Kiss of Fire (2 page)

“Yes, Father, that’s fine. I will meet you in the court.” Ryland’s voice was distant and diplomatic. When he talked like this, he reminded me of the heir to the multi-million dollar company he was, not my energetic, fun-loving best friend.

“Ryland,” Timothy spoke slowly, dragging out his syllables, and I knew he was going to address our friendship. I shifted my weight, cursing the dark hoodie that stuck out from behind my hiding place. “I am so glad to see you have taken our advice about your choice of friends.” Timothy’s voice seemed hopeful, odd, seeing as how I stood right here.

I attempted to draw the fabric closer to my body. Being so close to both of them made me almost, dare I say it, scared.

“I have expressed my opinion on this multiple times, Timothy. Please do not make me repeat it.” Ryland stood a little straighter as he attempted to end the conversation.

“Now, now, Ryland. We don’t need any of that.” Edmund’s voice lacked any warmth. “After all, I would hate for your attitude to be the cause of a downfall.”

I cringed. Was he talking about me, or about my mother? Edmund had never before said anything so bold when I was within ear-shot; it was almost like he couldn’t see me. That, in itself, was a ridiculous thought; Ryland wasn’t enough to hide behind, even with all his muscle.

“You know my terms in regards to that, Father.” I could see Edmund’s expensive penny loafers slide against the white carpet. I shifted my weight, scared he was moving to get a better look at me.

“So it would seem. Well, at least now I won’t have to dismiss her mother, or worse. We just can’t have anything spoiling my perfect son, now, can we?” I saw his body shift as if he were moving closer. Ryland’s fingers pressed harder against my own.

“No, Father.” There was a pause and then Edmund’s shiny leather shoes stepped away from us down the hall. Timothy’s shoes followed Edmund’s hesitantly, like they were waiting for something else to happen before he turned the corner.

We moved the last few steps quickly, darting into Ryland’s spacious room before either of them had a chance to return.

Ryland’s bedroom was roughly the size of my entire apartment. The giant rectangular space was separated down the middle on the left side by a long wall that housed a kitchenette on one side and Ryland’s massive entertainment system on the other. The right side of the room contained his oversized bed that still sported the colored blankets we had used to make forts when we were little kids, while the entrance to his bathroom lay beyond the bed. Behind it all was a closet the size of a small motor home, containing far too many clothes for someone who went to a school that required uniforms.

I went to the high cabinet next to the entertainment center where he kept the chocolate before plopping down on his bed to enjoy a Mounds Bar. Ryland locked the door behind him, just in case his father or the servants decided to get nosey, and turned on some brainless TV show as he went.

“I hate them, you know. Hate,” I spat sourly, ripping the wrapper off the candy.

“That’s a strong word, Jos.”

“I know, but don’t you think they deserve it? Saying all that about how I am going to ruin you, talking about me like I was not even there. It’s like they couldn’t even see me.”

“Maybe they couldn’t,” Ryland said almost inaudibly.

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny, Ry.” I paused at the curious glance Ryland gave me. “They wouldn’t hurt anyone because of me, would they?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Ry grumbled as he leaned against the wall his TV was mounted to.

My head jerked up. “They would?” Not cool.

“Don’t worry so much, Jos. I wouldn’t let them, even if they tried. If I could get them to be nice to you, I would, but I can’t. Either way, I won’t let them hurt you. Besides, you don’t need to worry about it. You only have to deal with them for the rest of the year. I get him for my entire life.”

I could only roll my eyes, but then the candy bar fell untouched to my lap. I didn’t like the daily reminders that Ryland was leaving overseas for college in just a few months’ time. Oxford, a huge giant ocean away. I tried to push the information to the back of my mind. I would be lucky if I ever saw him again.

“So, did you get the role?” Ryland asked eagerly, plopping down beside me, his obvious change in subject managed as smoothly as possible.

“No, of course not. The role went to Cynthia McFadden, not that anyone was really surprised.”

“What? You read the role perfectly!”

“Well, I did here in your bedroom. In the school gymnasium, I’m not sure the drama teacher could hear my monologue over the catcalls about my lack of hygiene...” I hoped that didn’t sound too bitter.

Cynthia had brought half the football team with her and they had quite a fun time jeering at anyone who auditioned for the same role as the cheerleader. I thought I had done a good job, even with the jocks yelling at me to bathe or brush my hair, but Ms. Flowers didn’t think so.

“What role did you get then?” His silky voice calm and eager.

“None.”

“None? You would have been cast as Ophelia without question if you had auditioned at my school.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course I would have. You go to an all boys’ school!”

“I guess you’re right. But Michael Aliente has been eyeing that role for years now; you might have had your work cut out for you.”

“Well, I don’t think I could beat Michael; he’s way too good at those monologues.” We laughed, the thought of tiny Michael in a long Shakespearean gown bringing tears to my eyes.

“Do you want me to do something? I could make a phone call...”

“No!” I snapped. He had said it with only good intentions, but his face moved from concern to shock. My fast-beating heart plummeted; I didn’t mean to offend him. “I mean, no, thank you. Cynthia will be great in the role, though she may come off as more of a floozy than a crazy girl, but, whatever.”

“That’s not what I meant, Jos. I meant about the guys teasing you. I could always pick you up from school in the Lotus; that would stop them in their tracks.”

“They would only say I paid you.” I smiled at him. I loved Ryland when he got like this; he was an incredibly caring guy.

He didn’t return the smile. Instead, he looked at me as if I had just sold his precious car, to buy a long board made of solid gold. “Joclyn, I don’t like them making fun of you, especially when they say things that are not true. I mean, really!
You,
not bathe. I can smell your shampoo from a mile away.”

“How do you know that’s not just the perfume I use to cover up the almighty stench?”

“Joclyn.”

“Ryland.” My glare was no match for his; his blue eyes cut into me. “It’s all right, really. It’s not like there’s anything you can do.”

“I have a full Rugby team who would gladly fight for your honor.”

“What, do we live in 1740 now?” I laughed. He didn’t. Strangely enough, he was serious. “You would fight the Eagles’ Landing football team for my ‘honor’?”

He nodded.

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. “Why? I mean, no one cares about me. I disappear in that school. They only said those things because they couldn’t even remember who I was.”

“I care about you, Jos, and I don’t want people talking about you like that.” My heart sputtered for a moment before I turned to him, making sure the mark below my ear remained covered.

“That’s why you’re my best friend, Ry, because you care. You are the only one who knows me.” I smiled at him in a desperate attempt to convey that I was okay, that the name-calling didn’t hurt, even if it did. I could tell he wasn’t buying it. He could always see through my looks. “I’m fine, Ryland. Honest.” I waited, but he didn’t say anything. I could just see him barging into my school with a dozen other guys in dark blue blazers. Ugh. “Ry, I am asking you as nicely as I can manage to not do anything. I can handle it; you don’t always have to protect me.” I tried to put as much energy into my voice as I could. I am not sure it worked.

“All right, I won’t do anything. It’s just a crappy way to spend your birthday.”

“That’s okay. I got a great shirt, soon to be skirt-combo out of it, which I will never wear. So, no harm done.”

“You know, you really should wear...”

“Don’t start, Ryland,” I said, falling back on his bed.

“You just need the right accessories, is all.” He spoke quite calmly as he placed a small wrapped box on my chest. I sat up, letting the box fall into my lap.

“What? Are you asking me to marry you?” I scoffed the words, but I still couldn’t take my eyes off the box.

“Hell, no! I have been engaged to Cynthia McFadden for years. Didn’t you know?” He pushed into my shoulder, almost knocking me over. “Just open it.”

I moved back to a sitting position like a weeble toy. I couldn’t say anything; the richest guy in the state had just given me a jewelry box. Part of me didn’t want it, but the girl inside of me forced my fingers to rip the paper off.

The box was back velvet, soft to the touch. I caressed it like the box itself was the gift before opening it to reveal an inside of soft black silk. Nestled into the shiny silk was a teardrop-shaped ruby the size of my thumbnail. The beautiful jewel was suspended from a fine silver chain. A beautiful silver wire wrapped around the Ruby in swirls and spirals that joined it to the chain. I could only stare at it. I knew without asking that the ruby was real. The necklace was worth more than my mother made in a year.

“Do you like it?” Ryland’s voice was soft, entertained by my reaction as he chuckled at my solitary head-bob of a response. He grabbed the necklace out of the box and then moved to place it around my neck.

“Sorry it’s not a car,” he laughed, “but your mom wanted to give you a full new outfit for your birthday and forced—eh, recruited me to help. I thought this would set off the diamonds in your eyes. I think she will do anything to get you out of those hoodies and jeans.”

I looked down at the necklace that now hung around my neck, my voice coming back. I moved my hair out from under the chain careful not to show that dreaded mark.

“Besides,” Ryland continued, “you can always wear your new outfit under a hoodie and then your mom can still feel like she won.” I couldn’t help but laugh, though, I also felt like crying. I had never received anything so beautiful, something that I instantly loved. Darn my girl emotions! One tear had leaked out.

“Thank you, Ryland. It’s beautiful. I love it.” My voice did not get above a whisper.

“You know, Jos, you’re more of a girl than you let on. I’m just glad I am the one who gets to see it.” With that, Ryland kissed my forehead. I thought my heart might explode.

I hadn’t had a birthday this good, ever.

That all ended with dinner.

We always met my grandparents at the same place; a little Mexican dive called La Fea Gato. La Fea Gato was in between our two houses, so we each had to drive an hour to meet for dinner. After having done it for eleven years, it wasn’t a big deal. I even had a favorite on the menu and spent the majority of the hour drive dreaming of Chile Verde rather than listening to my mom dote over how pretty I looked, and how big the rock Ryland had given me was.

At first, she had attempted to pull my hair up, but I had put my foot down, startling poor Mette with a wail she had never heard come out of me before. I didn’t care how much my mom promised that the mark was barely noticeable, or that scars were fashionable; mine was staying hidden. In the end, I had brushed my dark hair out until it hung around my slender face like a sheet.

We arrived at the restaurant late, rushing to the table to allow my grandmother her obligatory time to ogle over how much I had grown or changed. We all knew it was an act; my grandparents only came out of respect for my mother’s wishes. I never saw them any other time. 

My grandmother was a round woman with gray hair that she always wore in a bun. Her appearance suggested that she would be wearing a flowered apron, smiling and selling butter rolls rather than wearing business suits with the severe look she always had. My grandfather had always been quiet and somewhat reserved, but today he seemed downright cranky, and greeted my mother and me with a curt head-nod. My grandmother didn’t seem to notice and looked me over quickly before shoving a bright pink parcel into my hands.

I tried my hardest to smile at the impending skirt, but I was not sure it worked. My mom’s iron grip dug into my arm as she prompted me to open it. Even though it was obvious no one wanted to be there, my mom was still going to try her hardest to make this work.

The tape came off easily, as if it had been rewrapped, and an atrocious red and black plaid skirt tumbled onto my lap, followed by a small black bag that would hold only a wallet, if I was lucky. I looked at them both as happily as I could before being shooed off to the bathroom where I held the skirt up to me, against my new shirt. They didn’t match. I was going to look like a style-defunct school girl. Of course they all declared I looked wonderful anyway. I could have worn a stuffed chicken and it would have received the same reaction. My frustration and irritation were turning into uncontrollable laughter.

Once the food came, I bowed out of the conversation, and my grandmother seemed to lose her lackluster interest in me. I focused on my food as my mother and grandmother chattered away about work and neighbors, and aunts, uncles and cousins I had never seen. I caught snippets of information about Uncle Robert’s new wife and Cousin Becky’s new—scandalous—tattoo, not taking anything in. The taste of chilies and guacamole consumed me so much that I was unaware of my grandmother’s question until my mother tapped my leg.

“Joclyn?” she asked, repeating her question, “how is school?”

“Fine,” I said, hoping I didn’t have to elaborate. There wasn’t much more that I could say about school, so we sat in uncomfortable silence.

“Excuse me.” Mom spoke as normally as she could, although it was obvious she left in order to give us all time to talk. “I have to go to the restroom.”

My grandparents had nothing to say without my mom there, so I sat staring at the last of my empanada and listened to the clink of dishes and bits of conversation around me.

“Don’t open the bag until you get home.” My grandfather’s rough voice made me jump.

“Excuse me?” I asked, taken back.

“The bag. Don’t open it until you get home. There’s a letter from your father in it.” I think I may have leaped a few inches out of the booth. The words “your father” were never spoken, least of all by his own parents.

“My father?” I spoke much louder than I had anticipated, my heart beating a million miles an hour. “You’ve seen him?”

My grandfather leaned forward, but my grandmother looked at him so sharply, even I felt uncomfortable with her gaze. My grandfather shrank back against the booth.

“Yes, dear.” Her voice was falsely sweet. “Your father asked us to give that letter to you. And we agreed.”

“You’ve seen my father,” I repeated again, although I wasn’t sure if I felt joy, anger or excitement at this. Each emotion was there, but they didn’t stop swirling around each other; my stomach turned into a bowl of butterflies.

“Yes,” my grandfather supplied, ignoring a second look from Grandma. “He came by just the other day wanting to see you. He had a birthday gift for you, so we put it in that bag so you could have it. But don’t open it here; I don’t know if your poor mother’s heart can handle hearing a single word from him.”

“He wanted to see me…?”

“Yes, followed us here, no doubt. Poor lad seemed desperate...” Grandma cut Grandpa off with one stern look and he sank back in his chair, looking crabby again. I didn’t notice, though; I had begun spinning around in my chair in a futile attempt to look for my father. I knew it was pointless. I didn’t even know what he looked like anymore. Any man here could be him. That one had his eyebrows, another had his nose. Of course I had pictures, but they were from so long ago. Besides, it was hard to recognize someone from a twelve-year-old photograph.

“You might want to make sure his gift has been properly paid for, dear. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stole it. I am not sure my poor son has had more than two coins to rub together in a while.”

I stopped my frantic search to face my grandmother. Her face was somewhat hard and disappointed now. I wanted to hear more, to ask her what she meant, but my mother slid back into her chair, announcing herself to be full. 

The car ride home was quiet, unlike either of us. The little black bag sat on my lap as if it were a dead weight or a bomb waiting to go off. I didn’t want to look at it, but couldn’t keep from stealing glances. I tried counting the stars, the fence posts, the houses; but nothing worked, and so, my eyes kept floating back to the bag.

“So, Joclyn...?” My mom’s voice came out of nowhere. “Did you have a good birthday?” I looked down at my mismatched clothes, at the beautiful necklace, and smiled.

“Yeah, Mom. I did. Thanks for everything.”

“You should wear that outfit tomorrow.”

“Not going to happen, Mom.”

“Why not?” she whined, offended.

“Well, I would get mugged for the necklace and tortured for my mismatched clothes.” My mom looked down at my outfit as I gestured toward it, her face breaking into a gigantic smile.

“It does look bad, doesn’t it?” she sighed. “I thought your grandmother would have more style sense—”

“Well, if you limit her to pencil skirts, she does great,” I scoffed.

“At least the bag is cute.” Her comment was innocent enough, but it stopped me dead in my tracks, the smile draining from my face. All I could do was nod and stare at it.

It was cute, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what could be inside. Any other person who had been abandoned by their father would throw it away without a second thought. Yet, I was drawn to it.

He had left because of the mark. Maybe the letter would tell me something about it, maybe he had found something out, or maybe it was a plea for us to let him come home. I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities, my heart beating uncomfortably at each one. If I was smart, I would have just thrown it away.

When I got home, I ran to my room with only a hurried goodnight to my mom. A shower would have to wait, changing would wait. I ripped open the bag and dumped the contents on my white bedspread. A small dirty package and a piece of paper fell out, each one leaving gray grease marks on the spots they hit. I looked at them—the package or the letter? I opted for the package; get the gift out of the way so I could focus on the letter.

I grabbed the small crumpled paper and began un-wrinkling it into a flat mass. There, amongst the dirty folds, sat a pure white marble; it almost looked like a pearl. I looked at it in disbelief. How could my wayward, possibly homeless, father afford to give me a pearl. It must be fake. I knew there was something to do with teeth to be able to tell if it was real and so I reached out to grab it with the full intention of biting it in half. However, the second my fingers came in contact with it, a shock of white-hot heat seared through my arm. I jumped back, cursing, wondering what my father had sent me.

I stepped closer to my bed, stopping as my head spun on my shoulders, my vision tracking and my stomach heaving a bit. I steadied myself, waiting for the spinning to slow and cursing whatever food poisoning I had gotten at the restaurant.

I looked everywhere for the bead, but the white pearl no longer lay in the dirty wrapper; instead, one of deep purple had taken its place. I moved the dirty paper around, and I searched over my bedspread, but no other pearl—of any color—could be found. Luckily, when I grabbed the purple pearl, no shock shot up my arm, though the small marble was very warm. I couldn’t help but be a little mad; it seemed like a cruel joke for a renegade father to send his daughter something that zaps her.

I placed the purple bead back on the wrapper and picked up the letter. Silly really, whatever was going to hurt me the most was going to be written on the page. I opened it, a shaky breath flowing out of me.

My Dearest Jocelyn:

Great, he doesn’t even know how to spell my name right.

My Dearest Jocelyn:

I write this letter in the hopes that my parents will deliver it to you, and find you well. Happy Birthday!! I can’t believe that eleven years have passed since I last saw you. I am sure you have grown into a beautiful young woman. Do you have a lot of boyfriends? Tell them to be careful or your dad will get them.

I was torn between laughter and frustration; it seemed odd for a man I hadn’t seen in so long to be giving me advice on how to threaten boys. I almost put the letter down; maybe I should have.

I hope you are doing well in school and not giving your mom much trouble.

I know I have not been a good father. I would apologize, but I know I would not gain your forgiveness, and in truth, I do not want it. I would have taken you with me if your mother had not hid you from me. You probably don’t even remember that day; I suppose it is better that way.

I do need you to know what I have found, and why I left. I knew there was something more to your mark than the doctors could tell us. When I was in college, a young man by the name of Thom, who was in one of my classes, had something similar; and one day we found him gone, his dorm room trashed.

I was so afraid that the same would happen to you, that you would be taken from me, my precious daughter. And so, when your mom would not listen, I left to find proof. And I found it, Jocelyn!

Your mark is special; it is magical. Your mark means you can do magic. They call it Koosa! It took many years, but I found a group of people who find those with marks such as yours and save them from the people who took my friend from college. I do not want you to disappear. I only hope that those who would harm you haven’t already found you.

The people I found gave me a rock to give to you. They call it a birthstone. It will help them find you. All you have to do is touch it and it will call to them, and lead them to you. Isn’t that wonderful? I found a way to save you! I am told it may hurt when you touch the stone, so please be careful. But, touch it as soon as you can so you can be saved, and I can see you again.

Love Always,

Your Father, Jeffery Despain

I read it once, then again, and again. Then I cried for at least twenty minutes. My poor father! The smart, beautiful man that my mother had fallen in love with had lost his mind. He was talking about magic like it was real and referring me to cults so that I could be saved. I think I cried myself to sleep, clutching the necklace Ryland had given me in one hand and the cursed bead my father had given me in the other.