No one could survive. When I buried him, he was blue-lipped, no heartbeat, no-question-about-it dead. I tried to heal him, but I couldn’t. Healing is Kera’s gift, not mine.
Within the stillness of the room, my voice grates out the only plausible truth. “It was just a dream. A dream.” But it sounds hollow, filled with doubt. Dreams are like that. They can mess with your mind until you think that what you know is true, isn’t.
I scrub my hands through my hair and glance out the window to see the darkness race away from the dawn. I tell myself again, “It was just a dream.”
This time it rings true. Jason is gone. No matter how much I wish it undone, he’s dead. And it was all my fault. I have to keep my promise. I have to go back to Teag, to that place of magic and pain and death, and bring Jason home. If I don’t, Jason will haunt me until I do.
Part One
Be aware.
The rumbling of lies can sound like truth.
Disappearing
Dinner is over, and I slouch onto the porch swing. I should be one damaged piece of flesh. Thanks to Kera and the healing power she stole from Navar, there are only a few, faint visible scars on my skin, scars that could’ve appeared from a skateboarding accident or a rough game of football. No one would know I’ve been skewered and sliced by an angry mob of mythological creatures. That I have to go back, that I have to tell Kera I have to go back…
Outwardly, I’m normal, but something’s changed within me. I keep chasing after what’s different, but it stays one heartbeat ahead. If I think too long about it, my head aches.
Maybe the odd feeling is the reawakening of life. Of being out of the ICU at Mercy Hospital and back home. Back where everyone stares at me.
Today’s newspaper lies abandoned on the porch swing next to me. I see the headline dashed across the front page: One dead. One missing. Where is Jason Delgato? The article asks if the two events that happened in less than a week are related. The reporter even suggests Jason had something to do with Pop’s death, and that’s why he ran. Guilt rips through me. I know what really happened, and Jason’s family needs to know. Soon.
I angrily kick out, dragging my sneakers across the porch floor as I swing back. The night air cools my skin. I feel hotter than usual, like I’ve buried something that wants to come out. I’m so not me right now. I don’t know what to think or how to feel. I’m lost—something I’ve never been before. Ignored, yes. Unloved, absolutely. But lost? Never.
The heat crawls from the pit of my stomach along my ribs and down my right bicep. I hold out my arm and rub at it. The sensation of heat continues to prickle down into my palm.
A flame bursts to life.
The swing stutters to a stop. What the…?
The reddish-orange flame spits and bites and curls into itself. I snap my fist closed, snuffing it out.
My chest rises and falls, an erratic movement that squeezes air out more than lets it in. I can’t look away from my hand, like it’s suddenly not my own, like some mad scientist has interchanged my hand for some high-tech flaming one.
I’m not normal. I never have been, but this is crazy strange.
I get hold of myself and slow my breathing. The center of my palm itches. Is it burned? Scarred? Is the fire just waiting for oxygen to snap back to life? I crack my fingers open and peer beneath. Nothing. My fist tightens in panic. Did I imagine it?
No way. I’m not delusional. That’s Mom’s specialty. She’s the one who acts like she’s in some drama-laced, badly acted indie film about life on the edge. Breakdowns are her specialty. The more I think about her, and what she’s done, the more the heat builds in my belly.
I unfold my fist and the fire reappears. I can feel the air heat around it.
“It can’t be real,” I say even as I watch the flame flicker and roil, expecting to feel the burn of pain. Nothing.
I died once…sort of. More like, was given a time-out for being an idiot. I’ve been given another chance, and it seems like I’m going down the same crazy road I did last time.
If this is real, I can control it. Bend it. Shape it.
I tell the flame to crawl along my finger to the tip. It does. I stare at the dancing light. Wow, pretty freakin’ awesome.
I roll it along each joint like a coin trick at a magic show. I bounce it back and forth between my palms. Sparks fly and flutter to the porch, where a few singe the wood. I call it back to my finger and burn my name into the armrest of the swing. The heat is so strong, I accidently burn through the wood. The hole smolders around the edges, the perfect beginning to a porch fire.
I stare at my hand. Glowing while I used my magic was bad enough, but being lit on fire is a whole new level of weird. I shake my hand, but instead of putting out the fire, a fireball spits toward the yard where the impact creates a basketball-sized hole. Another fireball hits the railing. Flames sputter and grow along the wood. I jump up and snuff out the flames with my bare hands. Smoke curls and slowly disappears. Grandpa’s gonna be pissed when he sees that.
A flicker reappears in my palm. I sag back onto the swing and glare at my hand. Like I don’t have enough problems. Why this? Why now?
The screen door bangs shut and I freeze. Kera stands outside the door, her long legs sprouting out of a pair of cut-off jean shorts, her shirt a flowing wisp of fabric that skims her hip bones. Her eyes lock on my hand and the flame dancing there. Hesitantly, she steps closer until she’s within reach. I can see the fire’s reflection in her horrified eyes.
“It doesn’t burn,” I say.
She doesn’t say anything, only grasps my hand and rolls my fingers closed. The flame quietly dies.
“It’s weird, I know, but that doesn’t mean something’s wrong.”
“No, Dylan. Something is wrong.” A strange look enters her eyes, like she no longer knows who I am.
I’ve never known Kera to be afraid. Her strength is what gave me hope when I couldn’t go on. She was the only one who cared for me back then, and right now I need her to see me, not dwell on the weird shit that’s going on. “It’s okay. It’s just a little fire.”
“You can pretend all you want, but something is not right about us.”
I stand and take her stiff body into my arms. She left her realm, her family and friends, her entire world and everything that’s ever made sense to her, to be with me. It’s something I never thought she’d do. I’ve got to stop thinking of me and be there for her.
“There’s nothing wrong with us,” I say. “We’re good. It’s just the power. Neither of us is used to it yet.”
She struggles free and backs away. “That isn’t it. In Teag, there is a sickness that can cause a first’s power to surge. It lies dormant for years, but under the right circumstances, it flares to life. My father and everyone else would lock themselves away when it did. They live in fear of it because the surge is primeval. In some, it causes pain. In others, they cause pain to those around them.”
“This,” I say, nodding to my hand, “it doesn’t hurt. I’m not in pain, Kera, and I’m not going to hurt you or anyone else.”
“Everyone says that. There are stories. Bad stories…”
“What has that got to do with us? We took this magic. It wasn’t brought on by someone sneezing in our faces. We just need to get used to what we have. Instead of ignoring it, sooner or later you’re going to have to accept what’s been given to you.”
“You’re right.” She rubs her forehead. “I’m not communicating this well. You say it’s a blessing. I’m not so sure. There’s something more going on inside us, like an infection, but we’re not sick; we’re changed. Really changed. I’ve wanted to be like everyone else for so long, and here it is finally inside me…but I hesitate in using it. We took it. It’s not ours. It’s stolen magic, and stolen magic—”