Scorch Song

by Casey Hays

  “What?” My growl proves I’m not over the verbal confrontation.

  “You were in there an awfully long time.”

  “So?” I stab another piece of meat and hold it up.

  “Your mom didn’t know we were coming, did she?”

  I gulp down half my water, avoiding his eyes. He narrows in on me, shifting his body to lean propped elbows on the table.

  “No,” I admit.

  “And she didn’t know you knew about yourself.”

  “Who are you? Sherlock Holmes?” I shove another angry bite into my mouth.

  “It doesn’t take a detective to figure it out, Jude.” He releases a small puff of air with a shake of his head. “Did you tell her why you were comin’?”

  “Can I eat here?” I drop my fork with a clank.

  “So… she doesn’t know you’re coming to see your brother, then?”

  “What is it with the twenty questions?”

  “You didn’t tell her you know about Jarron?” The worried glint in Frankie’s voice keeps me from looking at her.

  “No, I didn’t.” I pinch my eyes shut, lower lip braced between my teeth so hard I’m certain to draw blood if I’m not careful. “Look, she wants me to go home. If I tell her I know about him, who knows what she’ll do. Move him, maybe. I don’t know. But I’m not taking that chance, okay?” I check to make sure they both understand. “We go on.”

  Rylin whips his eyes toward Frankie and back to me. “Of course, we go on.”

  Frankie nods in solid agreement, and I fall against the black-backed chair in relief. It’s an unfounded fear, but for a second there, I thought Rylin might try to talk me into going back to Nevada.

  “Okay,” I nod.

  I pick up my fork and finish my meal, not because I have an appetite, but because I’m going to need my strength to meet with Mom face to face.

  Twenty

  A few minutes past seven, I drop my duffel bag onto the end of a hotel bed at the Fairfield and gratefully fall onto the mattress

  “I am so glad to be out of that car.” I give my body a good stretch and draw my legs up to my chest. “I have the worst crick in my neck.”

  “That’s what you get for sleeping the entire trip.” Frankie closes the door and crosses over to draw the thick curtains, enveloping the room in shadows. “You missed a good conversation.”

  “Doubtful.”

  I curl into a ball, tucking my fists beneath my chin. Turns out Devan’s little sleepover did me in. In fact, I’m currently questioning the sanity of the genius who first called it a sleepover.

  “You know, Rylin is very intriguing.” Frankie flips on a lamp and sets her bag on the table by the window. “And very forthcoming. I’m practically an honorary Fireblood now.”

  I laugh, rolling over to take in her grin. And forthcoming is one word I would never use to define Rylin.

  “What all did you talk about?”

  “Name something, and we talked about it.” She plops into a chair and begins a search on her phone. “Cedar Hills Boulevard looks like the place to find some food.”

  “Okay.” I close my eyes, not particularly interested in food, for several reasons. But the foremost has to be in the fact that my brother is eight minutes away from this hotel. Eight minutes. That’s it.

  Tomorrow, I’m going to meet him for the first time my life.

  My nerves gang up on me in double time, and I draw my knees closer in to my twisted up stomach. I’ve seen the pictures of Jarron. I’ve heard Nancy Babbitt’s version of what he’s like. But what am I really going to find? Will he even have the mental capacity to communicate with me? Will I be able to make him understand who I am? And the number one question gnawing at me: Will my mom even let me close enough to find out?

  It doesn’t matter if she will. I’m getting in there even if Rylin has to compel Mom and every employee at the hospital to do it. I’m not leaving Portland until I see him.

  I grab an extra pillow and throw it over my head, hoping to drown out the thoughts dousing my brain before I make myself sick.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower,” Frankie announces. She shakes my foot as she passes. “Hey.” I lift the pillow just enough to see her. “You should check your phone, don’t you think?”

  With a sigh, I let the pillow fall back into place. I haven’t looked at my phone since I silenced it at the diner. And not until I hear the water burst to life in the shower do I pull myself up, propping a couple of pillows against the headboard. I drag my shoulder bag by the strap until it snugs up against my thigh, and I dig my phone out.

  Fourteen missed calls and six voicemails from Mom. Wow. A record. Maybe she does care after all.

  There’s a text from Kane. I open it first.

  HEY. I HOPE YOU GOT TO WHEREVER SAFELY. I MISS YOU ALREADY. <3

  I smile and tap in an answer.

  WE’RE HERE. I MISS YOU TOO. I HATE BEING HERE WITHOUT YOU.

  His answer pops in immediately.

  THERE YOU ARE. I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WERE STILL ALIVE. ;)

  SORRY. HAD MY PHONE ON SILENT.

  RYLIN BETTER BE KEEPING HIS HANDS OFF.

  I smile again.

  WE’VE ONLY MADE OUT TWICE.

  It takes him an extra minute or two to respond.

  NOT FUNNY.

  JK. HE’S IN HIS ROOM ACROSS THE HALL.

  OK… CALL YOU LATER?

  K <3

  I’ve just typed that one letter when Mom’s image brightens my phone with a call. I sigh and lift it to my ear.

  “I’m outside,” she says.

  I come to my feet, a sudden excited fear overtaking me. I haven’t seen Mom in nearly two weeks; a lot has changed in that time frame. The rest of the truth is coming—in tidal wave fashion, I’m afraid.

  I tap on the bathroom door. “Frankie, my mom’s here. I’m going with her for a while.”

  There’s a sound of metal curtain rungs sliding across the rod.

  “What?” The water drowns out her muffled answer. “I can’t hear you.”

  I ease the door open an inch. “I’m leaving. My mom is here.”

  “Oh. Okay.” A pause. “Good luck, Jude.”

  Good luck. I think we’re beyond that. In fact, we’ve probably reached “we need a miracle” status.

  I make my way into the hall and toward the elevator, tapping the flat, rectangular room key against my palm over and over while I wait for it to arrive. This elevator is so slow. I jab the button a couple more times, then shove the room key into my back pocket. We’re only on the third flood. Might as well take the stairs.

  I scan the area for a stairwell door. There it is… a red exit sign displayed above it and everything. I push it open… and run right into Rylin coming up the stairs with a pack on his back and his guitar case in his hand. He stops short, resting a foot on the top step.

  “Oh. Sorry.” I slide over, holding the door wide. “Wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.”

  He flashes a smile. “I don’t trust elevators.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence. The stairwell smells dusty despite the fact that I can’t see a bit of dirt anywhere.

  “You heading somewhere?” he finally asks.

  “Yeah,” I gesture toward the bottom of the landing. “My mom called. She’s waiting for me downstairs. So I guess you and Frankie are on your own for dinner.”

  “Right.” A hint of disappointment flashes over his face. “Well, I’ll see you later then?”

  “Sure.”

  I press closer to the door so he can pass. He pauses, even with me, and nods at my hand pressed to my chest. “Your camouflage is holding up. That’s good.”

  I glance at my ring. “Did you think it wouldn’t?”

  “I’ve never compelled an object in order to camouflage a person.” He gives a little shrug. “Kane had to show me how to do it.”

  “Really? And you’re just now telling me this?”

  “It didn’t seem so important for you to k
now,” he shrugs.

  “Oh.” I give him a sarcastic nod of my head and plant my hands on my hips. “Okay then. So if I suddenly burst into flames, we won’t take that too seriously either.”

  “I think I’ve got the hang of it now,” he chuckles, hefting his guitar onto his shoulder and hooking a thumb through the carrying strap. He steps through the door and onto the orange and purple diamond-patterned carpet. “You’re an easy one to camouflage, it turns out.”

  Great. I’m not sure whether I should take that as a compliment or an insult. He stands there, eyes fixed on me, his reddish hair mussing up all over the top of his head and contrasting hideously with the dark purple wallpaper behind him. I concentrate on the few freckles gracing his nose so I won’t have to look him in the eye.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “You’re welcome.” Another beat, and he waves me off. “Now go on. I’ll keep Frankie entertained. You have a nice time with your mother.”

  He grins when my suspicion filters into my expression.

  “Just… don’t do anything… renegade-ish, okay?”

  “Never,” he winks.

  Yeah, right.

  With definite uneasiness—and a final warning tilt of my head—I move from the door and let it fall shut between us. I’m honestly more worried about what Frankie might request of Rylin than what he might offer. Frankie’s smart, but she’s also more curious than any person I know. And once she weighs the risks and the rewards, she’s usually up for anything, especially if it has something to do with a new discovery. Rylin is practically a “paranormal” archeological dig right at her disposal.

  As for Rylin, he’s all risk. He and Frankie together might not be the best combination. I sure hope the hotel is still standing when I get back.

  I kid. Sort of.

  From the lobby, I recognize Mom’s red Range Rover parked in the drop-off right next to the curb, even with the lighting that reflects off the ceiling onto the glass double doors of the entrance. But I can’t see her, and I pause, gathering myself. I’m suddenly nauseous—not about facing Mom, but about finally having this conversation. I’m wary of the lies she may still try to tell me as much as I am of the truth she may hand over without a fight. It’s an uncomfortable place to be, and I wish I didn’t have to be in it.

  The clerk working the desk eyes me, crinkling her forehead.

  “Did you need some help, honey?”

  I toss her a smile. “No. I’m good.”

  Right. I’m real good. I slide open the screen on my phone and type a quick text to Kane.

  I’M FEELING KIND OF NERVOUS ABOUT… STUFF.

  His answer is quick.

  WELL, IF IT HELPS, I LOVE YOU. I’M A TEXT AWAY.

  I send him a heart and take a step. The automatic doors ease open.

  Mom hands me a nervous, twitchy look when I climb into the car. It could be a smile, I guess. She lifts an arm, ready to hug me or run her hand over my hair or touch me in some motherly manner. I’m not having it. I ward her off with a lift of my forearm and press against the door, out of reach. Her hand falls away, a look of defeat shoving that weird twitchy “almost” smile right off her face.

  “Jude—”

  “So they let you out of your room, did they?” My words are cold and my eyes colder. “That’s funny. You get to drive yourself all over the city, but calling your daughter on a daily basis is strictly forbidden.” I catch sight of a crate of wine on the floor behind the driver’s seat, and I pierce her questioningly. Misery stares back at me, along with slightly bloodshot eyes. I’m guessing those aren’t from crying. “Nevermind. I have my answer.”

  I turn away, angry, my focus on the lobby. An employee wheels a golden-colored luggage cart through the entrance and parks it on the sidewalk. The silence inside the car is ear-splitting. Mom kicks it into drive and eases away from the building.

  “I was hoping we could be civil,” she says.

  “Civil,” I snap. “You’ve been lying to me about everything in our lives, and you want to be civil.”

  “Jude, please. I don’t want to fight with you.”

  I keep my eyes on the hedges that stand in a line along the side of the hotel. I can’t see the sun for the buildings, but the sunset itself paints the bits of visible sky in different shades of pink. It would be beautiful if I didn’t feel so ugly inside. But I do, and I embrace the emotion. I don’t want to be nice. I want a fight. I want to take all the wine bottles from Mom’s back seat and hurl them one by one out of the window to watch them splatter in glass and liquid on the asphalt. And I want to scream at the top of my lungs the whole time I’m doing it.

  The Range Rover picks up speed as Mom pulls onto the street.

  “Are you hungry?”

  I ignore her. I’m not doing this small talk routine.

  “There’s a Latin food place that’s pretty good. I’ve eaten there several times. It’s known for its chile verde sauce.”

  I give her a shrug. Out of my peripheral, I notice her hands tighten on the wheel. She gives off a soft sigh, keeping her eyes ahead.

  We drive in silence, and I take the time to really examine Mom. Her dark hair is shorter than when I last saw her, just hitting the bottom of her neck. She doesn’t wear a stitch of makeup, and honestly, she looks absolutely beautiful. Her toned arms, tense where she braces them against the steering wheel, are tanned to golden-brown that is further emphasized by the hot pink tank top she wears. When her worried eyes meet mine briefly, I see my own boring, dull brown ones looking back at me. Geesh. She even manages to make those look beautiful.

  I have to wonder, for a split second, if maybe I was wrong. Maybe she really has been going to a group for people with depression just like she said. And maybe that’s helped to curb her drinking a little. I want to believe it; I’m just so afraid to. I don’t want to be disappointed.

  “Who came with you to Portland?” She glances at me. “You said ‘we’ are staying at the Fairfield.”

  “Frankie.” I watch the road, no emotion in my answer.

  “So… Frankie knows about you?”

  “Yes.” I wait a second before I finish my thought. “And she knows about Kane. And Rylin McDowell.”

  A small lift of her shoulders proves I’ve caught her attention with that one. Wait until I tell her Frankie’s not the only one who tagged along on my little field trip.

  “You remember Rylin, don’t you?” I turn, searching for her reaction. “The boy who made me go crazy by feeding me his mantra because, well, nobody bothered to tell me what the heck it was.”

  “Yes.” Her voice is stiff when she finally answers. “I remember him.”

  “Good. Because he’s here too.”

  Her head turns so fast, it causes her to swerve, nearly side-swiping the car travelling in the lane next to us. It veers out of the way, honking as Mom furiously works to right herself. Once she’s safely in her lane, she turns wide eyes in my direction.

  “Rylin McDowell is with you?”

  “Yeah.” I clutch the handhold on my door, bracing my other hand against the dash. She doesn’t even acknowledge the driver of the other car when he flips us off as he passes. “Is—that going to be a problem?”

  “Yes.” She blows out a deep breath to steady herself. “It could be a very big problem.”

  “Why?” I’m not here to beat around any bushes, so I get right to the point. “Do you have something to hide? Are you afraid the renegade is going to expose another one of your secrets?”

  The shock really slams home then, but she composes herself quickly.

  “No.” Her answer is not convincing in the least.

  “Hmm,” I smirk. “Because it seems everybody has a problem with that one small issue.”

  “I told you to go home, Jude.” The sudden angry tone of her voice throws me off course. I stare at her, mouth open on its hinges. “Why in the world did you come all this way to Portland?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I spit back with all my venom,
and I don’t care. “Maybe I was worried about you. Maybe I missed my mom who never, ever answers her phone.”

  “Okay. That’s fair.” She sinks in her seat a little. “I wish you’d come alone.”

  “Well, that’s not ever going to be an option,” I say. “Someone has to be with me to compel my ring. Kane couldn’t come.”

  “I see.” Her long sigh seems to drain the atmosphere of the car until there’s nothing left to hold on to. “It seems we’ll never be free of Firebloods.”

  Now, that’s a curve ball I didn’t see coming. She says Firebloods like it’s a bad word or something. I straighten, turning a little in my seat.

  “You’ve got something against Firebloods?” I so want to feel offended, but I imagine Mom has an explanation for her strange announcement. “You married one.”

  “Yes, I did, and it has cost me tremendously. Trust me, a human husband would have been a much safer option. Boring, but safe.” She gives off a half-sobbing hiccup of a laugh. “Unfortunately, your heart doesn’t give you a choice.”

  Her eyes glisten, accentuating the lines in the corners. She blinks, loosening a tear that runs quickly down the side of her face, and she hurriedly wipes it away. And damn it… my icy heart melts a degree.

  “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do with all of this, Jude.” Her sheer honesty edges her voice. “Your whole life, all I’ve ever done is kept you hidden—even from yourself. I’d gotten pretty good at it until your dad—” She breaks off, examines me, taking special note of my eyes. “Thank goodness you still look human. I was worried about what I might see.” She shifts her eyes to the road, sweeping a short piece of her hair off her cheek. “I thought Rylin was in Ireland.”

  “He’s back.”

  “It wasn’t a good idea to bring him here.”

  “Why not?”

  Anticipation raises its head as I sense a confession in her words—one that might bring Jarron into the conversation. I could bring him up myself, but I don’t want to. Not yet. For once, I want her to tell me something straight up. I wonder if she’ll disappoint me… again.

  “You need to listen very closely.” She flashes me a warning. “The Contingent and the Renegades are two sides of the same coin. They fight each other in an unseen war that we don’t want to get mixed up in. Compelling, hiding behind human masks—neither one of them has any regard for human life. Or for hybrids. Especially for hybrids.” She pauses to make sure I catch her meaning. “The Contingent are dictators, and the Renegades are users. And you need to be careful. Give your trust sparingly.”