I clenched my teeth and got up, my vision blurred. My joints had stiffened and I moved toward the cell door like an old woman in need of a walker.
The coolness of the metal door was a blessing against my palm, but soon the metal heated under my influence. I took a deep breath and sent the fire into my hand and into the metal. A rod of molten lava shot down my arm. An anguished cry escaped my mouth, but I didn't stop the heat. The entire cell lit up from the light of my hand. Slowly, the door began to turn pink, and then red. The red light concentrated around my hand and seeped outward. It moved far too slowly for my liking, and the burning sensation in my arm intensified. I couldn't bear it. I screamed and yanked my hand away, panting. I should have been sweating, but my forehead was as dry as the desert and hotter than black pavement on a summer day.
I stepped back. Winding up like a baseball pitcher, I threw a fireball at the door as hard as I could. A bright white streak hissed through the cell and hit the door. It made a dry thump. Sparks sprayed outward. A cry ripped from my lips and I bent over in pain. The fire had ripped through my arm like a ripcord made of barbed wire. My throat was so hoarse and hot now that my cry was little more than a dry squeak.
My fireball had made a small dent. Could I do it again? And again? The thought of that pain over and over made my knees buckle. There was no way. If I was hydrated, I could do it easily... but I was so dry. So dry. My throat and mouth were parched, my tongue felt three times its normal size. I sat on the stone, leaned back on my hands and let my chin loll on my chest. A moan vibrated through me as the fire spread across my ribs.
I lay on my side on the cool stone and became still. How long before Dante would return? How much time did I have to try and break out of here? How long had I even been in here?
I had to keep trying. Neither of Dante's offers was an option for me. I didn't know if he was lying about having sent men down to Gallipoli, but I couldn't afford to take the chance.
My mind kept going to Enzo. The unknown patriarch. My gut told me that he didn't know what his son was up to. Maybe, if he knew what I was, he might make me a job offer, too. But I thought that if I turned him down he wouldn't try and force me to stay by threatening someone innocent that I cared about. It was so clumsy. So ugly. Dante was a blunt instrument, with none of his father's strategic thinking, not to mention any of the morality that Raf had spoken of. I promised myself that if I got out of this alive, I would pay a visit to Enzo. It was the only way to hit Dante where it hurt. Enzo was the only person Dante feared. True, Raf hadn't spent time with the family in years. Things could have changed. But right now it was the only shot I had, if I didn't die first.
I gritted my teeth and got to my feet. I coughed, and embers spewed from my mouth. I threw another fireball, but this one went out weak and sloppy. Misdirected, it hit the doorframe. A silent scream raked my throat. This one had literally burnt me. I brought my hand in front of my face, shaking. The ends of my fingertips were black and smoking. I retched at the smell of burnt flesh. When in the ocean, calling the fire had been healing. But here, without water, it would destroy me.
My knees gave and I fell sideways into the toilet. I gagged. The fire sucked up my esophagus and into my throat. Smoke wisped from my mouth, and I thought I could smell burnt hair. I cradled my burnt hand against my chest.
I tried to call Dante's name, but I had no voice anymore. Smoke drifted from my mouth. I drooped sideways against the wall. An involuntary dry whimper came from me as the flames raced through my torso, searing every nerve and all my tissues wherever they went. Then all went sweetly dark.
Thirty-Five
An ache in my neck tugged me to consciousness. I opened my eyes and pushed myself off the wall. I wheezed, the sound breathy and parched. A wisp of smoke drifted from my mouth and in front of my eyes. Moving like I was in a vat of mud, I crawled on my elbows to the door. Did I have one last try in me?
I peered up at the door, my vision blurry and blackened at the edges. The dent I had made was right behind the door handle. Could I make one more dent? Right at the latch point? I rolled onto my back, threw my right hand back, and mustered everything I had. My jaw locked as I slammed a fire ball at the door handle. There was a hiss, a crack, and a flash of light. My back arched in agony and my vision went completely black. I heard the clank of something iron hitting the dirt floor. I turned my face toward the door, but my vision wouldn't clear.
My head locked into place and I went completely still. I wasn't sure if I could move anymore, but I was too wrecked to try. Pain and heat were all I knew.
I no longer cared about anything except ending the agony. When Dante came, I would tell him that I'd marry him for a drink of water. I would light fire to the Vatican, throw enough fireballs at the tower of Pisa until it finally fell over, bring down the Basilica in a fiery explosion of marble horses. Whatever he wanted he could have, I'd sign in blood, just to make the burning stop.
I was incapable of intentional sound—not a word, not a whimper. The world was nothing but burning. My blood bubbled and thickened in my veins. My heart felt half its normal size, and it sizzled as it shrank and dried out. Every shallow breath fanned the burning fire inside me and every exhale was thick smoke. It drifted from my mouth and jetted from my nostrils. Smoke gathered along the ceiling in a haze. I wondered if I might actually self-combust and burst into flames at the end. I thought of my parents. My eyes tingled. Too dry for tears. What would they think if they saw me now? In my mind's eye, I was a smoking black relic, a prop from a mummy movie.
Footsteps echoed. I was in too much pain to feel much in the way of relief, but at least the end was near. I heard a metal key inserted into the lock, but the door squeaked open without the sound of turning bolts.
"Oh Dio," whispered a voice. 'Door' and 'open' were the only two words I could make out in a string of noise. Who was that? More fierce whispers. Whoever they were, they were whispering in Italian and I could have sworn that one of them was a woman's voice. I strained to recognize her. Mom? Delirium and false hope twined through my melting brain like a cancer. My burned ears could no longer detect familiar markers in speech. The voices could belong to anyone.
A masculine face appeared in the tiny opening at the end of the tunnel my vision had become, wavering and blurry. I thought I heard my name, saw his lips move. I struggled to place him. His features drifted in and out of focus. Raf? His words were garbled, echoey.
A hand went under my neck and waist but they were snatched back quickly. A cry of pain and surprise. More words I couldn't understand.
The next face that appeared was feminine. Her features swam but I knew that face. It seemed to take forever, but my brain finally registered. Fed. She disappeared from sight.
Footsteps left the cell. I wanted to scream after them, but I was beyond all speech. Urgent whispering echoed down the hall, then all went silent. I lost track of time. It hadn't been real.
Just when I was sure I'd been hallucinating their presence, footsteps entered the room again. My body spasmed in shock as ice cold water splashed over my form, but I had never felt anything more delicious.
A sizzling sound, and steam filled the air. A wet hand lifted my head, held a bucket to my mouth. I couldn't swallow, but I was able to open my throat and let the water pour down into my stomach, sizzling like an angry rattler as it went. It was so delicious that it almost hurt. A few moments later, another bucket of water was thrown over me.
"Saxony? Can you hear me?"