Did she need more change, more to fear?

  It wasn’t smart, she told herself firmly. She veered off the road and took an indirect route, skirting the southern edges of downtown Independence Falls. No need to draw attention to herself or tempt fate. There was less of a chance anyone would see her if she stayed away from the town square.

  Aspenwood came up quickly, and she headed to the third house on the left, just as he had said. This was not some illicit meeting, she reminded herself as she tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach. This was a doctor’s appointment.

  The house was painted white with red shutters, and it made the old Victorian look fresh and new. Most of the Victorians in Aspenwood were smaller, and many hadn’t been as meticulously cared for as the Highledge mansions. Henry’s stuck out with its neatness. The lawn was perfectly manicured, beds of flowers on either side of the front stoop. It looked so lovely and trim—there wasn’t even an oil stain on the driveway.

  Her hands clutched at her dress with its tattered hem. This was just another reason that it was best to put some distance between them. How could she ever fit into his world?

  Loitering outside his house was unsafe, and she inwardly chastised herself for getting so caught up in looking that she’d risked exposing herself. She darted up the drive to the front door and knocked softly.

  Her chest felt tight, her skin buzzed with electricity. It was all so irrational. This was a perfectly normal meeting, nothing romantic at all.

  Henry opened the door.

  His dark hair was wild, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and his eyes were wide and blue, and she suddenly knew that there was no way this was just about a blood test. Not for her, at least.

  “Come in!” Henry said, moving aside so Ruth could cross the threshold. She couldn’t contain herself; her head swiveled from side to side as she tried to take in every detail as quickly as possible. His foyer was short, splitting in three directions: straight ahead to the kitchen; right to an apparently untouched living room; and left to stairs leading to the second story.

  It didn’t look like a bachelor’s house. Despite being built at least fifty years ago, inside his home was modern. It looked like it had been decorated directly from the Sears catalog. Everything looked absolutely pristine: a new sofa set and coffee table, a starburst clock over the couch, lamps that shone with bright white shades. It was so much nicer than what she had at home. But there was something off about it too. It took Ruth a moment to realize what niggled at the back of her brain. There were no personal touches. There was something stiff about it, like the chairs had never been sat in, the fireplace never lit.

  Nothing about it seemed like Henry, in her opinion.

  She shook her head. Why should she have an opinion on his house? She didn’t know him. Not really, not in any way that counted. Even if it felt as though she did, as though she always had.

  The thought gave her a pang of regret, and she stubbornly fought it down.

  Henry either didn’t notice her little examination, or he chose to ignore it. He headed straight into the kitchen, and she followed behind.

  The table was set up with medical supplies—a few vials, needles, tubing. It was unsettling to look at, and Ruth shuddered. On the far end was a plate of plain sugar cookies.

  “Cookies?” she asked.

  He smiled at her, a little bashful. “Some people get faint with a blood draw. I thought the sugar would help, just in case.” He seemed suddenly closer. She wasn’t sure when he had moved, but there he was before her, looming large in her space. Her heart raced, and her body seemed to hum at his proximity.

  She could feel her body growing warmer.

  “Please, I ….” She took a step back and stared at the ground. If she caught fire with him standing so close, she could hurt him. That had never been so obvious to her before. The thought hit her so hard it was a physical pain.

  When she dared to look back up, Henry was staring at the medical apparatus, looking abashed. He must think she hated him—she didn’t, could never, not even if she tried.

  “I can’t control it. The fire, I mean,” she blurted. Saying it aloud made her feel stupid. “I don’t want to burn you, or—”

  He nodded. There was something like relief in the grin he gave her, and it made her feel lighter, looser. She wished she could hate the feeling, but she didn’t.

  “Why don’t we get started?” He pulled out a chair for her and then went to the sink, washing his hands and snapping on a pair of gloves. “Have you ever had blood drawn before?”

  Ruth shook her head as sh
e sat down. Her eyes settled on the equipment, and her stomach gave a funny turn. The sight of blood always made her a bit queasy. “I’m kind of nervous, to be honest.”

  Henry connected the tubing to the vial and then picked up the needle. Ruth couldn’t help it; she flinched away as soon as he moved a step closer.

  “You don’t need to be scared. This is all very routine.” His voice was low, soothing, and despite her misgivings, just hearing it helped.

  “Can you …,” she swallowed down her fear. “Can you talk to me, while you do it? Distract me?”

  He nodded. “Of course. Just close your eyes for now. There will be a pinch, but I’ll be right here. I’ll keep talking, okay?”

  Her eyes fell shut and she stuck out her arm, tense. A moment later, his fingertips traced the line of her vein, from wrist to the crook of her elbow. His touch was light and soft, and it left a tingling sensation in its wake. It almost felt like the fire that lived under her skin—just as wild and untamed, but somehow simultaneously more and less scary.

  There was a sharp prick at the inside of her elbow, and Ruth bit back a gasp. It hurt more than she’d expected. But Henry’s voice followed, soothing and sweet, and the pain fell away as it began to flood her ears.

  “Not sure if I told you … I have a new theory. See, everyone has decided these side effects came from that strange fog at the Firelight Festival, but you weren’t at the festival, were you? Which means there has to be another connection. The drinking water, blood type, something. I haven’t figured it out completely yet—”

  “I was there,” she said, gritting her teeth at the pain in her arm.

  “You’re doing great. We’re almost done, just a few more seconds.” The needle slid out from her skin. “Don’t open your eyes yet, okay? I’ll bandage this up for you, and then you can look.”

  It was an easy order to follow, especially when it meant she felt more of Henry’s fingers against her skin. Even through the gloves, his hands on her did something strange to her insides. She felt like her stomach was growing tight.

  “You’re okay now.”

  Ruth blinked her eyes open to find Henry kneeling before her. The vial of her blood was thankfully stored away from her sight.

  “You did great,” Henry said.

  After a quick check to her arm, she nodded. “Thank you.”

  Henry pulled off his gloves, depositing them in the trash and then washing his hands again. He picked up a cookie and handed it to her as he pulled up a chair to face her. “What did you mean, you were there?”

  She munched on the sweet snack. Even forming the words was embarrassing.

  “The festival. I just wanted to see it, just for a moment. I didn’t—I just went to the edge of it, to watch people. I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never been allowed out on Firelight night, and it seemed so harmless. I was already on my way home when the fog finally reached me. It wasn’t thick, like I think it was in town, but I barely got back through my window. I nearly died.”

  Henry reached out to cup her cheek, and Ruth leaned into his touch. It was comforting and warm, and she didn’t feel guilty. The echo of everything her father had ever taught her demanded guilt, but … it was so nice, to have him there, offering his silent support. She refused to give in to the guilt.

  His thumb traced the plane of her cheekbone, ever so lightly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He dropped his hand and looked away, suddenly awkward. “Has that—happened before? Where your father hasn’t allowed you to get medical treatment?”

  She bristled a little, still used to a lifetime of living in her father’s image. “He doesn’t believe that medicine is the will of God.”

  “I just—worry about you. I know you’re a grown woman, and that you can take care of yourself, but ….” Henry met her eyes, and his gaze pierced her. It was as if he could see into the very depths of her. There was no hiding from him. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to anymore.

  He fidgeted in his seat. “How are you managing to hide under his nose? Are you safe? We need to get you out of there.”

  The truth was, she didn’t know the answers to his questions. She wasn’t managing anything very well. She didn’t feel safe. But if she up and left without explanation, her father would hunt her down, and the consequences would be dire.

  There had to be a less risky way of managing the situation.

  “I’m confused,” she said, starting slowly and then picking up speed as she went. The words came tumbling out of her, and she found herself unable to stop them. “It’s always been so easy, in the past. Listen to my father, and that means I’m doing something right. But lately, he’s been so focused on destroying everyone with powers, and I—”

  She bit off the sentence before it could come out. Did she dare to finish it?

  Henry scooted his chair closer. Their knees were practically touching. “Go on.”

  “I think—I know he’s wrong. I want to believe in the God I’ve read about, the one who is loving and forgiving and kind. And God’s there, in parts of what my dad talks about, but …,” Ruth hesitated, gnawing at her lip. “It’s been hard, these past few weeks. I always thought I knew what it was to be good, but now? I’m still trying to find a balance between who I am and who my father taught me I ought to be.”

  It was terrifying, to be so honest with another person, but it was also strangely cleansing. Henry listened without interrupting or rushing, the same look of inquisitive patience on his face. Her heart throbbed to look at him. He was so beautiful it hurt. She couldn’t push him away like she ought to. She wasn’t capable, not anymore.

  “Isn’t there anyone else you could go to?” he asked. He touched her knee, lingering there for just a second. “Your mother?”

  “I have no idea where she is. She ran off when I was just a baby.” Ruth shrugged. “It’s been my father and me, for as long as I can remember.”

  Pain etched its way across Henry’s face. “I know a bit about that, as well.”

  Ruth searched her memory, but she couldn’t recall ever hearing about Henry’s mother. Everyone in town tended to associate him with his grandfather. “Did yours leave, too?”

  “Worse,” he said, a bitter note in his voice. “She stayed.” Henry took a breath and stared at his hands for a moment. “When my parents got married, they moved to Denver to start their lives. The way Granddad tells it, they were glad to be in the city. When my mother became pregnant, they were so excited. Mother went into labor late at night, and when my father was driving her to the hospital, they were hit by a drunk driver.”

  Ruth gasped. Henry wasn’t looking her in the eyes; it was clear this was a painful subject for him. Her hands seemed to have a mind of their own, and they reached out for his. She entwined their fingers, and Henry did not stop her.

  “My father died instantly, I was told. Mother was gravely injured, but a passerby stopped and got her to the hospital. She almost died, having me. She lost her husband.” Henry cleared his throat. “She doesn’t think it was worth it.”

  The pain rolling off of him was palpable, and Ruth squeezed his hands.

  “She’s never really wanted anything to do with me, and it only got worse when I grew up to look just like my dad. Granddad raised me, pretty much on his own. She talks to him, of course. He’s her dad. He’s convinced that one day we’ll mend that bridge, and I keep trying.” He gave her a bleak smile. “Hasn’t worked so far.”

  His handsome face was twisted up with sadness, the years of neglect and cruelty etched in the downturn of his mouth, the furrow of his brow. He was such a kind man, and the thought of his mother being anything less than proud baffled and infuriated Ruth.

  She looked at their joined hands. It felt so good, so right to be there with him, and she was tired of feeling anything else.

  He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you my whole life’s story.”

  “You don’t have to apologize to me,” she sa
id, her voice shaking with vehemence. “Not for anything.”

  And then she leaned forward and kissed him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Henry

  Henry was so surprised that he didn’t automatically respond. He’d promised himself he’d be a consummate professional around Ruth that night, and he’d mostly succeeded—until now. There was nothing professional about locking lips with a patient.

  There was nothing professional about wanting to do much, much more than that.

  Ruth began to pull away, her brows drawn together in a frown, and Henry realized he hadn’t been kissing her back, which seemed ridiculous. She was Ruth Baker, and he had wasted too much time remembering their last kiss to let the opportunity pass him by again. Before she could get too far away, he closed the distance between them.

  It was an awkward angle, her on the chair, him leaning way forward out of his chair, bracing his hands on either side of her thighs—but it didn’t matter, not really. Not when he was experiencing the perfection of her small, pouty mouth against his own.

  She was tentative, her hands landing on his shoulders and then staying there, unmoving. He could sense her hesitation—and her eagerness. Her naïveté was sweet, endearing. Henry nearly shuddered at the idea that he could be the one to help awaken her body. He could show this to her, help her experience this.

  Slowly, he parted his lips and touched his tongue against her mouth. She didn’t open her mouth, moving her face away from him instead. She tilted her head back, panting and flushed.

  She was so beautiful. He could fall into the depths of her dark eyes, if he let himself.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  Her gaze moved over his face; he wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she seemed to find it, and she nodded. She blushed prettily. “I know we—before. But that was the only time I’ve ever kissed someone. I’m not sure what I’m doing,” she said, fidgeting in her seat. “Not really.”