He finally looked on the outside the way he was on the inside.
"You're so stupid, Dante. I have a temper at the best of times." I watched him crawl to a nearby fountain so he could wash his face. "Why did you hit me?"
My stomach still ached. Only the fact that I had retaliated had dampened my rage.
"All fire magi are hot-tempered. I knew you'd do something, but I didn't think you'd internalize," he said, and spat a gob of blood. He dipped his mouth and nose in the cold water. He rinsed and spat again and then put his hands to either side of his nose, feeling the break.
He had my attention. "Internalize? What are you talking about? I don't know about you but a right hook to the face is not 'internalizing'."
He barked in pain as he snapped his own nose sideways.
"What did you just do?"
"What, do you think this was my first broken nose?" He stood up. The flow of blood had become a trickle. He grinned at me with bloody teeth.
I shuddered. "I need to get off this crazy train." The only reason I wasn't running away was because he'd piqued my curiosity. "What do you mean by internalize? And if you hit me again, so help me..." I threatened. I could feel the glow in my eyes come out and I let it.
"Madonna. You're a thing of beauty when you do that." He spat again and wiped a hand across his face, leaving a streak of blood. "Internalizing is something that only mature fire magi can do. Usually. It means you used the power of the fire but you didn't show it. See? You don't even know how much potential you have."
"I don't get it."
"Young magi can't help but show their fire when they use it. It manifests as a glow that can be seen through the skin, or comes out as flames or sparks. But a mature magus can prevent this obvious show of power. It’s a skill they have to develop to maintain anonymity. The way Nicodemo explained it was that he could direct the fire to places in his body and sort of... " he paused. "What's the word? Detonate it? So that it would explode behind a kick or a punch, like gunpowder. That way a magus can use her power without tipping people off that she's supernatural." He cocked an eyebrow. "Hai capito?"
He swiped an arm across his face, wiping away the remainder of the blood, and then spat another red gob off to the side.
I did capito. I capito'd perfectly. What he described was exactly what I had felt. The fire had detonated in my shoulder and elbow - making me throw a punch like a two-hundred-pound hockey player instead of a one-hundred-and-forty-pound girl. My hand was still throbbing from the pain of the impact. It was a wonder I hadn’t broken every bone in my hand.
I didn't know what to say. Dante really did have some knowledge, but somehow, I wasn't really feeling a 'thank you.'
"You didn't have to hit me," I said, bitterly.
"Yes, I did." All trace of malice and anger was gone. He thought he'd gotten through to me. "And I'm sorry," he said, his eyes softening.
I'd heard it before, and he'd been about to hit me a second time. I wasn't going to fall for his silver tongue again. Maybe he did know some things that could help me, but I didn't need to ask him, because Elda was going to help me. If I took Dante's help I was going to owe him, and that was the last thing I wanted.
"Save it,” I said. “I'm finished with this insanity. I'm walking away now and if you jump me, I'll internalize you right into the hospital."
"Don't be such a stubborn redhead, Saxony. You know I'm the only one who can help you."
I turned my back and walked away.
He raised his voice. "Do you know what happens to a fire magus who doesn't know what she's doing?"
I kept walking.
"She burns to death," he called. "From the inside out!"
Twenty-Four
My phone chirped just as the boys and I arrived home.
"We're home!" I called up the stairs.
"We're home!" Isaia repeated, and ran to the second floor after Cristiano. I smiled every time I heard the sound of his perfect little voice. He no longer had any trace of the rasp that I had. I heard Elda greet her boys upstairs and I took my phone out of my purse and checked it as I kicked off my shoes. It was Raf.
Everything okay?
I smiled at his thoughtfulness. He was probably worried. My guts ached in response to his question, reminding me that I'd been punched today for the first time in my life. The fire flickered as I remembered, but I wasn't about to tell Raf what had happened between Dante and me; I didn't think Raf would react well. I also didn't feel as bad as I thought I should feel after taking a hard punch to the gut.
Me: I'm okay, thanks for checking. I'm sorry about that.
Raf: That's okay. You can make it up to me. :)
Me: How about tomorrow night? I'm free after nine.
Raf: Sure, Giardini again or somewhere else?
Me: Why don't we just go for a walk? Maybe get some gelato.
Raf: Sold. Let me know where to meet you.
Me: Will do.
I tucked my phone away and ran up the stairs to help Elda fix dinner. Tonight she was going to teach me how to make a Neapolitan ragù and steamed mussels for prima piatti. Once the boys had finished telling Elda in great detail about their day, they went down to the courtyard garden to play.
"I've been meaning to ask you," said Elda as she clipped the stringy bits from the mussels. She paused with the scissors. "Did you want to come to Gallipoli with us? You never told me and we're leaving in less than a week. If you do, then I'll pack some extra bedsheets."
I blinked in momentary shock at how fast the time had gone. I hadn't forgotten that they'd be leaving, but I had lost track of time.
"Not that we'll need anything more than sheets," she continued. "Even those might be too hot. It's been above 35 all week in Puglia and it’s supposed to climb."
"Davvero?" I said, using a new Italian word I'd picked up which simply meant 'really.' "That answers it then—that is way too hot for me." I had barely been able to handle the Venice temperatures, so there was no way I was going to go where it was even hotter.
Understanding dawned on her face. "Oh, I see. Hot weather makes it... hurt more?" She put down the scissors and tossed the mussels under running water. She peered into my simmering pot of red wine sauce and proscuitto. "Good, you can add the tomatoes now."
"Yes, it really does. Unfortunately." I added the skinned tomatoes and sauce and stirred. “Will it be okay with Pietro if I don’t come? He doesn’t know what you know.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Elda said. “I’ll tell him we need some family time, just us, and that I’d like you to have some time exploring Venice without having to worry about swimming lessons and soccer games.”
I grinned. “Thanks Elda. So…” I switched gears. “Please tell me you've had a chance to watch all the clips? Cuz I'm dying here." I blinked for a second at my own words. I had meant it figuratively but Dante's last words rang in my ears and I hoped that I hadn't just said something prophetic.
"I have watched them before - a few years ago, in case there was anything that would help Isaia. But I have to tell you, now that I watched them again I remember that I was disappointed the first time I saw them, too. I thought there'd be more information. Makes me think if I missed downloading some files somehow."
"Hit me with what you got anyway," I said. I peeked into the pot and felt rather pleased with the sauce I had made. I took out the casserole dish and put it on the counter, ready to layer with gnocchi, sauce and cheese.
"Hit you?" Elda repeated, looking confused.
"Sorry, I mean go ahead and tell me what you know."
"Ah. Allora, first, he explains that those born with the fire are either killed by it, or made stronger by it. The saying what doesn't kill you makes you stronger is literal for a fire magus. It was clear that Isaia was going to die from it, but as long as you're smart, you won't."