Singe

by Casey Hays

  I grip the sides of my seat, hard, until my fingers grow numb. My heart races. My dad has been gone for five years. I should have put all this to rest long ago. Clearly, something doesn’t want me to.

  “Why would they kill him?” I break the silence, quiet and unsure. Rylin loosens his breath with a tiny sigh, like he’d been waiting for me to pick up where we left off so he wouldn’t have to.

  “You know the answer.”

  One simple statement that carries all the truth. I swallow hard, holding back a myriad of tears that have decided right now is the perfect time to surface. I do know the answer; I’ve known it ever since I confronted Mom in Portland, and she didn’t even have to say a word.

  My dad died protecting his children.

  Lyric 1

  “Just look at her.”

  My mother’s voice rings out. I can’t see where I am. My eyes are blurry, and all I can manage to focus on is the fuzzy outline of her face. I’m seeing her for the first time; I’m certain of it. Her smiling face slowly morphs into something more recognizable.

  “She’s perfect,” she whispers. “Our little Jude Ellen.”

  Her fingers skim through my downy soft hair, and she cuddles me closer to her chest. I feel her arm beneath me, bracing me, and it feels good. Safe. When Dad’s face appears next to her, their heads close together, beaming over me, my heart leaps with joy. I kick one tiny foot. It bumps into the crook of Mom’s elbow.

  “Da.”

  It’s only a small gurgle struggling through my lips. My first sound, and Dad jolts. Both of their faces wash over with surprise. They look at each other.

  “It was gas,” Mom assures. “There’s no way—”

  But Dad’s grin won’t leave his face.

  “She is perfect,” he whispers, and the scene fades into blackness.

  Three

  Singe. Otherwise known as The Fallen Angel casino.

  You know, I never saw this coming.

  The cocktail waitresses don skimpy costumes to expose enormous, fluttery wings with tips reaching the floor. The male pit bosses wear vests to accommodate their own wings. Skin shimmers with veiny orange markings at every turn. Everyone from the blackjack dealers to the custodians are strikingly beautiful, and to humor the guests, they each occasionally flick a few embers off their feathers for good measure.

  But what draws the guests to this place most is the vaudeville show where decamouflaged Firebloods perform nightly. A comedy called Ashtray.

  Firebloods hidden in plain sight. Genius, isn’t it?

  Kane has never seen a roomful of partially decamouflaged Firebloods either, and his guard is up. Wide-eyed, he keeps a tight hold on me as we weave through the room of unabashed Vatra u Krvi flaunting their natural forms in plain view. Gathered around gaming tables, humans mingle with Firebloods, mesmerized by the ingenious “costuming.” It’s wild.

  Rylin escorts us through the crowded main lobby to a private maintenance elevator that only goes one way from here: basement level. He pulls a key card from his wallet and runs it over a pad that lights up green. The door slides open to let us in. None of us talk on the way down. Whether it’s because we’re tired or worried or just not in the mood for conversation is up for debate. I concentrate on the humming and the rattle of cables, my foggy golden reflection wedged between two larger ones staring at me from the adjacent elevator wall.

  The door opens on what appears to be a lab. Kane’s hold on my hand tightens, wary. He’s been wary since the moment we left Carson City. I suppose one of us should be. We step out together and follow Rylin along a row of computers.

  It’s a typical lab: large, cold, covered in commercial white-tiled floors. There are several very big, human-sized glass cylinders full of blue water lining a west wall. Obviously, those ignite my curiosity, and aliens come to mind. Little green men invading earth to harvest human body parts? A shiver overtakes me.

  Under a long window to the right, devices teeming with wires of all different colors and lengths litter a long table. We pass a couple of private rooms. The hum of electricity, barely detectable, whispers through the whole area. At this hour, the place is empty of people… except for one.

  Behind one of those long windows—the kind with all the little patchwork squares embedded in the glass like what you see in hospital nurseries—a woman works. Dressed in jeans and a navy tee shirt, she hovers over a microscope in full concentration. Her black hair is twisted up into a roll at the base of her neck and held in place with a pencil. Every once in a while, she pulls back from the microscope to write something down on a tablet.

  “Who’s that?” I point.

  Rylin tips his upper lip slightly. “She’s your miracle worker. Come on.”

  I start to follow, but Kane tugs me to a halt.

  “Be careful,” he whispers, thumbing over his shoulder. “Did you see those tanks? What kind of experiments do they do here anyway?”

  “I saw.” And I’m with him. Those were bizarre. “But… let’s just meet the doctor before we form an opinion, okay?”

  He’s clearly not okay… with any of this. But tight-lipped and cautious, he allows me to drag him along. It’s seems to be our theme these days. Me. Doing the dragging.

  Rylin doesn’t bother to knock; he simply shoves open the door. The woman looks up. Immediately, her smile warms her whole face.

  “Rylin! You made it.”

  She leaves her work and comes to him, both hands angled to take his face into her palms and kiss both cheeks. She’s small, barely five feet, so Rylin resembles a colossal giant as he bends for the greeting, his fingers grazing her waist in a half-hug.

  “I hope it’s not too early,” he says. “But I counted on you being here. The woman who never sleeps.”

  “And right you are.” She pulls back, blinking near-black eyes at me, then Kane. “These must be the ‘persons of interest’ you referenced.”

  I mentally assess her. She’s definitely of Indian descent, but based on the accent, she’s from Britain. Her brows, full and dark, twitch very slightly, enough for me to gauge her assessment of us. She looks about my mom’s age, her face pleasant, serene. She doesn’t appear to be a threat. Still, Kane keeps a firm grip on my fingers, defenses up. He’s not ready to trust anyone. Our flight from Carson City is too fresh.

  Rylin turns, presentation style, and makes introductions.

  “This is Jude Gallagher, the hybrid I told you about.”

  “Yes.” The woman takes a step, clearly fascinated. Searching me, she raises a hand as if she intends to touch me, but it hangs suspended on the air. “I have so many questions.”

  The statement is tentative, and I hold still. One flick of Kane’s wrist, and I’m snug by his side. His heartbeat kicks up a notch, beating against my palm.

  “And the suspicious one over there is Kane O’Reilly.” Arms crossed, Rylin flicks his chin in Kane’s direction. “It’ll take a day or two to win him over.”

  “Kane,” the woman nods, her hands clasped at her waist. “It is a pleasure to meet you both. I’m Dr. Petra Ademov, and I am above formalities. So you can call me Petra.”

  Double-take. My mouth drops wide open.

  “You’re serious?”

  She laughs, and the sound is just as soft as the rest of her demeanor.

  “Rylin told me you’ve been researching my grandfather, rest his poor, confused soul.”

  “Amir Ademov is your grandfather,” I conclude.

  “Yes. He was.” She leans in, confidential-like. “We can thank him for this lovely state-of-the-art and very well-hidden facility. In twenty years, not a single person has stumbled across it that we weren’t expecting. Improvements in our technology that have only enhanced the lab and reinforced our security would make my grandfather proud if he were still alive to see it.”

  I’m speechless. And boy, I wish Frankie was here. Dr. Ademov waves an indifferent hand through the air.

  “Well, we’ll have plenty of time for our questions. Ryli
n here has filled me in as to the details of your situation, and I am prepared to assist in any way that I can. But first, are you hungry?”

  “I—could eat,” I stammer. Kane’s resistance remains intact.

  “Good. Come along.”

  I wrench out of Kane’s hold and follow, choosing to trust my instincts. Amir Ademov was an advocate for Firebloods, and his granddaughter has chosen to continue his work, which makes her an advocate too, right? It’s the sensible conclusion. Plus, Rylin trusts her, and I trust him. He wouldn’t have brought us here if it were dangerous.

  Petra leads us through a set of swinging doors and into a sterile laboratory-style kitchen. The floor is made of hard, white tiles like the rest of the place, and every platinum-colored appliance in the room casts our shadowy, steel reflections back at as us no matter where we stand. She gestures for us to take a seat at a tall table with a thick, black formica top. I slide onto a stool. Kane takes the seat beside me. He hasn’t said a word, and his eyes follow the doctor around the room as she pulls open the refrigerator, lifts the plastic wrap to sniff something in a large dish, and satisfied, shoves it into the microwave, pressing “Reheat.” She faces us, resting the heels of her hands on the edge of the table. Rylin chooses to lean against the wall, observing from a short distance.

  “I hope you don’t mind leftover chicken tetrazzini. We take turns with the cooking, and one of the lab tech’s mother’s makes this once a month. It’s quite good actually.”

  “We don’t mind.” I sit on my hands, smashing them between my thighs and the cool, metal stool. The idea of eating chicken tetrazzini at three in the morning is so bizarre. But now that I know who she is… I have this unreasonable desire to please this doctor. Good grief, Jude. Cool it.

  “So Jude, I know a few basics,” Petra says, leaning on her elbows. “Your father was a Fireblood; your mother is human.”

  The microwave beeps, interrupting. She digs a spoon out of a drawer and stirs the casserole, resetting the timer for another few minutes. The smell of Italian spices and olive oil wafts into the room, suddenly reminding me of Gema. Kane must be feeling it too. He tenses. Petra resumes her analysis of my family genealogy.

  “And miraculously, you have been kept hidden for seventeen years. Even from yourself until recently.”

  “That about sums me up.”

  I toss Rylin an anxious glance that he returns with a reassuring smile. As for Kane, the scowl burrowing itself in his brows deepens. I face the doctor.

  “I’m here because of my brother. Rylin says you can help me control my dreams so that I can safely bring him to you for treatment. Can you?”

  All my hope balances on the edge of the question.

  “I can.”

  No stalling. No balking. Just… I can.

  The microwave dings into the tiny silence, and she turns and busies herself with piling tetrazzini on our plates. Beside me, Kane fidgets, his leg bouncing up and down. He pinches at his lower lip, and my own nerves start jumping. I ease my hand across his thigh and squeeze.

  “Stop,” I whisper. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “You should be nervous, Jude,” he hisses. “We don’t know anything about this place.”

  Rylin watches us with an amused look on his face. He knows what we’re discussing. It couldn’t be more evident by the smirk he wears. Seriously, the guy is too much.

  Kane studies Petra like a hawk. But what can she do to us, really? She’s stands in the middle of an underground kitchen making us a meal. A pretty harmless act.

  Unless the food is poisoned.

  I allow myself one second to entertain this possibility. But when Rylin takes the seat across from me and digs in, even my qualms are laid to rest.

  “So, Kane…” Petra sets a glass of water in front of him and hikes her small body up onto the stool to his left. “I understand the three of you are expected at a hearing before the Contingent tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.”

  He doesn’t look at her, electing instead to stab at his noodles and twist his fork until they curl up around it. Leaning on her folded arms, she winks at me and tries again.

  “I happen to think you’re very brave to ditch it. In case you were wondering.”

  He snaps a look her way, testing her sincerity, her trustworthiness. Whether she’s plotting to take his wings right off his back herself. I lift my fork, pretending to be interested in the food.

  I should mention that it took a pretty decent fight to get Kane and me to this safe house. I was ready; he wasn’t. In his defense, he has a lifetime of loyalty to the Contingent to overcome. His parents’ loyalty mostly, but as it always is where politics and religion are concerned, your raising is often deeply embedded into the core of who you are. It’s no different with a family’s allegiance to the Fireblood Contingent. So the fact that he’s here at all speaks volumes. Getting him to trust that he did the right thing? That will take a bit of effort.

  “I don’t really have a choice,” Kane finally answers. He drops his fork and taps his fingers on the table. “They have plans for me.”

  “They might.” She lays a hand on his forearm. His tapping fingers come to a halt. “You’re safe here, and you can stay as long as you like.”

  A literal shift in the air pulls the scene into perspective. I study Petra as she studies Kane’s face. There is no malicious intent, no ulterior motive, no sign of deception in her. She says we are safe here, and that makes it so. Her tone is sincere; her eyes carry her word in rippling waves that hold truth. I don’t know about Kane, but I want to believe her. And honestly, we have to. There is not another option in this single moment.

  “We won’t be here long. My parents will get this sorted out,” Kane answers, pulling his arm free. He takes up his fork and pushes his food around. After a second, he stands. “You know, I’m kind of tired. It was a long ride.”

  “Of course.” Petra hops to her feet. “Your rooms have been prepared.” She addresses Rylin. “Would you mind, Rylin? I have a ton of work to complete before the morning shift arrives.”

  “Sure.”

  Rylin shoves a final bite into his mouth and stands. I scrape the rest of Kane’s meal onto my plate. Kane may not be hungry, but I’m starving. No tetrazzini is going to waste on my watch.

  “Get some rest,” Petra encourages all of us. “I’ll catch up to you in a few hours.” She addresses Rylin in a low voice. “Your father arrived yesterday. He’s settled in your room.”

  Rylin’s entire body tenses at once, but he says nothing. Head low, he gestures for us to follow.

  We travel down a corridor to another elevator hidden at the end. A private elevator you can only get to from the lab. This one is housed in a plush lobby, and the elevator doors are gold with iridescent reflections that flicker like fire. The carpet is deep red, the color of blood, two black leather couches snuggled against adjacent walls. It’s a far difference from the harsh, laboratory setting we just left behind.

  Kane keeps quiet. I expect he’ll have plenty to say once he gets me alone. I know him. He’s not against a little reckless behavior from time to time, but what we’ve done moves beyond this, and Kane prefers rebellion in a contained environment. One he can control. One he can fix on his own. One where we aren’t trusting our entire lives to complete strangers. All valid points… until you add Rylin into the mix. He’s clearly well-acquainted with the doctor, and I chose to put my trust in his judgment.

  We board the elevator in silence, me wedged in between the towering physiques of these two Firebloods, my half-eaten plate of tetrazzini balanced in my hands. I take note of their comparative sizes. Both tall, lanky but muscular, and both full of fire that seems to be present even when it’s hidden beneath the camouflage. Add in their intense dislike for each other that simmers right there on the edge of their emotions, and you can imagine what a tight space this elevator cab presents. The ride to the penthouse floor would have felt a million years long if Kane hadn’t decided to ask a question.<
br />
  “Why didn’t you tell us your dad was here?”

  Rylin’s whole body goes rigid, his face a mask of defiance. Okay, Kane, that probably wasn’t the right question to ease the tension.

  “I just found out, same as you,” he shrugs.

  “I don’t believe that,” Kane snaps, and I release the edge of my plate to lay a hand on his arm. The elevator wobbles on its belts, mimicking the uneasy strain laced through his words. But seriously, the last thing we need is a flare in this immensely small metal box.

  “Why is he here?” I ask.

  “Because… he’s a part of the cause.” Rylin looks like he might ruffle right up out of his camouflage. He directs his answer at Kane. “He’s one of the good guys.”

  Kane puffs out a half-laugh with a shake of his head, but I choose to give Rylin the benefit of the doubt.

  “Yeah, of course,” I say, but Rylin isn’t looking at me. Some private message passes between him and Kane—something I can’t quite put my finger on—but the exchange seems important, and I feel completely left out, which is weird. Because I’m usually the one playing mediator. “Didn’t really expect any of our parents to be aware of where we are, I guess.”

  Rylin takes me in, like he’s seeing me for the first time. I involuntarily shiver. What the hell is going on in this elevator?

  “Some of us can’t get so far away from their supervision,” he whispers. “But you have nothing to worry about. He’s not here for either of you.”

  Kane pulls on the silent treatment after this, arms crossed, face screwed into a mask of anger, and it seems an eternity passes before the door finally slides open on the top floor. My tetrazzini and I bolt out of there fast.

  I catch a whiff of carpet cleaner and perfume—the scents most hotels seem to have in common. It mingles with the smells of my meal. The guys exit. Rylin sweeps past me, but Kane lays his palm against the small of my back, tense.

  “Don’t fight with him,” I mouth. “Please.”

  The pressure of his hand only grows stronger as he coaxes me forward. Rylin leads us down a short hallway directly adjacent to the elevator and slides a key card into the lock.