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His foot kicked at a pile of roadside debris, sending dead leaves and twigs and trash scattering across the dampening pavement.
He ducked and scooped a larger twig into his palm. The bark along the outside was dampened from the rain, but he snapped it in half easily. The inside was dry and jagged, a pale patch of exposed wood, barely identifiable in the darkness.
“Burn,” he whispered.
At first, nothing.
But then, with a spark and a flicker, it flared to life.
He crushed the flame in his palm almost immediately, his heart pounding against his rib cage.
Control. He’d done it.
Another couple hundred feet down the road, he did it again, cradling the flame in his hands to protect it from the rain, breathing power into the fire until headlights appeared over the hill and he killed it.
Only to do it again once he was alone with the darkness.
This time, he let the fuel burn away until he held nothing but a lick of flame suspended between his palms.
It died quickly when a drop of rain slipped between his fingers, but Gabriel was more sure now. Another twig, another spark, another flame.
This one lasted until he made the turn onto his street, when he sent the fire slithering into smoke between his fingers.
After his night in the police station, after the argument with Layne’s father, after his sheer inability to protect Layne or save Simon or identify an arsonist, this new control fed him some pride.
It made him long for the next fire, to test his abilities.
As soon as he had the thought, Gabriel smashed it as quickly as he’d crushed the fire in his hands. There couldn’t be any more fires. He had to stop.
But there’d been a fire tonight. He should have been there. He could have helped.
By the time he reached his driveway, the misting rain had soaked through his hoodie and had probably done a number on the books in his backpack. Michael would be ready to raise hell, but Gabriel was so relieved to be home that he didn’t care. He’d listen to whatever his brother wanted to dish out and then some.
The lights on the lower level were on, and there was an unfa-miliar car in the driveway. It didn’t look like an unmarked police car, but anxiety grabbed Gabriel by the throat anyway.
He found the front door unlocked, and angry voices echoed from the back of the house. Michael was arguing with someone, loudly enough that he probably hadn’t even heard the door opening. Tension was riding high in here, an almost tangible field Gabriel had to cross just to make it through the doorway.
From what he could see, the house wasn’t trashed maybe the cops had just searched his room. He dropped his things in the foyer and headed for the kitchen.
The arguing stopped when he appeared in the doorway.
Michael was standing by the cooking island, his eyes furious though his expression softened to something like relief when he saw Gabriel. Becca hunched close to Chris at one end of the table, their expressions tired and drawn. Hunter sat near them, his expression full of guilt and relief all at once.
And at the other end of the table stood the source of the arguing, Bill Chandler, Becca’s father.
Michael ran a hand back through his hair. “Thank god. Mr.
Forrest called and said you got out of the car ”
“Because he was being an ass.” Gabriel cast another glance around the room, as if he could have missed his identical twin on the first pass. “Where’s Nick?”
Bill took a step forward, pointing a finger at Gabriel though he was still arguing with Michael. “Just because he came home now doesn’t mean there won’t be more complications. I told you to lie low. I told you I would only be able to protect you for so long ”
“Where’s Nick?”
“When the cops showed up, I told Nick and Chris not to come home,” said Michael.
“But there was another fire,” said Hunter. His voice was small.
