TORCH (10 page)

“Then I'll train,” I mumble into my hands. “I need to know how to stop this.”

“And you need to know how to protect yourself,” he says. “Like I said, Floods kill people, too. Sometimes they wipe out entire towns.”

I look up at him. “You mean Kai could...?”

“Probably, if he’s strong enough. And he’s not the only Flood in town.”

Suddenly I realize why Rosewood’s charming facade has made me uneasy. There’s a lot going on underneath that isn’t pretty at all.

Hux continues. “Your dad should be training you, but if he won’t, I will. You’ll need supervision to set fires and put them out. Rinse and repeat, until you’re in full control.”

“When do we start?” I ask.

“When you stop seeing Kai.”

I don’t need Hux’s help. I can start fires and put them out without supervision. It’s a simple matter of setting up a lab and practicing until I’ve got it nailed. Then I can pretend none of this ever happened.

My lab is the family bathroom. Dad is working the late shift, as usual, and Graham is sound asleep. I’ve got everything laid out:  a spray bottle, a couple of wet towels and the fire extinguisher that Dad normally keeps in the kitchen. I’ve taken the batteries out of the smoke alarm in the hall and turned the extractor fan on in the bathroom. Just to be safe, I have my cell handy.

What could go wrong?

I start by balling up sheets of newspaper beside the empty bathtub. It takes ten minutes of concentration to get it to light, which is frustrating when it happens spontaneously outside my “lab.” In fact, it’s by thinking about how and why it happens with Bianca that a tiny flicker finally appears. I spend the next few seconds trying to extinguish the flame with my mind, but when that fails I use the spray bottle.

I work my way through the pile of newspaper balls, getting faster and more efficient with my starts, all thanks to Bianca. When I think about her slurs against my dad, it literally feels like an internal switch flips, and all I have to do is direct the flame. I’ve never put out one of my own fires, though, so I can’t call up the emotion I need. Obviously, it can be done, because Hux did it, and I will eventually figure it out myself.

It would be easier to sign up for his fire class and train, but I don’t like his terms. I’m not “seeing” Kai, and I don’t intend to, but Hux isn’t calling all the shots. He has no business trying to run my life. If I’m such a big threat to society, he should be offering information freely and without conditions. He could be a role model and mentor, and instead he’s letting me struggle alone.

Luckily my hand is dangling over the side of the tub when the first fireball forms. It’s no bigger than a marble, a tiny sparkling orb. Sliding off my hand, it meanders slowly from one side of the tub to the other, before swirling gracefully around the drain and sputtering out in a shower of blue-and-red sparks.

I recall the exact moment it formed. It felt like completing a thought, and the thought was that I’m pissed at Hux. I let myself feel that again, and sure enough, energy surges down my arm and another fireball forms. Watching it roll around the tub, I remember that Hux’s fireball was tinged with yellow, whereas Dad’s was closer to green. It’s like every Torch has a unique fire fingerprint.

As my thoughts shift to dad, the fireballs come faster and easier, growing to the size of golf balls. I turn on a steady stream of water and let them roll off the runway, one after the other. Dad’s obviously lied to me my whole life about this ability and covered it well. After my so-called rescue in the pool, he should suspect I have what he called “the gift,” and yet he hasn’t talked to me like he promised. He knows Kai’s a Flood and he’s left me to deal with him without guidance while he flits around watching fires.

Dad never really was a hands-on parent. That job got handed down to Nate when Mom died. As for Nate, Dad said he didn't have the gift. If that was so, then how could he send Nate to Rosewood, to work alongside a Flood? Kai’s dad may have killed Nate simply because he thought he had the family gift, yet poor Nate was completely unprepared and unarmed.

I feel an uncomfortable sizzling sensation in my hand and look down to see a fireball the size of a tangerine swirling around in my cupped palm. Startled, I flick my hand. The fireball ricochets off the side of the tub and lands on the bathmat, which ignites instantly. Grabbing the wet towels, I smother the bathmat until the fire is out. Although it was only alight for about thirty seconds, the bathroom vanity is scorched.

I collapse against the side of the tub, wrap my arms around my shins to stop the shaking, and rest my head on my knees. If this is a gift, I want to return it. I want to rewind my life to a year ago, when I had an older brother and my biggest concern was shaving minutes off my swim speed.

That’s when the smoke alarm in the kitchen gives a warning beep.

“Phee?” It’s Graham, outside the bathroom door. “Are you okay? I smell smoke.”

I clamber to my feet, saying, “I’m fine, Gray, no worries.” I wrap the wrecked bathmat in the wet towels and shove the bundle into the cupboard. Then I grab another one of my carefully assembled props. Cigarettes.

I snap three matches in half before I can manage to light a cigarette.

Graham knocks again. “What’s going on in there?”

Finally, I open the door and give my brother a sheepish smile. “Hey.”

“You smoke?” he says. “Dad’ll kill you.”

I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry over that comment. So instead I make a show of taking a big drag on the cigarette. Then I cough until my eyes run.

“Oh god, this sucks,” I say. “Please don’t tell Dad, Gray. I’ve already decided this isn’t for me. I’m quitting.”

T
he man pulls the brim of his black baseball cap down as he selects a wiener from a package and tosses it over the wire mesh fence. A German Shepherd gives a half-hearted bark before gobbling the meat. When the man holds out another wiener and walks away, the dog follows on the other side of the fence until they reach a gate. The chain lock has been broken and when Black Hat opens the gate, the dog trots through it and follows the man, tail wagging. They leave the gas station lot and head next door to an old-fashioned little shop bearing the sign, “Dora’s Antiques.” I follow along without effort, like a floating balloon tied to the man, always directly above. The glass in the shop’s back door has already been smashed. Black Hat feeds the dog another wiener before carefully reaching through the glass to unlock the door. Stepping inside, he looks around until he finds a storage room. Black Hat pulls a leash from his pocket, loops it around the leg of a shelf and clips it to the dog’s collar. Tossing the rest of the package of wieners to the dog, the man closes the storage room door and collects a white plastic container from outside. He heads into the basement, which is filled with old furniture, and casually splashes fluid from the tub onto a chest of drawers. He flicks a barbeque lighter. It catches immediately and the man backs toward the stairs. Outside, he grabs another tub of fluid and dribbles a long line as he walks next door to the gas station. It runs out just short of the pumps and he tosses the empty tub out into the parking lot. Black Hat turns to look back at Dora’s. Inside, the dog barks twice, and then lets out a howl.

My feet are already touching the floor when I wake up. I reach for the hoodie on the chair beside the bed and pull it, still zipped, over my head. I grab my jeans, and then stop. I know exactly where Dora’s Antiques is, and I could get there in about ten minutes but maybe I shouldn’t go. The fire department will probably beat me, and there will be nothing I can do to help. Worse, I’ll probably run into Kai, raising his suspicions of Dad’s involvement, or possibly my own.

I collapse back onto the bed and sigh. What’s the use?

Then the heartrending sound of the dog’s howl fills my head. Black Hat deliberately locked up that dog to die in a fire. My dad would
never
do that, no matter how rattled he might be with grief. We used to have a German Shepherd, Rex, who rode everywhere in the truck with Dad. When Rex died of old age two years ago, Dad said he’d never get another dog. A fire in an empty building I could just possibly believe Dad capable of setting, although obviously he wouldn’t need kerosene and a lighter to do it. But he wouldn’t kill a dog. No way.

With that thought, I sit up, tie my sneakers on over bare feet and head out the door, still in my pajamas. The fire department won’t know about the dog, and I can’t give them a heads up. I have to beat them there and rescue the dog myself.

Racing along the back roads, I ignore the speedometer, slowing briefly at corners to check for cops, and then running four stop signs and two red lights. There’s an abandoned video store a few hundred yards from Dora’s, its windows covered in brown paper. I circle the store and park in the back. Slipping my phone into the pocket of my hoodie, I get out of the car and run the rest of the way. I can’t hear any sirens, and from the front, there is no sign of fire. As I start down the alley to the side door, there’s an explosion of shattering glass at the rear. The basement window must have blown out.

When I reach the door Black Hat broke into, I pause. I can see through the broken glass panel that the fire has crept up the stairs and ignited a spindly table. As I watch, a table leg gives out and it lists to one side like a wounded soldier.

My heart is pounding, and my breaths are short and shallow. If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now, and move fast. But no one knows I’m here, and if I burn beyond recognition, Dad, Graham and Regan, will never know what happened to me. That I can’t bear.

Grabbing my phone, I text the first person who comes to mind: Kai.
“Fire @ Dora’s on Rumsford Rd. Going in.”
Pressing send, I slip the phone back into my pocket, pull my hood over my head, and my sleeves over my hands. Tentatively putting my hand on the knob, I find it warm, but bearable. I open the door.

I expected heat. I expected eye-blurring, lung-searing smoke. I expected panic and second thoughts. What I didn’t expect was...
euphoria
. I stare, mesmerized, at an armoire now ablaze. It sends flames licking across a Turkish carpet to feed on a chair with an embroidered fabric seat. A massive oak table to the other side of the armoire is soon covered in a sheet of dancing flames. The row of curtains hanging behind the table will ignite any second, and then the show will really begin.

A faint whimper reaches my ears, reminding me that I’m here to rescue a dog, not to get stoned on flames and caught by the fire department. Dropping to my knees, where the air is clearer, I creep along the wall behind the burning furniture to the storage room and yank the door open. Flicking my cell flashlight, I see the dog is chained up just as I remember, only now he’s lying on his side and barely stirs when I touch him. I crawl over, quickly unhooking his leash, and try to pull him by his collar. He is completely limp, a deadweight. Standing, I manage to wrap my arms around him and lift, but I barely clear the floor and can’t aim my light with any precision. The room is now quite bright anyway, because the fire is snaking along the wall where I came in. There’s a pile of tarps in the corner. Grabbing one, I wrap the dog up and half-drag, half-carry him toward the storage room door.

The only way out of here now, is straight through the flames. There’s no time to linger, because the thickening smoke is making me cough and clouding my vision. Summoning all my strength and courage, I charge out of the back room and straight to the open side door, dragging the dog with me.

When the fresh air hits my face, I lean against the brick wall in the alley, gasping.

In the distance, I hear sirens. As much as I want to rest, I have to keep going.

A tall form blocks the light at the end of the alley, and I freeze, thinking it’s the arsonist. Then I notice the chill:  it’s Kai. Relief surges through me, but instead of coming to help me, he turns and runs out of the alley. I pick up the dog and follow, struggling under the weight of my load as I move in the direction of my car. Looking over my shoulder, I see a streak of flame racing from Dora’s toward the garage next door, following the trail of lighter fluid. Kai is chasing it, a tall silvery blur. As he runs, the flames behind him die.