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she had been turned from the scene and a new woman was holding her and telling her everything would be all right...

"No!" Kira shot up from the ground, propelled from the memory into the present day.

Jerome looked up. His pupils had expanded, making his eyes ivory with bloodlust. Fury scorched Kira's veins, growing hotter the longer she met his cold stare. Quick as it had ever come, as though the memory had fully awakened her powers, Kira shot fire at John’s back and right into Jerome’s face. Both were instantly sent flying through the air, slamming into and breaking tree branches with the force of Kira’s power.

Somehow, she kept the light from Tristan and it curved around him. He was safe. He was not evil and not the force of her rage.

When Jerome and John had been flung completely from her sight, Kira winked out the fire, fast and easy, as though turning off a light bulb.

"Well, well. Someone has certainly learned a thing or two in the past few weeks," Diana spoke, emerging from the trees behind Tristan. "Can’t hit me without getting lover boy too. Such a shame."

Diana pouted, glaring at Kira. Though her tone was light, her eyes sparkled with rage—Diana must have known where Tristan had gone when he disappeared from the school dance. Kira thought about trying to shoot her powers around Tristan again, but her initial anger was waning, and she wasn’t sure if she could control it.

"Get out of here, Diana." Tristan said, trying to move out of the way, but Diana just followed, protected as long as she remained two feet behind him.

"Oh, Tristan." She placed an arm over his shoulder. "I’ve been letting this go on for far too long, letting you suck on your plastic bags, letting you get more human with each passing day. But, it ends here." He made a move to escape her but she held steady. "Oh, not right now. I’ll let you live in this dream world, where you and our mortal enemy live happily ever after. But I’ll be back, and you’ll be my Tristan again. And when you are," Diana let him go and forced him to look Kira in the eyes, "she’ll be the first one you kill." Diana pushed Tristan from behind, and he stumbled into Kira with a look of horror marring his features.

Kira caught him, distracted enough to miss her chance to weaken Diana. Instead, Diana disappeared into the woods, following John and Jerome—probably more than ready to concoct a plan for revenge.

"This is all my fault," Tristan swore.

Kira hugged him, closing her eyes and comforting him for the moment he needed, before standing up and walking to the girl lying on the ground. She looked so small in her torn and now bloodied Cinderella costume. Kira figured she must be a freshman who was excited by Jerome or John’s interest, never once suspecting anything bad would happen.

Kneeling down, she lifted the girl’s head onto her lap. She had healed herself before, now it was time to try the skill out on someone else.

Kira placed her palms over the girls ears, holding onto her head, and let her power melt into the girls skin. Her fire traveled through the girl's veins, sealing wounds and healing bruises. After a moment, she stirred and moaned in pain, and Kira stopped. She would be safe. The girl would live.

Kira kept looking down, imagining the girl as the woman she had seen in the dream, with pale blonde hair and a dazzling smile. She saw her mother, alone, abandoned by her people, left to die while her husband’s body was recovered and her baby taken away.

"Is it painful?" she asked Tristan.

He understood. "No. Most times, the victim is in a dream state, not aware of their surroundings or of what’s happening. There are sometimes exceptions though, if no care is taken." Kira nodded. "Let me have her. I’ll bring her body closer to the school where someone will take notice and call an ambulance."

Kira felt more than saw the girl be lifted from her arms. Exhausted, she let her body fall back on the dirt, curling into a fetal position to cry. Had her mother been in pain the whole time? Had she felt the life drain from her body? Her father had been killed quickly, perhaps because he was a man and they feared the Punishers more. Kira prayed her mother had been sucked into a dream and that she never knew what happened. That in her mind, Kira and she played with fire all the way back to a safe house where the three of them could have grown up as a family. She prayed her mother died to dreams of kissing her child goodnight, growing old with her husband and escaping the confines of conduit society. The truth would have been too hard to bear.

Tristan returned for Kira. She barely noticed him pick her up and hold her close to his chest, letting her tears soak his fresh white button-down. She pulled his jacket tighter around her, relishing the smell of him—the smell of musk, generic soap, and burnt embers that might have come from her.

Eventually, Tristan stopped walking and opened his car door. They slid into the backseat with Tristan still cradling her in his arms. Kira fell asleep while he hummed a jazz tune quietly in her ear and placed a loving kiss on her forehead.

That night, she dreamed of the first year of her life—of her parents, of her powers, of how happy she had seemed in that memory. She remembered the games they had played to teach her how to control her flames and how to hide when she needed to. They had loved her, and she had loved them with all her heart, and when they were taken away, Kira had shut down. She had promised her father to never show anyone her powers, so she never used them again—not in front of her adoptive mother and never even alone. Eventually, Kira realized, she had just completely forgotten about her powers.

But clearly, now all of that had changed.

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

When Kira woke up, her back ached and she was freezing. She pulled Tristan’s blazer tighter around herself, fending off the cool November morning air, before realizing it was probably Tristan himself that was chilling her.

She sat up and maneuvered out of his arms, trying not to wake him. Oddly, Kira didn’t feel embarrassed at all about spending the night with him in his car. She loved having him hold her and comfort her. Sure, her parents would flip when she got home, and she would have to figure out what to say to Luke. But for once, Kira wasn’t going to worry about that.

She looked out the car window at the grounds brushed with dew. The sun had just started peeking through the sky. Soft tendrils warmed her skin, and Kira realized that the events of the previous night had awakened something inside of her. She felt different. More in control, as though her memories had allowed her to acknowledge her birthright—to understand that it wasn’t horrible but beautiful. She could save people. Perhaps, she had been born not for chaos but for life.

Kira opened her palm and let a little flame rise to rest on her hand like a small campfire. Her fingers warmed instantly, as did her body. Feeling the sun gather on her skin left her complete, content. The swelling under her eyes receded, her scratches from the forest mended themselves, and finally Kira found something better to wake up too than coffee.

"You’re beautiful. You know that?"

Kira turned to Tristan, happy to wake up to his barely opened eyes and lazy smile. Distracted, she let her light grow, until she saw Tristan wince.

"Sorry," she said and winked it out of existence.

"I don’t mind." He sat up.

"So what now?" Kira asked, letting her head fall back on his shoulder.

"Do you need to go home?"

Kira shook her head. There were too many things they needed to talk about. She wanted Tristan to open up to her and tell her about his past. Kira knew that if she went home, he would close himself off again to protect her.

"Good, then just trust me," he said, hopping into the driver’s seat while Kira moved to the passenger side. Tristan started the engine and slid his hand into hers as he sped out of the school parking lot.

Kira couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had seen them sleeping in Tristan’s car last night. Someone must have. They were in the middle of the parking lot and not everyone had left the school dance before they got there. Luke might have walked by and glanced in, but Kira didn’t even want to think about that. He would be so angry and hurt. Luke would never understand why she wanted Tristan, but she and Tristan were the same in many ways—both outcasts who didn’t really belong anywhere.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Tristan asked.

Kira relaxed and placed her feet on the dashboard, letting her eyes meet his, knowing they sparkled like Emma had said earlier.

"I’m thinking I’m happy just sitting here with you like it’s completely normal." She smiled, and he grinned back, clutching her fingers a little tighter. "I’m also thinking, damn I wish I’d brought a change of clothes." Tristan snickered, and Kira glanced at her leather-covered legs, happy she at least had his coat.

"Don’t worry. We’re not going anywhere public."

"And where are we going? You don’t have to be so mysterious all the time."

"Maybe I just like keeping you on your toes."

Kira rolled her eyes and settled in to her seat some more, listening to the music and letting Tristan concentrate on the driving.

Eventually they pulled up next to a riverbank. Tristan led Kira along the shore, pulling her until they reached a giant oak tree with branches that reached out over the water. Tristan slid on the branch in front of her and then helped Kira up. Kira let her back rest against the tree trunk, watching Tristan as he inched further out past the few feet of marsh, until his feet dangled over flowing water. Kira listened to the birds chirp, the water swoosh, and the trees rustle, and felt at peace.

"It’s beautiful. What river are we on? How’d you find it?"

"The Ashley River. I’ve come here ever since I was a boy."

"One hundred and fifty years ago?" Kira asked.

This was what they had come here for—to talk and to tell their stories. Kira looked at Tristan, watched him peel bark off the branch with his fingers, and struggle with what to say.

"It’s okay," she murmured, wishing he would move closer so she could hold his hands and provide some comfort.

Tristan took a deep breath, let the air ease out, and began to tell his story. "I was born in 1847, right here in Charleston, to two wealthy plantation owners." He glanced up at her, trying to gauge Kira’s reaction, but she just nodded encouragingly. "My house wasn’t far from this spot, and I used to play on this tree as a little boy. I was often by myself, left alone to explore and play. You see, my mother was the only one who ever understood me. We’d go into Charleston and she’d buy me expensive paints. The first time she bought me a canvas, she took me up to the steeple I showed you and told me to draw the city. It was life changing."

He paused, and Kira tried to picture him as a little boy, hiding away with paints and drawing pads, exploring the forests alone. It was a sad image of a lonely childhood, and Kira was suddenly more grateful than ever for Chloe and the parents she did have.

"You have to understand that I never liked slavery," he continued, "never wanted the family business, and never wanted any part of cotton. That was for my brother. I needed beauty and not savagery. But when the war came, I did my duty. We both went off fighting, my brother fighting for power and I fighting to protect the city I loved, but not the lifestyle. One night in 1864, the Northern army surprised my regiment and I got shot twice—once in the thigh, once in the shoulder. I fell instantly and watched as my fellow soldiers retreated to leave me stranded. Other dying men lay moaning all around me, and I slowly bled out, awake for what seemed like hours, hearing others fall silent beside me, until a man came. I saw him kneel with the dying, leaning in close. At first, I thought he was