I Need The Fire

Part 2

"Just breathe," my dad tells me, his voice gentle and soothing. "Don't let the fire control you. You command the flames, not the other way around." I nod and focus on his words as I slowly inhale and exhale. 

My dad's elemental ability as a Guster has made it so that he can help me control the fire that is inevitable. My hand brushes against my freckled face, and I can feel water streaming down to my chin. What am I supposed to do now? Hide my pyrokinesis? Will I turn insane like Brant and Fintian?  If only this really was a fever and a few elixirs could make me better. But no. This will never be over, and all because I wanted to be an empath. Damn it, if I had just not asked Forkle to trigger my abilities...

"Marella, your hand." My dad's voice is calm but insistent, and it pulls me from my musings. I look down at my hands and am frustrated, but rather unsurprised to find that my right palm is ablaze. I replay my dad's advice in my head. Breath. Don't let the fire control you. Determined, I breathe in and out, pushing any annoyance away and trying to command the fire. But it's not that easy. I hear now what I didn't hear when I first manifested. The fire dances in front of my eyes, calling for me, pleading. The more I focus on the pull, the more it envelopes me, and I start to give in, feeding the flames and watching them grow and make their way up my arm. The power of the blaze washes over me, its power and beauty overwhelming my senses.

"Marella! Snap out of it! Don't you dare give in to the pull." My dad's sharp voice cuts through my daze like a knife, bringing me back to reality. "Be strong."

I nod, back straightening, and try again. I slow down my breathing and try to focus on the sensation of the warmth against my skin. The flames pulse and taunt and beg, but I grit my teeth, refusing to go along. You command the flames.

"You need to stop thinking of the flames as something other. You are connected to the fire as surely as you are to your arm."

I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, but it's my only clue to controlling the flames, so I take a stab. I focus once again on the heat on my skin, trying to feel past my arm and into the roaring fire. My eyes narrow and my brow scrunches as I imagine the exact line where my arm ends and the blaze begins, and start to blur the border. The calling of the heat gets stronger and stronger as I feel myself connect to the pyre, but I understand what my dad was saying now. This fire is a part of me, an extension of my body, and when I focus, I can feel it's movements like the contractions of my own limbs. I hone in on the pulsing of the flames, and slowly, shakily, I make them contract. After a solid two minutes of laborious effort, the flames finally peter out, leaving me exhausted but swelling with pride.

"If you let the fire roam free, people will get hurt Marella." The soft words are just what it takes to burst my bubble of pride. "When I first manifested as a Guster, my mentor warned me of the responsibilities and dangers that come with power. He explained that I needed to show restraint and take control. During a hike with your mother, I nearly broke her ankle trying to channel the wind." My dad laughed before returning to his usual self, his face kind but stern. "This is a great power -" I interrupted my dad because I was getting a little sick of this stay safe, be smart speech. I'd heard it enough times already, and it was only giving me a headache. 

"Thanks, Dad, really, but I promise I'll be smart with my powers. You don't need to give me the Grady speech about how with great power comes great responsibility. I've got it." Dad cocked an eyebrow in confusion, and opened his mouth to reply, but instead took my hand and nodded. 

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I can't count the number of Emissaries outside my house if I wanted to. Capes and cloaks blur as the group rushes over to see what has caused the commotion. People are asking questions and demanding answers, mostly directed at my dad, and all I can think to do is shake my head.

"Miss Redek, we need you to stay out here while we evaluate the situation. We are not sure yet the cause of this fire, or the damage, but not to worry." 

Then, in hushed tones to my father, "What was the cause here? Was it..." the voice trailed off, but we all know what the unspoken words are. Did Crazy Caprice Redek start the fire? Was she having an "off" day? God, I hate the way people treat us, treat her, like they understand. I can hear the pity in their voices and see the sad little looks they throw our way. 

"Oh, that poor family, what they must be going through..."

"And the girl, growing up with a mentally disturbed mother. That must be so difficult for her!"

I snap back to the situation at hand, just in time to see my mother run through the door. Her eyes are wide, her hair is straggly, and she has dark shadows under her eyes. The sash on her sild blue tunic hangs untied by her waist. She looks like she does on bad days, which is super weird because an hour ago she was completely fine. All talking immediately ceases, as the emissaries look anywhere but at my mother's eyes.

No doubt they're wondering whether Crazy Caprise Redek is about to yell at them or burst into tears. I clench my fists and feel flames form at the tips of my knuckles. I shove my hand into my pocket, which is stuffed full of quick-snuff, and look around at the faces in the room in terror. None of them have noticed my slip. They're all still not-looking at my mom. I let out a quick sigh of relief as my mom opens her mouth to speak.

"It was me," she says her voice small and guilty. My eyes widen. What is she doing?  "I was lighting a candle and, well I guess it got a little out of hand." She continues, shrugging innocently at the Emissaries.

"Caprise," A tall dark-haired man says in a gentle voice. 

Before he can continue, my mom, her face contorted with sudden rage, interrupts. "How dare you talk to me like a child! I am a fully functioning adult and I do not appreciate your disrespect!" But even though mom's expression is angry, her eyes portray only determination. As I take this in, the truth of the situation hits me. This is an act. She's taking responsibility for my mess. She's humiliating herself, giving in to the oh-so-popular image of her as a madwoman, all to protect me.

My eyes water with gratitude as I am hit with a fresh wave of hope and admiration. People here care about me, so whatever happens, I'm going to be okay. I take this opportunity to slip up to my room, making a mental note to thank my mom after the Emmesaries leave. No doubt they'll just chalk the situation up to another accident at the Redek house, and forget about the whole thing by tomorrow.

I take a breath, and firmly, I pick up the imparter lying on my bedspread. Part of me wants to forget about my manifestation and run a thousand miles away, ignoring my problems. But I know that's not a valid option. There's no going back now.