by A. L. Knorr
Calling the fire to one of my hands, I lifted my leg up and used the fire as a light to look at my knee. A white scar crossed my kneecap.
My ears perked when I heard my phone vibrate from the beach. Who would be texting me at this hour? The light from the fire disappeared and the ocean around me fell into darkness. I left the water and picked up my phone to see a message from Dante.
If you don't let me see you soon I'll go crazy. You're torturing me.
My stomach gave a little flutter of pleasure that had nothing to do with the fire.
Me: What are you doing up?
Dante: I'm dying for want of you.
Me: Very funny.
Dante: You're up too. Miss me?
Me: Maybe.
Dante: You're awake, and I'm awake. Let’s be awake together. What are you doing?
Me: Swimming.
Dante: ?
Me: Seriously. You know the little beach at the gardens on the west end?
Dante: Of course I know it, this is my town. You're there? Now?
Me: *nods*
Dante: Don't. Move.
I put my phone into my shoe and went back into the water. I floated on my back, admired the stars, and waited for my company.
Chapter 18
Dante's silhouette picked its way through the trees and across the grass. My feet found the stones beneath me and I stood. I began to make my way to the beach but stopped when Dante kicked off his shoes, dropped the bag he'd been carrying, and walked into the water in his clothes.
I smiled as he waded to me. He kissed both my cheeks, his hands on my waist. Smelling the bittersweet scent of aperol on his breath, I wondered how many spritzes he'd had.
"Hello," he said, his voice low. He swept me up like I was a little kid. My arms slipped around his neck. He walked deeper into the water until we were both neck deep and nose to nose. "Are you feeling better yet?"
"I am, thanks." My heart hammered inside my ribcage.
"You don't sound better," he said. "You still sound like you've been smoking cigars your whole life. But don't worry, I like it. It's sexy."
"Oh good," I rasped. My mouth twisted in a sarcastic smile. "That's all I had in mind when I got sick. That Dante should find me sexy."
"Good, then we're going to get along just fine." He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Why haven't you kissed me yet?"
I blinked at his directness. "Why haven't you kissed me?" I knew full well that we’d had more than one opportunity and I'd always been the one to turn away.
"Because, I," he began, his eyes dropping to my mouth, "am a gentleman."
He moved his lips to a bare inch from mine, and waited there.
My stomach fluttered. I moved my face forward just a fraction.
He jerked his head back. "Wait, are you contagious? Not that I wouldn't mind having a voice like yours."
I rasped a laugh. "No, I'm not contagious."
"Good." He brought his lips close again and waited for me to close the distance between us. I did, anticipating a sweet, soft first kiss. But the moment I put my lips to his, he completely overtook me. The intimacy of the kiss startled me deeply. My joints flushed with pleasure and weakness. My thinking fuzzed out. I became fully acquainted with the term 'stealing' a kiss. I had been kissed before. A few times. But none had so completely taken my breath away. His hand found the back of my head and held my face to his. We finally broke and I opened my eyes, dazed.
"That... " I began, taking a deep breath, "was not very gentlemanly."
A wicked smile crossed his face. "You're right. Let me try again."
His lips touched mine once more. This time it was the soft, delicate kiss that I had been expecting the first time. It was sweet, demure, even pious. He pulled away, watching me through half-closed eyes.
A beat passed.
"The first one was better," I said, grinning.
He laughed and hugged me close, then brushed my wet hair away from my face. I caught a flash of the little tattoo on the side of his wrist, just below the wrist bone.
"What's that?" I asked, trying to get a better look.
"What? Oh, this?" He turned the outside of his wrist to face us. "It's a magus mark. Not a real one, of course. It's just a tattoo."
He held still so I could look at it. Colored in with black ink, the tattoo was no larger than a pea. Its shape was clear, though—a flame. Or a fireball. It was rounded at the bottom and sharp on top, little flames licked toward his pinkie finger. Something about it was familiar.
"What's a magus mark?" I rubbed my thumb over the tattoo and felt its softly raised edges.
"Well, I could tell you..." he said, leaning in for another kiss, "but then I'd have to kill you."
He captured my lips and took my breath away again. I was grateful that he was holding me up because I wasn't sure my legs could keep me upright.
But the magus mark was on my mind now, and I pulled away. "Please?" I batted my eyelashes and trailed a finger down his cheek. "I won't tell anyone."
He laughed. "You really are a Bond girl." He kissed the tip of my nose. "What do I get in return?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"How about..." I twined my arms around his neck and pulled out my best doll voice. "How about the satisfaction of knowing that you've shared something special in order to foster trust and a feeling of closeness in the early stages of dating?"
The combination of baby voice and smoky voice sounded adorable, which was exactly what I'd been shooting for.
He laughed again. "I'll tell you, just because I like you and you sound so much cute. But we have to get out of the water, I'm freezing."
Only now did I notice the gooseflesh on his arms.
"Dante!" I put my feet down and pulled him toward the beach. "You idiot. Why didn't you say something?"
He shivered as the night air swept over us. I didn't feel cold at all—I felt great. But he was completely stiff. He wrapped his arms around himself.
"I was just trying to be tough and manly." He laughed through a tight jaw. "How can you stand the water? It's freezing tonight." He picked up the bag he'd brought, pulled out two towels, and handed one to me.
"You thought of bringing towels? You are far more prepared than any boy should be." I dried the water from my skin, but then I wrapped my towel around him and rubbed his shoulders to generate heat.
His kept the towel around himself and I followed him to a nearby park bench. We sat side by side, admiring the view of the stars reflecting on the water, and the lights of Lido in the distance.
"I knew a guy named Nicodemo who could do amazing things with fire," Dante began.
Immediately, I became still. I could hardly breathe. "What kinds of things?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He lifted the towel to his head and scrubbed his wet hair.
"Try me." The banked fire in my belly flickered in anticipation of the story. This was information that I needed. My heart thudded. Warmth flowed through me and for once it was more pleasure than pain.
"I was never supposed to know. I found out by accident one day when I overheard him and my dad talking in our living room. Nicodemo worked for us, but he and my dad were close. Nicodemo was family."
"So, what? He was like a fire-breather or something?"
He gave a wry laugh. "No, it went way beyond that." He turned to me and lowered his voice. "He could create it. Control it. What is the word for," he gestured toward himself with his hands. "Absorb it, that's the word. I know it sounds crazy. I would never have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."
He faced the sea again, his eyes getting a faraway look. He wasn't worried about whether I believed him or not. I wished I could just tell someone my crazy story and not be scared of them not believing me.
"I never knew such power existed," he continued. "I was only about ten but I became obsessed with gaining this ability for myself. Every time Nicodemo had meetings with my dad, I would wait for an opportunity to catc
h him alone and ask him to teach me."
"And did he?"
He gave a half-laugh. "No, of course not. He couldn't. He showed me a mark that he had, like this one." He raised his wrist to show me the tattoo again. "Only his was natural, like a birthmark. He said only a real fire magus had the ability to control and create fire. It was genetic, so it couldn't be taught. Biggest disappointment of my young life," he said with a trace of bitterness. "Anyway, I saved up my allowance and got the tattoo. My father just about killed me. At the time, I just wanted to look cool, but it's served as a reminder that no matter how much money you have, you can never have everything that you want. So that's it, now you know." He put his arm over my head and around my shoulders.
I was about to ask him more about Nicodemo when my phone vibrated from inside my shoe. I reached down and looked at the screen.
"Oh, crap!" I said, standing up. Elda had called me twice and texted four times since Dante had arrived. I had been so engaged in our little make-out session that I hadn't heard my phone go off.
First: Where are you? I knocked on your door but you didn't answer.
Then: Isaia is asking for you!
Then: I don't think you understand, he's ASKING for you!!!
Finally: Saxony! Please call!
Guilt flooded me.
"What's wrong?" Dante stood and put an arm around my shoulders and looked down at my screen, his eyes scanning the texts. "Is that the lady you work for? At this hour? What is she, your mother?"
"I have to go, Dante. I'm so sorry." It was the second time I'd be leaving him rather rudely, but it couldn't be helped. I bent to pull on my shoes. The word 'ASKING' vibrated at the front of my mind. Had Isaia actually spoken?
Dante wrapped his arms around me, impeding my efforts to put on my second shoe. "You don't have to go. This is your time off. It's the middle of the night."
"You don't understand." I managed to pull on my second shoe in spite of Dante's arms around me. I stood and turned toward him, my hands on his chest. "Isaia, he hasn't spoken in..."
Dante interrupted me, his hands ran down my arms and curled around my wrists. "No, you don't understand. This is your opportunity to show her your boundaries, or she'll always think you're at her beck and call. I know people, trust me."
"What?" I was so surprised at his lack of understanding that I didn't know what to say. "I have to go."
I turned and took a step. Dante's fingers clamped down on my wrists like a pair of handcuffs. He jerked me back toward him. The fire in my belly flared up in anger. Why was he doing this? We came nose to nose.
"You're not listening," he said in a dangerous voice. His eyes narrowed and his jaw popped.
"Dante, what's wrong with you?" My own eyes narrowed, and I felt the telltale flush in my face—my temper, rearing its ugly head. The fire was one thing, but now I was getting really mad. I couldn’t keep the threat from my voice. "Let me go. Now."
It was the wrong thing to say to him. His face darkened. "Why is it that just when you have the opportunity to get the upper hand, you flush it down the toilet? Don't be stupid, now listen to me. Dante has something to teach you." His hands tightened, the bones in my wrists creaked painfully.
"Dante, you're hurting me," I rasped. "Let go, please." Fear had begun to rise in me, along with the crackling flames readying themselves to leap to my defense.
He let go of my wrists but only to put his hands on either side of my face, squeezing and locking me still like a bug with a pin through it.
Who did he think he was? This was not okay.
"I'm only doing this because I care," he said, but the anger in his voice was thinly veiled. Somehow, I had really pissed him off.
"Dante," I said, my voice sounding much harder than I felt. "Let. Go." My eyes began to feel warm. I squeezed them shut.
My phone vibrated again. To me, it was akin to Isaia calling out for help. I couldn't ignore it. The fire roared to life, feeding on my fear, anger, and desperation to go to Isaia. A glow came up between our faces, lighting us both up from under our chins.
Dante blinked in shock. "What the hell?"
I couldn't have stopped it even if I had wanted to—the fire-fueled anger was more powerful than I was. "I said let go!"
As I yelled the word 'go,' the heat flew upward, broke in two, shot up the side of my neck and stopped in my ears, just under Dante's crushing hands.
Dante yelled in pain and surprise and jerked his hands away from the sides of my head. He looked down at his hands, both of them quaking violently, the fingers open and stiff with pain. Two semicircular burns were seared into his palms and fingers exactly where he'd been holding the outer edges of my ears. He panted, and yelled again. Spittle appeared on his lower lip.
My anger dissipated. Panic and regret swept me and my voice shook. "Dante, I..." A wave of nausea overtook me as I looked at the nasty red burns.
My phone vibrated again.
To my absolute shock, Dante looked at me and a laugh filled with pain ripped out of his throat. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
"You," he said, panting. "You're a magus. You're what I've been looking for."
I backed away. "I'm so sorry, Dante. I have to go!"
After taking one last look at the horrible burns on his hands, I turned and sprinted.
Chapter 19
I ran at top speed through the quiet midnight streets, my footfalls echoing off brick and stone, coming back to my ears a hundred times over. My wet hair slapped sharply against my back, feeling like a whipping. How fitting. I deserve a flagellation.
The fire inside pulsed with every intake of oxygen. All my anger at Dante was gone. Jack's face, his black eye, his split lip... it all flashed in my memory. I had enough reason to know that what I had done to Jack was not the same as what I had done to Dante. What Dante had done bordered on assault, and I was fully right to protect myself. Still, my temper had gotten the better of me. Again. And this time, the consequences were even higher. I never had a fire living in my torso before.
The only thing that kept me from bursting into tears was the pumping of my arms and legs. I missed my family, and I wanted to talk to my friends. Regret that I had come to Venice in the first place washed over me for the first time and I nearly stumbled under the weight of it.
I didn't want this power Isaia had pushed into me. It hurt me, and it had made me hurt Dante. It would have killed Isaia. I hadn't asked for this—I wouldn't have taken it even if it had been offered to me, if I had known what it really meant. I wished more than anything that I was hanging out in Georjayna's back yard with my best friends and laughing around a bonfire, not pounding through empty streets in the dark, leaving behind a man I’d kissed, and then hurt.
Once I reached the house, I unlocked the door with shaking hands. I bound up the stairs two at a time and went straight to Isaia's room. My heart hammered and I paused to calm my ragged breath.
Sighing deeply, I gave a quiet tap on the door and then opened it.
"Oh, thank God," Elda cried. She got up from the side of Isaia's bed and hugged me before quickly letting me go. "Why are you wet?"
"I couldn't sleep and decided to go for a swim."
"In your clothes?"
"I'm sorry you couldn't reach me—I had my phone on vibrate and didn't hear it. Is he okay?"
"It's the most amazing thing," Elda said, forgetting my wet clothing. Her voice quavered. Her eyes were bright with excitement, and she grabbed my upper arms. "He spoke. He said your name. I don't know why your name was the first word he's spoken in almost three years but I don't care. He spoke!" A tear spilled down her cheek and she brushed it away, her movement full of nervous energy.
"That's amazing!" Joy filled my heart and all of the self-pity and homesickness evaporated as I approached the bed. "Hey buddy."
Isaia turned his face toward me. His eyes opened, two shining orbs.
"Saxony," he said in a small voice.
I gasped and covered my mouth with my
hands, shocked at the sound of his voice. It was scorched out and smoky, just like mine. I choked back a happy sob and smiled at him.
"Look who’s talking." I sat on the side of his bed. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Were you asking for me?"
Isaia crawled out from under his sheets and into my lap before wrapping his arms around my neck.
"Hang on a sec, buddy. I'm a bit wet." I pulled on the sheet and wrapped it around him before I hugged him close, like a warm little sausage.
He began to say something in Italian but then remembered who he was talking to and started again. "I had a bad dream," he rasped.
Elda and I shared a look.
"But you're okay, right?" I said. "You know that now. It was just a dream."
He nodded.
Elda sat beside us. She put a hand on his head. "What did you dream about, love?"
We wanted to keep him talking, but Isaia turned his face away from Elda and didn't answer.
Her face crumpled. She was bursting with emotions, I could see it. Joy at the return of her son's recovered speech, pain that he was favoring me, and the need to help him.
"You don't want to tell us?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I only want to tell you."
It must have something to do with the fire. But whatever it was, it was still just a dream. "Your mom loves you, Isaia. She wants to help you feel better."
"You made me feel better," he said, his voice muffled against my chest. "You took it away."
Elda's brows drew together in with confusion and worry. "Took what?" she mouthed.
I deferred to Isaia. "Can you tell us what happened in your dream?"
He pulled away from me, sniffing. His voice cracked. "In my dream, you didn't... you didn't take it. I was... getting dead." A fat tear rolled down his cheek.
My heart pounded. He'd dreamed about dying from the fire. "But, you know you're safe now, right? You're not going to die."
He nodded. "Sì."
I glanced at Elda. She stared at me, her face pale. Her neck worked as she swallowed. In her face, I could see the truth. She knew. She'd always known about Isaia's fire.