Extraordinary (The Extraordinary Saga #4)

Chapter 2

Caeden's hands were on fire. That was not an expression, not a figure of speech, or even an exaggeration. His hands were literally on fire.

After he'd found Ivy in the woods, something had just seemed off. Feeling kind of feverish, he had helped her and their mom unpack the few moving boxes that had been stowed in the trunk of the car. By early nightfall, the moving truck had come with the rest of their things and they had unpacked the bare minimum (mattresses, bed frames, springboards, etc.) and resolved to leave the rest for the morning.

By the time Caeden could physically lay down in his new room, which he had claimed for his own earlier, it was hours past midnight. Usually staying up late didn't bother him, but considering he woke up three hours later with hands ablaze, he guessed the sleep schedule had, in fact, bothered him.

There was no way he was seeing what was in front of his eyes. It just wasn't possible. And yet... it seemed so real.

Once he had established that the fire was indeed real - and indeed dangerous - he tried to smack it off. It didn't go out. But when he calmed down enough to form a coherent thought, he acknowledged that the flames weren't hurting him. And there was nothing nearby that could've started the fire, except maybe himself. Was that even possible?

Whispering curses he never would've said had his mother or sister been around, he jerked his hands away from the bed. One end of the sheet was smoldering. He needed to do something to put it out, and fast.

Careful to keep his hands from touching anything flammable, he stumbled across the blank bedroom and hallway and into the bathroom. He ran the faucet on the coldest setting possible. When the fire was out and the only proof he had was a whole lot of steam and smoke, he allowed himself to relax.

Leaning against the bathroom door, he slid down to the ground. He realized that with every heaved breath, he was shaking. He put his cold, wet, thankfully non-flaming hands to his forehead, feeling the water drip off his fingers and down his face.

What the hell just happened?

He focused his attention on his hands, knowing full well that he probably shouldn't. But he was interested. He had to know.

The second his mind thought of an open flame, one burst out on his palm.

Momentarily stunned, he did nothing but watch as the fire grew and grew in his grip. As it was about to spiral out of control, a sudden force seemed to take over him, and forcefully he closed his hand in a fist, extinguishing the mystery flame.

He sighed a shaky sigh of relief. Whatever this fire was, he had power over it. That meant he could learn to control it. Nothing had to change.

He stumbled out of the bathroom in a daze, brought back to his senses by his sister sitting outside of his bedroom door.

"Ivy," he started, exhausted and exasperated and not willing to deal with her. "It's four in the morning. What are you doing?"

She stood, her brown eyes leveling at about his nose. He had never liked how tall Ivy was; rather, he never liked how short he was. She was nearly four years younger than him, and yet she was almost his height.

"I never sleep the first night in a new place," Ivy told him.

Caeden shrugged, very aware of a certain buzzing in his hands that he was sure wasn't there the night before.

"Alright, maybe I can't sleep either," he admitted. "Just go back to your own room. It'll feel more like home in the morning."

Ivy stared at him for a moment, a moment that felt much longer in the dead of night than it would have in broad daylight. In the dim light, her dark eyes were disrupted by flecks of amber, the same golden color that made up the depths of his own eyes.

"This isn't just about the move, is it?" She asked. "Something else is bothering you."

He blinked, a bit startled by how much she had caught on. A few possibilities ran through his head, and he had settled on one in particular (a heartfelt, semi-true story about how being back in the valley was weighing on him), when his hand decided it had other ideas.

Ivy gasped at the sight of the open flame, the bright orange giving way to tips of blue as Caeden realized what was going on. He shook it out quickly, but the damage had already been done. The memory of the fire stood out in his mind's eye, lighting the place up, even though the hallway was still quite dark.

Even in the low light, Caeden could see the color drain out of Ivy's face. Before she could scream or run away or get the wrong idea, he tried to clear up what little of the situation he could.

"I didn't mean it." He held his hands up in surrender, but Ivy took that the wrong way and flinched, expecting fire. He put them down, keeping them in sight so Ivy knew he wasn't trying to spawn any fires. "It's... new."

That was a weak justification, for sure, but it was the best he could do at four in the morning.

Ivy stared at him. "Where's the match?"

"Match?" At that moment it struck him; pretending he had a fire starter on him would have made the entire situation a lot easier to explain. He wondered if it was too late for that.

"Come on, you expect me to believe you started a fire with your bare hands?"

"I-" He paused, making up his mind and turning away from her. "Goodnight, Ivy. Whatever you think you saw, you didn't. Do me a favor and don't tell mom."

Ignoring Ivy's gaping look, Caeden made his way to his bedroom, taking relief in the click of the lock as it latched shut. Ivy pounded on the door, calling his name, but he simply waited a few minutes and she gave up.

His mind felt fuzzy; he was sure he'd imagined most of what had happened. By morning, everything would be back to normal. He was just on edge from the move. There would have been no fires, no argument, no nothing. Just a brand new house.

But when he woke up the next morning, undeniable proof of the episode stared back at him. His long-sleeve  shirt was singed from the flame, and ashes were smudged all over his hands.