10. Ivy #2
Greeted by the familiar sight of molten rock, thickened, dormant lava, and an intense heat, I smile. Without breaking a sweat under the shift in temperature, I wordlessly praise myself for being blessed with fire magic. I owe thanks to The Fates, I think. Or did it pass down from one of my parents?
Regardless, I won’t be thanking the latter.
Ready to get on with the day and experience everything I've been missing, I saunter over to the far right, by the pool of lava, but I don’t get a chance to settle in before my name is called out.
“Ivy Hayworth!”
The air thickens with tension as my gaze snaps to Francesca, the leader of the Fire Protectors, and my spine stiffens.
Her eyebrows furrow as a snarl curls her lips.
“Don't be dense, or is that expected from the Angel of Heaven's Ridge?” she grunts, a stern look on her face, as my stomach twists in knots.
I barely part my lips, shock rocking me to my core at her outburst as Archer appears at my side, his hand at the small of my back, silently guiding me to the center of the room, while everyone else watches.
I’m used to eyes on me, but this feels different.
If I thought my life was a drama waiting to be played out for an audience already, it's worsening by the second.
As we come to a stop, I find my tongue and peer up at him. “Thank you, but… don't help me like that.” I speak so softly I'm almost certain he doesn't hear me, until he scoffs, his fingers pressing firmer into my back, making my body clench.
“Please don’t insult me by thinking I’m going to stand here and let her speak to you like that. She needs to know who the fuck she's talking to.”
As if his own words set him into motion, he takes a step toward her, and I act on instinct, grabbing his arm. I close my eyes, acutely aware of everyone's attention as I try to gather myself. Reluctantly, I pry my eyelids open far too quickly and meet his stare.
“Ivy,” he breathes huskily, and my body melts, a sense of peace wrapping around me.
I hate how much I desperately desire it, but instead of clinging to it like I want to, I grimace.
“Don't call me that,” I mutter, and he scoffs, stepping closer so our noses touch.
“Miss Hayworth, let's do an evaluation,” Professor Carbon hollers, but I can’t turn away from Archer, watching as he simmers with rage.
“Ivy, if you think I'm going to call you Angel after it was spit at you like that, then you're even more insane than I gave you credit for,” Archer vows, and my gaze snaps to Francesca.
She’s staring at me expectantly with her hands planted on her hips, her grin malicious to the bone as Professor Carbon waits.
Clearing my throat, I lift my chin and move, taking a few steps closer to Carbon, despite my nerves threatening to get the better of me.
Her crow’s feet are more prominent than ever as her eyebrows pinch, and I’m drawn to watching her fingers flex at her sides, keenly aware of the restraint oozing from her.
To my surprise, Archer remains silent and manages to give me the space I need.
Taking a deep breath, I inhale the scent of fire and heat that consistently fills the cavern. Despite everyone’s attention still aimed my way, I fake all the confidence I can.
“Let's see what the resurrector can do. Other than rise from the dead, of course,” Francesca snarls, her anger biting through the air, and any hopes of everybody else in the room moving on to do what they're here for is gone. A show is presented, and whether I like it or not, I'm the star of it.
“Frankie,” Archer warns, his voice rumbling through the air, but she pays him no mind as she folds her arms over her chest. Yet it's the professor who speaks next.
“Rumor has it that a phoenix is a symbol of hope,” she states, and I press my lips together in a thin line.
“I don't understand,” I admit, silently telling myself to cut the distance between us, so this conversation doesn't take up the whole cave, but I'm rooted to the spot under her scrutiny.
“Of course you don’t,” Francesca grunts, her hatred for me clear and thick in the air.
“Francesca,” Archer snarls, his voice more threatening than before, but it only seems to anger her further.
“A symbol of hope means you have an air of positivity; you’re an environment controller.” She likes talking to me like I’m dumb, but her words swirl in my mind.
Startled, I shake my head.
An environment controller? Isn't that my father?
My stomach clenches.
That's not me.
“I’m not sure what that would require from me.” My cheeks heat from embarrassment as everyone watches me stand here, my vulnerability on full display.
“Of course not,” Francesca bites again, running her tongue over her teeth.
“How about we focus on possible healing abilities?” Carbon offers, and my chest tightens.
Didn't someone say that involved my tears?
Anticipation floods my veins, and the desire to shake my head and dart for the exit burns through me, but instead, I swallow it down, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip as I nod in agreement.
My mother would be proud of my placid, people-pleasing abilities.
Since Francesca seems to think I'm dumb, I choose to lean into it, refusing to make this easy for them. Especially if it's going to cause me pain in the process.
“I’m not sure what that entails. I—”
“She's not a fucking guinea pig,” Archer interjects, and I blink at Professor Carbon as she sighs.
“Archer, she must—”
“She doesn't have to do shit just because you demand it. You're just trying to push your luck because she's different.” His anger is palpable in the air, whispers whipping around as everybody watches his reaction, and I want to disappear entirely.
Unsure what to do with myself, I remain frozen in place as Francesca moves, anger radiating from head to toe, but it's not toward me that she moves, it's Archer.
He doesn't react as she slices a blade down his cheek, and my lungs threaten to implode. Yet he doesn't even hiss as blood trickles across his skin.
My heart aches, panic flooding my body as I take an instinctive step toward him.
“Heal him,” Francesca demands, and I rush toward him without thought. My heart races wildly in my chest, and I'm certain I'm going to pass out, but as I reach him, he grabs my wrist, holding me back.
“Don't you dare,” he grunts, freezing me in place, riddled with panic as I watch the blood trickle down his face.
“Archer,” I panic, hating how much I care about him right now, but his grip on my wrist only tightens.
His fury has been ignited.
“You're not a puppet, and they don't get to pull your fucking strings.”
“You're bleeding,” I insist, but he shakes his head.
“Ivy, look at me. I've survived worse. A bit of fucking blood is nothing, but giving in to these people, so they can use you as a weapon, will never happen. Not while I stand here. Not while I'm able to protect my fated mate.”
I feel dizzy at his words. “Archer,” I breathe again, desperation clinging to me, but his attention drifts to the professor.
“Call time on whatever the fuck this is before I take matters into my own hands.”
Her back stiffens and her nose tips in the air so she can look down it at us as Francesca shakes her head in disbelief.
“Do it, or I walk, and I'm taking her with me.” His punishing tone leaves no room for argument.
I sway on my feet, panic rattling through my body as Carbon lifts her hands, palms facing our direction, and she nods softly.
“Let's start off with smaller training first. Maybe Ivy would benefit from spending the lesson watching others delve into their magic.” She tilts her head at Archer, waiting for a response, and he nods.
“That will do,” he grunts, and I gape at him.
“But your face,” I insist, trying to reach him with my other hand, but he captures that wrist, too.
“The scar on my face will be healed when I've earned your forgiveness.”