Of Light And Fire (Burned By Magic Series Book 1) Read online

  This is insane.

  I don’t want look back as I drive away from the mess I created, but I can’t help but briefly glance back through my rearview mirror at the blaze that’s just starting to lick the sky.

  I am almost home when I let myself hope, quickly, that my family is safe and I can still protect them. I allow myself one moment, right before I turn on the street to arrive in front of my house. Then, I suppress my emotions once again, and turn myself on autopilot.

  All my hopes are annihilated when I park in front of the home I used to call mine. I am utterly wrecked. The dread that fills my stomach as I stare at the front door is incomparable to any grief I’ve ever felt. The grass is dead and unkempt; the shutters I once nailed are crooked and sliding off the windows. Everything is an awful shade of brown-grey. The porch swing I hung has collapsed on one side. I step out of the stolen car and descend upon the entrance of the house that I used to call home. My feet are shaky when I make my way through the dead grass, and I have to fight against the weight of my body against my legs. I want to collapse here, but I don’t let myself.

  I keep going.

  I creak open the door and see nothing. No furniture, no decoration, nothing of what my former home used to be. The door falls closed as I notice the marks Vara etched into the wooden molding surrounding the dining room, documenting Soren’s growth throughout the years. I cling to that tiny piece of familiarity. I sink to my knees as I watch the memory of my family play out in my mind. Us gathered around the dinner table there, Soren refusing to touch the green beans Vara cooked in the hopes that he would try them this time. I feel the cool air hit my wet cheeks and realize that I’m crying. I lick my lips and taste the salt of my tears as I pick myself off the floor and make my way through the rest of the house, my tears wetting the floor as I walk. I don’t wipe them away, and I don’t acknowledge them, because a part of me is still grasping at the small hope that my family is safe, and if I allow myself to truly feel their loss, I wont be able to keep pushing forward.

  I notice the door is open at the back of the house and a few leaves have blown in with the crisp, cool air. Maybe I should be looking for clues? I move my gaze from the leaves on the floor to the trees swaying outside and promptly discern that it must be autumn. I left in late summer, but this house looks like it’s been abandoned for more than a couple months. It looks like it hasn’t even been thought of in years. A familiar chill creeps up my neck again, the one I usually get when demons are near.

  I hear a loud crash coming from the backyard and immediately duck my head and crouch underneath the window where Vara’s desk used to stand. I can still see the scratches where she would slide her swivel chair across the pathway and land in front of the refrigerator when she was thirsty and working on something important. Her chair made a distinctive whooshing noise as it glided back to her computer. Vara was the eyes and ears for the Sicarri and gathered intel for us to use against the demons. Wait a minute… Was? Vara was? Shouldn’t I be thinking Vara is? Damn it, Elijah… think positive.

  The sound of heavy breathing pulls me out of my daydream about Vara and snaps me immediately back into the present. Something is standing right by the doorway; all I have to do is peek my head out from behind the wall and they will see me. There is nothing to hide behind, nothing covering me. I’m directly in view if someone were to round the corner into the room. What if it’s a demon? I have no protection right now, no weapons, I’m not even sure if I have the will to fight back. I hear footsteps… more than just one set, and I feel a surge of adrenaline hit my body. These demons will have a hell of a fight on their hands and I will carry on until I’m unable to lift my arm and curl my fingers into a fist.

  Here they come… I shift my weight, ready to plunge into them and take at least one down before they see what’s coming. I have the element of surprise. I see a shape round the corner and just before I heave myself across the floor and into whatever body is on the other side of this wall, I catch a glimpse of golden fur and a wet, rosy pink nose?

  What?

  My body falls forward when I realize it’s a dog… a damn dog. It looks like a golden retriever, with the most glowing and shiny fur coat I’ve ever seen on a dog, and hints of red that suddenly makes me think of Vara. I catch myself from falling on my face and plant my hands on the cold floor. I am face to face with drooling lips when a tongue flies out and licks across my forehead, lapping away the sweat beads I didn’t notice were there. My body suddenly feels weary, worn from all of the tension. I feel my muscles loosen like rubber bands pulled taut and snipped free from the pressure. I slump backwards, similar to a sack of potatoes thrown carelessly onto the ground. The dog sits on her hind legs and pants her hot breath in my face. I can smell kibbles on her tongue. I reach my fingers up in an offering of peace and she tenses slightly, but allows me to pet the spot between her ears that I’ve learned is a beloved scratching spot for most dogs. I see a worn navy blue collar around her neck with thick braided rope, but no nametag. This dog clearly is well taken care of. She belongs to someone… who? And why is she here? I don’t understand any of this.

  “Willow, come here, girl!” I hear a male voice call out as a shape fills the doorway. Willow obediently bounds toward the man with puppy-like enthusiasm as he steps inside the room. He either isn’t surprised to see me, or he hasn’t noticed me. I’m sure it’s the latter until he speaks.

  “I knew this would be the first place you came,” he states matter-of-factly, and I tense at his words. He steps toward me, and I move, pushing myself back along the rough floor.

  “Who are you?” I ask. His lips turn up on one side, and I am reminded once again of my wife. I stare straight into his chocolate brown eyes and it hits me. This man has the outline of a beard growing in and wrinkles set deep in the outer corners of his eyes, no doubt from years of pain and stress… and war. He looks no younger than his mid-twenties.

  This man…

  I know this man.

  I know him in my bones. He looks… like me. This man should be a child.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  A train has struck me going full speed; I know it. Something is wrong with me. I can’t get a breath out; I can’t get a breath in. My words get stuck in my throat, ensnaring themselves around my tongue and trapping my thoughts. I’m stuck in this unwavering moment of pain and confusion with no air in my lungs.

  How is this possible?

  “Hi, Dad,” the man says again, and takes a small step closer to me. The look on his face would be damn near comical, if the situation weren’t so horrifying. Maybe he thinks I haven’t heard him. I have. Doesn’t he know I’m stuck? My words have died on my tongue, and I briefly wonder if I’ll be trapped in this hell forever, unable to speak, unable to move. If it is true, if this man is my son, what is there to say? I blink my eyes a few times, fearing the truth… that my five-year-old son is now standing in front of me, not a child anymore, but a grown man.

  I gather the strength to pick myself up off the floor and look at the window to the left of the man claiming to be my son. I am now in direct view of the reflection shining back at me in the glass. For the first time since I woke up, I see myself. My eyes widen when I comprehend the vision in front of me. I realize that I’ve looked at my clothing since I woke, but I haven’t had the chance to take in my face. I am mostly unchanged from the day I left, though I notice my beard is longer and my hair grazes my chin. I haven’t aged a day, but my face has a tired, almost worn look to it, like I’ve been through hell. If I still look the same, why is Soren older? It’s not possible; I’ve been gone a couple years at most. This has to be some sort of demon trick. I step back farther, until I sense the wall close to my back.

  “I know this must be a lot for you.” The man speaks as he holds up his hands in a peace offering. He’s trying to show me that he means no harm, but I’m hesitant to accept it.

  Understatement of the century. What the hell is going on?

  “Dad, you have no idea how
long I’ve waited for you to come back. I got word today that you escaped and I came straight here, thinking this would be the first place you would come.” The more he talks, the more familiar he seems to me… the more I feel like I know him.

  I know him.

  My eyes screw up as I take in his features. The slight upturn of his nose, the freckle on his right cheekbone. The brown of his eyes, the fan of his lashes. His voice sparks a memory from deep within me, and I feel the strange sensation like I’m hearing it for the first time, but also the feeling that I know it better than I know my own voice. He pauses, allowing me to take in what he said. A demon wouldn’t do that. A demon would strike while I’m most confused, take me while my guard was down. This man is waiting, patiently, staring with the most gentle and understanding gaze on his face.

  “Soren?” Words. Finally words. My voice doesn’t sound like my own; it echoes around the room and vibrates through me. He nods and steps closer once more. This time I accept him. I wrap my arms around his body in an embrace resembling a python’s grip around its prey. I never want to let go. It doesn’t surprise me that he returns every bit of strength in his embrace.

  My son.

  My son is all grown up. I squeeze him once more and then step back without letting go of his shoulders. Looking up at his face, I realize that he’s slightly taller than I am. My eyes dance over his features, trying to memorize what I’ve only known for mere minutes. I grab at his face, pushing back the wisps of hairs from his eyes, really seeing it for the first time. His hair is longer on the top and shorter on the sides, and I briefly remember the time when he was a child that he only wanted his hair to look like how I always kept mine—one short length all over. I notice a faint scar on the left side of his temple that drags down. Just the tip of it reaches into his eyebrow, causing a small bald patch in the tip. He has a faint five-o’-clock shadow marring his cheeks. His hands glide to his sides and my eyes are drawn to the sharp movement. I take in the weapon at his hips and the tactical gear that he’s got on. I can tell in an instant that he’s been highly trained. Not a single stain touches his clothes, but his boots are dirty. Which tells me that he works, hard, but also takes care of himself.

  As I look at my son… my grown son, I want to disintegrate into the flooring. I spent so much time when Soren was younger worried he would grow up too soon, anxious that I would miss so many important moments while I was off working. When he clears his throat, certainly uncomfortable under my studious gaze, I realize… I missed it all.

  I missed every fever, every bad dream, every accomplishment he made, hearing about the girls he fell in love with, guiding him through every mistake he’s made. In an instant, I’ve become everything I said I never wanted to be. An absentee father, a husband who left his wife alone to raise their son. I may as well have been dead. I can’t even look at Soren in the eyes; I’m so ashamed of myself. I wanted more for him. I wanted more for our family. Then I remember, Soren is here, but what about…

  “Vara… your mother, where is she?” I ask as I finally release my son. Soren’s face falls and it reminds me of his third birthday when I told him I wouldn’t be able to have a piece of cake, I had to leave… had intel about demons causing problems with locals. The same weekend when Cormac pulled me from the fire in New Orleans. His face says it all, and when he shakes his head softly, I know that the hope I was clinging to is lost. I fight the urge to fall to the ground, and instead my thoughts morph into wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

  “What happened to her?” I have to know. Soren tightens his lips between his teeth and looks to the side. I can tell he feels unsure about how to tell me what happened. I don’t blame him; if you’re looking for the definition of unstable, my image would fit the mold right about now. I hold on to the knowledge that no matter how old he is, my son is here. He is looking me in the eyes. This is real. All hope can’t be lost if my son is still alive and well. Soren finally opens his mouth to speak, and the room seems to grow even quieter with me, in anticipation of his response.

  “She was okay for a while, probably about five years after you had gone. She kept up with her research until one day, after hours of sitting in front of her laptop and endless phone calls, she came to my room and told me she had to make a choice. That it was really important that she wasn’t selfish. I was only ten, so I had no clue what she could have meant.” Soren pauses and his eyes glaze over as he glances down the hall to stare at his bedroom door. He takes a deep breath and proceeds.

  “She kissed my head and told me that Uncle Marcel was coming to take care of me for the next couple days, and that she had an important task to complete. I figured it was more demon stuff, so I told her to be careful and that I would be a good boy. She walked out of the room, and I never saw her again. I’ve lived with Uncle Marcel ever since,” he finishes.

  Silence.

  There are so many things I want to say to Soren, but nothing passes my lips. Words fail me. I finally clear my throat and my son’s eyes meet mine again.

  “What do you mean you haven’t seen her? Is she dead? Where did she go?” Now that my voice is working again, I stumble over my words like I can’t get them out fast enough. I have to know there’s a chance I could see her again.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never known, Dad. I haven’t stopped searching for her, but anything I’ve found has only lead to dead ends. She’s either dead, or doesn’t want to be found. I’m sorry to say it like that, but… well, it hasn’t been easy.” He lowers his eyes to the floor after he finishes speaking.

  “I’m sorry, son.” My voice comes out harsher than I mean, and I cough past the burning sensation in my lungs, hacking up the surge of emotion that has hit me in the last hour.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry we left you alone. I’m sorry for it all.” My hands are shaking. I feel lightheaded and my hands rise to grip my too-long hair.

  “Dad, stop...” My hands move of their own accord, releasing my hair. Now, instead, they clutch at my chest... over my heart. Briefly, I wish that I could claw the organ out with my bare hands; at least that way it wouldn’t be able to cause me so much pain anymore. I have no idea how to repair the damage that has been done in the past… I freeze. How many years?

  “How long has it been?” No matter what the answer is, I don’t think I really want to hear it. My stomach twists and turns to the point where I taste bile on the back of my tongue.

  “I’m twenty-five.” So matter-of-fact. He tells me his age like my world wasn’t just swallowed by a black hole right before my eyes. I try not to visibly flinch when I hear his answer, but I’m sure he sees it. I look up to the ceiling at the tiny bits of air bubbles forming under the paint. Twenty years the demons held me prisoner, and I can’t remember a single moment of it… twenty years also means that my son is only five years my junior.

  “What happened, Soren? Why am I even alive? Why haven’t I aged? And how did you know I would be here?” I know I’m bombarding him with questions, but he doesn’t look fazed. He simply gestures down the hallway with a flick of his head and motions with his hand for me to follow him up the narrow staircase. Willow makes a circle around my legs and I move toward Soren with her secure by my side. My boots feel heavy on my feet, and I realize how famished I am. I use the last bit of strength I have to climb those god-forsaken stairs, recalling every nail I banged into place to piece this fucking staircase together.

  “Soon I’ll tell you everything I know, but first you need to get something to eat. And you need to rest. You’ll need your strength for later.” Soren obviously has a knack for reading people, no doubt a gift he acquired from Vara. I want to know everything all at once, but he’s right. My bones are weary; my stomach is turning in starvation. The few snacks I ate are no longer enough to keep me going. My body’s natural survival instincts are the only thing driving me forward at this point. What is the point when I’ve missed twenty years of my son’s life and I may or may not have any hope of
ever seeing my wife again?

  I have been sitting on a pale green sofa in the middle of the bedroom that Vara and I used to sleep in. This sofa is the only thing in this house that doesn’t make me want to vomit, because it is the only thing unfamiliar to me. There is no trace of Vara in this lumpy old sack of fabric and wood. I’ve been staring at a spot on the wall near the window. The same spot where I smashed my fist into the wall when I learned that demons had captured and killed my father. I meant to patch it up, but for years it sat there glaring at me like a flashing light, shouting, “Notice me!” Then it become more about me refusing to acknowledge it. Suffice it to say, the crack in the drywall never got patched.

  Willow is lying near the door, guarding. She is always guarding, I’ve noticed.

  Soon after we climbed the stairs, Soren made some calls from his cell phone. When he told me he had to call someone, I was sure he would pull out a phone I was familiar with from his pocket, but the slim piece that his fingers furiously moved across only reminded me how much of a difference twenty years really could make.