by A. L. Knorr
The coolness of the metal door was a blessing against my palm, but soon the metal heated under my influence. I took a deep breath and sent the fire into my hand and into the metal. A rod of molten lava shot down my arm. An anguished cry escaped my mouth, but I didn't stop the heat. The entire cell lit up from the light of my hand. Slowly, the door began to turn pink, and then red. The red light concentrated around my hand and seeped outward. It moved far too slowly for my liking, and the burning sensation in my arm intensified. I couldn't bear it. I screamed and yanked my hand away, panting. I should have been sweating, but my forehead was as dry as the desert and hotter than black pavement on a summer day.
I stepped back. Winding up like a baseball pitcher, I threw a fireball at the door as hard as I could. A bright white streak hissed through the cell and hit the door. It made a dry thump. Sparks sprayed outward. A cry ripped from my lips and I bent over in pain. The fire had ripped through my arm like a ripcord made of barbed wire. My throat was so hoarse and hot now that my cry was little more than a dry squeak.
My fireball had made a small dent. Could I do it again? And again? The thought of that pain over and over made my knees buckle. There was no way. If I was hydrated, I could do it easily... but I was so dry. So dry. My throat and mouth were parched, my tongue felt three times its normal size. I sat on the stone, leaned back on my hands and let my chin loll on my chest. A moan vibrated through me as the fire spread across my ribs.
I lay on my side on the cool stone and became still. How long before Dante would return? How much time did I have to try and break out of here? How long had I even been in here?
I had to keep trying. Neither of Dante's offers was an option for me. I didn't know if he was lying about having sent men down to Gallipoli, but I couldn't afford to take the chance.
My mind kept going to Enzo. The unknown patriarch. My gut told me that he didn't know what his son was up to. Maybe, if he knew what I was, he might make me a job offer, too. But I thought that if I turned him down he wouldn't try and force me to stay by threatening someone innocent that I cared about. It was so clumsy. So ugly. Dante was a blunt instrument, with none of his father's strategic thinking, not to mention any of the morality that Raf had spoken of. I promised myself that if I got out of this alive, I would pay a visit to Enzo. It was the only way to hit Dante where it hurt. Enzo was the only person Dante feared. True, Raf hadn't spent time with the family in years. Things could have changed. But right now it was the only shot I had, if I didn't die first.
I gritted my teeth and got to my feet. I coughed, and embers spewed from my mouth. I threw another fireball, but this one went out weak and sloppy. Misdirected, it hit the doorframe. A silent scream raked my throat. This one had literally burnt me. I brought my hand in front of my face, shaking. The ends of my fingertips were black and smoking. I retched at the smell of burnt flesh. When in the ocean, calling the fire had been healing. But here, without water, it would destroy me.
My knees gave and I fell sideways into the toilet. I gagged. The fire sucked up my esophagus and into my throat. Smoke wisped from my mouth, and I thought I could smell burnt hair. I cradled my burnt hand against my chest.
I tried to call Dante's name, but I had no voice anymore. Smoke drifted from my mouth. I drooped sideways against the wall. An involuntary dry whimper came from me as the flames raced through my torso, searing every nerve and all my tissues wherever they went. Then all went sweetly dark.
Chapter 35
The ache in my neck tugged me to consciousness. I opened my eyes and pushed myself off the wall. I wheezed, the sound breathy and parched. A wisp of smoke drifted from my mouth and in front of my eyes. Moving like I was in a vat of mud, I crawled on my elbows to the door. Did I have one last try in me?
I peered up at the door, my vision blurry and blackened at the edges. The dent I had made was right behind the door handle. Could I make one more dent? Right at the latch point? I rolled onto my back, threw my right hand back, and mustered everything I had. My jaw locked as I slammed a fire ball at the door handle. There was a hiss, a crack, and a flash of light. My back arched in agony and my vision went completely black. I heard the clank of something iron hitting the dirt floor. I turned my face toward the door, but my vision wouldn't clear.
My head locked into place and I went completely still. I wasn't sure if I could move anymore, but I was too wrecked to try. Pain and heat were all I knew.
I no longer cared about anything except ending the agony. When Dante came, I would tell him that I'd marry him for a drink of water. I would light fire to the Vatican, throw enough fireballs at the tower of Pisa until it finally fell over, bring down the Basilica in a fiery explosion of marble horses. Whatever he wanted he could have, and I'd sign in blood just to make the burning stop.
I was incapable of intentional sound—not a word, not a whimper. The world was nothing but heat and flame. My blood bubbled and thickened in my veins. My heart felt half its normal size, and it sizzled as it shrank and dried out. Every shallow breath fanned the burning fire inside me and every exhale was thick smoke. It drifted from my mouth and jetted from my nostrils. Smoke gathered along the ceiling in a haze. I wondered if I might actually self-combust and burst into flames at the end. I thought of my parents. My eyes tingled. Too dry for tears. In my mind's eye, I was a smoking black relic, a prop from a mummy movie.
Footsteps echoed. I was in too much pain to feel much in the way of relief, but at least the end was near. I heard a metal key inserted into the lock, but the door squeaked open without the sound of turning bolts.
"Oh Dio," whispered a voice. 'Door' and 'open' were the only two words I could make out in a string of noise. Who was that? More fierce whispers. Whoever they were, they were whispering in Italian and I could have sworn that one of them was a woman's voice. I strained to recognize her. Mom? Delirium and false hope twined through my melting brain like a cancer. My burned ears could no longer detect familiar markers in speech. The voices could belong to anyone.
A masculine face appeared in the tiny opening at the end of the tunnel my vision had become, wavering and blurry. I thought I heard my name, saw his lips move. I struggled to place him. His features drifted in and out of focus. Raf? His words were garbled, echoey.
A hand went under my neck and waist but they were snatched back quickly. A cry of pain and surprise. More words I couldn't understand.
The next face that appeared was feminine. Her features swam but I knew that face. It seemed to take forever, but my brain finally registered. Fed. She disappeared from sight.
Footsteps left the cell. I wanted to scream after them, but I was beyond all speech. Urgent whispering echoed down the hall, then all went silent. I lost track of time. It hadn't been real.
Just when I was sure I'd been hallucinating their presence, footsteps entered the room again. My body spasmed in shock as ice cold water splashed over my form, but I had never felt anything more delicious.
A sizzling sound, steam filled the air. A wet hand lifted my head, held a bucket to my mouth. I couldn't swallow, but I was able to open my throat and let the water pour down into my stomach, sizzling like an angry rattler as it went. It was so delicious that it almost hurt. A few moments later, another bucket of water was thrown over me.
"Saxony? Can you hear me?"
I understood words again. My mouth moved like a fish gasping on the deck of a boat, but no sound came.
Raf let loose a stream of angry Italian and put a hand on my forehead. Though he winced at the heat, I must have cooled enough because in one swift movement he slid an arm under my shoulders and another under my knees and picked me up off the floor. I was crushed against his chest like a limp sausage. My head lolled back. He bounced me to lift my head against his shoulder, and the jarring movement sent flames roaring through my torso. I wheezed in pain.
"We're going to get you out of here, don't worry Saxony. I've got you," Raf whispered. He said more words in Italian to Fed, sounding outraged and disbelieving.<
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I let my eyes close as he carried me out of the cell. He had to duck awkwardly to get us through the small door, and the movement gave me vertigo. I passed in and out of consciousness as he carried me, the whole thing feeling like a dream. Every once in a while, I heard Italian, first Raf's voice, then Fed's. Then I felt fresh air on my skin.
Fed held a bottle to my lips and cool water filled my parched mouth. My singed tissues soaked the liquid up greedily. I imagined my insides looked like burnt hamburger.
Raf carried me through dark streets. The two of them had stopped talking until we entered a dark alley and Fed said something in a half whisper. Raf responded and there was a jingle of keys. A door being unlocked. We entered a dark space. Raf walked forward in the dark. I gave a hoarse wheeze when I had a humorous thought of us tripping over something lying on the floor, a child's wheeled toy or a pile of Lego. But Raf glided along silently, like a ghost, until we came to a set of stairs. He bounced me again, getting a better grip, before ascending the stairs. I was pleased to feel that the bounce was merely a sharp shooting pain instead of an excruciating snake of fire through my body—the water was doing its work.
Just when it felt like we had been climbing forever, I saw a flash of brunette hair as Fed slipped by us and opened a door. A beautifully frescoed ceiling yawned in my vision. I was lain tenderly on a soft bed.
I tried very hard to ask how Fed had escaped, but my power of speech hadn’t returned. Raf murmured reassurances.
A wisp of smoke came drifting out of my mouth and curled gracefully in the air over my face.
Raf stopped talking mid-sentence, his eyes focused on the smoke, watching it curl. He blew gently and the smoke drifted sideways. "Madonna," he whispered. He watched the smoke disperse, his face a mix of amazement and horror.
I was given another drink and a cool towel was placed on my head. Raf sat on the side of the bed and gave me sips of water every few minutes.
I recovered enough control to move my hand clumsily. My hand slapped against his forearm and I tried to touch him. The only way I could say thank you. I succeeded in a hoarse moan, sounding like a ghost haunting an empty hallway. Raf covered my hand and squeezed it gently.
"What the hell did he do to you?" he asked, softly. His cool hand touched the side of my face.
Again I tried to answer and failed, a thin wisp of smoke crept upward from each nostril.
"Never mind. Don't worry. Rest now. We'll talk when you're better." His soft brown eyes belied an edge of outrage.
I had never felt anything more delicious than his cool hand on my face. I turned my hand toward it and closed my eyes.
Chapter 36
A creaking sound awakened me. My eyelids drifted open. Where was I? Sunlight streamed through a thin crack of a tall curtain. Two matching antique chairs upholstered in gold and black velvet stood either side of the window. Further down the wall was a majestic fireplace of yellow stone. Above the fireplace was a tall portrait of a man in sixteenth century garb with a hunting dog curled at his feet. The face was dark, intense, and goosebumps rose on my skin when I looked at his black eyes.
He can see me.
I shook off the creepy feeling and pulled myself up to my elbow, testing for fire. There was no burning anymore, but my entire body was tender, like I'd been beaten with a meat mallet from the inside. I groaned as I sat up. I heard another creak and realized that it was the sound of a door out in the hallway opening and closing.
I shifted myself up against the upholstered headboard. It was remarkably comfortable. Whoever had constructed the bed had built the headboard so it could be used like a chair back.
"I think that's the most brilliant thing I have ever seen," I croaked as I ran a hand along the velvet upholstery. At least I had a voice again.
I put a hand up to my throat and swallowed with some pain. Looking to the night table beside me, I found a glass pitcher and cup with water. I poured myself a glassful with a shaking hand and took a sip, swallowing slowly.
I paused as I felt the liquid pool in my belly. Something was different. There was no fire. I looked down in shock at my own torso, as though expecting to see through myself. I closed my eyes. There was no heat. I jerked upright and winced at the ache in every organ, every muscle. I set the glass on the table, nearly missing it in my distraction. I put a hand to my belly, trying to feel for the fire. Nothing.
I whimpered. My hand came up to cover my mouth as my eyes prickled with tears. Goosebumps swept over my skin. Never before had I felt such a clash of emotion. Was I happy that the fire was gone? Was I upset? Did I miss it? Where had it gone? I hadn’t given it to someone else, had I?
My memory came back to me, clearing up like clouds drifting away from a mountain scene, the details of trees and rocks coming into focus. I remembered Dante, his ultimatums. I remembered the cell with nothing but a lavender scented pillow for comfort and a stinking five-hundred-year-old toilet. Dante's threat to bring me close to death and then force me to give him the fire. And I would have done it, too. All of it played across the technicolor screen of my mind, snapping into clarity.
I thought of his threats against Isaia. With thoughts of him, the fire inside that I thought was gone exploded to life. I hadn't lost it after all. But something had changed. The fire was hotter than ever, but there was no pain. There was a beautiful sensation of heat radiating from my heart. It no longer felt like a beast waiting for me to make a wrong move.
I lifted my shirt to look at my abdomen. The glow appeared, obediently. I let the glow spread, watched it travel down my legs, up to my shoulders and out through my arms to my hands. My entire body was now alight.
"Whoa." I looked up. My light filled the room, threw sharp shadows of the posts of the bed and the chairs along the wall. I looked up at the portrait of the man, my light illuminating him and his dog so brightly that every color popped. I held my hand up in front of my face and looked at my glowing fingers.
I heard the creak of the door in the hallway and as quickly as flicking a light switch, I extinguished the light. The room fell into shadow. I waited, but no one came in.
As the moments ticked by, I became aware of a hardening within me. It felt as though my innards were forming a layer of something, like a callous, only stronger. Thoughts of volcanic rock came to mind, once hot and flowing, it soon becomes still and hard. I threw the cover back and exposed my left leg, pulling my foot up close to myself. I looked at the magus mark.
It too had changed. Instead of being mole-brown it was now charcoal black. I ran my thumb over it. A strong desire swept through me to find someone else, anyone else who had this mark. I needed to know more about what I was. Who had I become? How many others were there? My mind flashed back to what Elda had said about there being scrolls from Alexandria about fire magi, but that the scrolls had likely been destroyed in the great fire. What if they hadn't been destroyed?
My musings were interrupted when the door to my bedroom opened and Raf poked his head in. I covered my leg with the sheet.
"You're awake." He examined me as he approached. "You look..." he paused. "You look really good. You made quite a recovery." He sat on the side of my bed. "Gave me quite a scare."
Federica poked her head in next.
"You're awake," she said, parroting Raf. She entered the room, looking hesitant. "How are you feeling?"
Suspicion whispered at the edge of my mind. I still didn't fully know the part Fed had played in all of this. "I suppose I should thank you?"
She crossed her arms over her stomach like she was cold. "I snuck my phone into the bathroom and called Raf."
"He was never going to burn you, was he," I said, my smoky voice flat.
"Well, aside from this," she held up a lock of singed hair, "no."
Anger roiled in my belly, but I was grimly satisfied to see that the fire did not leap to life at the barest emotion. "How did you get me out of there without him noticing?"
"Raf confronted him."
I look
ed at Raf. "That's it? You just called him a bully and he stood aside?"
"Well, not exactly," he said.
It was then that I noticed the shadow of a bruise on his cheekbone. My heart melted as our eyes connected. I reached up and put a hand on his cheek, my throat tight.
He put a hand over mine and gave me a lopsided grin. "You should see the other guy."
My lips twisted in a smile and my vision blurred a little.
"But I'm more interested in talking about you," Raf said. "When we found you, you were too hot to touch and you were smoking like a chimney fire. I'm shocked you survived. What did he do to you?"
"She didn't tell you?" I looked from Raf to Fed.
Fed shook her head. "It's not my secret to tell."
"Please, put me out of my misery," Raf said. "I didn't sleep a wink last night. I'm not sure I'll ever sleep well again."
I looked at his questioning face. The room went quiet and a few moments ticked by as I thought about how to explain it.
"You remember Nic?" I finally asked.
"I always thought he was one of a kind," Fed said, quietly.
"You thought Nic was a one of a kind what?" Raf asked.
"He was a fire magus," I said. "And so am I."
A few heartbeats passed.
"Sounds like something from Dungeons & Dragons," Raf said.
"Show him the mark. I assume you have one?" Fed suggested.
I nodded and pulled the blanket back from my left leg. I pointed to the tiny mark on my toe.
"Huh, so they don't always appear in the same place. Nic's was here." She touched the outside of her wrist. "Dante got a tattoo there because he thought it was so cool, and he wanted to be just like Uncle Nic." Her voice was laced with derision.
Raf took my foot in his hand and turned it so the mark was exposed to the light. "Looks like a little fireball. I didn't know you had a tattoo."
"It's not a tattoo," Fed explained. "It's a natural phenomenon. A fire magus is a supernatural, someone who can control fire."