Casting Flames

Chapter Six

When we were young, Ella and I used to play in this rusty old car outside our house. We liked to imagine what it would be like if it still worked. Let's go shopping, I really need a new pair of shoes, she said. I saw this hat yesterday that was to die for, I'd say, my nose stuck in the air like a snob.

I never knew those days of pretending would help me today. But now I'm thankful for all the make believe because it turns out, pretending with adults is a lot harder.

"Again," Jackson says over the intercom.

I'm in a wide room that's made up of thick white tiles so glossy I can see a blurry reflection of myself in them. There is a glass window on the wall beside me where Jackson, two soldiers, and two people in white lab coats stand. They all stare at me through the window pane, and I can see the irritation growing over Jackson's face. For some reason, it amuses me, but it also slightly scares me. I don't know what else I can do to make him buy this act.

I try my best not to roll my eyes as I place my hand on the broken wing of the little grey bird, and then pretend to try to heal it.

I give it thirty seconds this time, ten seconds less than the others, before I give up. "It's not working." I cross my arms.

"For Christ's sake," I hear him mumble, and then suddenly, he's pressing through the door, Fritz right behind him.

It takes me too long to see he has his gun out. And it takes me too long to realize why Fritz is walking to the other side of him. As soon as Jackson points the gun at the soldier, I realize I can't keep lying.

"Wait!" The word mixes with the loud bang. Anger floods to the surface, it explodes in my chest and in my fists and I swing at Jackson but he quickly blocks me and shoves me away from him, making me fall to the floor right next to the soldier bleeding out on the white tile.

"Heal him or he dies." I'm still reeling from my anger—or maybe it's Jackson's—probably both. But no matter how much I might hate this man, I don't know if I can live with letting someone die because of me.

I yank off my white shirt, only a white tank top underneath, and press the cloth to the man's stomach.

"Jackson, I can't do this. You can't just let your soldier die."

"I couldn't care less if he dies." He beams at me. "What I care about is getting you to start actually trying." He is no longer in the room with us. Now, he is safely behind the wall, protected by a thick, bulletproof glass barrier.

I look to the soldier, wondering if his life is worth mine. Trying to choose between myself and him. I know what my mother would tell me to do. But I also know what Ella would tell me to do.

With the sick people in the town it was different. They weren't my family, and it wasn't my fault they were dying. Most of them threatened me first, begged second. If they had started begging first, I might have actually considered it. But mom kept telling me that it's a miracle they didn't find me already. That no one sensed my power. That if I even considered helping anyone else she would find a way to bind my power again. So I didn't. I just ignored them, told them I had no idea what they were talking about. Ella's recovery was a miracle, not magic. But it obviously didn't work. They reported me, and then they ripped me from my family, dragged me from the only home I've ever known.

I swore to myself that I'd never listen to my mother's advice again. Now, I try and follow Ella's voice instead.

"Please... don't—let—me die," Fritz chokes. "I have a daughter—"

"Shut up," I snap, grabbing the bird cage and yanking it to the floor. "I'm not going to let you die."

I punch at the cage, hoping that the metal bars might break from the impact, but they only bend. So instead, I work at the cage door, pressing my palm against the corner of the door until red beads begin to appear along the center of my hand, just like before.

As soon as I begin to bleed, the man begins to cough up his own blood, his body shaking as he starts to seize or shut down or something. I drop my blood on the bullet wound. Then I press my bloody hands against his chest, whispering the words I've practiced a million times.

The language is foreign to me, the sentences and chants complete gibberish, but I know they work because I've used the spell before. And I know I can do this.

Suddenly he stops shaking, and I think he may have stopped breathing and I'm afraid I've failed. I'm terrified that he's dead and my hands start shaking now because it's all my fault. I should never have tried to pretend to do this—I should have known that something like this would happen. And guilt and rage swarm together inside me until my mind is foggy and I can hardly see straight. Because it isn't really my fault, it's Jackson's.

I begin to rise to my feet, ready to break through that glass and strangle him with my bare hands.

Fritz twitches, and I lift my hand from the hole on his stomach and watch as the skin begins to grow, the blood remains, but it's healing. Within seconds, the hole is replaced by a large scar, one he'll have the rest of his life.

But I did it. I saved him. And most likely, I've alerted the Casters to where I am.

I turn to the glass, the guilt gone, leaving rage alone. And I don't even think twice before I begin chanting another spell under my breath... one I've always wanted to try.

"Ignisuis," the word comes out as a sonic boom, cracking the glass protecting Jackson. The other soldier lifts his guns and points it at me, but Jackson raises out a hand, watching me, calm as ever as I shout the word again and again until the glass shatters between us. He holds out his arms to protect himself, and I so wish a piece would strike him in the throat.

The only thing I see is the diamond-like glass sparkling as it flies through the air. The only thing I hear is shattering and cracking and falling of shards until the whole observation area is covered in a layer of shiny dust.

And I'm breathing so fast I think my heart might explode.

"Well done Emery." The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "I've had your mother's medical file sent to your room."

"You ass—" I step after him, but he spins around, placing himself directly in front of me so that there is only an inch between our faces.

"This is what you agreed to. You decided to sell your soul for your family. Now you must live with consequences." He begins to turn. "Next time, don't give me that feign attempt. I do not like having my time wasted."

"Jackson," I demand, but he continues to walk away. "If you ever make me do that again I will kill you."

"I'll say it again, love." He doesn't even look at me as he pulls open a door. "Stop lying."

As he disappears I grab a shard of glass and chuck at the door behind him, making the people still in the room jump. But Jackson doesn't return. He doesn't punish me. He doesn't even acknowledge my defiance.

He just belittles me.

And I have just discovered something about myself I never knew before. The one thing I hate more than being taunted, is being belittled.