by Shea Berkley
“Blaze knows you now. He’ll behave, especially if you have food for him.”
Leo eyed the dragon like a farmer does an unruly pig. “Does he need to sniff me or something?”
People from the human realm were so strange. “Not unless you want him to.”
“I’m totally into the no-dragon-sniffing option.” Leo shook his head and laughed. “Seriously, I never imagined myself saying that. Ever.” He pocketed the necklace and backed away. “See you soon.”
He left, his long legs eating up the ground.
Kera sat on a boulder. Blaze heated his scales and rubbed them into a dull shine against the nearby tree trunks. He was a problem she hadn’t expected, and one she couldn’t ignore. If he continued to grow bigger as the days progressed, soon she wouldn’t be able to hide him. She had to get him back to her world, but try as she might, he had refused to cross through the barrier. He’d found someone he trusted and wasn’t about to leave.
Blaze gave the leash a sharp tug, drawing Kera’s attention to him. “Not now, Blaze.”
Smoke swirled from the dragon’s flared nostrils. His ears radared behind his nubby horns. He held himself stiff. Alert. Kera sat straighter and peered into the forest. “What’s wrong?”
Blaze lifted his nose in the air and snuffed smoke as black as pitch. He tugged and tugged, yanking Kera off her perch until she had no choice but to follow. They didn’t go far when she heard the click and thrash of broken wings.
Her skin flashed cold. Sweat dotted her temples. It couldn’t be.
She didn’t hesitate. She unleashed Blaze and drew her incordium dagger. The dragon crouched, his hot eyes focused within the trees, ready to spring at the threat coming their way.
The clicks and grunts grew louder, but with it the sound of prey running for its life. Twigs snapped. Thick undergrowth rustled. The heavy breathing of panic grew louder, and an instant later, a man plunged toward Kera through the trees, his eyes wide with fear.
“Go!” he shouted, waving his arm. He suddenly winced. His chest thrust forward and he staggered, then fell face-first onto the ground. Two millispits, their pulsing, venomous tails and serrated fingers sunk deep, clung to his back. They were imperfectly created from magic to do one thing—kill anything that moved and then die.
Kera peered behind him. The hated creatures surged within the shadows of the forest, the ground rolling as if alive. There were hundreds of them.
A throaty growl erupted from Blaze and he sprang forward, spitting balls of fire at the oncoming millispits. Kera pulled the now-dead creatures from the man’s back. Bending over him, she slipped her arm around his rib cage. With an insistent tug, she yelled, “Get up.”
He struggled to his feet, using her shoulders as leverage, but as soon as he was upright, he drooped over her. She hugged his waist tight and commanded a mound of dirt to rise beneath their feet. Dirt riding was the fastest way she could get the human to safety. She didn’t worry about Blaze. The smell of burnt millispits and the sound of their tails and sharp fingers pinging off the dragon’s impenetrable scales as they swarmed over him followed her deeper into the woods.
The forest thickened and the ground grew uneven. Kera struggled to keep the man close. An especially deep dip and rise caused him to groan. His knees buckled and Kera couldn’t hold on to him. He crashed to the ground, pulling her with him. Her elbows dug into the earth, her palms scraping against all manner of forest debris. She pushed off him and swiped a hand across his too-pale face and down to the vein at his neck. It flickered shallow. Too weak. “Stay alive,” she said, though it was most likely a useless command.
She couldn’t allow this man to die, not when it was her fault for not being able to stop the millispits from invading the human realm. What she was about to do would either see him better or kill him.
She rolled him onto his stomach, raked his shirt up, and held her hands over the bloody spots on his back where the millispits had landed. Calling on her new powers, her hands lit up. He bucked under the magic as she drew out as much of the poison as she could. It seeped out, burning the man’s skin and blackening the soil beneath him.
He’d live, but not without a fair bit of care. She estimated the distance back to Dylan’s home. Too far. Plus they’d have to go through the millispits to get there. He couldn’t survive another sting. The barrier and help without needless questions was close. Her choice was clear. She rolled him onto his back and stared into his face. Icy blue eyes filled with pain stared back at her. He didn’t appear as pale as before. Color now flushed his cheeks. “We must move. Now. Can you do it?”
“What you just did…who are you?”
“A friend. Please, ask me no more questions. Do as I say and we may both live.”
He used her to gain his feet, and when she assessed his condition for travel, his pinched lips parted. “Do you know Lani? Are you from her world?”
Kera stilled. How did he know about Teag? How did anyone but Dylan know? It was her turn to throw him a bewildered look. “Who are you?”
“Reece. Take me to her. Please.”
Fired Up
It’s as if time slows for a brief second as I watch Grandpa’s arm tick back, his fist tighten, ready to pummel, and then time snaps into hyperdrive. Wyatt grabs Grandpa’s left shoulder with his right hand, ducks under Grandpa’s arm and pushes away to a safe distance. “That’s called a near-side duck under. Normally I’d throw you down, but I don’t want to hurt you, old man.”
Grandpa spins around, the hard lines of his face turning to stone. His hands flash up, ready for a fight. “The day you can hurt me will be the day I retire.”
Wyatt faces him. “Careful. You always told me you don’t make promises you’re not willing to keep.” He bats away Grandpa’s punches like a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “You know you can’t beat me.”
“All a man needs is one shot. Pay attention, Dylan,” Grandpa barks over his shoulder at me.
I’m not sure what to do. I feel like an idiot just standing here, watching, but it’s not my fight. Not yet. If it comes down to winning, I’d be more than happy to knock a rock against Wyatt’s head, but I’m not sure it would do any good.
Grandpa slips away from Wyatt’s jabs and comes back with a hard left hook to the younger man’s ribs and a solid right cross to his face. “That’s called stepping onto your opponent’s over-inflated ego and smacking it down.”
Wyatt shakes off the hits and smiles. “It’s what I call a fluke, you old bastard.”
Grandpa’s deep bark of laughter shakes the rafters as he follows his opponent across the floor. “It’s training, son. Pure, hard-core, no-nonsense training.”
“My training tells me the kid’s dangerous. People need to know. They need to be able to protect themselves.”
“He’s a good boy,” Grandpa throws a combination punch that only grazes Wyatt’s torso. “You’re making it sound like he’s a menace to society.”
Wyatt spins away, pivots, squats low, and jabs his body forward. His shoulder slams into Grandpa’s midsection as he sweeps the older man’s legs out from under him, causing him to hit the ground with a grunt.
With hands out in a submissive manner, Wyatt steps back. “I don’t want to hurt you, Newman.”
I take a step forward, not sure if I should be worried or not. “Grandpa?”
He waves me back. “I’m fine. That was pure luck on his part.”
Wyatt points a finger in Grandpa’s face. “It’s called a double-leg takedown. Very effective on those who are too stubborn to know better than to pick a fight with me.”
Grandpa rolls to his feet and wipes the sweat from his eyes. “I’m giving you one more chance. Keep your mouth shut.”
“It’s not going to happen. Besides, people are going to notice when he suddenly lights up, or burns down the forest because he gets all pissy. I’m sworn to protect, just like you. Your grandson is a threat to the well-being of everyone around here. This isn’t about a kid with a hair-t
rigger temper. This is about a kid who’s a walking weapon, so back down, old man.”
“We came to you for help. It’s a sad day when neighbors stop giving a damn.”
Grandpa throws a double jab. Wyatt fakes to the right, rotates to the left, and Grandpa shoots in. He grabs Wyatt’s hand and kinks it into an abnormal position, dropping Wyatt to his knees. A wince covers his face and a curse flies from his lips.
Bending close, Grandpa growls, “This is what we old guys call a twist-his-arm-until-he-does-exactly-what-I-tell-him-to-do.” He swivels around and braces Wyatt’s arm in a hold that looks cry-worthy painful. “If you don’t back off, I’ll break it.”
I can hear Wyatt sucking in air, fighting the pain the wrestling hold is creating. “You’re a cop.”
“I’m off duty. Trust me. It’s the spirit of the law that applies here. You’re threatening the well-being of my grandson, and I have the right to defend him.”
Wyatt struggles, but in the end, Grandpa has him good and caught. “Okay, okay. I won’t talk. Like you said, who would believe me? What he can do isn’t logical. Hell, it’s impossible.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear to God I won’t say a word. I won’t have to. He’ll draw attention to himself. I hope you know what you’re doing, old man.”
Grandpa lets go, and Wyatt hisses his relief as he cradles his arm to his chest and tests its motion.
Their encounter has my blood sweeping through my veins like an Indy race car on its last lap. “So now what?”
“We go home,” Grandpa says, clenching and unclenching his left hand. I think he’s hurt it, but knowing him, he won’t admit it.
Although the clasp is melted, I can still slip the belts free, and I let the weight vest drop to the floor, along with the ankle weights. I swipe up my T-shirt from where I tossed it and shrug it on. “Why did we come here? All we did was create more problems.”
By the end of the day, all our neighbors will know who and what I am. Kera and I will have to leave.
Wyatt hops to his feet and follows Grandpa like a pit bull after its favorite doggie toy. “I told you I wouldn’t talk, but you’ve got to think this through, Newman. Your boy here gets mad, he lights up. It’s impossible!”
“So you keep telling us,” I sneer.
He ignores me and harps after Grandpa. “Do you know how long he can light up without burning up? Everything is exhaustible. That fact should apply even to him. We’re all created with limits, right?”
I can see Grandpa weighing the odds of leaving versus listening. I don’t like it. I start toward the door. “Let’s go, Grandpa. We don’t need him anymore. I can deal with this on my own.” And I can. All I need to do is exhaust myself to the point where I don’t want to think, let alone catch fire.
“Boy,” Grandpa shouts, stopping me in my tracks, “what did I tell you about letting your crow get bigger than your cockscomb?”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, and I’m scared to ask.
“You’ve got more to learn than you think,” he adds, then turns to Wyatt. “What are you suggesting?”
“Wait here.” He scrounges in the storeroom and pops out holding a firefighter’s suit. “I’ve got the protective gear. We should test him out. Find that edge, that place where he breaks.”
This guy was all for turning me over to the pitchfork-wielding townspeople à la Frankenstein, and now he wants to help the monster? I take a protective step back. “I’m not sure…”
Grandpa’s suddenly bobbing his head in agreement. “You may have a point.”
Deep in my bones, I know it’s a bad idea. From the moment Kera opened my eyes to what I really am, to the melting of the metal clasp, I know my limits are far and beyond what they should be. If Faldon’s right, every time I was forced to kill someone, I inherited new powers. I may have limits, but they’re so far out there, testing them may very well get someone else killed.
I try again. “Kera says I should only use magic when absolutely necessary.” I remember the first time I’d used it and the sick feeling that rushed over me, how I couldn’t even walk, and the mess I’d left behind. Grandpa means well, but neither of them have any idea what they’re in for. “Pushing myself can upset the balance of nature. What you’re suggesting is dangerous.”
“Don’t fool yourself, kid,” Wyatt says as he stuffs one leg into the fireproof suit. “You walking around is dangerous.” The suit slides up Wyatt’s other leg. “How many people know about you, bonfire boy?”
“Not many.” Grandpa hands Wyatt a pair of fireman boots. “People would think we’re running on half a tank if I said anything. If you hadn’t seen it for yourself, you wouldn’t have believed us.”
A sharp, short laugh erupts from Wyatt as he jerks on a boot. “No doubt.”
How’d they go from beating each other up to buddies in less than a minute? Watching Grandpa help Wyatt suit up is surreal. “This is crazy. I know what I’m capable of doing and it’s not something you want to see.”
Grandpa snorts. “Already seen it, remember?”
Wyatt looks from me to Grandpa, his face reflecting his intense interest. “Umm, yeah, I’m pretty sure I want to see it again.”
I can feel the anger grow in my belly. To Grandpa, I’m someone who needs discipline. To Wyatt I’m a weird phenomenon he can’t wait to experiment on.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Calm yourself,” Grandpa says. “We need to see if we can control what sets you off, or at least regulate the reaction. Then you’re safer. We’re all safer. That’s what we came here to do in the first place, right? Make you safer. That reminds me. I should get the hose.”
“What? We’re doing it here? In the barn? It’s made out of wood. Does that not ring any alarms?”
“We can’t do it outside where everyone can see,” Wyatt says as if I’m the dumbest person alive.
“Don’t worry, son.” Grandpa slaps me on the back. “I’ve got you covered.” And off he trots to get the hose.
“Seriously, kid. Show a little trust,” Wyatt adds.
Wow, this guy’s been hit in the head one too many times if he thinks I’m going to trust him. “Aren’t you the one who wanted to rat me out five seconds ago?”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “Now I don’t.”
My instincts scream at me to run. I don’t, and I’m not sure why. I voice my objections one last time. “I’m gonna go down as saying this is a really bad idea.”
Grandpa turns to Wyatt. “I say we use the industrial hose your daddy has at the shop.”
Wyatt throws him a thumbs-up and lumbers off. I clasp my head between my hands and spin away. My nerves crackle under the surface of my skin. “Grandma is going to kill us.”
“Stop digging in that well. It’s deep enough. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He grabs my arm and hauls me to the center of the barn and scuffs a black X on the floor with his boot heel. “Stand right there. Now, when I say so, go ahead and light up. Don’t push yourself too much. We want to see how hot you burn normally.”
This is a disaster, one I can’t step away from even if I want to…which I do, but I’m good and stuck. What’s that old saying? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em? I might as well jump into the mudhole they’re making and wallow around with them.
Resigned to my fate, I step onto the X.
Wyatt jogs back in with a coiled water hose hanging heavily in his arms. The boom when he drops it shakes the floor. They hook it up to a specialized spout, and then Grandpa, his feet planted wide, the hose tucked under his right armpit, shoots a stream hard enough to peel paint along the ground.
“Don’t want the floor to catch fire.” He cranks the water off and motions Wyatt forward.
Wyatt shoves on his masked helmet, and immediately goes into Darth Vader mode. I roll my eyes and shake my head. Why do I feel like I’m in a Jackass movie waiting for the stupid to drop?
“Okay, son.” Grandpa grips the h
ose tight. “Light up.”
When I’m not on an emotional joyride, calling forth the flames takes a bit more concentration. I hold out my hand and visualize the fire crawling through me and to my palm. A few seconds later, the fireball pops to life, flickering against my skin, tickling me where it would burn someone else.
“Cute,” Wyatt’s muffled voice says from behind the fireman’s mask. “Can you manage something a little more threatening?”
When the fire is alive, it does something to me. It heats up my blood, like I’ve just won a fistfight and I need to cool down. I want to let all the heat out as fast as possible. I need to let it out.
The flickering orb grows until it’s nearly the size of a basketball. I take aim and pitch it toward Wyatt. It bursts against his torso, sending him flying backward. He lands butt-first on the ground and skids until he hits the wall.
The hose drops from Grandpa’s armpit as he takes a step forward. “Wyatt! You okay?”
Wyatt’s helmeted head shakes as if he’s rattling his brains back into working order, and a string of curses fly.
Grandpa snorts and then mutters, “He’s okay.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’ve stacked some hay bales behind Wyatt, and thoroughly wet them down. “It’ll still hurt like hell,” Grandpa says to Wyatt, “but you shouldn’t break anything. You good to go?”
“I’m game. Let’s do this.”
Adrenaline junkie. That’s got to be his excuse. Who else would do something this stupid? I position myself back on the X, and when everyone is ready, I call the flame to my hand. At first it tickles, like a feather. The little ball is a friendly light, playful and easy to control.
Grandpa shifts the hose higher. “Let ’er rip, Dylan.”
“This isn’t a good idea,” I say one last time. I don’t know why I bother; he’s not listening.
As if I need encouragement, Wyatt starts calling me names that would make a prison guard blush. Usually being taunted never bothered me, but since I’ve gotten back from Teag, it doesn’t take much to stir the heat. I narrow my gaze and let the fire engulf me.