"Dante," I said, my voice sounding much harder than I felt. "Let. Go." My eyes began to feel warm. I squeezed them shut.
My phone vibrated again. To me, it was akin to Isaia calling out for help. I couldn't ignore it. The fire roared to life, feeding on my fear, anger, and desperation to go to Isaia. A glow came up between our faces, lighting us both up from under our chins.
Dante blinked in shock. He looked down. “What the hell?"
I couldn't have stopped it even if I had wanted to—the fire-fueled anger was more powerful than I was. "I said let go!"
As I yelled the word 'go,' the heat flew upward, broke in two, shot up the side of my neck and stopped in my ears, just under Dante's crushing hands.
Dante yelled in pain and surprise and jerked his hands away from the sides of my head. He looked down at his hands, both of them quaking violently, the fingers open and stiff with pain. Two semicircular burns were seared into his palms and fingers exactly where he'd been holding the outer edges of my ears. He panted, and yelled again. Spittle appeared on his lower lip.
My anger dissipated. Panic and regret swept me and my voice shook. "Dante, I..." A wave of nausea overtook me as I looked at the nasty red burns.
My phone vibrated again.
To my absolute shock, Dante looked at me and a laugh filled with pain ripped out of his throat. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
"You," he said, panting. "You're a magus. You're what I've been looking for."
I backed away. "I'm so sorry, Dante. I have to go!"
After taking one last look at the horrible burns on his hands, I turned and sprinted.
Nineteen
I ran at top speed through the quiet midnight streets, my footfalls echoing off brick and stone, coming back to my ears a hundred times over. My wet hair slapped sharply against my back, feeling like a whipping. How fitting. I deserve a flagellation.
The fire inside pulsed with every intake of oxygen. All my anger at Dante was gone. Jack's face, his black eye, his split lip... it all flashed in my memory. I had enough reason to know that what I had done to Jack was not the same as what I had done to Dante. What Dante had done bordered on assault, and I was right to protect myself. Still, my temper had gotten the better of me. Again. And this time, the consequences were even higher. I never had a fire living in my torso before.
The only thing that kept me from bursting into tears was the pumping of my arms and legs. I missed my family, and I wanted to talk to my friends. Regret that I had come to Venice in the first place washed over me for the first time and I nearly stumbled under the weight of it.
I didn't want this power Isaia had pushed into me. It hurt me, and it had made me hurt Dante. It would have killed Isaia. I hadn't asked for this—I wouldn't have taken it even if it had been offered to me, if I had known what it really meant. I wished more than anything that I was hanging out in Georjayna's back yard with my best friends and laughing around a bonfire, not pounding through empty streets in the dark, leaving behind a man I’d kissed, and then hurt.
Once I reached the house, I unlocked the door with shaking hands. I took the stairs two at a time and went straight to Isaia's room. My heart hammered and I paused to calm my ragged breath.
Sighing deeply, I gave a quiet tap on the door and then opened it.
"Oh, thank God," Elda cried. She got up from the side of Isaia's bed and hugged me before quickly letting me go. "Why are you wet?"
"I couldn't sleep and decided to go for a swim."
"In your clothes?"
"I'm sorry you couldn't reach me—I had my phone on vibrate and didn't hear it. Is he okay?"
"It's the most amazing thing," Elda said, forgetting my wet clothing. Her voice quavered. Her eyes were bright with excitement, and she grabbed my upper arms. "He spoke. He said your name. I don't know why your name was the first word he's spoken in almost three years but I don't care. He spoke!" A tear spilled down her cheek and she brushed it away, her movement full of nervous energy.
"That's amazing!" Joy filled my heart and all of the self-pity and homesickness evaporated as I approached the bed. "Hey buddy."
Isaia turned his face toward me. His eyes opened, two shining orbs. "Saxony," he said in a small voice.
I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands, shocked at the sound of his voice. It was scorched out and smoky, just like mine. I choked back a happy sob and smiled at him. "Look who’s talking." I sat on the side of his bed. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Were you asking for me?"
Isaia crawled out from under his sheets and into my lap before wrapping his arms around my neck.
"Hang on a sec, buddy. I'm a bit wet." I pulled on the sheet and wrapped it around him before I hugged him close, like a warm little sausage.
He began to say something in Italian but then remembered who he was talking to and started again. "I had a bad dream," he rasped.
Elda and I shared a look.
"But you're okay, right?" I said. "You know that now. It was just a dream."
He nodded.
Elda sat beside us. She put a hand on his head. "What did you dream about, bambino?” She wanted to keep him talking, but Isaia turned his face away from Elda and didn't answer. Her face crumpled. She was bursting with emotions, I could see it. Joy at the return of her son's recovered speech, pain that he was favouring me, and the need to help him.
"You don't want to tell us?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I only want to tell you."
It must have something to do with the fire, but whatever it was, it was still just a dream. "Your mom loves you, Isaia. She wants to help you feel better."
"You made me feel better," he said, his voice muffled against my chest. "You took it away."
Elda's brows drew together in with confusion. "Took what?" she mouthed.
I deferred to Isaia. "Can you tell us what happened in your dream?"
He pulled away from me, sniffing. His voice cracked. "In my dream, you didn't... you didn't take it. I was... getting dead." A fat tear rolled down his cheek.
My heart pounded. He'd dreamed about dying from the fire. "But, you know you're safe now, right? You're not going to die."
He nodded. "Sì."
I glanced at Elda. She stared at me, her face pale. Her neck worked as she swallowed. In her face, I could see the truth. She knew. She'd always known about Isaia's fire.
I rocked Isaia until he began to drift off. Elda left and returned with a dry bedsheet and a light knee-length bathrobe. She handed the bathrobe to me and I pulled it on over my wet clothes as Elda tucked Isaia into bed.
I followed Elda into the kitchen. Her shoulders were slumped. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her short hair, usually perfect, was a mess. She couldn't look me in the eye. She was processing, and I could practically see the gears turning in her head.
"You look exhausted. Want some tea?" I gestured to a stool.
She wiped her bangs away from her forehead and they stuck up. She nodded, giving me a tense smile. "Thank you."
My mind skittered to think of a way to get her to talk about Isaia's fire. I filled the kettle and turned it on, then pulled down two mugs. "Chamomile? Peppermint?"
"Chamomile, please. After tonight I think I'm going to need something calming."
I looked at her plainly. "May I ask you something?"
She looked me in the eye for the first time since we'd left Isaia's room. Fear was written in her features. "Okay," she said, slowly.
"Did you ever call a doctor about his fevers?" I tried to keep accusation out of my tone, but it was difficult. "I don't understand how such a loving mother wouldn't call a doctor when her child's fever goes way past the danger point. And especially when it happens regularly."
She sighed. "No doctor knows how to help him. What he's got..." She paused for a long time and I felt a surge of impatience.