TORCH (13 page)

“First, my dad’s not setting the fires. And second, if he were, he wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“Except maybe a dog. To make a point.”

I know Kai’s baiting me, but his face is expressionless. The mere possibility that he believes what he’s saying causes exactly the reaction he’s hoping for. There’s a tightness in my head, and then I feel heat coming down my arm. A fireball the size of cherry tomato drops off my fingertips. It rolls along the deck a short way and into the pool, where it fizzles out.

“Impressive,” Kai says, smirking. “If that’s all the firepower your dad has, I guess my dad’s pretty safe.”

The next fireball is bigger and faster, but I can’t direct it, and into the pool it goes.

Kai laughs. “Oh, sorry. I guess I’m supposed to be scared.”

This time I feel the heat burst from my arm and I flick my hand at the right moment to send it toward him. It’s faster, but barely skimming the deck and he steps aside to let it hit the wall. It rolls back to the pool.

“This is sad,” he says, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “I thought you might be a match for me, but you’re not even in the same league.”

So he doesn’t think I’m good enough for him. I lock on his eyes, and see the exact moment when his arrogance is replaced by shock. His shoves himself off the wall and lunges to one side. A fireball about the size of a golf ball hits exactly where his crotch would have been. It bounces off the wall and rolls back toward me. I stomp on it with one foot and smell burning rubber.

“Hey,” Kai says, “this is an exercise. Don’t get vindictive.”

I fire again, not specifically aiming for his crotch, but somehow that’s where it goes. This time it’s much faster, like an indigo comet with a tail, and it nearly buzzes Kai as he leaps aside.

“Cut it out,” he says.

I advance a few steps. “You asked for it. You’re getting it.”

I flick again, harder, feeling a surge of adrenaline. The fireball moves so fast, all I see is sparks. And when it reaches Kai, he shimmers. His features disappear, leaving only an outline filled with silver. The fireball hits and fizzles, just as it did in the pool. And when Kai takes human form again, he’s moved a few feet to the left. And he’s naked. His swim trunks are lying on the deck. “Enough,” he says.

“One more. For being a jerk.”

It’s easy now to let it go. What’s hard is stopping. One more becomes two more and then four. Each time, Kai shimmers out of the way and when I can’t connect, it makes me even angrier. There’s no relief with each shot. It doesn’t feel good at all. In fact, it feels dark and compulsive, as if someone else is driving my body. I try firing a few feet beyond Kai, but he anticipates it and moves, until he’s a constant silvery blur. An impossible target.

In disgust, I toss a last fireball deliberately at the wall. It ricochets back so fast that I can’t jump aside. The fire hits me square in the belly and my sweatshirt bursts into flames. Before I have time to react, something hits me hard and I’m in the pool, under water. I kick, trying to get to the surface, but it’s like the water is closing in on me, pulling me down. For a second, I accept that I’m drowning and stop fighting. But then a surge of energy runs through me and I thrash wildly, hitting someone. I feel hands on my waist, pushing me up. The hands move down to my butt and with one shove, I’m back on the deck, lying on my side, gasping. My throat and lungs sting, as if I inhaled chlorine directly.

Kai gets out of the pool and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to finish me off. Instead, he pulls on his trunks, and sits cross-legged beside me, watching. When I catch my breath, he says, “That was awesome.”Leaning down, he kisses the crease behind my elbow. “
You’re
awesome.”

Kai offers me two choices. “Meatball or chicken?”

He’s sitting in the middle of the diving board, his legs dangling on either side. I’m sitting on the deck end, the railing in easy reach. I have no intention of taking another dip tonight.

I love that he’s brought us a picnic: two subs, two apples, and four candy bars. “Half of each,” I say.

At Kai’s suggestion, I stripped off my wet jeans and the remains of my T-shirt. I used the damp towel he handed me to dry myself off, and put my jacket on over my bra. He pretended not to peek, and I pretended not to notice him peeking. Then I wrapped his towel around my waist.

We eat the first half of our sandwich in silence, and I’m surprised at how hungry I am. Finally he asks, “How does your butt feel?” Then he realizes how that sounds. “Uh, sorry. Obviously I didn’t take the time to make an assessment.”

My face is burning, in a safe way, but I’m pretty sure he can’t see it in the muted light. “It’s fine,” I say. “No worse than my stomach.”

My fireball left a round red mark that’s already blistering. It looks terrible, but the pain is more like a dull, receding ache. The places where Kai touched me, on the other hand, are throbbing. I lean to one side to take the pressure off my butt.

“Do you always lose your clothes?” I ask.

“Only if I fully shift,” he says. “I try not to unless I have to. Can make for some awkward situations. Like tonight. Luckily, you were too mad to care.”

“Now I see why you keep a stack of clothes in your trunk.”

“I buy in volume,” he says, handing me the other half sandwich. I reach over and take it, careful not to touch his fingers with my own. “So listen. You know I was just goading you, right?”

I nod. “Well,
now
. It felt real at the time.”

“I overdid it. I’m sorry. I just wanted—”

“To see what I could do.”

“And for
you
to see what you could do.”

I open the sandwich and pluck off the tomatoes, which Kai carefully takes and adds to his own sub. “I saw what I
couldn’t
do,” I say. “Which is stop.”

“You stopped,” he says. “Your mistake was the parting blow. A toss-off that backfired.”

“Big time.” I reassemble my sandwich and take a bite.

He smiles at me around a huge mouthful. “No need to thank me.”

“Then I won’t.” Now I understand why he got so angry when I saved him. He was beaten at his own game, like I just got beaten by my own game tonight. My pride is wounded, but the pain in my butt drowns everything else out. “That day, when I saved you... Did you know what I was?”

He puts the sandwich down to give me his full attention. “Not exactly. I looked up at you and felt something.”

“Something bad?”

“It was like a warning light going off in the car.”

"You do know I didn't hit you on purpose, right?"

He laughs and starts eating again. “Yeah. At that point, you were an empty threat. Not anymore.”

“Do you get that warning with all Torches?”

“I’ve never had that feeling before, but Torches cloak themselves. Just like Floods do.”

Now I put my sandwich down. “How?”

“You put up a mental shield. It takes a lot of practice, and obviously I’m not that good at it yet, because you can sense me.”

I grin at him. “Like a blanket of fog rolling in. What do sense from me?”

He finishes the last bite and swallows before answering.  “Heat. Just what you’d expect.” Leaning forward, he takes the edge of the towel that’s wrapped around me and polishes an apple before handing it to me. “And for the record, it’s not such a bad feeling, anymore.”

“Fog cools my hot head.” I take the apple, purposely letting my fingertips brush his. I jerk my hand back, dropping the apple. It feels like I held my fingers to a hot pan. “Ow. If you’re water, why does it burn when I touch you?”

“It’s like your antibodies rush to reject an attack,” he says. “That’s why I flood when you get too close.”

“So I’m really burning myself?”

“I think that’s how it works. I haven’t had a lot of experience.”

The apple bobs on the surface of the pool. I leave it there and move on to the candy bar.

Soon, I am feeling at ease enough to chat about my family. I tell him about Graham, and about how strange and awkward everything’s been since Nate died.

Kai nods sympathetically. “When you’re like this—” He points from himself to me and back. “It’s just a matter of time before you lose someone you love. My aunt and my cousin disappeared years ago in L.A.”

“Fire?” I ask, avoiding his eyes.

“Probably. That’s why my Dad wanted us to grow up in Rosewood, a safe place. Or a safer place. Rosewood is supposed to be it.”

“Why did you drop out of school last year?” I ask.

“It just got too much for awhile. I spent the first half of the year in denial, and the second half training.” Digging another candy bar out of his bag, he unwraps it slides a piece toward me across the diving board. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He can ask anything, but if answering puts my family at risk, I won’t answer.

“The fires. How do you know about them?”

This one may come back to bite me, but since he helped me at Dora’s, and may help me again, I want to be honest. “Dreams,” I say. “They started off pretty vague, but now I can usually figure out where the fire is and sometimes get there before someone calls it in. But you’ve beaten me there.”

“My dad texts me, if I’m closer, and I run through to make sure there’s no one stuck inside a burning building. Then I leave before anyone sees me.”

In trading secrets with the opposition, I realize we share the same goals.

Kai catches the sleeve of my hoodie, careful not to touch my skin. “Can you see who’s starting them?”

I meet his eyes briefly and look away. “No. But I’ve seen tubs of starter fluid and a barbeque lighter.”

“You think it’s a Flood?” he asks, doubtfully.

“It could be anyone. But my dad doesn’t need help starting a fire.”

I can tell Kai knows he isn’t getting the full story, but he’s willing to settle for the moment. “No matter who it is, this person is dangerous. Every fire puts people at risk—including my dad.”

“I know. Regan’s dad, too. If I could stop it, I would.”

“Let me help you. You can’t call it in, I get that. But if you’re going to head out to a fire, I’ll meet you there. Maybe we’ll be able to ID the arsonist. At least we could minimize the damage he’s causing.”

Climbing down from the diving board, I say, “I never said it was a guy.”

He comes after me and we collect our things. “Just call me. You know I can help.”

I lift my hoodie and see that the blisters have nearly healed. The skin on my stomach is still pink but it doesn’t hurt. “Maybe I don’t need help,” I say.

I
expected my dad to be mad at me—and he is—but I didn’t expect him to be mad at Ms. Giddon. After all, I deliberately kicked Bianca in the chest, with every hope of stunning her, or at least shutting her up. Yet he’s glaring at the gym teacher as if she’s demented for demanding I be permanently expelled from Eastfield. Even I can tell it’s her opening bid. This is a negotiation. He needs to come up with a calm counter offer, not lean forward to intimidate Ms. Giddon. She’s about half his size.

“That’s outrageous,” Dad says. “Accidents happen in sports all the time.”

Sitting up straighter in her chair, Ms. Giddon glares right back at my dad. “It wasn’t an accident and I won’t have violence in my dojo.”

“It’s a martial art,” Dad says. “Isn’t violence the point?”

“Discipline is the point,” she says. “And Phoenix apparently doesn’t have any.”

“She’s a champion swimmer,” Dad says. “She’s got plenty of discipline.”

Mrs. Larken, an older and even prettier version of her daughter, says, “She hit a boy in the pool and nearly killed him. There’s a pattern here.”

Mrs. Larken, Ms. Giddon and my dad have been doing all the talking. Principal McCabe has been silently twisting a pen in his hands as we sit around the table in his office. Chief Larken has been leaning back, arms crossed, observing. He’s a big man, with a shiny bald head and a bushy mustache.

“There’s no pattern,” Dad says. “Phoenix has never even set foot in a principal’s office before. She’s a good student and an excellent athlete.”

Ms. Giddon rolls her eyes. “I don’t know about that.”