I shifted my weight from one foot to another, feeling gritty particles of wet grime on tar grind underneath my feet. I felt Logan’s hands on my shoulders, strong and reassuring. And then I felt it—it wasn’t quite like a muscle, but the sensation was similar to that of a muscle that ached and burned after a workout. I relaxed it, feeling cool, refreshing air hit my face.
“Wow.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes popping open. Everything looked darker to me.
“You did it,” Logan whispered, awed. I looked down at my hands in the darkness—I wasn’t on fire.
“I could still explode into flames like a stupid firecracker,” I reminded him, holding out my arms in wonder. They were again the same plain, boring arms, covered in an oversize dark blue sweater.
“Still, that’s...pretty impressive.” He grinned. “I was starting to wonder how I was going to get you the two blocks to my place without people noticing. I didn’t think anyone would buy that you were a performance artist.”
“I guess you didn’t save my ass today just to ditch it on top of a building while it was on fire, huh?”
Logan gave me a wry smile. “So now you admit that I was trying to save your ass? You had me fooled with the way you threatened me with my own sword and all.”
“Sorry about that,” I muttered, as the sirens wailed more loudly. If it weren’t for Logan pulling me out of that classroom, I’d have been burned to a crisp when Blaise imploded. “I don’t think I said it yet, but thanks for saving my life.”
“Some lifesaving. You ended up having to save my ass,” Logan countered, poking me in the shoulder.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Logan turned around and stepped up on the wall between the two buildings. He crouched low, then sprang into the air. I rushed to the edge of the building just in time to see Logan land on the roof next door with a few feet to spare. He jogged forward a few steps from the force of his impact before turning around to beam at me triumphantly.
“See, easy. Just don’t look down,” he called.
“Why did you say that?” I moaned, my eyes dropping to the alleyway between the two buildings as if they had weights attached to them. I felt the world spinning, and I turned around, my back sliding down the wall until I was crouching in a puddle on the roof.
I looked up at the dark, cloudy sky, watching the lights of a helicopter soar overhead. Travis would never see the world. He’d never sit at the dinner table with his family again. He’d never go to college, or even graduate from high school. And it was my fault. Blaise had come to Holy Assumption looking for me—that much was clear. I automatically reached for my bracelet, momentarily panicking when it wasn’t on my wrist before remembering it was in my pocket. I patted my left-side pocket through Logan’s sweater, feeling a momentary rush of relief when I felt the lump of the bracelet through the sweater. The relief soon turned to revulsion, as I grew disgusted with myself. Disgusted that I could feel comfort at having my precious bracelet back—when Travis was dead. Because of me. Because whatever I had set into motion that day by running into the street to save Dylan now meant someone was gone, and the top floor of my school was on fire.
Maybe I was supposed to die that day, and these were the repercussions of fighting fate.
I heard a soft thud and looked up to see Logan standing a few feet away, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Overwhelmed?”
I nodded.
“Look, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Logan said, walking closer to me and crouching down to meet my gaze.
“I was just thinking that.”
“You were?” Logan’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion, and I nodded.
“I probably shouldn’t have lived. I flatlined, you know. But the doctors brought me back...and I started to see ghosts...and now I’m responsible for someone’s death,” I rambled bitterly, not knowing or caring if I made any sense. I just had to say it. I took a deep breath, steeling myself to say the awful truth out loud. “If I wasn’t alive, Blaise wouldn’t have come looking for me...and Travis would still be alive. I shouldn’t have lived.”
“Hey, don’t say that.” Logan’s voice was firm but gentle. He timidly reached his hand out and rested it on my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. His hesitation was surprising, considering that he’d been holding my hand—but then again, that was mostly just to pull me away from the school.
“I know this is a lot to accept, but what happened to Travis isn’t your fault.”
“You weren’t there when he died.”
“No, but I saw the ash on the floor. I know what happened.”
“Still, it’s my fault,” I insisted. “Blaise was there for me. She told me so.”
“Yes, she was. But it’s my fault Travis died, not yours,” Logan argued, his voice grave as he dropped his hand from my shoulder. “I knew there was someone at the school who would eventually be attacked. But it took me a really long time to figure out that you were the one with a supernatural talent. I was expecting some forlorn, weepy person, speaking in tongues and wearing all black.”
“I wear a uniform.” I picked up a corner of my skirt as if to say, “See?”
“You also hold your head high when you walk down the hall.”
Flashing siren lights whirled in pinwheels on the buildings across the street, bathing Logan’s face in a yellow and red glow. He stood up, holding his hand out to me.
“Come on, Paige. We have to get out of here.” I slid my hand into his, and he pulled me off the ground.
“I’ll jump with you, okay? Just focus on the stairwell on the next roof.” Logan pointed at the metal door, latched to a small structure with a broken chain. I nodded nervously as we stepped up onto the low wall, not taking my eyes off the door.
“On the count of three, okay?” Logan squeezed my hand before letting go. “One...two...three...”
I bent my knees, and with all my strength launched myself off the wall, keeping my eyes on the door. It was probably a mistake, since my right foot hit the snowy rooftop at an awkward angle, sending me facedown into a snowdrift. I pushed myself out of the snow and looked around for Logan, who was sitting about two feet away, brushing ice out of his face.
“Are you okay?” Logan asked, taking off his hat and shaking his hair out.
I nodded, wiping the frosty bits from my own face.
“See, you faced your fear, you jumped, and you’re fine,” Logan said triumphantly.
“I think we could be a little less heavy-handed with the metaphors, don’t you?” I snorted, scrambling to my feet.
“Come on,” Logan said, jogging to the door. A chain was loosely looped through a hole where the doorknob should have been, secured with a weak lock. Logan yanked the lock off easily, holding it in his hands before turning to me.
“Do you think you can keep the flames at bay for a few blocks?”
I shut my eyes, focusing on the heat building inside me. When I opened my eyes, everything was ablaze.
“We need you to not be on fire,” Logan said dryly.
“I know, watch,” I said. I shut my eyes again, concentrating on pulling the blaze back. When I opened them, the fire was gone—but even in the dark I could see that Logan was trying his hardest not to look impressed.
“Not bad,” he said, sliding the chain off the door. “Let’s go. Once we get to my place, we’ll explain everything.”
He held out his hand, and just the tips of his fingers were on fire.
“Show off,” I muttered and Logan smirked.
But I took his hand anyway, and he led me down the stairs.
Chapter 4
I STOOD NEXT to Logan in the dimly lit hallway of his apartment building. It could have been any nondescript hallway in any old brownstone apartment building in Manhattan—walls painted a muted pastel color that was some compromise between pink and beige, everything bathed in a faint yellow glow from the flickering fluorescent light above.