I picture Lor. The newness of her smile, the affection she’s learning to accept from me and Kahlo, the bracelet around my wrist tying me to her.
I raise my head, seeing the flames sputtering rather than streaming from me. Another breath, then I straighten my spine and seek out my center. The peace and safety I feel when sitting on Lor’s couch. I close my eyes and pull the flames back. They shorten and flicker until I’m holding two small balls of fire in my palms.
I close my hands, gently fisting them and dousing the fire.
My head tips back as I suck in a breath of cool air. Then I walk on shaky legs to the dumpster and peek inside. Everything in it is burned, only glowing embers remain. I reach a hand out, mentally connecting with the lingering flame, and douse that too.
The fire didn’t spread; it stayed contained to the dumpster. There’s not even a smudge on the brick wall above it, so what felt like ages to me must have been only a few minutes at most.
I’m lucky no one saw that. An out of control demon gets a one-way ticket to the supernatural prison, and I don’t think I’d survive there. I flex and relax my hands, ensuring there’s not even a tiny spark of flame before I make my way back to the block where I parked my bike.
As I’m weaving between traffic, my mind shifts between two topics: the threats against Lor, and my deepening feelings for her. It’s obvious they’re stronger than I anticipated; I wouldn’t lose control like that otherwise.
The question is, what am I going to do about it?
18
STAR-SONG
April 20, 1992: My mind plays tricks. The darkness is darker, deeper, heavier. Even when I follow the pull of the stars, even when I find the ancestors’ remains, what am I to do with a box of dirt? A bag of ashes? Screams in the flames, a blinding light. No more. Please, no more.
Lor
“You might think I need you, but I don’t. I’d rather eliminate an asset entirely than maintain an underperforming one.”
The words ring in my ears as I watch him stride away. He had leaned toward me after his thugs dropped the poor bloodied man on the ground, lowering his voice for my ears alone as he made his threat clear. His bodyguards haven’t moved a muscle since entering, and they stare at me as I back away a few steps, then turn and attempt to keep my head high as I leave on shaky legs. I hope my nerves aren’t noticeable; weakness is a danger in this world.
I don’t let my defeat show until I’m back at my bike, blocks away. I don’t know how to move forward. I’m not too worriedabout myself; despite his threat, as long as I’m bringing in stardust, I don’t think he’ll kill me.
What I’m truly worried about is Ro. He’s been getting closer, wiggling his way through the cracks in my walls, and now he knows more than he should. If he realizes what’s going on, who I’m working for and what is required of me, I fear what his demon side will do. He seems good-natured and cheerful, easy going with a quick smile, but he’s still a demon.
Not to mention what would happen to him if the big boss man found out I have a weakness. My mind starts offering flashes of worst case scenarios: Ro being threatened, harmed, his face taking the place of the bloodied one from the warehouse, him being used against me to force me to comply. Even worse, they might find a way to use him too, somehow harnessing his demon abilities for evil.
That would break him.
And I can’t allow that.
Which means I can’t have him. It’s the only path forward that keeps him safe.
I unlock my apartment on autopilot as my brain conjures more and more images. Ro with bloody stumps instead of colorful fingernails. Ro being forced to beat someone, or being beaten for my failures. Ro being held hostage in a dank cell as I try desperately to find more stardust.
Ro losing his spark, the life draining from his eyes.
I pull out my grandmother’s diary, the only thing I have left from my family, and clutch it to my chest. It’s cool in my hands, the leather soft under my fingertips. I don’t even have anything of my mom’s, but this at least makes me feel slightly less alone sometimes. My mind shifts from Ro to my mother, and I wonder what country she’s in. Is she happy? Is she still jumping from boyfriend to boyfriend, city to city? Is she safe?
My fingers start to drum the cover of the journal, and my knee bounces as my thoughts spin. I try to avoid it, but one thought punches through the others anyway.
Has she lost her mind yet?
I jump up from the bed and pace down the hall, around the coffee table and couch, through the kitchen, and back to my room before spinning on my heel and doing it again. How much of her sanity is left? Can she still take care of herself, keep herself safe, feed herself? Does she remember she has a daughter?
Is she even still alive?
I thrust my fingers into my hair and grip my scalp, shaking my head to try to dislodge the thoughts, but they stick in my brain like taffy. Stretching and pulling, one thought leading to the next, but refusing to let go. My mood is plummeting, getting darker, the thoughts filling me with despair. I feel helpless, hopeless, like there’s no way out of the horrible situation that is my life.
I grab my keys and sprint to the door. Only bad choices will come if I stay here alone, so I fling myself back onto my bike in search of the open road.
The dark sky welcomes me, and I blink in surprise. I didn’t realize the whole day had passed already, but evening brings a sense of relief. I’m always more calm when I can see the stars, and tonight is no different. I catch a glimpse of another bike turning a corner behind me as I pull out onto the highway. I spare a moment to wonder if it’s Ro, and if so, what to do about it, but I don’t have the capacity tonight.
