Ignited

by Lily Cahill

  “Just in case,” she told June. She then raised her arms and pushed her sleeves to the elbows.

  The fire was there, just beneath the surface, burning in her muscles, running hot and wild in her veins. It wanted to be released. She took a deep breath and gave herself over to it, bit by bit, letting the flames kindle just below her skin and then slowly seep forth.

  Briar and June gasped in unison as the fire formed at her fingertips and ran to her wrists.

  The flames started to travel higher, but Ruth didn’t panic. She took a deep breath and urged them back down, and nearly laughed in delight when they went. They suddenly grew taller, burned hotter—it wasn’t painful, not yet, so Ruth took another breath and urged them to quiet down.

  It didn’t work. They grew an inch higher, and suddenly the tickle of the burning started to feel like heat and pain and—

  “The water, June,” she managed, gasping for breath.

  “Oh!” June hit the flames with the water and they disappeared instantly.

  Ruth breathed a sigh of relief, shaking out her hands. “Thank you.”

  There was silence in the room. Ruth was practically vibrating from nerves before June managed to sputter out, “That was amazing!”

  Briar nodded vehemently. “I didn’t realize you could go so far. When you burned your hair off—”

  “You burned your hair off?” June gaped at her for a moment before she started to laugh. “So that’s why you cut it. It makes so much sense. That was just—that was incredible, Ruth. You’re so powerful!”

  They were both so excited, so enthusiastic—Ruth didn’t know how to react. She glanced down and fought a smile, suddenly bashful. “I can’t yet control it very well. That was probably the best I’ve done, actually. Henry and I—”

  She cut herself off at the words. They were too painful. Her face twisted up into something unhappy, and June stood up, moving closer to Ruth. Briar was hot on her heels, her blond head peeking over June’s shoulder.

  “Ruth, what happened?”

  “My father—he found out about my powers. I’d been hiding them, because I knew how he felt about them. I thought I could make them go away, but ….” She shook her head. It seemed like a distant dream, now, how terrified her powers had once made her feel. She still wasn’t totally comfortable, but she no longer feared them so completely. June and Briar’s reactions had been so positive. Maybe her powers could be sort of … fun.

  Maybe she didn’t need to get rid of them.

  It wasn’t the time to dwell on that. Ruth cleared her throat. “I lost control in my sleep and decided I needed help, so I went to Henry, and he—he’s been kind to me.”

  June looked at Ruth from between narrowed eyes. “He’s been kind to you? That’s all?”

  How could she tell June the truth without immediately telling her what had happened the night before? And what if the other girls judged her, hated her, called her a fallen woman? She couldn’t stand up to their scrutiny.

  And she loved Henry, despite everything. She didn’t want them to hate him.

  “Yes,” she lied. “That’s all.”

  “That is not all,” Briar said, a knowing smile on her face. “Believe me, I know you are lying. Besides, how you two feel about each other is written all over your faces! He looked so worried this morning when I spoke to him—he’s crazy about you.”

  Pain hit Ruth square in the chest, so hard that she felt her body temperature rise and had to calm herself down before she burst into flames.

  “I don’t know,” she said, unsure of how else to say it. He couldn’t care so much if he was immediately trying to get away from her after the night they’d spent together. She wished she could erase this day and start over from scratch, go back to the moment when she woke up and remembered what happened and had felt so happy about it.

  June was still frowning at Ruth, and she patted Ruth’s shoulder with a soft hand. “Something’s upsetting you, Ruth. If you tell me, maybe I can help you.”

  “You can’t help with this,” Ruth insisted, even as her voice turned watery.

  “You don’t know until you try.”

  The fire licked just below her skin, but Ruth refused to give in. “It’s complicated. I … I got away from my dad last night. He was upset, he had me—I don’t want to talk about it. But I ran away and I came here, and we—”

  “You …?” June prompted.

  Ruth shrugged and then gave June a meaningful look. Briar seemed to understand first. “I knew it, I knew it!”

  Now that Ruth had started talking, the words poured out of her. “And this morning, he—he was so distant, he said he wants to move back in with his grandfather, that it’s not safe for me if he’s here ….”

  “Heartbreak” had always seemed like such a melodramatic term. Now Ruth was beginning to understand it. The pain in her chest may have been psychological, but it felt very real. “He and I—I thought we were something, and now he wants to leave me, and I—”

  June’s arms were around her instantly, and she murmured soothing words as she pet Ruth’s hair. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t get upset, Ruthie. Deep breaths.”

  Ruth did her best to comply and smiled gently at Briar when the girl reached out to place a hand on Ruth’s arm.

  “I think you need to talk to him, ask him what’s really going on,” June said. “It seems to me like he’s trying to … to retroactively protect your honor, or something.”

  “He doesn’t want me anymore,” Ruth moaned. She would allow herself this moment of weakness, of self-pity, before she picked herself back up. “I was unchaste and now he’s—”

  “That’s not you talking, Ruth, that’s your father.” June pulled back, her mouth set in a stubborn line. “Has Henry ever given you any reason to think he doesn’t respect you?”

  Ruth shook her head.

  “Sometimes love doesn’t happen in the order we were taught was right. Ivan and I ….” June blushed, a small smile tugging at her lips as she rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that I’ve moved in with him. And, well, I wouldn’t do that if we hadn’t ….” She turned to Briar. “I trust you to keep that to yourself, you know.”

  Briar nodded. “Not my business.”

  June patted Ruth’s cheek. “I know Ivan is it for me. I love him. Even without a ring, I feel married to him. I don’t feel sinful or ashamed because there’s nothing sinful or shameful about this kind of love.” She caught Ruth’s eye. “Is that how you feel about Henry?”

  Ruth thought about her answer. Henry was … different than other men. He was certainly different from Arnold Johnson, the man her father had picked out for her. Henry was so easy to talk to; he never made her feel inferior, was encouraging and enthusiastic and kind. When he’d touched her the night before, he had been gentle, reverent. She had felt loved.

  And she loved him. Despite everything, she loved him.

  Ruth nodded.

  “Well, then. It’s possible this is a misunderstanding. Don’t assume you know his motives until you ask him.”

  June had changed since meeting Ivan, Ruth thought, and it was for the better. She’d always been a nice girl, but now she seemed to have a kind of wisdom she’d never had before. The man was good for her.

  “All right,” Ruth conceded, giving a tiny slip of a smile. “Thank you. Both of you.”

  “Maybe all you need to do is show him that you are okay with what happened. Flirt a little.” June grinned. “Seduce him.”

  Briar tittered, and Ruth felt herself go bright red. “I don’t even know how—”

  June dug into the pile and came up with a flouncy dress the color of peaches. “Here. This one is short. And I bet you can hem it different, or do something with the bust line ….” Her voice trailed off and she inspected the stitching there. “He’ll like what he sees.”

  “You should lean over and pick something up while you wear it,” Briar suggested.

  June goggled her and then burst out l
aughing. “Oh, that’s terrible! Ruth, you should definitely do that.”

  Was it possible to die of embarrassment? Ruth was starting to think she might.

  “I could never ….”

  “Sure you can, Ruth.” June laid a gentle hand on her knee. “You just have to flirt a little, entice him. Do better than tell him you’re fine with what happened—show him.” She nudged at Ruth with her shoulder. “Maybe it’ll happen again.”

  Ruth covered her tomato red face with her hands, fighting the urge to burst into flame. Even as she did so, she laughed aloud, feeling better for the first time all morning. “All right, all right! Just get out of here, go to work!”

  When she pulled her hands down, both Briar and June were grinning at her. She was overwhelmed by their help, their acceptance. She took a shuddering breath. “Thank you both. So much.”

  At that, June grinned, every inch the sunny girl she had always been. “No problem! Now I have to get going, but before I do …. You should consider coming down to the mine.”

  Ruth and Briar spoke in union. “The mine?”

  June gave Briar a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Briar. It’s for people with powers.”

  Briar opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and looked away. June didn’t notice. “That’s where we practice. The rest of the Independents—that’s what we call ourselves, neat, right?—are there all the time. Not tonight, I’m afraid, but tomorrow night. We can help you practice.”

  Ruth frowned, considering. It was scary, to think of herself as one of them—the people her father so hated. But she couldn’t deny it: She had powers, and she needed to learn how to control them. If June thought this would help, Ruth trusted her.

  “Tomorrow,” Ruth said, nodding.

  “Wonderful! Ivan and I will stop by around ten o’clock, and ….” June glanced at her watch and swore under her breath. “I am late! Edith is going to kill me. Just be ready tomorrow, okay? Briar, are you coming?”

  Briar gave an affirmative, stopping only to give Ruth a quick hug. “You and Henry will sort it out,” she murmured, her voice low. “I just know it.”

  As Ruth saw them out and waved good-bye, she couldn’t stop the hope from taking root in her heart. More than anything, she wanted Briar to be right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Henry

  Henry threw himself into his work. The morning and afternoon blended together between Mrs. Williams with her baby’s rash and tending to Ms. Stewart, who had tripped while gardening and sprained her wrist. There were a few summer colds, all of which his grandfather had shuffled onto Henry’s plate since he wasn’t feeling too well. Danny Egan had also come in for one of his monthly powers-related check-ups, but of course, Henry hadn’t been allowed to take that appointment.

  Henry didn’t know Danny well. To say they ran in different circles was an understatement. Danny was a well-known troublemaker throughout town, always trying to make it with girls—and, if his reputation was anything to go by, often pursuing them very successfully. He was always covered in grease from his time spent at the auto body shop on the west side of the river. He hung around with Butch Murphy, as well, which made him an unsavory character in Henry’s eyes.

  Mrs. McClure felt very differently. Danny had been very polite every time he’d come in for his appointments, asking after her own health, jokingly inquiring why she’d never let him take her to get a soda. She found him to be quite charming.

  She was usually a good judge of character, but in this instance, Henry wasn’t so sure.

  None of it was as good of a distraction as he needed. He felt wrong in his own skin. On one hand, last night had been the best of his life. He was head over heels for Ruth, and he didn’t want to spend another day without waking up to her sweet face.

  On the other, he was sure she was angry with him. Either for the way things had happened last night, or for the way he had handled it this morning, or both—it was difficult to tell, but he knew something was off between them. He wanted to fix it. Was giving her space, respecting her enough to tear himself away from the delightful temptation of her body … was that enough to fix it? What more could he do?

  He was so caught up in his own thoughts he didn’t realize his grandfather was hovering by the open door to his office until Dr. Pinkerton cleared his throat pointedly. The fact that he still looked gray-faced and tired did not escape Henry’s notice.

  “Sorry,” Henry said, scrambling to make it look like he’d been working hard on paperwork, not lost in thought.

  “You didn’t come to dinner last night.”

  Henry froze. The urge to apologize was automatic, but he fought it down. After a sigh, he said, “I had other things to take care of.”

  Disappointment cut across his grandfather’s face, and despite everything, guilt hit Henry hard in the gut. When Dr. Pinkerton spoke, his voice was even. “Your mother and I missed you.”

  That was the lie of the century. Henry said nothing, staring down at the paperwork as if it held all the secrets of the universe.

  “I know you’re upset with me,” his grandfather began, the words coming slowly. “But I wish you had come. You know how much I want to spend time with both you and your mother.”

  It was like Dr. Pinkerton was deliberately missing the point: This wasn’t just anger, this was fear. This was suspicion. Henry didn’t know what his grandfather had gotten into, but it was making the man who had never lied to him keep secrets. Henry was afraid for him.

  He thought of Ruth’s face as he’d held her that morning, sleepy and peaceful, and resolve hit him. This was not the time to be proud. If he wanted to keep her safe, he needed to put her first.

  “Can I ask a favor of your, Granddad?”

  Dr. Pinkerton frowned in confusion. “Of course. What do you need?”

  The trust implicit there—in not asking what the favor was for before agreeing to it—made Henry’s heart clench. Maybe he had been too hard on the old man recently. He had been sick and working very hard.

  “I need some place to stay for a few days.” He didn’t have another lie prepared and blurted, “I’m … having my kitchen redone.”

  It was a weak lie, but his grandfather didn’t even seem to notice. “That’s no problem. I’ll make up the couch in my apartment, and it’s yours for as long as you need it.”

  He knew he should go over that night, but he was weak. He wanted one more evening under the same roof as Ruth, even if they didn’t share a bed.

  “It’s not until tomorrow. And don’t make up the couch, I’ll do it.”

  “I’m old, not useless.” The sentence was punctuated with a wet cough. “It’ll be fine.”

  Henry nodded. The love was so clearly there in the hopeful gaze his grandfather gave him. He wanted to make amends as much as Henry did. He tried to smile, but he doubted it reached his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll be over in a few days, when I hear back from the … handyman.”

  “Okay.”

  Dr. Pinkerton lingered in the doorway, unmoving. His face was drawn and conflicted. There was something he wanted to say that he couldn’t. Henry leaned forward in anticipation. Maybe they would really clear the air between them and fix this, maybe his granddad would finally tell him the truth ….

  The old man’s face cleared. “I saw your face when I walked in here. You were a million miles away. Thinking about a new sweetheart, maybe?”

  Henry gaped at his grandfather. Was this a hint? Had word gotten out already? Was Ruth’s reputation already in tatters? It was only when he looked up and saw that Dr. Pinkerton was almost laughing that Henry saw his own mistake. His grandfather had been teasing him. If he hadn’t known before, he was sure to have guessed something now.

  “I see,” Dr. Pinkerton murmured, sounding sly. “And are you going to tell me about her?”

  Even though he begged them not to, Henry could feel his cheeks going red. You’re a grown man, he admonished himself. It did little good.

  He shrugged, staring dow
n at the top of his desk and tracing the pattern of the wood with one finger. He felt like a kid. He was acting like one. What was it about his grandfather that made him revert to this state, like he had never grown out of the awkward child Dr. Pinkerton had raised?

  “It’s … complicated,” said Henry.

  “I see.”

  The non-explanation did little to assuage his grandfather’s curiosity, he could tell, but the older man seemed willing to let it go. He settled himself against the wall, crossing his arms and giving Henry a steady look. “Well, tell me this, at least. Are you serious about her?”

  It was the big question. Days ago, Henry had told himself he had to give Ruth up. Now, he couldn’t imagine making himself a martyr that way, even if it was for her own good. It was unfathomable. It was why he was putting himself through this temporary move. He had to show her that he was willing to put her needs first.

  Henry met his grandfather’s eyes and held his gaze. “I am extremely serious about her.”

  Dr. Pinkerton smiled, molasses slow. It stretched across his whole face and lit up his eyes. “Well, I’ll be. My Henry is growing up.”

  Henry managed not to remind his grandfather that he’d started “growing up” years earlier—he could get thirty degrees and Dr. Pinkerton would always see him as a little boy. It was just the way things were.

  “If you feel this way, you should consider asking your mother for the Porter family ring.”

  Henry felt his eyes go wide at the suggestion, but his grandfather failed to notice.

  “I think she still has it,” he continued, oblivious. “It’s been passed down on your late father’s side of the family for generations. Mothers to daughters, sons to their betrothed.”

  Henry knew his mother had it. He could remember growing up and seeing it on a chain around her neck. It had always been a size too small for her fingers, and she’d sworn she’d never risk damaging it by having it resized. More than anything, he wanted to slide that ring onto Ruth’s finger and claim her as his, forever.