My body feels tender when I come to, much like it did the first few days after I started running. Bright side: the couch is finally showing the smallest bit of give. Apparently, we both needed to be broken in.
“Too close,” I murmur. They all back up like I’ve unleashed the plague on them.
“Temperature check?” Ryan probes warily.
“I’m cool,” I reply hoarsely. Someone’s taken a blowtorch to my throat. Me. I’m that someone. “I could stand something to wash down the cinders, though.”
“By all means.” Ryan motions Tally to the kitchen.
She makes no attempt to mask her indignation over playing barmaid. When she returns to the living room, I snatch the water from her, finding my thirst outweighs my manners. I swallow it down in two large gulps.
“Very ladylike, Wildfire.” She takes the glass to refill it.
“Thank you,” I manage on her second trip.
Ryan replaces the wet rag I didn’t notice on my forehead with a cooler one. I moan, and Tally smirks. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Just a taste of what you can look forward to when you go full-on Big Bang,” Tally persists.
I try to ignore her, but in the volcanic ashtermath of my eruption, it’s difficult to remain hopeful I can keep from transitioning. Instead, I turn my attention to Declan, who was unfortunate enough to sit ringside in my moment of poor self-control. The guilt he expresses softens his rugged appearance.
“You think you did this?” I scoff. “I did this. Not you. Me. I need to get a freaking grip.”
“If what Declan tells me is true,” Ryan interjects, “that might be tougher than anticipated.”
“More laps?”
“I don’t think that’ll help,” Ryan admits.
I finish a third glass of water, sitting it on the table beside me. Tally grabs it, shoots me a dirty look, and marches it into the kitchen. Of course water rings concern her. My bad.
“Actually, the running probably saved you from completing the transition,” Ryan reasons.
“If you hadn’t emptied the tank, you would’ve gone ka-BOOM,” Tally muses.
“If your faith was on par with your ego, she’d stand a fighting chance,” Declan clips.
“Guys,” I stop them. “I’m not in the mood to witness another domestic dispute, engaging as it typically is.”
Grumbling, Tally sits on the opposite end of the couch, feigning a yawn. “Boring,” she mouths.
“Since I’d burned through most of the fire, I lost control but didn’t transition?”
“I believe so.” Ryan offers me an encouraging smile. “That’s the good thing.”
“The bad thing?”
“We’ve identified your specialty,” he says hesitantly, gauging my response.
“Like you all have specialties. The healing, flying, and duplicity?”
“Exactly like that.”
“When’s the last time you let your emotions get the better of you?” Declan prompts.
“Rarely. Maybe more with you guys,” I note.
“Seriously? Maybe with us?” Tally rolls her eyes. “Definitely more with us.”
“You bring out the hot head in me, Tally.”
“The more time you spend with someone, the more familiar you become with their emotions,” Ryan coaches. “Ignoring them becomes a bigger struggle.”
“I don’t dwell on how people are feeling. It takes all my focus to keep myself locked up so tight.”
“Ah-ha!” Tally exclaims. “You have the audacity to call me self-absorbed.”
“Can’t you go find someone else to torture?”
“Your specialty is empathy,” Ryan redirects. “Emotions are the catalyst for your flame. You’re attuned, albeit subconsciously, to emotions. Your interpretation of those emotions impacts your fire.”
Again, not hot news to me. It’s why I’ve put so much effort into my carefully erected shield of indifference. “Just because I don’t put up a fight—for good reason, mind you—doesn’t mean I’m a mindless drone. I pick my battles.”
“It’s normal for you to tear up like a wee baby when someone vomits personal issues?” Tally challenges.
“No, not usually,” I contend. “It was an intense story. Got me right in the feels.”
“Your reaction had nothing to do with how Declan was feeling?” she pushes. “Get off it, Torpedette. Declan isn’t the entertainer here.”
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Her rightness annoys me. I’m quick to sense how people are feeling. I assumed working so diligently to douse my emotions made me more perceptive to the emotions of others, but I didn’t consider transference. “This is bad,” I mutter.
“Terrible,” Tally agrees.
Her horrified expression gives nothing away, but the enthusiasm radiating off her indicates a harebrained scheme in queue. “Whatever it is, forget it,” I warn her.
Ryan pats my knee. His projected sincerity is validation. From the moment we met, calm has compelled me. He’s soft, easy to appreciate, and genuinely cares for people. I trust him absolutely, despite barely knowing him for a week.
Excellent, Superego snips. Not only do your own feelings inflame the spark, now you have a book of matches waving themselves in your face, too.
“Uncomfortable,” I mumble, and they all still. “Why do you do that? I mean, I was kind of grateful for it at first, but now it’s just irritating.”
They all look at each other.
“Am I missing something?”
Declan’s clearly amused. “They must feel the same thing I do when you say that.”
Ryan nods, and Tally sneers.
“My uncomfortable makes you uncomfortable?”
Tally huffs, Declan sighs, and Ryan looks so proud he could burst. I concentrate on him, letting go of Declan’s brooding and Tally’s obnicity. Ryan’s pleasant nature is my anchor point.
“Cool. I can exercise mentally, too. What a relief. My body can’t handle running this much daily.”
“When you play with fire, you get burned,” Tally cautions. “On second thought, play away. I can’t wait to see what sort of transition you have.”
“She may not transition,” Ryan reminds her.
“Declan spent a century in space. You could end up in the earth’s hot core for twice as long.”
“What happened to you?” I return fire.
That shuts her up. Her fear spreads like a million tiny spiders, and when I put my energy into experiencing it with her, the emotion rises outside her body in the form of a faintly colored mist. It’s tangible, well, tangible as mist can be.
I suffer first her fear, then her sadness. I want it to stop. What we’re sharing is something personal to her and an invasion of her privacy. Added to that, I don’t want to empathize with her. I don’t want to care about her, full stop. It’s best she stays the superficial creature she’s made herself out to be.
“The voice,” I divert the Tally trainwreck. “Did it belong to someone, Declan?”
Tally laughs, Declan appears embarrassed, and Ryan looks hopeful.
“It wasn’t a trick question.”
Declan sniffs hard. “It wasn’t a real person, no.”
“We don’t know that,” Ryan argues.
“Puh-lease!” Tally says dramatically. “He’s looked for her for three centuries. No luck. Time to let go.”
Declan forces a smile for my benefit before walking upstairs without saying another word.
“Let me guess, you thought his air affinity related to his interest in music?” Tally tuts.
I shrug.
“He’s been trying to find her since before me. He expected me to be her.”
Declan was right to leave. Tally has a nasty habit of repeatedly sticking hot pokers in sore spots.
“He made her up because he was alone too long. It’s an interesting hobby for him, anyway.”
“It’s not a hobby,” Ryan defends him. “This is important to Declan.”
“What if he does find her?” she spits. “It’s not like they can go flying off into the sunset.”
“You don’t want him to be happy?”
“It has nothing to do with his happiness. We don’t have the luxury of long-term relationships. Not that I’d want one.”
It’s a lie. She does want that. Shouldn’t they be experts at doing human things? Part of the façade would mean human concepts like setting goals, building futures, and falling in and out of love. “Love is a core emotion. Are you saying you can’t love?”
“We can love,” Ryan insists. “We do love. When we find the other part of our heart, we love without restraint, but it isn’t safe for us to seek out human love, and it can’t exist with one of our kind.”
“Garbage excuses.”
They shift awkwardly in their seats.
“Love brings loss, sorrow, regret, and so many more needless pains,” Ryan adds.
I wouldn’t have predicted him to be an advocate for neutrality in the love department. He’s full of compassion. It makes no sense he can’t or won’t choose to love. “You’re forgetting happiness, fulfillment, friendship, and all the other positive aspects of love,” I counter. “I’m not saying I’m looking for that—quite the opposite—but I fail to see why you can’t. It’s not a can’t thing. It’s more of a choice thing.”
“A choice not to continually watch every person you love die over and over and over,” Tally seethes. “We don’t age, remember?”
“So, find a relationship-worthy Solathair.”
“As Ryan said, one of our kind isn’t an option. The feelings aren’t there.”
“Maybe your standards are just too high.”
“The feelings we have for other Solathairs aren’t romantic. The magic pushes us apart like a reverse magnet,” Ryan clarifies.
“Plus, it’s slim pickings. We obviously aren’t a dying breed, but we aren’t growing in numbers, either,” Tally throws in.
“More hot garbage excuses.”
“Excuses or not, it’s all true, especially the slim-pickings part,” Ryan asserts sadly. “That’s why we have to ensure nothing happens to you. Of all the elements, fire is the rarest.”
“Don’t go giving the flame-baby a superiority complex. I quake at what she’d be capable of if she ever developed any confidence,” Tally hisses. “There are as many fire elementals born as any other type, Sheyla. Just not as many survive the transition.”
I nod. “With Sumairs sucking the life out of us, and the pyrotechnics involved in transitioning, fire Solathairs would be few and far between.”
“I’ve only ever met one,” Ryan reports.
“Sumairs can’t drain just any Solathair. They have to take the same element, right? Why am I different?”
“When you’re in transition, you have dual fuel.” Pretty sure he just had a Freudian slip there, Superego chirps. Duel fuel makes more sense. “You have your human energy and your elemental energy. The human part wants to retain control, so it’s happy to push out the Solathair energy.
“On rare occasions, a Sumair might coerce a Solathair to relinquish their power. In these instances, the transfer has always been of their own element. Water to water, for example. To ingest a foreign element would destroy them. Think of it like putting the wrong fuel in a gas tank.”
“If fire is rare, I should be slurp-exempt. Fewer mouths to feed in the fire hall.”
“Mosquitoes aren’t picky where they get their blood,” Tally chimes in. “That’s what Sumairs are. Dirty energy suckers.”
“Are you saying my energy is dirty?”
“Yes.”
Ryan sighs. “Your power is self-regenerating thanks to your human blood, but it isn’t pure. It’s diluted enough to ingest safely while potent enough to sustain them temporarily. You’re the equivalent of those energy drinks you’re so fond of. You provide a short-lasting boost.”
“What if they could control the drain?” I theorize. “Why couldn’t they just stop when they get their fill from a Solathair of the right element?”
“It wouldn’t be possible,” Ryan shuts me down. “Imagine trying to stop a busted dam once the water breaks through. It’s never enough for them. They never get their fill.”
“It sounds like you need an engineer to design a tap so you can prevent a rupture by controlling the pressure before a leak happens,” I suggest.
He shakes his head. “If you had a choice to feed safely or risk death, I’m fairly certain you’d choose the safe route.”
“People live on the dietary edge all the time.” I’ll die on this hill. “Think sushi, dairy, and processed food.”
Fuel duel. To the hill! Superego rallies.
“Trust me. They’d much rather have the BBQ dinner,” Tally contests.
I hope she’s right. To keep everyone safe, present company included, I need to present myself as a Sumair supper party of one without it becoming an all-you-can-eat friend buffet.