My eyes automatically close. Okay, I want to see my feet as they lift off the ground, I want to see the people turn into ants, but at the same time, I know we’re high off the ground, and if I open my eyes, I know I might freak out. And I want to savor this moment.
We’re sharing the sky with the fireworks now, and I can feel their heat and electricity in the air. Even though my eyelids, I can see the colors ripping open the twilight. Instinct makes me cringe, closer to Alistair, squeezing his hand so tightly that I can feel my sweat on his palms.
“Are you’re okay?” he whispers, his voice light as the night breeze tries to carry it away from me.
“I think so.”
“Good. We’re making a quick detour; I thought of something else we need to do. Hold on tight.”
I feel him swoop back toward the ground, the air rushing against my cheeks. It feels like we’re going down fast, crashing, but my feet lightly land on the ground, as graceful as a simple step.
He’s taken us to the Reflecting Pool outside the Lincoln Memorial, where our famous present looks sternly down at you and the Washington Monument looms in the background. It’s impossible to not feel insignificant here.
“Why here?” I ask, but Alistair is busy staring Lincoln back down.
“Who is he?”
“Abraham Lincoln. He was our president a long time ago, during the Civil War. He freed the slaves and all that. Someone shot him, though.”
“Oh.” Alistair shrugs. Then he walks to the Reflecting Pool, right up to the edge. He kneels beside the water, scoops up a handful. And with a swift flick of his wrist, he splashes it at me.
“Alistair!” I shake the water out of my face, scowling. “You can’t do that. This is a national monument and . . .”
“I’m just living,” he says innocently.
“Can you live without splashing water on me?” I join him at the edge of the pool, grabbing his wrist before he can move again.
“The point of living, Sylvie, is not doing what others tell you.”
“So,” I run my fingers across his wrist, staring back at him with a teasing look in his eyes. There’s a fluttering inside my ribs that I haven’t felt in a long time. “if my version of living involved pushing you into this pool, right now, that would be acceptable?”
He winces, hit with his own weapon.
“Would it?” I ask again, leaning my forehead against his.
Alistair sighs. “I suppose so. But I’ll have you know, these wings take a rather long time to dry off.”
I put my hand on his back, giving him a gentle shove, and he cringes, braced for the impact, but it’s not even enough to knock him over.
“Psyche,” I say and kiss his cheek before I can think what are you doing?
I’m in love with Alistair, and I know it. I’ve been in love with him all day, since he fell out of the tree and landed in my life. I’m in love with Alistair, and he’s going to burst into flames, just like Harris. He’s going to leave me, as suddenly and violently as Harris did.
He must be thinking it too, because he puts his arm around my shoulder. “I won’t leave you, Sylvie. Not like that.”
“But the flames . . .”
“Yes, there will be flames. But it will be a nice kind of burning, I know it.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“You know. It will be warm. Comforting. Like coming inside on a cold day. Like this jacket you’re letting me wear. Comforting warmth.”
“There’s no such thing as nice burning.”
“We’ll see.” Alistair reaches into the Reflecting Pool again, scooping up a handful of water. He leans closer to me, letting the water drip down my arms, droplets falling on my collarbone, staining my knees.
“Shit, that’s cold! What are you—”
“Ssh.” He pulls a feather out of his wings, and I notice that he bites his lip in pain this time. He looks paler all of a sudden, his eyes suddenly the brightest blue against the white backdrop of his skin. Maybe, when you realize that you love someone, you start to worry. You start seeing every little things that’s wrong with them.
Like he did for the sick boy on the Metro, Alistair runs the shimmering feather lightly up and down my arm. The coldness disappears as the droplets dry on my skin, replaced with the smooth warmth of the feather.
“You can’t heal me.”
“I’m a phoenix,” Alistair says harshly. “I can do anything, Sylvie. I’m fucking magical.”
I crack up them, because when you read stories about the beautiful creatures, you never picture words like that coming from their elegant mouths. But Alistair has seen the world, I remind myself. Alistair knows more than I do.
Then Alistair is grinning too, and we’re in each other’s arms again, his wings wrapped protectively around me. At that moment, there’s no death, no cancer or fire, and there’s no awkward stares from passers-bys, there’s nothing in the world that matters to me.
The scar on my wrist itches, and I absently scratch at it with my arms still around Alistair’s neck.
If I looked closely, I would have realize that there was no scar there.
“Shall we?” Alistair asks, offering me his arm.
I look toward the fireworks in the distance, and swallow my fears. I pick up Alistair’s feather from the sidewalk and stick it in my hair. We shall.
This time, I don’t even close my eyes.
~ Fun fact learned while writing this chapter: I always called it the Reflection Pool, but apparently it's more commonly called the Reflecting Pool . . .and I'm from Washington,D.C., so it was a little awkward to realize that I didn't know that after living there for so long.
One chapter left! I'm honestly glad to know the end is in sight, but hopefully you've been enjoying it/don't want it to end! :D
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Our Ashes Will Fly
Short StoryI'm in love with a boy. He has red hair and blue eyes, and skin as pretty and perfect as marble. And one of these days, he's going to burst into flames.
