Ruby’s Fire

“It reeks,” Vesper glowers at me. “We all know drug addicts are crappy liars.”

 

 

“Enough!” Nevada snaps. “Who said Ruby was an addict?” Vesper and Jan snort. As sharp as Nevada has become, there are things that she’ll never find out. Besides, after a few more white-knuckle evenings pacing and talking with Bea about my old nightmares of the elders at midnight, and sweating out the last perilous particles of Oblivion, I finally kicked it. I felt triumphant, buoyant, newly determined to do something good in this world.

 

Bea told me during one of those long nights, about Vesper’s past, how both of her parents got hooked on black market pills from up north, how they let their kids run amok like famished beasts while they used up their hardscrabble money on pills. And then, how her parents wasted away to hollow, lifeless stalks. No wonder Vesper hates druggies. Now that I know, I don’t take it personally. I almost feel sorry for her.

 

“Well, I hope that stupid lizard chokes on those rotten carcasses,” says Jan.

 

“Jan, I said enough,” Nevada snaps. “You’re on dish duty today.” With that pronouncement, Nevada has regained my approval.

 

I run distraction while Thorn slips away and does what he needs to with the Reds. Besides, Jan is busy sponging off the dishes and he’s a lot slower at it than Thorn. By the time Blane heads out for sentry duty, Thorn is back inside. We have lessons later, and then one last chunk of time to polish our presentations for George Axiom who will arrive tomorrow in his glitzy caravan of white gliders with his judges.

 

I’m itching for the sun. My energy is flagging and food; even sea apples in sweet berry jam don’t make up for it any longer. I sneak outside to the dunes beyond the yard. They are spectacular sand crescents that slope outward toward the pink horizon. Removing my mask, I raise my head and open my arms.

 

Energetic pulses of light sink in as healing lotion, liquid vitamins. My arms spread wider, like vines unfolding. My lungs drink in the luscious warmth.

 

The humming starts, like tiny violins with choruses of sand angels. Beauty, beauty, beauty. Drink, drink, drink.

 

The lizards and beetles chirp. And, in harmony, Thorn’s band of Reds thrum at the edges of the field where they perch in the plush leaves. Beauty, beauty, thanks for burying our own.

 

Abruptly my back overheats with the awareness of curious eyes on it. Footsteps startle me—booted, sturdy and resolute. The soft slap, slapping of boots rousing up sand.

 

“What’s happening to you, Ruby?” asks a familiar husky voice. “Why are you always standing out here without your mask?” Blane steps in front of me. His hazel eyes, flecked with gold and brown, sear my skin. He picks up my mask. “You already got burned once.”

 

“I didn’t know you cared,” I tease. “Do you?”

 

He shrugs. I know Blane can’t answer those kinds of questions. Instead of answering, he places the mask on my head. His fingers, fastening the straps at the back of my head shoot fire through me. His body, so close makes my chest swell with confusion and desire. Why am I so sensitive to his presence?

 

I press him. “Why do you always stare at me from the window? Why do you ask me questions with your eyes and not your mouth? What do you want with me, huh?”

 

He stands his ground, his boots planted apart. His silent confidence angers me.

 

“I asked you what you wanted. Do you want to kiss me? Huh?” I ask with more fury than I intended.

 

He lowers his head and kicks at the sand. “Why are you such a tease? You’re either too remote or flirting in an angry way. What happened to you at that place, Ruby? What did they do to you?”

 

“What did they do to me? Hah! What didn’t they do to me?” I barrel on, looking over Blane’s shoulder at one of the dunes. “That man you saw claimed me when I was five. He beat me.” I hold up my bad hand. “He cut off three of my fingers. He would’ve assaulted me if I hadn’t run!” I pause to catch my breath. My knees are ready to cave. As at peace as I was before, the memory of what I went through renders me a furious, quaking catastrophe in seconds. “And you have the nerve to ask me why I’m such a mean tease?” That hurts. Armonk has said as much, about me being seductive. But why should I tell Blane that he’s the second guy to tell me this? “I have a question for you,” I fire back. “Why are you such a brute?”

 

He flinches. Hurt dims the light in his eyes. Is that what we are to each other? Punching bags? No, I won’t play that game. There’s good in Blane. He dragged Thorn and me in to safety when we passed out in the sun. He saved me from Stiles that night. He defended me against Jan. Blane might be a brute but brute force is sometimes what’s required. And I sense that there are more layers below.

 

“I had to get strong to survive,” he whispers, so low that I need to move closer to hear him. “I couldn’t protect my brother, Percy. I couldn’t protect my family. I vowed to always be stronger after that.”

 

“You got too strong, too mean,” I tell him.