Born of Fire

CHAPTER ONE

I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the plane window, and let out a big sigh. We were airborne. It was the end of a week of hell and I couldn’t be happier to leave my life behind.

“That sounded awfully serious coming from someone so young,” said the lady beside me. “First time on a plane?”

I turned to look at my seat mate. The woman had super short grey hair and was peering at me from over her glasses. She had a book open on her lap. Her expression exuded maternal warmth.

“First time going trans-Atlantic. It’s not the flight, though.”

“No?”

“Careful, if you get me talking, I might not shut up.” I turned back to the window, my warped reflection mirrored my movement. “I talk too much. Or so I’m told.”

The lady was silent for a moment. “We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Why are you headed to Venice?”

“I got an au pair position. Two little boys. I’ll be there all summer.”

“Well,” she said, her eyebrows lifting. “That sounds like the perfect experience for someone your age.”

“Yeah, I’m super excited about it.”

“Then why so glum?”

I chewed my lip. Shame heated my cheeks and to my dismay, tears pricked behind my eyelids. What was it about a kind stranger that made me want to dump out all my problems?

“I screwed up.”

“How very human of you.”

“But, I hate being a stereotype,” I blurted.

“You’re a stereotype?”

I tugged on the end of my fiery red ponytail. “I’m a redhead.”

“And?”

“And, I have a temper. I’m a redhead, with a temper. Do you think it’s true? That red hair comes with a temper?”

“Well, they say stereotypes exist for a reason, that there’s always a thread of truth in them. A hair, if you will.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Very punny.”

“Thank you. But no, I think we’ve all got a temper somewhere under the surface. Maybe it’s harder for some of us to control, but that just comes with practice. And breathing.” She held up a manicured finger. “Breathing helps a lot.” She closed her book and tucked it into the seat pocket in front of her. “What was this horrifying screw-up?”

I twisted my headphone cord around my thumb. “I have two brothers. R.J. and Jack. Normally, we get along pretty good. But Jack the younger one he was pushing my buttons all week. He broke the clasp on my luggage, dropped chocolate on the couch which I then sat in and stained my favourite jeans, and then he hid my passport and laughed while I tore my hair out looking for it for three days.”

“How frustrating.”

I nodded. “Seriously. So three nights ago, after dinner, Dad told Jack it was his turn to do the dishes, but he went to play video games instead. I didn’t notice at first because I went to pack. But then I came into the kitchen and everything was still a disaster. My mom had gone to bed with a headache and Dad was in the garage with R.J. I lost it. I was already so fed up that I just blew up.” I paused, and my heart pounded as I relived the moment.

“What did you do?”

“I barged into his room and…” I took a breath and put my hands to my cheeks. My face felt like it was burning up. My voice hitched. “I kicked his controller out of his hands and grabbed the back of his neck, pretty hard. I picked him up and shoved him toward the door, yelling at him to pull his weight.” I stopped and closed my eyes against the awful memory of what came next.

The lady waited in silence.

“I didn’t mean to…” I cleared my throat. “He slipped on some paper. His room is always such a disaster. He fell. I mean, we both fell. But he hit the doorjamb. The sound of it… the crack…” I shuddered.

“Was he okay?”

“He hit it with his face.” She grimaced.

“He bit through his bottom lip, chipped his front tooth, and got a black eye.” I rubbed my face, trying to wipe away the memory. “There was a lot of blood. I thought I was going to be sick. Not from the blood, well maybe partly, but I just…”

“You felt horrible.”

I nodded and looked out the window into the black nothing. “I still do. My parents hit the roof. They told me I had to cancel Venice.”

“But, you’re here. So what happened?”

I turned back to her kind face. “Jack. He can be a real brat, but he’s also one of the most forgiving people I know. He knew I was sorry. I didn’t eat for two days. Which is really unlike me. He got my parents to change their minds. He even owned up to terrorizing me earlier in the week.”

“Sounds like a good kid.”

“Yeah, he is. Better than me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“How good can I be if I can’t rein in my temper and I end up hurting people?”

“Well, Jack forgives you. Sounds like your parents do, too. Why not forgive yourself. Wipe the slate clean, and use this summer to figure yourself out? You’re an au pair, now. What a perfect opportunity to practice patience and control, right?”

“Right.” In theory.

“Put the past behind you. Learn from it, and move forward. We all make mistakes. Resolve to be better.”

My stomach clenched at the memory of Jack’s bloody face. I crossed my arms and blew out a breath. “I will.”

*** Bonus Excerpt***

I collapsed with my forehead to the ground. The glow was now in my own belly. I gagged. First only smoke and bile came up, and then I retched and lost my breakfast. I spat and struggled for breath. I retched again and flaming embers spewed out. I sucked in air and coughed hard. An ember the size of a pebble came up to my tongue. I spat it sideways, away from Isaia and watched with horror as it skipped across the floor like it had been shot from a gun, leaving a smoking black gouge. It lodged in the stone wall. I blinked, unable to register what I saw. The ember flickered and cooled to black. Surely, it hadn’t come from me? Not possible.

My stomach and throat burned like I had swallowed a cupful of magma. Recovering the power of my limbs, I fumbled for water and found the bottle on the ground. My guts screamed for something cold and wet. I opened my throat and downed the whole bottle. The liquid sizzled as I swallowed, instantly soothing my seared insides.

I dropped the bottle, panting. My eyes felt hot and hard. I looked down at Isaia. He coughed but he actually looked much better. He pushed himself up into sitting, and looked up at me. His eyes traveled from my eyes to my belly and back up again, blinking and wide.

I looked down. The glow was gone, but the fire was there. I could feel it, banked and waiting.

”Isaia!” I croaked. I did not recognize my own voice. It was rough. Scratchy. Burnt. ”Isaia.” I put a hand on his forehead. He was damp and much cooler. It was the first time I had ever seen him sweat. “What have you done to me, Isaia?” I whispered.

His eyes were full of urgency and fear. He tried to get up. He coughed again. A violent cough behind me brought me to myself. I remembered where we were. I had no time to think more about what had just happened. We were still in danger.

Another screaming firecracker went off behind us and I pushed Isaia down. Smoke rolled across the ceiling. It filled the space over our heads and slowly drifted down towards us. Voices still yelled outside and the shutter still rattled. The metal screamed and the shutter moved a half inch. Light streamed in through the crack at the bottom.

Isaia coughed and then pointed repeatedly and urgently at the flames. I knew instantly what he was trying to tell me. It was plain on his face and plain in the knowledge that I had only moments ago acquired. The knowledge of fire. It was sitting in my guts and talking to me. I had been inducted. I understood now why it had been making him sick, he was far too frail for what I now carried. What he had wasn’t an illness, it was power. The pain of it was there for me too, but I was strong enough to bear it. I was strong enough to wield it, strong enough to take on the flames now growing out of control and licking out of the back room and into the shop. Isaia coughed harder. The elderly man moved towards the shutter, coughing all the while. He and Isaia put their faces down low – close to the holes in the shutter to inhale clean air. They both had their backs to me now.

“Fuoco! Fuoco!” Shouts could be heard outside.

But I was in here, and I could do something. I looked at the flames and felt… affection. I stood and crossed quickly to the back room. I sucked smoke into my lungs, but it didn’t bother me anymore. I tickled across my skin, soft and warm.

The shutter screeched again, but it was a distant sound. I raised my hands to the flame. They flickered towards me in response. A choice – call it forward and absorb it or push it back and snuff it? The fire inside me had power over the fire outside of me. It felt not unlike trying to calm a bucking horse or a panicked dog.

Using my hands to coach the flames, I stroked them back and back – towards the back room from which they’d come. Whatever magic Isaia had given me, I could see it in the wavering heat that streamed from my fingertips. The flames had been fed by oxygen through the window in the back of the shop. But though there was plenty of air to feed this fire, it was now dying instead. Because of me. As it dwindled, blackened shelves and smouldering boxes were revealed in its wake. The flames licked through the doorway and curled like fingertips clawing for purchase on the smoking doorjamb. The fingers disappeared and I followed them, pushing the fire back. I stepped over the threshold. Shadows of shelving and boxes appeared and disappeared in the smoke, square-ish shapes lined with glowing embers. The sound of crackling flames had become a kind of music in my ears and the intensity of the sound was its death song. The curling smoke made a stream in the air as it was sucked out the rear window. The last of the flames flickered and went out. I lowered my hands. I felt as though I’d just woken from a dream. Goosebumps swept across my skin at the power I now held.