Chapter 15
Iggy
H e wakes me with a fresh cup of coffee and kisses that linger. “If you’re going to make your appointment, you have to get up,” he whispers. He offers me his coat on our way out the door and bats my hands away, insisting on zipping it for me. He opens the car door. Inside, he takes my hand and laces our fingers together. Each little moment is an opportunity. I pause. My lips part and the three little words balanced on the tip of my tongue nearly tumble off of it.
I love you.
I swallow them down unsaid. Again.
What’s wrong with me? He’s already said it, which should make this easier, but he had to go and orchestrate a perfect moment. We were inside a volcano, for fuck’s sake. Right next to a pool of lava. And my chosen moment is when—while riding shotgun in his truck? How does that compare?
I should have said it then too, but he was stealing the breath right out of my lungs. If I’d had any idea how hard it would be to find an equally perfect moment, I wouldn’t have let that one pass.
“ S tretch your arms out, palms facing up,” a calm female voice coming through the intercom instructs. I do as I’m told, taking a nervous glance around the all-white pod I’m standing in wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The immolation room, that’s what Vale’s fake doctor wife, Coco the special psychologist, calls it. Our first two appointments were just talking. Apparently, those went so well she thinks I’m ready for this. We’ll see.
“What do you mean you don’t make fire?” Chad asked when I told him I wanted to try this. “You’ve scorched up all my furniture. I have to buy new sheets every few weeks to replace the ones you burn through. And you almost started a forest fire. If you ask me, you’re kind of a fire hazard.” My eyes welled up, and I had to fight back a sob.
It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me, but sending off sparks and one accidental almost-forest-fire isn’t enough. I’m ready to face this thing.
The good doctor comes over the intercom again, and this time she tells me to tap into my latent ancestral memory of the dancing flame. It’s a memory all demons are born with, and it’s the same advice my tutors used to give me. “Picture it in your mind and hold it there.” I try, but every time I picture the dancing flame, I’m back in the private instruction hall with a pair of tutors muttering disappointedly over my head while my parents wait outside, impatient and embarrassed.
They’re not here, I remind myself. And this isn’t for them anyway. I don’t give a fuck what they think.
This is for me.
I let out a slow breath, relax my shoulders, and let a new picture form in my mind. It’s a cave warmed by a glowing lava pool. Chad’s thighs are coiled with mine. His pounding heart beats against my chest. He smiles, and there it is—the warmth I’m supposed to feel, the safety and contentment. I don’t need the dancing flame. I have a new memory to draw from.
Fire blasts down from the ceiling, bathing my hands in a fierce heat that sinks into my bones, flowing one direction and then the other, until I can feel the difference.
Fire flowing into me.
Fire flowing out.
I’m doing it! My eyes pop open, and I let out a startled gasp. I’m making fire, and it’s not just at my fingertips. There’s heat coming straight from my core, pulsing in tempo with my heartbeat. It courses along my limbs until it leaps free from my hands, raw and powerful.
Is this what it was always supposed to feel like?
My mouth falls open in wonder as I stare at my hands. Dearest Dark Mother Below, this is amazing. Tears spring to my eyes, but the droplets evaporate before they can fall.
“You did exceptionally well today, Iggy. You should be proud of yourself,” Coco says, standing at the open door, hands primly clasped in front of her.
“Thank you,” I murmur as I take a dazed step out of the immolation room. I run a shaky hand through my hair, and it catches on something at my temple. I feel at it with my other hand, trying to figure out what it is. It’s a hard glob. And there’s a matching one on the other side of my head.
“You melted my barrettes!” I glare at Coco accusingly, and without thinking, I reach out and pinch a tiny section of her hair and singe it.
“Damn it, Iggy! I told you last time, you can’t burn my hair every time you get upset.”
“Sorry,” I grimace to hide a laugh. “Bad habit,” I add. It’s what my sister and I do to each other. Even small sparks will melt hair. She hated it, but Coco is not my sister. She’s a new acquaintance, and even if it’s a tiny bit fun to see her lose her composure, she’s right, I shouldn’t treat her like she’s more than that.“What am I going to do?” I whine. “I have a date tonight.” An important date. It’s New Ember’s Eve. A volcano is going to erupt at midnight. It’s my best opportunity to tell Chad how I feel. I can’t do it with metal boogers in my hair! I start to panic.
Coco tugs at the melted barrets. They don’t budge. Her lips purse as her doctor brain whirrs into high gear. “Back in the immolation room. We’re going to have to melt them off.”
It works, but I’m a couple shades redder than my usual color when I step out. Demons are not impervious to flame. That’s a common misconception that demons choose not to correct. We’re born resistant, and a lifetime of producing fire from our own bodies builds our resistance to near imperviousness. Unless of course, you’re me.
Two rounds in the immolation room, and I’m essentially sunburned.
A s I’m getting ready for the night, slathering a cooling mask over my face and neck, a nagging feeling keeps distracting me. It’s New Ember’s Eve, a sacred day for demons, one we’re supposed to spend with our families, even if you don’t want to.
Chad did it. He spent his holiday with his family, and most of them are annoying, awful people.
It was nice.
Another pang of guilt shoots through my chest, and I throw down my makeup brush with a grumble.
I’ve met someone and I’m moving to Winter Bliss.
I send the text and wait. It’s an olive branch, an offering of long overdue personal updates. Keeping private things private is a rule for strangers and acquaintances. When it comes to close friends and family, you’re supposed to open up and share. It’s a sign of love and affection. And I love my sister.
Ardi
Whhhhhhhaaat????
Oh, and I got a new job!
I almost forgot that part.
Ardi
Is that why you’re not here? You could have told me!
Who is he?
Send me pictures!
And his IQ test.
Does his dick glow?
I snort a laugh as the rapid-fire questions continue. She has too many for me to answer now.
I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you everything.
Ardi
Promise?
Promise.
T he Truthfire Festival is as quaint and lovely as the little town that hosts it. It’s also as loud and chaotic as the demon magic running wild through its streets.
At a stall up ahead, a petite fairy bundled in a winter coat and mittens sells a delicate, hand-spun glass flower to a heavy-set demon stripped down to a loin cloth. He’s marked up in blue paint and wearing a fire crown that belches plumes of colored smoke from his head.
“Nope. Not that way,” Chad steers me away before we reach them. “That’s Harty Mercer. He’s still pissed about his cabin.” We duck down the next street and head over one more. “This is our spot,” he says, coming to a stop and pointing at the clear, unobstructed view of Mt. Winter Bliss. He starts pulling a blanket out of his bag. It’s stuffed tightly in there and he has to keep yanking at it.
“Can I help?” I ask.
“I got it.”
I check my watch. It’s getting close to midnight, and a sudden fear grips me. I was planning to wait until the volcano erupted, but a new thought pops to mind. If I wait until then, this year will be gone. Do I really want to let it go by without saying it? The spasm in my chest acts as a spur.
“Hey.” I tug on his sleeve. “I love you.”
He glances my way and smiles. It’s a nice smile—I catch a glimpse of his dimples—but it’s not the glowing smile I was expecting. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says and goes back to tugging at the blanket until it’s free.
“You’re glad to hear it’ ?” My voice grows sharp, and my chin juts as I give him full stink face. Okay, sure, maybe my timing is underwhelming and not nearly as thoughtful or theatrical as his was, but it’s still a love confession.
“Iggy.” He drops the blanket, and for a moment he just looks amused. But then he draws near, reaches for my hand, and folds it into both of his. He grows very serious. “I know I said I love you, but it wasn’t entirely accurate. I’m miles and miles past that. Falling in love with you is a small dot on the horizon at this point. But if that’s where you are, I’ll take it. I really am very glad to hear that you love me back. I’m content with that for now.”
“For now?” That doesn’t sound reassuring. “Until when?”
“Until you’re ready for all the rest.”
“Like what?” I ask. “Moving in together?”
“That, yep. And the rest.”
“Rest of what? Marriage?” I whisper the last word.
“Yep, that too. All of it. You’re the one who said I needed to be honest with myself about what I want from the people in my life, and that’s what I want from you: everything. All that there is to share in life with someone, I want to share with you. I’d marry you today if you were ready.”
He squeezes my hand once before he stoops to pick up the blanket and spreads it out. He takes a seat and pats the spot next to him.
I don’t move.
“I’m happy to wait until you’re ready. I really am. And in the meantime,” he continues, “we’ve got plenty to keep us busy. We’ve got to get you moved. You’re starting a new job. I’m going back to mine. And we’ve got a trip to plan.” He pats the blanket again, and this time I take my place beside him.
Winter Bliss is going to be our home. It’s the right choice for both of us, but we’ve also decided we should travel. Chad was a lot more excited about the idea than I thought he’d be. “Traveling with someone sounds a lot more fun than traveling alone,” he said, but we haven’t decided where we’re going yet.
“What do you think of Europe?” he asks, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in tight. “My mom keeps insisting it’s nice.”
“It has its old world charms,” I snort. I’d wanted to see more of Europe myself, but after hearing his mom casually mention the old world charms roughly three thousand times, I’m kind of indifferent now.
“We should go to New Zealand!” The idea pops in my head and my whole brain lights up at it. “I bet you’d love it.” He would. They have natural beauty on lock down, incredible state parks, and some of the world’s most impressive geothermal wonders. I try to picture Chad’s reaction to seeing a fiord in person for the first time and my excitement spikes again. I bet he passes out.
“New Zealand,” he agrees. “First chance we get.” Then, with one finger, he lifts my chin so that I’m looking at him. “To be clear, I won’t be waiting impatiently. There’s no pressure. No rush. Just know that I’ll be on the lookout for a sign that you’re ready for more.”
“Do you mean something like the secret signal?” I ask, teasing him with a reference to the double bird sign I taught Darcy when I first met her.
He laughs. “Sure, that one.”
“Well, that won’t work. That one actually means leave me alone.”
“Between you and Darcy it means that. Maybe between you and me it can mean something different.”
“Maybe,” I agree. “Let’s give it a shot.” I pull back and give him the double bird.
He freezes except for his eyes, which keep darting from my hands to my face.
“Am I doing it?” I ask. “Am I sending the right signal that I love you? That I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you?”
“Are you joking? Please don’t be joking about this,” he says, a pained expression on his face.
“I’m not joking. I’m signaling. I’d never joke about something as meaningful as a life-long, legally binding contract.”
He’s still for a heartbeat. Then he’s up on his feet and pulling me up behind him. “Tonight! We’re getting married tonight.”
“What happened to no rush?” I ask with a laugh as he starts moving us through the crowd, leaving our blanket behind.
“That was before you said you’d marry me. Where’s that damn judge? I know I saw him.”
“There.” I point to a figure a few blocks away, walking along the far side of town square. “But he’s not going to do it now. It’s a holiday,” I say, already losing sight of him in the crowd.
“Oh yes he will,” Chad insists and we’re off, running across the square.
All signs of the exploded statue are gone and there’s a new one in its place. I don’t pause to look as we race past in search of the same judge who sentenced me here in the first place, to a brand new life in Winter Bliss.