Firebug (34 page)

He laughed, but it sounded painful and wet, like he was trying not to cry. Then he held me away with one hand while he used the other to touch part of the tree. Bark melted back, revealing stained white leather. There was the whisper of a zipper before Venus's leather jacket fell open. Lock gingerly reached in and pulled out her long silver chain. I could see it glisten in the faint moonlight right before he unceremoniously ripped it from her neck. He handed it to me. Moving quickly but thoroughly, he searched Venus, removing backup wards from an ankle, a wrist, and her waist. Then, with an arm supporting me, he clumsily removed my chains. I heard them hit the ground. I looked around to make sure nothing would interrupt me this time. In the darkness I could barely make out Sid's shadowed form holding Ryan like a baby. By the way Ryan lay, I could tell he was unconscious. No sign of Ezra. I desperately hoped my friend was okay.

Lock supported me with both arms now, keeping me steady as I peered at Venus. I was suddenly so tired. I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. To collapse where I was and let Lock handle the rest. But it wasn't his job.

It was mine.

“Just one last time, cupcake,” he whispered, his lips moving against my cheek.

“Pull the tree back,” I said, my words thick and slow. I could do this. Oh how I hoped I could do this. Because if I went nova, I was taking everyone here with me. But I trusted Lock. I had to. This was going to end tonight—I'd promised myself that earlier.

The tree released her, and Venus was coherent enough to catch herself on her hands and knees. So I knew she was awake. I knew she felt it when I started.

The flame was slow. I was fighting exhaustion, wind, and soggy tinder, after all. That didn't stop it; at this point nothing short of my death would stop it. This fire had been a long time coming. I kept seeing flashes of memory—the bloodied back seat of a car, the chant of cicadas as my mom fought for her life, the warmth of her lap when she held me. Her laughter. Her voice as she told me stories while we hid in cheap motel rooms. The way she looked when she saw Cade, like she was lit up from the inside, not like a candle but a beacon, a lighthouse, the blaze of a forest fire.

I thought of these things and I burned. Venus screamed. I'm positive. But that wouldn't save her. Nothing would. Like I said, that flame was a long time coming.

It was the kind of spark that you put so much of yourself into that you lose control. Later I would realize that if Lock hadn't been there, I really would've gone nova. There would have been nothing left of half the damn island, probably.

But Lock was there. And the flame didn't stop until I heard his voice, soft in my ear.

“Enough, Aves. Enough.”

18

S
CORCHED
E
ARTH

THE TRIP HOME
is only snapshots—short flashes of vision sandwiched between long stretches of darkness. The jarring, rocking motion of being carried as someone ran. Blackness of trees outlined against a red sky. The charcoal and earth smell of a forest fire. Then rain. So much rain. Me shivering from the cold of it.

Then nothing for a long time.

 

 

I WOKE UP
in Grandma Rose's cabin, which is not really where I expected to wake up. I'd rated a bed this time, a somewhat dubious honor. Across from me, a battered and bruised Cade slept. I felt a tension in me ease at the sight. A rather scruffy Lock dozed in a chair by the window. He snored softly, and I smiled. I sobered when I saw who was perched on the end of my bed, glowering at me.

“Hello, Angela,” I said warily. “To what do I owe this honor?” My voice rasped, dry from abuse.

Lock's mom was the only one who hadn't been beat with the exhaustion stick. She sat there, goddesslike, and examined me. Her lips were pursed, and I don't think she liked what she saw. “You could have killed him, you know. If things hadn't gone well.”

“I know.” I wasn't sure what else to say, so I sat there. The silence stretched between us, getting thinner by the second. Was I supposed to apologize? It would come out false. I felt bad for endangering my friends, but given the same situation, the same choice, I'd do it again in a fast minute.

“You nearly killed yourself.” She gestured toward me. “As it is we had to borrow clothes from one of the girls to fit you, you lost so much weight.” Her disapproval was almost palpable.

“Thank her for me.”

She folded her hands primly in her lap. “There's no way to get you to understand the magnitude of what just happened, is there? To get you to realize how close you all were to destruction? The fox hasn't even regained consciousness yet.”

“What happened to Ezra?” My voice cracked. “Is he going to be okay?”

She poured me a small glass of water. “Rose says so, and I trust her judgment. He'll have a long road ahead of him. With proper care…” She trailed off.

“Proper care? He's a were-fox. Why would he need proper care?”

“He stepped in a trap with a high silver content. The silver is slowing the healing process. We had to cut away some of his calf—the silver had turned the flesh necrotic. We're not sure how long he was in that trap before Ikka and Olive pulled him free, but he'd lost a great deal of blood. He's quite lucky he didn't lose his leg. He'll have a scar, but he'll regain use of the leg if he listens to Rose.”

I closed my eyes. “Poor Ez.” I tried propping myself up on some pillows, noticing as I did that Angela was right—I had lost a lot of weight. I could feel my hip bones through the thin blanket. “You accuse me of not getting it,” I said as I struggled. “But I think
you
don't get it.”

“What don't I understand?” she said, her hands returned to her lap, her face clearly set to “humor the patient” position. “Pray, enlighten me.”

“You think I wasn't aware of what the risks were—that I'm still not. But I was fully aware of my chances.”

“And you did it anyway?” she said, a faint hint of disgust apparent in her curled lip.

“Yup.” All my wiggling made my pillow fall off the bed. Damn.

She threw her hands up in frustration before getting up and snagging my pillow from the floor. “Here, let me help you. You're just making things worse.” She gently pushed me forward and jammed the pillow behind me before sitting on the bed, this time closer to me. She reached down to adjust my pillow and pull my blanket up.

“Let me make this clear, then. I take protecting my family very seriously. You endanger it again, and trust me, it won't end with a nice, friendly chat.”

This was her version of friendly? I didn't want to see her furious, then. I crossed my arms and sank back into my pillow. “I take protecting my family seriously too.” My voice softened, whether with weariness or residual fear I'm not sure. “Venus would have killed Lock eventually, you know,” I said. I was sure of that. He wouldn't have remained in Venus's employ unscathed for much longer. He was too soft. Too nice. She saw that as weakness. I didn't remind Angela that Lock had become a tithe to spare her and the other dryads. Maybe she was fine with playing dirty, but I saw no reason to do so.

But even though I was talking about her son, trying to appeal to her maternal side—the part of her maternal side that didn't want to eviscerate me like the right hand of Shiva—she looked at Cade instead. Her face lost its angry hardness. Her lip uncurled and her posture relaxed.

“I suppose saving your father was as important to you as my son is to me. In my anger I forgot that you had family at stake as well.” She gave a long sigh. “And my son no doubt chose to throw himself into the fray with you.” She smiled softly. “He's like his father in that way. Never could pass up a damsel in distress. You know, when we met—”

“Guardian,” I said, smoothing the blanket over my lap.

“Excuse me?” she said, startled by the interruption.

“You said ‘saving your father' just now. Cade is my guardian. Family, yes. Related, no.”

We stared at each other; Lock muttering in his sleep was the only sound in the room. And she just kept
staring.

My stomach plummeted. “He's not my father,” I said. “He's just … Cade.”

She rested a hand over the one I had wrapped around her wrist and the image of her was suddenly blurry as my eyes welled. “You didn't know?” she asked.

I couldn't take the gentleness in her voice. Suddenly I wanted her to go back to being overprotective and rude. That I could handle.

“He's not my father,” I said again. “It's not possible. I've done the math—my mom wasn't anywhere near Cade for at least a year before she had me.”

She patted my hand. “And who gave you that time line?”

“My mom. Cade.”

“And who told Cade?”

I didn't think it was possible, but my throat became ever drier. “Mom.”

“And who told you when your birthday was? Humans like to give out those little pieces of paper when their babies are born. We had to get one for Lock so he could go to school. Do you have one of those?”

“A birth certificate,” I said. Angela helped me take a sip of water. “I don't have one.”

“So really,” she concluded, putting the glass down, “all you have is your mother's word for it.”

I could feel the tears falling as I shook my head. “No,” I said. But in my mind I was already tallying evidence in favor of her statement. I'd always wanted Cade to be my dad, but as I grew older I was sure my mother would have told me if he was.

I mean, why wouldn't she?

And then it hit me: She'd lied to us for the same reason she'd left him. To protect him, of course. Even from me. Because if we'd ever been captured, my mom couldn't trust a child not to tell. And what you didn't know, you couldn't be tortured for. She was trying to protect both of us—I knew that. But it still felt like a stab in my chest.

“It's in the little pieces—but then, when isn't it? The shape of your chin, your nose. Over the years, I've become quite good at these things. May the rot take me if I'm wrong, but I'm not. That man is your father as sure as the oak grows.” She tilted her head the way a curious squirrel does sometimes. “Neither of you guessed?”

I shook my head. At least, I didn't think Cade had guessed, and I was positive my mom hadn't told him. If she had told him, he wouldn't have stood back and let her run on her own. Not Cade. He would have taken on the entire Coterie for us without even thinking about it. So, of course, she'd lied to him. She would have done so easily—anything to keep him safe.

I sobbed then, and Lock's mom, who mere moments before had wanted to throttle me, held me while I cried.

 

 

WE STAYED
at Grandma Rose's for a few days. Most of our injuries would heal on their own, but we needed the rest. Ezra soon woke, asking for food and demanding that all of us do his bidding. He had color in his cheeks and he looked better, but he still couldn't walk without help. Ryan was also a wreck. Venus had held him in thrall for several days, and she'd really done a number on him. Rose said it was like watching someone come down off of heroin. He was shaky. Sick. Sometimes screaming. I sat there and listened to it, even though it hurt.

I was only allowed to see Ryan once after he woke up, before Sid and Ikka took him home. Ryan had missed some school and he'd probably get into trouble, but at least he was alive. I kept telling myself that as I stared at him. I wasn't the only one who'd lost weight. Venus had been feeding off him, obviously, and I'm not sure she'd been doing too good of a job making sure he ate too.

Deep, poisonous-looking bruises bloomed under his eyes. Someone had brushed his hair and cleaned him up, but you could tell he didn't care.

“Why?” I asked. “I want to ask if it was all a lie, if you ever liked me at all—but that might sound pathetic, and really, you won't be honest anyway.”

“Ava—” he said, reaching a hand out. When I made no move to take it, he dropped his hand into his lap.

“So I'm just going to stick to ‘why' and leave it at that. I don't think it's asking much after what you put me through.”

He looked away, the walls suddenly becoming really interesting. “My biological mom's a selkie,” he said. “She got her skin back and left a long time ago. My mom, the one I call my mom, is actually my dad's second wife.”

Growing up, Lilia had told me stories about selkies. They looked like seals but could strip their skins and become human. In a lot of those stories, someone managed to steal the skin and hide it, trapping the selkie. Someone like Ryan's dad, apparently.

“I've only seen her once since she left. She walked out of the water, took one look at me, and realized that I take after my dad. Human,” he spat. “She told me I was suited for land and had to stay where I was. Then she left. No apology, no tears, nothing. She just walked out.” He looked down at his hands as if he could change them if he stared long enough. “I just want what you have.”

Creatures bred with humans—not a lot, but it happened. Sometimes the child took after the human parent. While I hated what being a firebug had done to my life, how would things have been if I had taken after my human parent? Knowing about a world, being able to see and touch it, but never being part of it. I'm not sure how I would have felt. I would be normal, but not like my mom. Sometimes it felt like my sparks were all I had left of her.

“A couple months ago, I heard about the Coterie from another kid like me—another dud half-breed. And I went to them,” Ryan continued, snapping me out of my reverie. “When I said where I was from, Venus told me about you. What you were.”

Venus must have felt like she'd struck the jackpot. A pretty human boy offering himself to her, the perfect bait for her wayward firebug. “So I was your ticket in?”