Scorch Song

by Casey Hays

  “I guess so.” I pause. “Did you… ever connect? With a human, I mean?”

  His smile is smug.

  “Don’t tell me it was Mindy.”

  “Okay, I won’t.” He laughs. It isn’t funny. His smile fades, voice serious. “I’ve been chasing the same girl all of my life.”

  His heartbeat thrums in my ear. I run the smooth flats of my fingernails across his chest.

  “When we were kids, did you know what would happen if we linked out mantras together?”

  “Yeah. I had a pretty good idea.”

  “But you didn’t try to.”

  “Nope.” He kisses the top of my head, tightening his arms around my shoulders.

  “And Rylin did.”

  “Apparently.” His voice is irritated. “The link should be mutual, or it defeats the purpose of the mantra.”

  My mantra strums now, strong and vibrant, as if it dances throughout my body. But my mind drifts toward Rylin. His tactics skim over me a minute, disturbing the rhythm, until I sense Kane invade my mind, his song faint at first. He smiles down on me, and all thoughts of Rylin wash away. And like I’ve done at least twenty times already tonight, I braid our songs together.

  Mutually… and beautifully.

  Five

  It’s Monday morning. My glorious ride on the midnight horizon—fueled by fire and love—has come to an end, and the façade called “real life” promptly resumes. I’ll add in an over-exaggerated sigh for emphasis.

  I faithfully tromp over to Frankie’s house to play my part: the much less interested and/or involved member of our project. Not that Frankie needs me anyway; she’s got this thing under control. So while she taps away at her laptop, focused and determined and completely oblivious to me—the half-breed Fireblood sprawled across her bed—I watch her. From my position, head hanging off the end and hair cascading to the floor, I have a clear view of her upside down figure.

  You don’t know how badly I want to tell Frankie everything. Or show her, really. And I could. Easily. One swipe of my hand to remove my ring, and the effects would begin to wear off. After that, I could simply take Frankie for a little ride up the street where nothing in close proximity compelled me. It’s a decent plan.

  Until a neighbor sees me glowing like a lantern in the front seat of my VW. Yeah… that wouldn’t be good.

  But I hate the lying. I don’t know how Kane has kept it up for all of these years. I’ve known I was a Fireblood for just over a day, and everything in me wants to shout it to the mountaintops.

  The chain from my necklace snugs up against my throat. I take a long, deep breath and dig for the key lost somewhere in the hanging folds of my hair. The clicking of the computer keys draws my attention back to Frankie. I roll onto my stomach and trace the pattern of the rug with the tip of my finger, bored.

  “How’s it going over there?” I ask.

  “Almost done.”

  I give a noncommittal nod. I couldn’t care less about a scholarship anymore. That sounds awful, I know. But clearly, my life has taken an unprecedented turn. I’m not even sure what my future holds. Things are kind of up in the air.

  Up in the air. A silent snicker escapes me. I guess I’ll add that phrase to my list of Fireblood puns.

  I sit up, tossing my legs over the side of the bed as two copies of the twelve page essay shoot out of the printer. Spinning in her chair, Frankie hands me one.

  “Read it. Let me know if you find any discrepancies in content or typographical errors.”

  “Okay,” I climb to my feet. “How much time are you giving me?”

  She raises one sardonic brow. “I suppose I can spare two days.”

  “How generous,” I tease.

  She skims over the first page. “It’s a shame we didn’t pick up any physical evidence on the equipment.”

  I toss her an inconspicuous glance. Disappointment colors her voice and defines her features.

  “Yeah,” I match her tone for tone, and I don’t even have to pretend. I feel bad. I mean, she did put a lot of work into that camping trip to get nothing in return. “That would have been a bonus.”

  “Well, this will have to do. At least we have Nancy Babbitt’s account of the boy at Willow Springs. That’s priceless.”

  “For sure,” I agree. “You kept her anonymous, right?”

  “Of course,” she says, clearly insulted that I would suspect otherwise. She sifts through the pages of her copy of the essay, then gives me a wary glance. “I plan to include Randall McNalley’s journal and the pictures I found in Dad’s stash.”

  This jolts me. But I rein in my shock to ask my next question.

  “Are you planning to keep your dad away from the fair? Because if you’re not, that’s a huge risk, Frankie.”

  “I know,” she shrugs. “But maybe it’s time he was pushed into a corner. You and I both know Firebloods exist, Jude. Even without concrete evidence from our camping trip, there’s no question. My dad’s crate, the pictures of the deformed Fireblood, Nancy Babbitt’s testimony—it all points to the proof.” She pauses. “I want my dad to fess up.”

  Her intensity is electric, and her sudden decision to throw caution to the wind seems so out of place. I get the distinct feeling that we aren’t really talking about the project anymore.

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  “Because I’ve been thinking quite a bit since we left Willow Springs.” She releases a small breath. “We saw a real glimpse of a real boy who has been locked away all of his life because he can’t camouflage like the rest of them.” She picks up one of his pictures from the edge of her desk. “Maybe it’s time for the hiding to end.”

  “Frankie… that may work in an X-men movie.” I scoop up my bag from the floor and swing it cross-wise over my body, lifting the flap to shove the essay inside. “But I don’t think our world is ready for it.”

  “Clearly, you know nothing about the X-men, or you’d realize how inaccurate that statement is. The world is ready for them; it just doesn’t know it.” She runs her thumb across the boy’s face. “It seems pointless to go to the trouble of proving all of this if it’s not going to make a difference.”

  And there it is. I study her, touched by her sudden softness. It’s a bold move, but the scientist has stepped aside, and Compassion has taken over. Still, displaying pictures could cause trouble for the boy. And Kane.

  And me.

  The urge to tell Frankie the truth becomes a siren’s call. If she knew…

  I tighten my grip on the strap of my satchel and move to the door. Nope. I’m not telling her. Not without talking it over with Kane first.

  “I’ll start reading through the essay this afternoon.”

  By the time I make it home, it’s going on noon, and my stomach is growling. I make myself a ham sandwich and settle in at the bar to read. The essay is as accurate as I’d expected it to be, not that I’m an expert on Fireblood lore just yet. But other than a few details, she’s close to proving the existence of my people.

  My people. That has a nice ring to it.

  When the doorbell sounds a couple of hours later, I’m expecting Kane. One glance at the silhouette through the glass paneled front door proves it isn’t him. I literally feel my blood boil up inside me.

  You’ve got to be kidding.

  I hesitate a good forty-five seconds before I choose to pull open the door. Rylin McDowell leans against one of the big, white pillars that holds up the roof of my porch, his ankles crossed far too comfortably for my taste. I frown.

  “You really need to stop showing up unannounced.”

  He squints and wags a finger at me.

  “See there? I get the distinct feelin’ that I was right about your bein’ upset with me.”

  He studies me a moment before pushing away from the pillar to situate himself in the middle of the porch, palms upraised. He carries a confidence about him, as if he’s more than certain one look at him will convince me of how much my life is lacking witho
ut him in it. Disgusting.

  “What do you want?”

  A hint of mock hurt crosses his face. “What happened to showing me ‘round the neighborhood? I didn’t think you were one for reneging on your obligations.”

  The gleam in his eye—ebbing and flowing with a green flicker—toys with me, but that’s as far as it goes. I twist my ring over.

  “Did I not make myself clear at the pool?”

  “You did,” he nods. “But I don’t think you meant it.”

  That’s it.

  “Go away, Rylin.”

  I start to shut the door until his foot catches it, wedging in and holding it open a crack. His lightly freckled face fills the space, and in my mind’s eye, he’s the little boy next door. It throws me off my game for a second.

  “Move your foot.” I work to keep a semblance of calm in my voice.

  “I just want to talk to you. Nothin’ more.”

  “About what?”

  “I think you know.”

  I relent then, releasing my hold on the door. We stand face to face again—nothing between us but his persuasion and my suspicion. My heartbeat thuds inside my head, but I hold his gaze.

  “You must be talking about how you crossed every line of decency by forcing your mantra into my head. Is that it?”

  Might as well not stall. I already said as much at the pool anyway.

  He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Well, I wasn’t exactly aiming to put it quite so bluntly.”

  My glare could light a fire. He tries a smile on me. It doesn’t help, so he works a different angle.

  “I was only eight when I first noticed you,” he begins. “I didn’t have complete control of myself.”

  “Yeah? Well, I was only eight too.”

  He nods, regret fussing up his face and making his eyes darken a notch. “I know.”

  I tap my foot, thinking.

  “Why now? You never talked to me—not in all those years. You never tried to explain.”

  “In my defense, you never talked to me either,” he responds.

  “Well maybe if you weren’t trying to break into my head, I might have made an attempt.”

  “I was eight, Jude.”

  “Yeah, but eventually, you were nine. Then ten. Eleven,” I squint. “You see where this is going.”

  He makes no excuses, and I want to believe that he didn’t intentionally force his way into my head. But you see, I just don’t. Because I was there. I remember what it felt like. It was deliberate. Maybe not at first, but that changed pretty quickly. And so, I have every reason to be wary of Rylin McDowell. I even allow myself a few seconds to remember the familiar fear associated with him from my childhood. The mystery of who he was invades with the memory of his eerily beautiful mantra niggling inside my head. I hated it; I loved it; I never want to feel it again. With that conclusion a strange shiver shudders my insides. I peer into his hazel eyes, assessing his intentions.

  I don’t know him, so I don’t have a single reason to trust him. But I don’t hear any kind of music in my head at the moment either, and that’s reassuring. He stands there, his expression riddled with anticipation, a long overdue apology laced inside it. It causes me to soften—just a little bit.

  Kane isn’t going to like this, but I step out onto the porch. Rylin lifts a hopeful brow, eyes piercing. I pull the front door closed behind me, exchanging the coolness of the air-conditioned house for the hot, dry outdoor air.

  “You have five minutes.” I cross my arms.

  “All right,” he nods. “I think I can manage with five minutes.”

  “Four minutes fifty-seven seconds.”

  I’m stoic. He chuckles. He thinks I’m kidding. I’m not. I move past him and climb onto the porch swing, pulling my knees up to my chest. The swing creaks into motion. He studies me.

  “Clearly, you’ve discovered I’m a Fireblood.”

  He cuts right to the chase.

  “Okay.” The swing rocks.

  “Do you know what you are?” he tests.

  An uneasiness creeps in, clingy and uncomfortable, and I don’t answer right away. In fact, I don’t answer at all. For some reason, it seems more sensible to ask a question of my own.

  “Do you know what I am?” The moment of truth.

  He scans the yard like a bodyguard doing some kind of surveillance before he positions himself against the pillar again. A small breeze lifts a tuft of his reddish hair. “From the instant I laid eyes on you.”

  The air pauses, and just like that, I’m swept backwards to that moment. I’ve never forgotten it. A baseball rolled between my feet and knocked up against the base of the oak tree. Our eight-year-old eyes met for the first time. And the music began. I shake the memory.

  “Four minutes.”

  My voice is shaky, and it irritates me. Especially when a half-smile laces his lips. The slight scent of mint mixes in with the smell of the pink rosebushes lining the end of the porch.

  “I know you’ve got a chip on your shoulder from when we were tots. Honestly, I never meant to climb into your head, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “Really?” I don’t even bother to keep the rancor out of my voice. “And the other day? Did you mean to then?”

  “All right.” He tips his head up, owning. “Yeah. I—I guess I did.”

  I tug on my necklace, working to keep the surprise out of my voice. “Why?”

  He shrugs. “I needed to know that I hadn’t imagined it,” he finally says.

  I frown. “You weren’t sure?”

  “No.” He keeps his eyes on me, not wavering. “I knew you were like me… somehow. And I knew you weren’t. So yes, I dug in. I was curious. And a year later, you went blank. I wasn’t so sure anymore.”

  I lift a brow. “I went blank?”

  “Yeah. Almost like a wall went up.” He shrugs. “I only found you a few times after that. Faintly.”

  I nod. That would have been about the time Angelica became a permanent resident of my backpack.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice coaxes me. “I shouldn’t have done it. Not then, and not now. And I came here to tell you I won’t. Not ever again.”

  Frankly, I’m a little shocked he confessed this.

  “Well, thank you. I guess.”

  “Unless you ask me to,” he adds.

  And there it is.

  I huff. “Yeah. Like that’s going to happen.”

  He says nothing, but there’s a slight, almost invisible glint in his eye that proves he doesn’t believe me.

  “Kane stayed out of my head.” I lift my chin, a little defiantly. “Why couldn’t you?”

  “Kane had help.”

  “Only because he asked for it. I hate to break it to you, but you were both in the same boat. You had the same choice.”

  “No, Jude.” He shifts on his feet. “We didn’t.”

  I shake my head, not buying it. He presses on.

  “Kane and I may both be Firebloods, but we’re not the same.”

  “Meaning what?”

  He casts me a snarky smile, and then, without warning, he takes a single step and sinks onto the seat next to me. The swing wobbles with his weight, and his arm briefly brushes mine. The warmth of his flesh stirs my blood. Warm… just like Kane’s. He doesn’t seem to notice. He tosses an arm across the back of the swing right behind me and leans in.

  “My family has a different idea about what it means for our race to live in this world,” he says.

  “Yeah?” I discreetly lean away, putting an inch between us.

  “I come from a line that—” He breaks off, leans forward on the swing, and hangs his hands loose between his knees, fidgeting his thumbs. “Well, let’s just say we aren’t afraid to live on the edge when necessary.”

  “And when is it necessary exactly?”

  “Good question.” A smile lights and fades. “My family is one of the most powerful of the Vatra u Krvi race. And they don’t see a need to uphold the Contingent’s foo
lish mandates.”

  “So… they’re what? Criminals?”

  He leans back, forcing the swing into motion. “I’d call them revolutionists.”

  “Huh. And do you like being a revolutionist?”

  “It has its perks,” he shrugs. “Plus, I don’t really have a choice.”

  “Everyone has a choice.”

  His eyes falter. “Then, I suppose I’m afraid to test that theory.”

  I study him, my arms clamped protectively around my knees. “You? Afraid?”

  “Well, I am human in there somewhere,” he winks.

  “What do you have to be afraid of?”

  “Too many things.” He focuses on me, then drops his eyes to my ring. “We should all be afraid of something.”

  “I wish you’d stop with the riddles.” I instinctively cover the ruby with my opposite hand.

  “I will.” His eyes shift, green flames exploding inside his irises. “When you decide you’re ready for the truth.”

  “What truth? Are you saying there’s more?”

  “There’s always more.”

  He scrutinizes me a good few seconds before he leans in close. Close enough, I might add, that he could kiss me if he wanted to. Yeah, that close. It would take half a motion on his part for my lips to run smack into him. His eyes burn, testing me, and frankly, I’m not so sure I’d stop him if he tried it. The tip of his tongue makes a tiny appearance as his mouth moves.

  “You only know what you are, Jude,” he whispers. “You have no idea yet who you will be because of it.”

  It’s hard to describe what those words do to me. In one memory, I grip my adoption paperwork, strangled by the ugliness of realizing I was raised believing a lie. But in the next, it changes. I see my father’s shadow sheltering everything, and yet teaching me nothing. It’s true; I have no idea who I am yet, or what I’m supposed to do about it, or how I find out. The truth of that rises up like some colossal giant that can never be conquered. Apparently, Rylin feels it’s his duty to enlighten me.

  My mind is fuzzy with the smell of mint and the green haze floating in Rylin’s eyes—so deep it could be mistaken for black. They’re full of hunger, those eyes, and not your average hunger either. Not the kind where a burger is all you need to stave it. No. This is a starving hunger caused by days with no food, and I feel it too. Deep in the soul. It’s… a longing.