I stood in a cabin with a wolf lunging at my neck. My arm rose to defend, but it was torn open by its vicious maw. The wolf sent me to the floor, landing on top of me. Its teeth pulled back to terrify me with an angry growl. I was stunned for a moment, but knew I had to act. I snatched it by the throat and rose. I was baffled by my strength, but it didn’t show on my cold face. There was fear in its eyes before I slammed it on the floor with everything that I had.

I looked over to a wood stove but saw only a tendril of smoke. It appeared that a tiny flame had just gone out. A fire that, if shaped, could have been a sword to ward away the darkness and a shield to protect me from the cold.

Overcome with fury, I smashed my fist into the unmoving wolf’s head, pounding it over and over, again and again. The warmth of its blood soothed the aching chill in my bones. A second wolf approached, so I turned and kicked it as hard as I could. Fear gripped me once more when I heard a thud of paws and the clack of claws hitting the wooden floor. Another wolf had joined the fray.

I ran to the kitchen, desperate to escape, but it pursued. It nipped at my heels. As it closed in, I reached for a refrigerator and heaved it onto the beast. The creature still bit into my ankle as it was crushed. Even more sounds came from the living room, so I hurled myself through a window near me and ran into the night. Howls of pain and rage for fallen members of the wolf pack followed me through the snow and into the wilderness.

Detective Still-grumpy-but-somewhat-happy-about-the-bump-on-my-head, his mother probably wasn’t sane for naming him that, pulled me from the vehicle. He pushed me roughly up concrete steps into a police station as if he’d done this a thousand times.

A, maybe, 20-year-old girl with dark hair and a familiar chip on her shoulder, approached with a brown paper bag. She glanced at me then focused on the detective. The hard look in her eyes transformed into joy when she saw her father, which, thanks to my incredible observational skills, I totally realized before she spoke.

“Hey pops,” she said. “I brought you lunch.”

“Thanks, Banana, but as you can see, I’m a little busy,” my accoster replied. I didn’t know that he even had a daughter.

“Could you stop calling me that? I was four, cut me some slack,” she complained and he laughed. She pouted, trying to force the bag on him. “Here.”

“Just set it on my desk, I’ll eat later,” he said. The smile on her ‘pops’ fell, and his face returned to its stern, all-business expression. “Like I said, I’m busy.”

“You need to eat. I’m worried about you, and so is mom.” Her voice bore the timbre of concern. Her distress confused me. I looked back to see what would cause her to feel that way, and it was the first time that I really saw the detective. He was dressed as he always was, but he looked haggard and—tired. Was that my fault too? Even with all the work I’d done, it felt like no amount of healing would make a difference or alleviate my guilt. All I did was hurt the people around me.

“Wait, is this the guy?” the girl asked. The detective grunted and nodded once. My eyes fell to the ground to gaze at a dejected landscape.

‘Banana’ regarded me with a more discerning eye, her concern for her father erupted into anger. She slapped me across the face with the force of her entire body. I took it solemnly. The hit split my lip and a bit of blood slowly slid toward my chin. I staggered, but the pain didn’t even register. My focus was on the void hidden in the sidewalk. I stared into it with pained eyes but wore a blank expression on my face.

“Brooke!” the detective said in a harsh whisper.

The woman’s brow furrowed. My reaction seemed to perplex her as if she hadn’t expected me to feel remorse. She frowned. The impact I had on her father clearly upset her, but I got the impression that she wasn’t sure what to think upon seeing me and my response to her sudden, but understandable, violence. Her attention returned to the detective.

“Anyway,” she said. “Make sure you eat, and I’ll see you later.” She insisted the paper bag into his chest, to which he was forced to take. She kissed him on the cheek, and walked away, her father’s wide eyes following her.

I think he expected me to say something about his daughter or the way she treated me, but I stayed silent. In fact, I didn’t speak through the entire booking process. Eventually, I was put into the back of a transfer van and whisked off to jail. I must have dozed off at some point, probably because it had been several days since I’d gotten restful sleep. When I came to, the metal walls of the van were gone.

A sharp poke in the crook of my elbow startled me awake. A woman in a white coat with red hair and jaded green eyes regarded me. She stared into the gray windows of my soul with fascination, but it was subdued. I got the impression that she’d been stuck in her job for far longer than she wanted.

“You’re awake,” she said. The subtle fascination was gone, as if it had never been there, and replaced with apathy. I looked down, and one of my hands was restricted by a cast; the other was chained to a metal railing. Inspecting my surroundings revealed basic beds bearing blue sheets and white pillows. They were equally spaced along the wall on a floor of simple off-white tiles.

A guard posted at the door eyed me with a hand resting on the baton at his hip. Above him a large clock, the only color on its black and white face was a thin red line that moved smoothly across the numbers. It reminded me of the clocks from school. It brought about the feeling that everyone had, waiting to hear the bell for recess. A slight smile appeared on my face.

“You’re in the infirmary,” the woman said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Well let’s see—you have a concussion, a split lip, you’re covered in bruises… Oh! And you have a broken wrist.” she said. Her attitude was unwarranted, but somehow, she still managed to sound bored. Then it dawned on me. I was in jail. The orange shirt and pants I wore should have made that obvious but give me a break. I’d been unconscious quite a few times in the past few days.

My energy had seen more use during that time than in the last month, but I was relieved to find that it was still eager to heed my call. Its constant use gave me a new appreciation of what was possible. By using it so much, my knowledge of the human body had grown at an alarming rate. I was used to just throwing it into someone to heal them. I investigated the damage to my wrist and sensed a depth of detail that I hadn’t been capable of before. It was almost like having x-ray vision that I could feel.

After pinpointing the breaks, healing intent repositioned my bones perfectly and hardened them into place. My attention shifted and warmth flowed into my head. The heavy fogginess of my concussion cleared, and my bloody lip closed. Across my body, black and blue stains, and the pain associated, faded away. Finally, for no other reason than restoring my perfect, unblemished skin, I closed the puncture that the surly nurse made to draw blood.

After the couple minutes it took me to recover and while the doctor labeled samples with my name, I cleared my throat.

“What?” The woman sighed with annoyance. I squinted at the laminated card clipped to her front pocket. ‘Henrietta Filburn’, it read, with a less than flattering picture.

“Well Henrietta—you did a great job. I’m completely healed.” I said. She smirked, amused, but tried to hide it and decided to explain away my assessment.

“That’s just the painkillers talking,” she said. She pulled out a translucent sheet of plastic that warbled as it moved. “Here are your x-rays. As you can see, your wrist is broken. As long as you don’t try to move it, the swelling should reduce over the next couple days. The break wasn’t too bad, actually, and with physical therapy, you should have full use within a few months.”

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I regarded the film with curiosity then snatched it from her fingers with my casted hand and threw it into the air. She jumped back in surprise and reached for something. Some sort of alarm maybe? Within the blink of an eye, the guard was within striking distance, his baton raised.

“See? It’s fine.” I demonstrated by wiggling my fingers. “You can remove the cast now.” Henrietta hesitated.

“I told you. You feel fine because of the painkillers. I set the break myself; it’s definitely broken,” she admonished then grew frustrated. “You may have just messed up your recovery by using your hand so aggressively. Now I’m going to have to stay late and x-ray your arm again.”

“Nah. Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. Just remove the cast and I’ll go about my merry way.”

“I’m not removing it; the scan can go through the cast,” she said. I rolled my eyes and went to grab the cast with my other hand. Metal clanked. Oh yeah, the restraints. With a show of mage strength, I yanked at it, causing the chain to break. Henrietta rolled backward on her stool as her eyes widened. “Guard!”

The man swung down at me. I locked eyes with him, and my casted hand shot up in a blur. I gripped the club but was still restricted by the plaster. Judging by the guard’s expression, the move probably looked like I was an action hero with lightning reflexes. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. A tight squeeze caused his weapon to break and the flex in my cast to expand. My laughter grew louder. It may have become maniacal.

I realized I’d taken it too far when more guards entered the room. My evil cackle ended abruptly. Showing off my abilities may have looked cool at the time, but I can’t imagine getting beaten by half a dozen riot batons was all that impressive. Who am I kidding? I always look awesome.

When I came to, I no longer wore a cast. Before I was put into ‘gen pop’, as we alleged criminals like to call it, I received a visit from my attorney. Several male and female guards stared dumbstruck at her beauty. We sat in a room at a metal table. When I recounted the events in the infirmary, I thought she’d laugh, but she facepalmed instead. While she was pre-occupied by the life and love lines of her hand, I tried to explain how cool it was. I went into a rant about not understanding why superheroes have secret identities and that they should just show off their powers.

“What is wrong with you?” Al asked. Her head shook in dismay, “The moment I let you out of my sight, you act like a lunatic. You’re not making it easy for me to construct a defense.”

“Ehh—you could use a good challenge. After all, that’s what I pay you for.”

“You couldn’t afford me,” she said. “You don’t even have any money.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve seen your billboard.”

“What the death? Why does everyone hate on my billboard?” I complained.

“Because it’s stupid, and you’re stupid. Stop joking around, this is serious,” she said.

“So is my billboard, I worked hard on it. Besides, I can break out of here whenever I want.” I explained. She wiped her hand down her face again. No makeup came off. I wasn’t sure she even owned makeup. Exasperated, she tried to council me.

“Please—for the love of God, Jesse, do not break out of jail.”

I dropped my jovial mood. “I can’t stay here. I saw Selena.”

“What?” Al asked, surprised. “I thought you couldn’t find her.”

“I couldn’t, but when I got arrested, there she was, staring at me from across the street. I tried to chase her, but she got away. Al, I need to find her.”

“Ahh. So that’s the resisting arrest charge I saw on your list of offenses.” She sighed. “Jay, I know you want—”, but I raised my voice over her.

“No, Al. You have no idea. You have no idea what it’s like,” I snapped. “My whole family is dead, my sister went missing, and it’s my fault.”

After a flash of anger, she averted her eyes from the intensity of mine and rubbed the indent of her neck. I continued, “Now she’s here and apparently, she’d rather run away than talk to me. She blames me for everything. I have to find her; I have to explain.”

“Okay, Jesse. I get it. I’ll help you find her. Please. Just sit tight until your hearing on Friday,” she replied. “I’ll dig up a lead for us to follow. Just stay here.”

“I’m sick of waiting, Al. What are you going to find that I haven’t in five years?” I demanded.

“I’ll talk to the Table to see what they know,” she answered with a resigned sigh.

“You think they’d help?” I said with derision. “According to you, they think I’m some sort of abomination. A zombie. I don’t deserve to live. Oh yeah, I’m a lawbreaking necromancer to boot.”

“You’re not a zombie,” she said. “The PC term is revenant.”

I stared at her. I had to admit, that actually sounded pretty cool.

“Jay. It doesn’t matter what you are. I’ll make them help.”

“Sorry, Al. This is something I have to do on my own,” I said, looking away, concluding the matter. Waiting until she had a lead was probably the smart move, but I didn’t want or need her help. This was my sister, and I’d find her on my own.

Without warning, the hair on my arms singed away and my skin started to feel hot, too hot. I met her fierce gaze with alarm. Her lustrous wavy hair brightened. It lit up the room as it was replaced by fire. Her hair literally turned into fire. Her eyes glowed with an intense fury. I tried to distance myself, but she flung the metal table we were sitting at. It struck the wall and stuck firmly into the concrete block. Melted metal, where her hand had gripped it, dripped to the floor.

Like a snake catching a mouse, she reached forward to grab my forearm above the shackle that chained me to the floor. Immense pain and the smell of burning meat assaulted my senses. I opened my mouth to scream, but it was stifled by her other hand. The pain intensified and battered at my sanity. I could feel the fat in my arm boiling and blisters forming on my face.

“I’ve tried to be patient with you, Jesse.” She looked and sounded like a Greek goddess of rage. “I’m done holding back. You’re not going to make any more trouble for me, got it?” I could barely comprehend her words. I pleaded to her with my eyes to make the pain stop.

“You know that this is only a taste of my wrath,” she hissed. “You’re going to stay here. Do you understand me?” I nodded with desperate enthusiasm and the motion was excruciating.

She released me, her hair returned to normal, and the temperature of the room plummeted. Tears fell from my eyes and felt like blades that cut the skin of my damaged cheeks. A pool of fat lay on the floor beneath me. Only a charred section of flesh forming a thin layer over the bones in my arm remained. I stared at my blackened bones in disbelief. Maybe I really was undead.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about your case.” She smiled.

“You’re psychotic,” I rasped. She replied to my remark with a flash of anger in her eyes and a spike of heat directed at me. “—but in a good way.” I covered with a fragile smile. The skin on my face was pulled taught and dry cracks caused flecks of blackened skin to fall.

She sighed and held out an arm. I tried to reach out, but my skeletal arm wouldn’t respond. The agony was almost too much to bear. I lifted the other arm, but paused. The restraint had melted into the skin. I managed to extend my hand enough to make contact with her outstretched arm. The focus necessary to overcome the pain enough to absorb power was also almost beyond me.

An angry stream of red flowed into my center. I imagined a clear mass with the likeness of an invisible sun. The flow of fury rushed to join it, trying to integrate, but couldn’t. It split into a dozen red planets that danced an orbit around the colorless star. Rather than take the time to convert Al’s energy, I turned my attention to my own and pulled part of it away to reform blood, muscle, fat, and skin onto my face and arm. More charred flakes cascaded toward my feet. I tore off the melted manacle and let its pieces clatter to the floor, then finished repairing my body by healing that wrist. The process may have only taken a few minutes, but it felt like double or triple that time.

“There, you’re all better. Now, can we discuss your case?” Al asked. She tore the metal table out of the wall and set it between us.

By discuss, she meant talk at me while I nodded in agreement to every word she uttered. When she was finished, two guards came to collect me. They were both extremely confused by the state of the table, the wall, my restraints, the gooey ash at my feet, and the melted fabric of my jumpsuit. However, their attention quickly shifted to Al and couldn’t muster the ability to speak. As she left, they stared intently at the sway of Al’s heart-shaped butt until she was gone.

After receiving a new set of clothes, I was escorted past barred cells inhabited by tattoo laden men with hungry stares. Jeers and catcalls followed each of my footsteps. I could have exerted power to put the entire jail in its place, but I didn’t. The only reason I didn’t want to cause a scene was because it’d make trouble for the guards. It definitely had nothing to do with Al and her threat.

During the walk to my cell, I took a moment to reflect. I’d been using magic quite a lot lately, and it seemed that each time, it had gotten easier. The way I viewed it had also changed. With each use, my visualizations of energy had deepened.

In the past, I circulated a flowing light throughout my body, to increase my strength, but when I broke the restraints in the infirmary and in the room with Al, it was just a flicker at the spot I needed it. When I used lightning during my fight with Cara, I was basically just pointing an orange beam like a flashlight, but when I used ice, it wasn’t just a light-blue luminescence, I felt it, experienced it. It was like snow in winter, and I was able to guide its movement.

My magic had become art. Landscapes, scenes, and solar systems. It was beautiful, and I was the artist. I could feel many more canvases to paint, but I needed more emotion; more energy; more power. I had to get stronger, then it would be a simple task to find Selena. With more power, no one, not even Al, could get in my way, and best of all, I wouldn’t have to feel any more pain, physically or emotionally.

The guard brought me to a cell and opened it. There was a man lying on a bed. His legs were crossed, and his foot kicked while he read a book. It was a paperback; the cover had been torn off. As the cell door closed, the guard chuckled as he walked away.

“Try not to kill this one, Bucket.”