Charred fingerprints on a wooden training post.
The mesmerizing call of Gael’s magic.
Wild, swirling flames blazing through the attackers who murdered my parents, meltingtheirclothing, searingtheirflesh as my family’s cottage burned.
Every time I felt that burning spark in my chest, every time my hands heated or my neck prickled with warmth.
I’d always thought it was just my emotions, the burn of anger, the way rage was supposed to feel.
I see it now.
I didn’t just feel like I was burning.
Iwasburning.
Just like I am now.
“What’s gotten into you, my little phoenix?”
The memory of my mother’s voice is a soothing balm against the fire weaving around me, through me. Her little phoenix.
She knew.
Did she know?
I stumble back, my breath hitching. The heat flares, the flames dancing on my skin growing erratic, leaping off my body in wide arcs.
This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong.
I am wrong.
I squeeze my eyes shut, clench my fists, trying to stop the fire from spreading.
I don’t know how.
Panic squeezes me from all sides.
I’m a monster.
I’ve always been a monster.
I should have known. I should have?—
Something presses in on my consciousness, a shadow shifting over me. I feel it settle on me like a blanket, the calming wisp of something else.
Ofsomeoneelse.
A hand wraps around my arm, gentle but firm.
Stop.
Don’t.
I’ll hurt you. You’ll?—
I shake, thrash, shudder. Trying to dislodge it.
The grip only tightens, holding fast. Even as the hand starts to tremble. Even as the hiss of pain reaches my ears—first a whisper, then a scream. It still doesn’t let go.
