Phoenix Reborn (3 page)

Hawke spoke again, defeating her silence with his persistence. “Listen, Ashling — I’m really glad that I got to run into you. There are things I’ve wanted to talk to you about, ever since…” He stopped himself, seeming to contemplate his next words with care.

“Things?” she said. “What things?” Her heart was sprinting in quick laps inside her chest, though why, she couldn’t exactly say. Something in his tone was exciting her, making her nervous, frightened, thrilled, all at once.

The kitchen door creaked open and Ranach pushed his head out. Ashling wondered a moment later if she’d only imagined her boss issuing a look of stern reproach to their visitor. What was going on between these two?

“You know what? It’s nothing,” Hawke added hurriedly, stepping back and running his fingers through his already mussed hair as though attempting to release a thought that had been brewing. “I should go. But really — do come by tomorrow. I’d like to see you. You don’t know how much.”

His repetition of those words almost gave him the air of a nervous teenager rather than a renowned film star. But there was no way, thought Ashling, that a man like that could ever be nervous around a woman like her.

Though it was sort of adorable to see.

“I’ll think about it, like I said,” she answered, smiling. “I suppose I
would
like to watch you in action. I hear that you’re pretty good.”

“Well, I hope I don’t let you down. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Unless—”

“Yes?” said Ashling.

“Nothing,” he replied, seemingly thinking better of whatever he’d been on the verge of saying. “It’s just that I would like to spend more time with you. Very much.”

Her heart once again bounced against her chest, as though trying to escape and give itself to him. Was he — almost — asking her out? Surely not.

He grinned at her one more time before turning to leave. “So long, Ashling Jones. We’ll see one another soon.”

She watched him go. That boy from so long ago. He’d changed so much, morphed into something of a legend. Someone so inaccessible, so handsome. And yet a part of him was the same as it had always been: gentle, down to earth, sincere.

As he disappeared from sight, Ashling felt as though a delicate thread had attached itself to each of them, tugging at her chest as he moved away and threatening to snap if he went too far.

If only he still lived in this town. And if only he weren’t world famous. And far too good for the likes of her.

If only
she
weren’t Ashling Jones.

“He’s just a simple human,” she told herself, trying to shake free the thoughts of his handsome face and perfect body. Or the kindness in his voice. “Just a guy. You’ve seen him cry, for God’s sake.” It was true; when they were little he’d hurt himself on a jungle gym and wailed impressively for his mother. But then, everyone had done that at some point.

But no other kid had ever done what she had.

No other kid had set anyone on fire.

A
s Hawke strode away from Ranach’s front door he closed his eyes for a moment, snapping a mental camera shutter to steal a photograph of Ashling’s face. It had been years since he’d last laid eyes on her. She was a woman, and yet she was the same girl that she’d always been. As lovely as ever. As
lost
as ever.

That night years earlier, he’d wanted so badly to go to her. To let her know what he knew; to console her and free her from the burden that he was sure she must carry. And yet he’d chosen the coward’s way. He’d let her suffer on her own. And he’d always regretted it, through all the years spent nurturing his skills, his career as an actor. Always he’d carried around the knowledge that he could have done more, if not for his selfish need to keep a secret from her and from everyone.

Now, maybe he’d have a chance to make it up to her. No — more than that. Maybe he’d have a chance to reignite the spark that had once flared delicately between them.

She was so beautiful now. So gentle. No one that he’d met over the years, not even the most gorgeously attired, thin, manicured actresses, had even begun to come close to Ashling. And, he knew, no one ever would. She was otherworldly, her beauty only enhanced by the fact that she couldn’t see it.

His gait lightened as he walked. He would see her again; he knew it. And when he did, he’d find a way to let her know how he felt. He’d let her know that she had never been alone, even in the darkest days. That he’d always watched over her, as others had.

Ashling abided by Ranach’s wishes and made her way outdoors that afternoon, with the promise to herself that she’d return later to finish another silver piece.

The University Observatory was a favourite haunt of hers, and had been since she could remember. Up a long, steep pathway flanked by tall trees, the area was generally quiet, devoid of people, and lured her frequently away from civilization. On occasion she’d run into a fellow recluse on her walks up the slope, but like her, they avoided eye contact, looking to the trees or the distant buildings, until each was well out of reach of the other. Breathing communal sighs of relief and continuing on their way.

On this day, there was very little risk of eye contact with humans. Ranach was right; she did spend too much time indoors. The studio was her place of comfort, of safety. But here, outside, she had to admit that she felt everything melt away; all those worries that nagged at her seemed to shed and sail off in the breeze.

She loved to watch the birds soaring above, free in their open sky, safe from all that might hunt them down below. That was their true sanctuary, as the silversmith’s studio had become hers. And she envied and admired the birds for their gift of flight. Their freedom from earthly cares.

As she hiked, Ashling kept her eyes focused largely on the clear blue expanse above her. Anything that took her mind to another place, to the beauty of nature and creatures whom she could admire from a distance, was a good thing.

She made her way up the tall hill, where she knew she’d find some large rock or fallen tree to sit on. The sun had come to rest high in the sky, and the air smelled of late autumn: crisp, clean; the aroma of decaying leaves scattered about and picked up by the breeze. A few clouds stretched across the deep blue above, but none threatened to block the warmth that was pouring down, caressing her shoulders and lighting her long hair to a fiery red-brown.

When she reached the top and passed the Observatory to wander to the quiet area at its rear, she sat down and pulled out an apple that she’d shoved into her satchel. With the first crisp bite she scanned the sky once again, disappointed by its frustrating emptiness. Nothing. Not even a bloody pigeon.

Still, it had been worth the brief climb for the solitude, the sun and the time to think about absolutely nothing and everything at once. In these moments of aloneness, she always felt that the world was a clean canvas opening itself up before her. Everything that had ever happened in her relatively brief life seemed for the moment to matter very little, and perhaps — just perhaps — something great was yet to come.

But moments such as these were invariably interrupted by worry, and worse: a fear shrouding her, forming a cloud just above her head that seemed to separate her from the surrounding beauty. The same fear that had held her back all her life, kept her from advancing, from looking for those talents that Ranach insisted she had. A paralysis taking hold of her, stopping her in her tracks.

And today it was coloured by her brief chat with Hawke. All the good memories, accompanied by the recollection that in one fell swoop her relationship with him had gone crashing to the ground, a shattering piece of glass. Fragmented now, and irreplaceable.

For too many years she’d succumbed to this feeling of a looming concern; the heavy, repeated question, like a weight strapped to her neck. What if it happened again? That loss of control which, in one quick instant, had ruined her life and robbed her of any chance at normalcy.

It seemed as though each day she contemplated running away to start over somewhere, to see if maybe she could get a handle on all of it. But as she sat and breathed deeply, slowly, she told herself that today was not the day.
Today
was enjoyable and nearly worry-free. She’d seen Hawke, who’d apparently managed to leave the past in the past.

She’d crafted a beautiful bird of fire. And Ranach had been right, naturally; she’d needed to get out and breathe the fresh air. Nothing would have made her happier, and happiness was a rare commodity, a gem. It was to be nurtured, cultivated and appreciated in those brief moments when the light caught it just so. Because in a flash, it could disappear. And there was no way to know when it might return.

She rose after her period of contemplation, disappointed in the lack of an eagle but refreshed nonetheless by a series of positive thoughts.

And that’s when she heard it.

The distant cry of a bird of prey high overhead. Once again her eyes veered upwards, searching, avoiding the blinding laser of the sun.

She saw him instantly.

The Golden Eagle was moving high in the sky in smooth circles, gliding directly above her. And as she watched, he seemed to come closer, to grow larger, the circles descending gradually towards her until she realized that she could make out each feather on his wings, even the colour of his talons. He was a beautiful creature, his head noble, his eyes alert as he studied the landscape around him.

His flight was calculated as he spiralled downward, as though his target were exactly where she stood.

There must be a small animal around here to hunt,
Ashling thought.
Otherwise I’d almost think he was coming down to see
me.

But of course he wasn’t; no bird would do such a thing. Instead, the eagle swerved, dipping into the nearby cover of tall pine trees and disappearing from sight. No doubt that was where his prey — a rabbit, perhaps — lay in wait. Ashling considered stalking him as she began to walk, but thought better of it. She’d only startle him and his prey, and spoil his chances at a meal.

The only thing that could have improved the moment was a little company. For all her time spent alone, Ashling was all too aware that even those who shun society crave companionship to share moments of beauty. A friend — a male friend, she admitted to herself — would have been a nice addition. Though he would have had to be a special one indeed, to be tolerable.

And what man in his right mind would want to spend time with someone as flawed as she was? Hawke had seemed interested in catching up, in spending time with her again. But then, he’d always been kind and charitable with his time. No doubt he perceived her simply as a former classmate. He was willing, perhaps, to forget the event that had caused the end of their friendship.

But she wasn’t exactly someone that any man aspired to get close to. Sometimes she wondered if she should just give in and join a convent. For one thing, it would give her an excuse to avoid men and for another, weren’t those places generally made of stone? The building would be able to resist one of her “accidents,” if need be. But a man? A body of flesh and bone would be vulnerable to her cursed ability. And she could never live with herself if she really hurt someone. She’d come close enough already.

“Fire Girl,” they had called her.

Her nickname had hit at the beginning of her sophomore year in high school, when a bunch of teenagers had headed down to a nearby lake for an evening bonfire. Somehow, a girl that Ashling had barely known had issued her an invitation without realizing the gravity of her error — you didn’t invite girls like her to such events.

Hawke had told her that he’d be there. And Ashling, having resolved to be more friendly than she had in her younger years, had shown up to find a sea of sour faces greeting her, but his had been lost among the masses. And so she only saw the unfriendly ones; the sorts of faces that not only ask how the hell you came to be here, but that convey a wish that you’d sink to the bottom of an ocean with lead weights tied to your feet.

While seeking Hawke’s friendly features in the crowd, she’d all but smashed head-first into a teenage boy called Jeremy, who’d been carrying a pile of wood over to the place where she stood.

Ashling would never forget his words:

“What are you doing here, Ugly?” he’d asked.

“I was invited,” she’d mumbled quietly.

“Well, I’m
un
inviting you. This party’s for hot chicks only.”

It had only taken a second for Ashling to turn away, ready to walk silently back towards town. She’d find Hawke another time.

It was when she’d taken several steps that the kid had continued his string of abuse.

“Is it because you’re so freaking ugly that your parents left you with that crazy old man Ranach? Because I don’t blame them. I’d have thrown you off a cliff. If I ever have a kid who looks like you I’ll do that, then kill myself.”

Ashling had spun around to face him. The reaction had been impulsive and sudden. And had she known for a second what the consequences would be, she would have found the strength to ignore him.

But he’d brought her parents into it. It was one thing to mock her physical appearance, but comments about her parents were off limits. She never wanted to admit that the jabs stung her to the core, but the truth was that they did; like a knife in her side, twisting. She’d never known why her parents had left or where they’d gone, or even if they were still alive. But they
were
gone, and she’d felt abandoned, unwanted.

In her pain and rage, she had simply stared at the boy Jeremy, who still held the logs in his arms, a smug smile on his face. Ashling could see how pleased he was to have hurt her. She’d felt her rage increasing to a fever pitch as she breathed deeply, preparing herself for something — though what, she didn’t entirely know.

For years afterwards she would recall that for a moment she had wished Jeremy dead, her eyes fixed on those logs, wishing they would engulf the boy in flame.

And that was precisely what happened. As though doused in lighter fluid they had lit up, setting his sleeves on fire before he’d had a chance to drop the wood. His eyebrows and a large portion of his hair had also managed to light up.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Out of the woods Hawke had come sprinting, a blur from between the tall trees. In front of Ashling and everyone else he’d thrown Jeremy to the ground to extinguish the flames that were threatening to consume the young man. Never had Ashling seen anyone move so fast.

And never had she seen a look like he’d shot her in that moment, his eyes locking on hers, on her very soul. He was judging her; she knew it. How could he not? In that moment, Hawke had hated her and what she was.

And everyone else had stared, too. Not at Jeremy, but at the girl who’d appeared to start the conflagration. Though she must have been standing ten feet away from her victim and though they couldn’t explain how, there was no doubt in their minds that she’d done it.

She was a freak; a fire-starter. She was to be hated and feared.

That was the last time that Ashling had been invited anywhere, accidentally or otherwise, unless one counted a few out-of-town dates during her college years. And though she’d been intimate with more than one man, she’d never allowed herself to feel deeply for anyone, fearful of the potential consequences of pain.

Never once since that night in high school had she allowed herself to be truly hurt by anyone’s words. Never again would she allow cruel jabs to become another person’s weaponry against her. She would conquer this fire-starting curse if it killed her.

But the terrible truth was that the incident in the woods wasn’t the first time. The fire had come once before that night. Somewhere in her distant memory she recalled the first incident, though she’d been almost too young at the time for the memory to carve itself into her consciousness, and for years it had seemed more like a dream than reality.

It was on the day that her parents had disappeared that her powers had come to light, quite literally. Ashling was only a small child at the time, and it was Ranach who had taken her into his home, attempting to shield her from the pain he knew she would feel when he told her that her mother and father had left her with him.