Set Alight

Chapter 19

If anybody has done marching band camp, then you'll excuse me no questions asked. If you haven't, it's twelve hours a day for two weeks straight. At any rate, I haven't had time, but I'm not going to make any more excuses. I'm going to get this thing done quickly, so that I won't have yet another thing to worry about as I transition into high school life. Read and be satisfied!

Gasping, I step away from the next target I'd reduced to charcoal. My entire ghost outfit is smudged with black, long dusty lines coloring it where I wipe my hands off. Fire still burns around me, turning everything black.

My fire is satisfied, but not depleted, and happily escapes from my skin every once in awhile, adding to the flames licking at my boots. I'm exhausted emotionally, though not power-wise. No, my fire never seems to burn down, even when I have.

I sit heavily on a mound of black dust, one of the targets that had been incinerated before I pummeled it into the ground with my fists. I want water, but now that I'm sitting down, I can't get back up. Without my raw anger, I'm emptied out and exhausted. The heat radiating of my skin begins to melt the charred seat, though I didn't think it was possible.

Impossibly, I fall asleep. It's not restful, and it sure doesn't make me feel any better, so impatiently, I force myself awake and stand. I don't know how long I've been asleep, but the room is now clear of the mounds of charcoal I'd created, except for the one I was on. I stomp forward, angry that what'd I'd created was gone, even if it was just hills of black.

When I turn, the pile I'd fallen asleep on is being swept away by a light figure. I tilt my head at it, and it tilts its head to mimic me. "Who are you?"

No answer. It just flickers and continues to clean up the pile of dust. I give up trying to make conversation, partly because I know it'll yield nothing and partly because I don't want to talk. Instead, I send my fire to a new target, opting for a slow burn so I can watch it slowly disintegrate.

I float cross-legged in the air, when the door opens. I don't care who it is, though it's probably Blaze.

"Jem?" asks a tentative voice, one I've never heard before. Agitated at the name, my fire flares on the target and it drops into a pile within seconds.

I turn. It's an older woman, maybe forty, with bright red hair cut just below the shoulders and bright aqua eyes. She's wearing a professional blue silk top that matches her eyes and a black skirt. Over that, she wears a white lab coat.

I narrow my eyes. "A doctor? Danny sent a doctor?"

"I suppose," she answers. "But I'm just his sister. Jazz. You were named after me."

"Jasmine," I recall. "Where does Madeline come from?"

"My Mom," she replies, and I see her take in my appearance. "Are you supposed to be wearing all black?"

"No," I snap, harsher than intended. I look over my clothes. There's barely a speck of white anywhere, leaving only my hair white, well, more gray now. I give a faint grin and shake my head. "This is just charcoal."

My fire starts to burn the target beside the one I'd just obliterated, slow again. We watch it for a while, before she breaks the silence again. "I heard you made quite the show at the rebellion last week."

I turn to her. "What?" Slowly, I remember the Dark Knights (as Ashton had begun to call them) and my Heat Wave. "Oh, yeah. I guess I did."

"You know, Danny was kind of like that when he was your age. Smart, but too impulsive to show it. And much too loyal."

Being compared to my alleged "Dad" makes me want to yell at her, and burn again. There are words like acid burning on my tongue, desperate to spread the pain I'm feeling. Instead, I say, "I'm not that impulsive."