26. A Tiny Flame
26
A TINY FLAME
DOM
I ’m relatively certain I’ve met the woman I’m destined to spend my life with. I cannot get over the way Sayah lives; her life and magick and blood and resilience stagger me. They’re all attached to a string threaded through me, and the more I pull at it, the more it unwinds something within me.
Instead of running from the monster I am and the family that wants her dead—albeit she doesn’t know that part—she took that terror within herself and still found a way to help me.
Making me a sun talisman.
Meeting the sun for the first time after centuries solidified that she’s a powerful being with the magick to conquer anything. We still have yet to get her to find her fire, but we’re working on that tonight as we prepare for her parents’ celebration of life.
She wants to do some magick for the celebration without telling people it’s real magick.
“While we’re thinking of things we can do,” I say as we sit at the patio table on her deck, basking in the remnants of the afternoon sun, “why don’t you grab that spell I got from my mom, and we can work on fire some more?”
“All right,” she says, scooting the chair to bound into the house. When she returns, she hands me the spell Mom had sent me. “I don’t see how I will do fire magick at the celebration.”
“You’re not. But while we think, do those exercises I told you about. Open your mind. Feel that fire. Listen to your blood and bones and magick. It’s in there; we just have to draw it out.”
“Why are you so adamant that I learn fire magick?” she says thoughtfully, though her tone suggests she’s playing.
“I think it’ll help to have all four elements. Once you unlock fire, you will unlock many other powers.”
She smiles at me and closes her eyes, holding a red tapered candle before her.
I chant the words of my mother’s spell and watch as she concentrates on pulling up her powers, chanting the words with me.
“Good,” I respond as the aura around her gets brighter. “Now, blow that candle to life.”
Her eyes still closed, she sets her breath free on the wick.
Nothing happens.
“Ugh!” she growls.
“I think it’s cause you’re trying too hard, love.”
“Why won’t fire listen to me? All the other elements are behaving!”
“Think of it like writer’s block. Something is blocking you from that fire, and you have to get to it. Imagine it is yours—or, better yet, your son’s. Someone took it from him, and now you’re trying to get it back. Picture it in your mind, igniting your insides and coming to life at your fingertips. Visually see it happening in your mind.”
Listening to me, she closes her eyes once again and mumbles something with her lips. I know she’s having a silent conversation with her powers, so I remain quiet and watch her. In a fleeting second, everything stills, like the Earth is listening to her request. The wind suspends, the birds quiet, and even the distant sound of the highway muffles. She leans forward and exhales once more, this time, the tiniest flame ignites on the tip of the candle.
“That’s it!”
“Oh my gods!” she exclaims with excitement. “I did it!”
“You did it! ”
A profound relief washes over me. Even though it is the tiniest of flames, like a miniature version of an actual one, it means she’s tapped into that power.
It may be enough to save her life.
For now.
T he next day, I’m meeting Sayah and her family at the little art studio nestled in the foothills that she chose for the celebration of life.
As I wait for the cars to arrive—as I am the first one here—I text my mom about all the magick that Sayah and I have been doing lately.
But is that enough, Dom? A tiny flame is a little to work with.
It’s a start. We’ll keep working on it. Please tell the Nyktorim to hold off.
I will let them know. But that isn’t enough to stop them or anyone wanting more significant results. That tiny flame did nothing to suppress the grims taking over our city.
I get that. But like I told you before, the spell she made for me with the moon and helping me walk in sunlight—that’s huge. It should show for something,
I know Dom. I do. And I know you love her for it. I’ll do what I can from my end.
That is all I am asking. Thank you.
I close my messages and turn the car off when Sayah’s vehicle pulls up.
Sayah disembarks the vehicle first, followed by her dad and stepmom.
Her dad is easily six foot, has a head full of hair that’s graying, a gray mustache, and square glasses that frame his eyes. He stands firm and proud as I approach him, extending my hand.
“Hello, sir. I’m Dominic.”
“Dominic. I’m David. Nice to meet you.”
His grip is firm; I can tell by the tension he is measuring what kind of man I am by the firmness of my hold. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. And you, madam?” I hold my hand out in a gentler manner to meet her stepmom.
“Lydia,” she says, offering me her hand. I take it gently and kiss the top of it in a bow.
Lydia is about as tall as Sayah, wearing white hair in a short pixie cut. She also has glasses that accentuate her pretty brown eyes. She is skinny and wears a lovely flowery dress with a jean jacket.
My eyes track back to David to see if he’s impressed with my other-timely charm, but he doesn’t seem phased. In fact, a glint in his eye is almost sinister.
A fter meeting her aunts and also the ex-husband who brought her son, I help Sayah through most of the day, lending her strength as she reads the eulogy she wrote to her family and friends.
While working on our magick last night, we devised a spell to bring a storm with no clouds while she played the slide show she made for her parents.
The picture slide show is twelve minutes long, and as she sits next to me in tears, watching her mom and stepdad’s life on the screen, she squeezes my hand when the song Hurricane comes on .
We’re sitting in the back row of the big room, next to the floor-length windows that line the east side of the gallery.
Moving like a cloud at the mercy of wind, I slip out the doors Sayah’d left open and spill the spelled water onto the mountain soil, returning to her side before anyone could know I left.
As the video subsides, there’s a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder that causes a collective jump within the group.
A tumultuous rain follows and beckons the ceremony goers from their seats to hover over by the windows.
The funny thing about this rain is that there are no clouds directly above us. There’s a dusty blue sky and clouds all around, but nothing to explain the rain falling straight down from the sky from nowhere.
Commotion and chatter arise as her aunts, eyes agape and filled with tears, look at Sayah knowingly and open the doors to the patio.
Sayah, Gauge, her parents, and I join them on the deck to observe the phantom storm. I hold her as we all watch the rain fall on the lake, the ground, and the mountains and over the covered balcony of the art studio.
As we’re watching the rain, I hear whispers of the celebration goers how coincidental it is that rain falls after all the mention of storms in the eulogy.
F or the rest of the celebration, we go around to everyone who has come, snacking on the food and drinking our sparkling cider.
When all but close family remain, I take Sayah for a walk down by the water to soak up the scenery.
The rain has ceased, and the sun is bright and welcoming, especially to me. I am still in wonder of the sun and being drenched in it. I have her sunglasses on—as I have yet to buy my own.
“You did well today,” I say as I hold her close, sitting on the stone bench at the water’s edge.
“Did I?” she asks.
“Your words to your mother were beautiful. I didn’t know you could write like that.”
“It’s my gift,” she whispers, laying her head on my shoulder. “Thank you for being here. And for helping me with my spells. You have no idea what it means to me.”
“Anything for you. I hope that your family likes me.”
“I think they do. I really do. Especially my dad. He’s old school, so he appreciates a good, firm handshake and being called ‘sir’. I think you won him over with that.”
“Well,” I say, shifting my weight a bit with pride, “it’s from the time that I’m from. People don’t treat people as they used to. I try to change that still.”
“I like it. Vampire or not, that shit’s dope.”
“Dope,” I repeat. “I think that word is outdated now. I heard a youngin’ the other day use the word ‘rizz’. Rizz is what we’re saying now.”
“Nope,” she laughs, snuggling in close to me. “Not happening.”