Fuel the Fire (53 page)

“
Light as a feather, stiff as a board
.” We begin slowly raising Ryke with only our fingers. His body feels more weightless as we go higher, transitioning from our knees to a crouch.

“
Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
” It becomes easier, his body hovering off the ground with our teamwork and focus.

“
Light as a feather, stiff as a board
.” We’re standing, and he’s now four feet off the ground.

“
Light as a feather
.” Ryke is at my shoulders. “
Stiff as a board
.” Our voices grow in octave and the chant picks up pace. He continues to rise higher and higher, past my neck, past my head.

“Holy shit,” Lily curses in surprise.

Instantly, his body feels like a ton of weight, ready to snap my index finger into two. Lily gasps and lets go first, then Willow falters, and Ryke
crashes
downward.

Onto
me.

My ass hits the floor hard, maybe karma for my evil thoughts towards Loren Hale. Ryke’s left elbow digs into my ribs, his body weight crushing me. This is not ideal.

“Fuck,” Ryke curses. “Rose, are you okay?” His sincerity and concern is greatly appreciated.

“This is a new game.” Connor’s voice electrocutes my insides. I can’t see him past Ryke’s large head. Ryke picks himself off me as quickly as he can and apologizes to
me
, not to Connor. Since I’m the one he body-slammed into the ground.

“Enrage a spirit already?” Connor says as he steps over bowls to reach me in the middle of the sleeping area. His eyes sweep me for signs of injury. I’m all in one piece, and my glare must calm him enough because he never mentions ice bags or trips to the hospital.

“No,” I say, straightening my black pajama top.

Connor puts a foot on either side of my legs and he squats in front of me, the whole motion caked with dominance, and I freeze altogether. “Were we playing twister without the mat?” he asks, and I notice the wine glass in his hand. I didn’t see him slip out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, but if he did, he saw our game.

He’s just being an ass. His lips rise as he takes a sip, intolerably slow. An infuriating, attractive ass.

“Light-as-a-feather, stiff-as-a-board,” Lily answers. “We were lifting Ryke.”

He knows
, I want to say, but I’m having a stare-a-thon with my husband. I will not blink and lose.

“I can’t believe it worked,” Daisy beams, and Ryke messes her hair out of the bun. It’s her first time playing an adolescent game. When she
finally
reached the “slumber party” age in her life, she was treated so much older than that. Our mother aged her with us, but in doing so, Daisy skipped these youthful, fun years.

“Yeah, it worked before Ryke crash-landed on Rose,” Lo says. “It was literally like a scene from
The Wizard of Oz
.”

I whip my head to him, about to have some choice words, but Connor clasps my hand. I lost the stare-a-thon. I sigh as he helps me to my feet.

I place a hand on his chest. “You’re just in time.”

“For what, darling?”

“The séance or, as you call it,
speaking to air particles
.” A funny taste is in my mouth even repeating those words.

“So we’re not done playing pretend then?”

“It’s magic,” Lily pipes in. “Not pretend.”

“It’s not magic,” Connor says. “It’s science. You evenly distributed yourselves around Ryke, and it becomes easier to lift
anyone
like that.”

“What about the chanting?” she asks.

“It helps coordinate everyone, so your movements are in sync.”

I’m married to the biggest disbeliever, and strangely, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I sit down in the circle again with Connor by my side, sipping his wine. Maybe he prefers to be intoxicated for this.

“Ohhh,” Lily gapes in realization. She frowns a little and then turns to Loren. I hear her whisper, “So we’re not magic?”

“We’re definitely magic,” he whispers back with a nod.

“Then what are they?” Her eyes flicker to Connor and me, catching us watching them.

Lo purposefully raises his voice so we can hear. “An immortal god who married an immortal demon.” He flashes a dry smile. “Match made in purgatory.”

Oddly enough, I do feel in purgatory with Connor right now, our futures in flux with the press conference looming and Scott still nagging my husband for a season two.

“Speaking of purgatory…” I rise and collect some of the candles, placing them in the middle before I take my seat again.

“Oh wait, this is happening now?” Lily clutches a baby monitor and then tosses her quilt over head. Lo cocoons her in his arms.

He whispers, “Are you trying to blend in with all the other ghosts, love?”

“Uh-huh,” she whispers back, frightened.

Daisy waves her hand through the flame, too quickly to be burned, so no one says anything. “Can we call upon Old Aunt Margot and ask her what she thought of Dad’s first bottle of Fizz?”

“It must’ve tasted like shit,” Lo says. “Didn’t he make it in his basement?”

“Garage,” I correct. He was a teenager with lofty ambitions, kind of like me, I suppose. Only he started from nothing. I started from the high platform that he gave me—more privileged than most.

The more I relate Fizzle to his dream and his dream to fear of losing it all—I can understand his stance on the press conference. I just wish we were on the same side this time.

“I didn’t know you had aunts and uncles,” Ryke says, a little surprised and hurt by this fact…maybe because Loren isn’t shocked at all. He’s as close to our extended family as we are.

“All of them are in different parts of the United States,” Daisy tells him, “but Old Aunt Margot used to live with her sister, which is our dad’s mom.” Grandma Pearl is retired in Palm Beach, Florida, living in what she calls “paradise” thanks to her son’s generosity.

Connor rubs his lips, slightly irritated, I can tell. “So she’s Great Aunt Margot?”

“Old Aunt Margot,” all my sisters and I say in unison.

“When did ‘great’ and ‘old’ become synonymous?” He looks to me for an answer since clearly she is our great aunt by relation.

“No one ever called her
great
…” I trail off, realizing how upsetting this sounds. “She liked being called old.” Oh God, that’s worse, isn’t it? “It was her choice.” I end with that, which is as good as it gets.

“I wish I could’ve met her,” Connor says with a smile. “She seems interesting.”

I’m about tell him that he’s about to meet her, but Loren pipes in, “She smelled like rotten green olives, so consider yourself lucky.”

I glower. “You’re going to wish you didn’t insult her.”

“Did I offend her already? Where is she?” He looks over his shoulder mockingly.

“You just broke rule number two.”

“And I’m still alive.” He nods to Connor. “What do you call that, love?”

“Favoritism,” he says.

I gag. “He’s not my favorite
anything
.”

Coconut suddenly howls from the kitchen, paws pitter-pattering on the floorboards. Daisy stiffens, and scans the room quickly. We all go quiet, and Ryke pulls Daisy closer to him, his lips by her ear as he whispers, most likely comforting words.

“Aunt Margot it is,” I say, trying to draw attention off her. “Let’s all hold hands.” I clasp Connor’s and then Willow’s. Daisy takes a deep breath, especially as Coconut settles down.

“Close your eyes,” I instruct.

I wait for everyone, mostly Connor though, who stubbornly keeps both eyes open. He arches a brow.
After you
, he seems to say.

I trust that he’ll shut his eyes too. So I close mine first. “Aunt Margot,” I start…and I have to take a peek at Connor, to see if he’s playing along. Even if it’s not real to him, it’s real to me.

His eyes are surprisingly shut.

I love him even more for it.

“We’re calling you, Aunt Margot,” I say. The rain thrashes more viciously than before, the wind whistling. “We miss your beautiful, lost soul. Please come to us.”

Lo snickers first, and I can feel Connor try not to laugh.

Ignore them, Rose.
“Fight through the barrier of the afterlife so that we may speak with you.”

Craaaaaaccck!

Lily lets out a petrified squeal beneath her quilt.

“What the fuck was that?” Ryke asks. He looks only out the floor-length window, so I think he’s actually worried about the structural damage from the storm.

“It’s electrostatic discharge,” Connor tells him. “Also known as lightning.”

The lights flicker on and off until a bulb cracks and they all go out. The TV clock blinks with them, so we’ve lost power.

“Ohmygod,” Lily slurs in panic.

“Old Aunt Margot?” Daisy calls out, the only one with her eyes still closed. “Can you hear us?” Despite her playful voice, I can tell that she’s putting on a brave front, her collar protruded as she holds in a breath. She white-knuckles her knees, and I worry that the whole séance might’ve been a horrible idea.

Whhhaaaaap!

Lily shrieks at the new noise, the one emanating from upstairs. Coconut scampers into the living room with determination, actually checking the sliding door…the dog locks it back with the nudge of her nose.

I saw Ryke training the Siberian husky on the first day here, showing her the latches to the doors and all the exits, so I’m not surprised she has the talent to lock the door—I’m just alarmed that the door is unlocked to begin with.

“What was that noise?” Lily asks, unable to see Coconut’s vigilant routine. “Connor?”

He’s staring at the ceiling. “An object fell.”

“By a ghost?”

Thuuump!
is followed by a long, sharp groan…maybe a human groan.
No.
There’s absolutely no way. We’re in the middle of nowhere. No one else is here. I made sure of it.

Animals.

There are live animals upstairs.

I will butcher whatever rodent has decided to lodge in our house.
Mice, I think. It’s probably an infestation of them.

Ryke immediately rests a hand on Daisy’s head, her forehead coated in sweat, her breath shallow, struggling to swallow air.

Ryke whistles, and I see Coconut’s white fur round the corner. “Lie down, Dais.” He helps my sister on her back to combat the start of a panic attack, and the dog curls onto Daisy’s chest, the applied weight acts as deep pressure therapy—I’ve seen it help her once before.

Footsteps patter upstairs. I stand and grab my baby monitor, listening for Jane. I can hear her soft snores, which eases me a little, but I plan to check—

More footsteps.
It’s not a person
.
It’s an animal.

Lily flings off the quilt. “Moffy,” she says, bolting towards the staircase, baby monitor still in her clutch.

“Lily, wait—” Lo runs after her, and then Willow sprints in the complete opposite direction, through a darkened hallway.

Without second thought, I race after Willow, feeling Connor hot on my heels. When she hurriedly ascends another staircase, Connor beats my pace and passes me, brushing my shoulder with his hand like
it’s okay.
He knows…something that I don’t.

The second-floor hallway is pitch-black. I try to flick on the lights, but nothing happens. Connor takes out his cellphone and turns on the flashlight portion, a blue glow illuminating Willow as she tries to turn the knob of a certain door.

She bangs on the wood. “Are you okay?”

I rush to her a little after Connor reaches and asks, “Is he in there?”

Willow says quickly, “He didn’t have anywhere else to go. I made sure to blindfold him here. I promise, he has
no
idea where this place is.”

I raise my chin, in battle mode with Connor. I pull Willow back closer to me so he can open the door. When he does, he points the flashlight at the room, illuminating the quilted bed. An eighteen-year-old boy sits on the edge, a lamp shattered on the floor. He holds his bare foot, as though trying to check the sole…blood trickles—a piece of glass lodged in the bottom.

“Are you okay?” Willow tries to rush closer, but I yank her back to me.

“You’re not wearing shoes either, Willow,” I tell her.

He hangs his head in more guilt than pain, I think, his hair falling into his eyes. “I tried to turn the lamp back on. I ended up knocking it over and I…”
stepped on the glass.
He winces, trying to pull out the shard in near darkness.

“Don’t,” Connor warns. “Rose, can you go get a first-aid kit and check on Jane?”

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

Loren’s half-sister snuck her friend into the house. I’m sure she had a reason for this, but it doesn’t assuage the fact that an eighteen-year-old little asshole has been camping out upstairs and my youngest sister is terrified downstairs.

And by the look on Connor’s normally stoic face, he’s not pleased either.

[ 48 ]

CONNOR COBALT

I learn that Garrison has no phone on him. He gave his cell to Willow when he stowed away in the Escalade’s trunk, wanting to show his friend that he had no plans of deception. When we first checked out the house, Willow stayed back and “called her mom” so she could sneak Garrison inside.

It’s basically all I gather before Rose returns with the first-aid kit, Jane in arm, and a pairs of shoes. “I want to talk to Daisy and Lily,” she tells me. Her eyes ping to Willow.

“I’m sorry, Rose—”

“I understand what it means to be loyal,” Rose says, “but you shouldn’t have kept this from us. If you wanted to bring your boyfriend along, we could’ve worked something out.” 

“Friend,” Willow amends, paling and avoiding her “friend’s” eyes.

Garrison looks at Rose. “Would it make it better if we were dating?”

I answer, “It would make it exponentially worse.”

He shuts up and hangs his head again, beaten more by his own guilt.

Willow hesitates by the door frame and focuses on Rose. “Can I explain…I want to apologize to Daisy too…?”