TORCH (12 page)

I consider this for a minute. “Does my dad believe in this ‘mosaic’?”

“I can’t speak for him now,” he says. “But he used to.”

“Before Nate died,” I say.

Hux’s nod is almost imperceptible. “We all want things to get back in balance. Everyone needs to play it cool for a bit.”

I perch on the edge of Hux’s desk to watch his expression closely, because he’s so good at deflecting. “Do you think Brett Seaver killed Nate?”

“I don’t,” he says. “No motive.”

“Other than his nature.”

“Other than that. But it wouldn’t make sense, because your brother wasn’t a Torch. At least as far as I know.”

“But he was a firefighter.”

“And a good one, for a regular guy.”

I pick up Hux’s heavy key ring in my hands and spin it on my index finger. “So my brother... He was worse than the mouse. He had no clue.”

“I don’t know what Nate knew,” Hux says. “What I do know is that an untrained mouse isn’t a threat to the cat, but she is to everyone else.”

Hux’s phone rings and after checking call display, he signals me to step outside the office. I lean against the wall, spinning Hux’s key ring and thinking. Then I slip one of the extra pool keys off the ring and into my pocket.

When he’s finished his call, I come back in. “Just tell me this,” I say. “If the mouse trained hard, how would she take out the cat?”

He stares at me, evaluating. “The mouse needs to be very careful, because a wrong move—an unskilled move—could disturb a lot more than the peace.”

“Look, Hux,” I say, dropping the metaphors. “My brother’s dead. My Dad’s in trouble. I need to know how to cope.”

The quaver in my voice frustrates me but it seems to have a good effect on Hux.

“Become the cat,” he says. “Wary and agile. A Torch gets the advantage by striking a Flood from behind. And if the Torch is powerful enough—giving off enough heat—he can evaporate water as it flows.”

“How do I get strong enough?” I ask.

I already know the answer, so my voice joins Hux’s in chiming, “Training.”

This time we both smile, and I toss him the key ring as I turn to go.

“Get back in the pool,” he says. “And talk to your dad, or I will.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Phoenix,” he calls, and something in his voice makes me stop. “Kai’s been training for years. From what I hear, he’s strong.”

“But we’re in Rosewood, right? Where cats and mice live in harmony."

T
oday is an Operation Destiny landmark. Regan and I have actually shown up not once, not twice, but three times to a club. Specifically, Karate. It definitely wasn’t Regan’s first choice, but I think she’s happy that we’re sticking with something. The best part? Bianca was a no-show. It may be the only extracurricular she hasn’t checked off. I guess the white Karate Gi, or uniform, isn’t revealing enough for her.

I feel good in mine, although the white belt it’s cinched with announces I’m a novice. I also like the way the mats squish under my bare feet. It makes me feel grounded. Karate, I’ve decided, is the new swimming. The discipline of a martial art should help me get my problem under control. As Ms. Giddon, the gym teacher, and our instructor, constantly reminds us, Karate requires focus. Focus will help me identify dangerous urges early enough to stop them.

“Okay, faces front, everyone,” Ms. Giddon calls. She has a mop of short, strawberry blond hair and is so petite that she must be wearing a child’s Gi. But the outfit is bound by a black belt, and the moves she demonstrated for us against a mat-covered pole during the introductory class prove she’s small but mighty. If her tiny foot connected with the chin of the big guy in back row, he’d be down for the count.

Of course, those fancy moves were just the bait to lure us into the club. Now that we’re committed, it’s all dull repetition of beginner postures. I know this is how it works in every sport, including swimming, but I can’t help being impatient. If Karate will help me tame my impulses, I can’t plod along like this. That’s why I bought a Wii game and started practicing at home with Graham. Judging by my steady progress in the past two weeks, I may just be a natural. My coordination seems to improve the longer I stay on dry land.

“Greetings, Sensei,” someone says. I turn to see a long auburn ponytail brushing the gym floor as Bianca bows to Ms. Giddon.

Ms. Giddon bows back. “Welcome to the dojo, Bianca. You’re going to find this a bit slow, but I could use some help coaching.”

Bianca bows again, and when she rises, I notice her Gi is cinched with a blue belt. I guess she’s already progressed through yellow and orange in private lessons and is just slumming with us.

Regan sighs as Bianca comes over and wedges herself between us. “Don’t worry, Chunky,” she says. “I promise to take it easy on you.” She turns to me. “You, on the other hand, are fair game, Nix.”

Bianca waits till Sensei Giddon turns away and jabs an elbow into my ribs. I jab her back, but because I’m taller than she is, my elbow connects with her boob.

“Screw off,” she hisses.

“You started it.” I nudge her again with an exaggerated shrug.

“Friggin’ Amazon,” she mutters. “You know I could knock you out?”

Ms. Giddon turns and pins me with a stare. “Phoenix, define
kokoro
.”

I step away from Bianca before answering. “It means ‘attitude’—a mixture of heart, mind and soul.” According to Wikipedia.

Sensei Giddon raises her strawberry eyebrows. “That’s a start,” she says. “The term embraces perseverance and fearlessness, but also virtue and leadership. In this dojo, we’re all about the last two. Got it?”

“Virtue and leadership,” I say. “Got it.”

She takes us through some basic moves, and Bianca’s precision is undeniable. For at least ten minutes, she keeps her mouth shut, if for no other reason but to show off her skills. Eventually, Ms. Giddon breaks us up into smaller groups, with a colored belt coaching two or three white belts. Although Bianca starts off with another group, she quickly swaps with our coach, a guy with a yellow belt. “These two need extra help,” she says, stepping in front of him. “Let me.”

Regan says, “I don’t think—”

“Of course you don’t, Chunky,” Bianca says. “If you did think, you wouldn’t be friends with Nix, here.”

I raise my hand to attract Ms. Giddon’s attention, but Bianca knocks it down. “Relax,” she says. “I just want to bring you up to speed on your dad’s case. Did you know he’s the prime suspect in the fire at Dora’s Antiques?”

I try to keep my cool, executing my moves and refusing to respond.

“What I don’t get,” Bianca continues, “Is why your dad is so blatant about it. His truck has been seen near every arson site. It’s like he wants to be caught. All my dad has to do is give him enough rope and he’ll hang himself.”

It’s getting harder to focus, and I remind myself that the key to keeping a cool hand is a cool head. “This is starting to sound like a witch hunt,” I say. “And I know who the witch is.”

Bianca just grins in response. “Guess I’d be grouchy too, if they were trying to put my dad away. But you can just move in with Chunky when your dad’s in jail. It’ll be like having a sister who eats more than her share.”

I take one step forward with my right foot, put my weight on my left and raise my right leg. Then I pivot my right leg and direct a roundhouse kick at Bianca. My foot hits her in the sternum and she falls to the mat, gasping and blinking.

That felt good. Really good. It felt like more. I raise my foot to kick Bianca again, but stop. Once is an impulse. Twice is a choice. Do I want to kick someone when she’s down? I lower my foot.

 “Sorry, Bianca,” I say, leaning over her. I feel as relieved as if I’d set a fire. I am really onto something with Karate. “I expected you to block that. You’ve got a blue belt, right?”

Okay, so I won’t kick a girl when she’s down, but a little gloating never hurt anyone.

Bianca can’t speak yet, but she grabs my ankle and digs five manicured daggers into it until I yelp.

The commotion brings Ms. Giddon over in a hurry, and Bianca releases my foot. “What happened?” the teacher demands.

“Bianca was teaching us a roundhouse and I hit her a bit low,” I say. “Guess I need more practice.”

“A roundhouse? We’re nowhere near sparring.” Ms. Giddon kneels beside Bianca. “Are you okay, Bianca? I should call for the school nurse.”

Bianca shakes her head violently and gasps, “No. I’m fine.”

Ms. Giddon stands and calls for someone to bring a blanket from the office. Bianca uses the opportunity to give my ankle another squeeze.

I give a dramatic scream. “Ow!”

Regan smirks, and Ms. Giddon turns just in time to catch it. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

Kneeling again, she props Bianca up with a rolled up blanket. Bianca’s Gi gapes at the neck, revealing a mark in the shape of my heel on her chest.

“Is that a—?” Ms. Giddon leans in to get a closer look at the mark, and although I’m standing over them, it sounds as if she sniffs at it.

Bianca must think it’s weird, too, because she tries to push the teacher away. “I’m okay,” she says, struggling to sit up.

The teacher leans back on her heels and looks up at me. There’s a new expression in her eyes. Curious. Guarded. It feels as if she’s trying to probe me, and I find myself backing away. Finally she says, “Principal’s office, Phoenix. Now.”

K
ai stares down at the inflamed gouges on my ankle. “Bianca clawed you? Is it infected?”

“Probably,” I say, since one of the puncture marks is oozing. “My body’s ejecting her nail polish.”

He’s leaning against the tiled wall of the pool area and the reflection from the water dapples his face with light. It’s nearly midnight and I’ve used the pool key I borrowed from Hux’s chain to get in from the door that opens directly into the back field of the school. The lights in the pool are on, but I leave the overhead lights off.

Kai offered to train with me, and the pool deck seemed like the ideal place to throw a few fireballs. Granted, it gives him every kind of advantage, but I’ve decided to take my chances. After what happened with Bianca, I'm prepared to take extreme measures to deal with my anger problem.

“I kicked her, first,” I admit. “In Karate.”

He laughs. “I can’t blame you.”

“She was dissing my dad again. Unfortunately, it looks like I might have singed her a little. With my heel.”

“Uh oh.”

“Yeah. Ms. Giddon turned it into a big deal. Sent me to the principal’s office.”

Kai laughs again. “I’m sorry, but it is funny.”

“I thought so, too, until Mr. McCabe called for a parents’ conference.”

“Your dad and Chief Larken?” Kai asks, as he pulls off his shirt and drops it onto the deck.

“And Bianca and me. Next week. I might be suspended.”

“I’d love to be suspended.” He kicks off his shoes, unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans. I try not to watch, but it’s mesmerizing.

“Is this, uh, necessary?” I ask. It’s not like I don’t enjoy seeing him undress, but if we get caught in here the lack of clothing will complicate matters.

“If this works,” he says, stripping off his jeans, and adding them to the pile, “I’m going to have to get wet.”

I’m relieved to see he’s wearing swim trunks.

Taking off my jacket, I throw it on the pile. I like the way our clothes look, all heaped together.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, following as he walks to the deep end of the pool.

“Simple. You’re going to throw some fireballs, and I’m going to put them out.”

“Except that I don’t work on cue. It just sort of happens.”

“When you get mad. So get mad.” He turns and opens his arms wide. “And hit me.”

“I can’t just—”

“Think about Bianca,” he says. “Tell me what she said about your dad.”

“She said they’re giving him some rope to hang himself.”

“Hoping he’ll kill someone, so they can put him away?”

I stare at him, wondering if he’s voicing his own thoughts. “I guess.”

“Nice. They’re willing to risk letting someone die to make sure a charge sticks.”