TORCH (9 page)

“Got enough ice there?” I ask.

“Hopefully enough to get through this,” he says. Taking an ice cube from the glass, he sets it on the table and pushes it toward me with his fingertips. By the time it reaches my hand, it’s just a tiny chip in a pool of water.

Clutching my coffee, I stare at the little puddle and shiver. “I don’t get it.”

“That’s why we’re here.” I look up at him and he shoves a menu into my hand. “Look at that, instead.”

“What
are
you?” I ask, risking another glance and finding him patting his face with serviettes.

“I thought your first question would be about what
you
are.”

I take a sip of black coffee and find it’s already lukewarm. “What do you mean?”

“To save myself the embarrassment of floating out of here,” he says, “I’ll make this fast:  you’re a Torch.”

“A Torch?” I flick my eyes up at him for a second. “Meaning?”

“Meaning you start fires,” he says, meeting my eyes briefly. “And I put fires out.”

I stare at the menu, seeing nothing as my mind races. Finally I say, “I’ve never deliberately started a fire.”

“How about what happened with Bianca? Her cigarette lighting? Her purse burning?”

“I don’t know how that happened.”

“It happened,” he says, “because you got pissed off at Eastville’s biggest bitch. Don’t pretend you weren’t behind those fires: I saw you smile."

I pause, knowing that if I acknowledge this, I have to accept that the Phoenix I used to be is gone, and that this strange new world of fire and water is real. “If I did, it wasn’t intentional. It just... happened.”

“Like I said, it happened because you were furious.”

“I was mad,” I admit.

“And when you’re mad, you spark.”

I can’t take all this in, so I focus on the easier part. “She said my dad’s a drunk.”

“I heard,” he says. “She also said he’s a suspect in the recent arsons. That part is true.”

“It’s not him,” I say, pushing my chair away from the table.

Kai puts his elbows on the table. “I think it is. And I think he’s trying to kill my dad.”

I stare directly at him. “Excuse me? My dad wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Kai pulls his elbows off the table quickly and water starts running down his face. “How well do you know your father?” he asks.

“I know my father. He’s won all kinds of awards for saving lives.”

“But he never told you that you’re a Torch?”

“He doesn’t know that I—” I stop short of saying the words aloud. “At least, I don’t think he does.”

“So he left you to figure out something completely life-altering on your own.”

Apparently so, but blood is still thicker than water. “That doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. “In case you haven’t heard, my brother died a few months ago. Dad deserves some leeway.”

“Not if he’s putting people’s lives at risk,” Kai says. “Murderers don’t get any leeway.”

“Shut up,” I hiss. “Just shut up.”

Kai pulls another wad of serviettes from the metal holder and wipes his face with them. “Chill, would you?”

“You call my dad a murderer and you expect me to chill?” There’s a flare of anger in my head, in my chest. I want to—

His hand moves so fast it’s a silver blur. I barely have time to register that the serviettes in the holder are burning before he touches them and puts out the fire.

The flare I felt in my chest has faded, and I heave a sigh of relief that the fire I apparently started is out before anyone saw it.

“See?” Kai says. “You start fires, I put them out. And your dad starts fires, and my dad puts them out. And our grandparents before them. That’s how it goes. The Seavers have been covering for the Forsythes for centuries.”

“Well you don't have to cover for me.

“No, but I need to protect people from you. You’re a hazard. Maybe worse than your dad.”

So now he’s saying
I’m
a potential murderer. I fight back the anger, knowing I could set the table on fire. Then he won’t be the only one who thinks I’m a freak. “You,” I say, getting to my feet, “can screw off.”

“Listen to me,” he says. “You’ve got to learn how to control this, or you’ll end up in trouble.” He grabs my phone and enters his contact information. “I can help.”

“Just leave me alone,” I say, taking my phone back.

He comes after me as I stomp out of the diner. “Phoenix, wait. You should know—”

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it,” I say, hurrying toward the Jeep.

“You can’t deny who you are,” he says, right on my heels.

I fumble for my keys but my hands are shaking so much I can’t find the right button. “I don’t believe anything you said.”

Kai puts one hand on the car door on either side of me. “Then believe this.” Leaning down, he pauses for a moment and then kisses me. When his lips touch mine, it feels intriguing, at first. Gentle and cool. Then cool drops to cold, and the burning sets in. I try to pull away, but I can’t. It’s like being drawn in by an undertow. I had the same feeling in the pool. He’s pulling all the air out of me and I am smothering, drowning. Placing both my hands on his chest, I push as hard as I can. My lips seem fused to his, and when the seal breaks, it’s as if he takes some of my skin with him.

Kai’s lips are bright red, and his T-shirt, where I touched his chest, is singed in the shape of my hands. Either smoke or steam rises off the burn marks and drifts off into the night. I shake my hands to cool them.

Kai rubs his chest. The steaming stops, but the scorch marks remain. As he backs away, he says, “Get it now?

I don’t get anything. Except that kissing this guy nearly killed me.

And I want to do it again.

“
W
hat about show choir?” Regan asks, handing me half of her tuna sandwich.

I’m not hungry, but I take the sandwich anyway. I need to act as normal as I can around Regan and my family, and Normal Phoenix takes any and all food handouts. My metabolism hasn’t slowed since I gave up swimming. If anything, it’s stepped up, and no matter how much I eat, I don’t gain weight. But since my encounter with Kai two days ago, my appetite has dwindled, if only because my mouth is still sore. The skin is so dry it cracks and bleeds, although it’s healing faster than after I resuscitated him.

“Let’s audition,” I say. Normal Phoenix is still in the Operation Destiny game, despite wanting to lay low. “I can carry a tune.”

Regan laughs, knowing singing isn’t my gift, either. “Auditions are Wednesday, and you can’t sing with your mouth like that.”

“It’ll be healed by then,” I say. She’s given me a lot of surreptitious looks, and is finally warming up to inquire.

“The last time that happened, you’d just rescued Kai,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s sort of the same thing.”

She looks at me quizzically. “What happened?”

“I ran into him on Friday night, we chatted for awhile and then... he kissed me.”

Regan drops her sandwich on the pavement and the tuna spills out. I offer her mine, but she shakes her head. “You hooked up with Kai Seaver?” she asks.

“No! How could you think that? We’re not even friends.”

“But you kissed him.”

“He kissed
me
. Once. And it wasn’t like, romantic or anything. It was sort of hostile.”

She looks skeptical. “A hostile kiss?”

“I know it sounds strange, but yeah. He’s an odd guy. Very cold.”

Regan snorts. “And hot at the same time. Very hot, actually.”

“Well, he’s not my type,” I say. “I’m going to avoid him.”

“Huh.” Regan roots around in her bag while she processes this information, and comes up with an apple. “So tell me how this hostile kiss happened?”

I’ve worked out a story—a few truths laced together with fiction—but I don’t get to deliver it, because Matt Huxley comes up behind us, pushing a red racing bike. “Can I talk to you, Phoenix? In my office.”He turns to Regan and adds, “Sorry, we won’t be long.”

I wait while Hux removes his purple helmet, which features a silver tidal wave, and locks it up with his bike. Trailing after him into the pool, I speculate that he’s going to try to woo me onto the swim team. From what I heard, their first meet was abysmal.

Unlocking the door to the pool area, Hux swaggers along the deck like the captain of a ship. Half way to the office, he turns and walks backwards. “So...” he says, winding up for his pitch. “You made out with a Flood.”

I stop in my tracks. “What?”

He keeps walking backwards. “You heard me.”

“What’s a Flood?”

He pauses and cocks his head, trying to figure out what I know. “A Flood is the opposite of you.”

If he’s going to play games, I’ll play along. “A swimmer, you mean? Now that I’ve given up chlorine?”

“A swimmer, for sure,” he says, laughing. “A walking pool. A soaker, a douser, a deluge, a cascade. But most people call them Floods. That’s what Kai Seaver is, and why—” he comes back to peer at my mouth—“you look like that. But if that’s the worst you got, you did okay.”

“If Kai’s a Flood, what am I?”

He shrugs. “You tell me.”

“You seem to know more about me than I do,” I say, anger prickling. “Fill me in.”

“That’s your dad’s job,” he says.

His perpetual grin hasn’t faltered. I want to slap it off his face. “My dad’s a busy guy.”

“I bet he found a minute to warn you about Kai Seaver.” My face must give me away, because Hux continues. “That dude is trouble.”

“You helped me save his life.”

“Didn’t say he deserved to die. That’s why we’re in Rosewood, right?”

I shake my head. “I’m lost. Can you drop the games and communicate like a regular person?”

“Your dad’s the information highway, not me.”

“But he’s not saying much. He warned me about Kai, and he said he’d tell me more, but he hasn’t.” I set my bag down on the deck. “My dad’s not himself, lately. People are saying bad things about him. Kai thinks my dad’s trying to kill his dad.”

Hux nods thoughtfully. “That’s entirely possible. Although I hope not.”

This isn’t the answer I expected from someone who’s practically a teacher. “But why? Why would my dad try to kill someone?”

“Not just anyone. Brett Seaver. Brett’s a Flood, and he was working the night your brother died. Ray probably figures Brett had something to do with it.”

“Why would one firefighter kill another?”

Hux sighs. “You’re asking all the wrong questions, Phoenix. The simple answer is that Floods kill Torches, and vice versa. Not often in Rosewood, but it happens.”

“I want—”

He turns and starts walking again. “Ask your dad.”

“But he won’t—”

“Ask your dad.”

“Stop it,” I say. Who is this guy to withhold information about me—information that could save my life?

I feel a tingling in my hand and look down just in time to see a tiny indigo-tinged fireball drop from my fingertips and roll along the deck toward Hux. It’s slow at first, but as I grab my bag and start after it, it picks up speed. In seconds it will collide with Hux’s sneaker and the smell of burning rubber will end any hope of keeping my problem quiet. Lifting my bag, I throw it at the racing fireball.

I miss.

The clatter startles Hux. He turns quickly, sees the fireball and with a flick of his wrist, sends a bigger, yellow-tinged fireball of his own at it. They collide and combust. Smoke trickles upward and Hux whips off his jacket to fan it away.

When the smoke dissipates, he slings his jacket over his shoulder and continues walking toward the office, as if blasting a student’s fireball to smithereens is all in a day’s work.

Unlocking the office door, he calls, “You coming?”

I stand where I stopped, staring at my hand.

Hux chuckles. “Yeah, I remember the first time I just let one drop. It was brutal—worse than farting on an elevator.”

“But I... How did you...?” Fragments are all I can manage. “You just hit it and it—”

He shrugs before disappearing into the office. “I’ve had a little practice.”

Finally I follow him, saying, “You’re a Torch, too.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Sounds like you got it all figured out.”

“A Torch who works with water. Isn’t that some sort of oxymoron?”

“Now you’re thinking. That’s why I want you to get back in the pool. You need training and discipline. You can’t go around scorching people’s purses.”

“It was an accident,” I say.

“You’re a fire-starter. Accidents can kill people.”

“But I don’t want to be like this. How can I make it stop?”

He gestures to his desk chair and I collapse into it. “The bad news is that you don’t have a choice. It’s what you are.”

I stare at him for a moment, hoping he’ll crack another smile and tell me it’s all been a joke. Instead, he cups his hand and a tiny, yellow fireball appears. Then he closes his hand and it disappears. His face is blank, as if he’s simply illustrating a fact.

I cover my face with my hands, and rock back and forth. “No...” I moan. “I don’t want to kill people.”

“The good news is that you have choice about that,” he says. “You train."