The Fire Artist (29 page)

My heart is beating fast, and I’m scared and hopeful at the same time. It’s so strange to feel this way. “Really?”

“Yes. Really and truly. And more than
like
, Aria. I’m in love with you. And I want to make a wish.”

My heart catches and plummets at the same time. Wishes and wants. It always comes down to that.

I assume my best businesslike pose as I reach into my pocket for the small notebook that’s magically there, in every outfit, every uniform I now possess. I take it out, flip it open, and begin to take notes. “Let’s get down to business. Your wish, sir? And what is it you want to offer in exchange?”

He shakes his head, steps closer, and takes away my notebook. “The only wish that requires no payment,” he says, as he drops my notebook to the sidewalk. I watch it hit the ground before I realize my hands are shaking, my fingers are trembling. I can taste something, I can feel something, and it’s so perilously close. I want to reach it, but I don’t want to miss.

The thing I’ve wanted most of all, my whole life over. The thing I’ve sought in different forms, in different shapes, trying on the wrong size, fumbling and stumbling and getting it wrong. But wanting it—always wanting it.

Freedom.

I hope and I wait and I want. There is only one wish that costs nothing.

His lips quirk up, and he speaks again. “You freed me. And now, Aria, I wish you free.”

I hold out my hands, and no sweet smoke rises from them, no mist to bring forth desires. Instead I can feel the smoke coursing out of me, mingling with the real elements, with the
air surrounding me, then being carried off on a current to become one with the atmosphere. I don’t know where granter magic goes when it’s drained away, when you’re freed of the bonds that come with incredible cosmic power and no free will.

But it’s no longer inside me.

My body is mine, my will is mine.

I am safe, finally.

“Your wish is my command,” I say as he takes my hands in his, pulls me close, and kisses me. He tastes like oranges, like he did that night we first kissed. Only this is better. Because my heart is healed, all my wish-giving magic stripped away, and he’s free too. I am me now, only me, and there’s nothing better than this.

Except one little thing.

I break the kiss.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’d really like to get out of these awful shoes.”

I take the black patent leather shoes I vow to never wear again and leave them on the sidewalk. Someone will pick them up. Someone will wear them. Just not me.

Instead I pull on my lace-up boots, tying them the way I like. I look down at my footwear, at my worn and beaten-up boots that don’t match my outfit. But they sure make this skirt look a heck of a lot better.

“Ah, that’s the girl I fell in love with, boots and all.”

“Boots and all,” I repeat. I take his hand. “What would you say to going to New Jersey with me right now? There are some people I want to see.”

“I would say let’s catch the next bus.”

“Where’s my math homework? I can’t find it!”

Jana shrieks and runs her hands through her hair, holding it hard.

I place a hand on her shoulder to settle her. “Did you look in your backpack? I saw you put it in there last night when you finished.”

Jana unzips her backpack and digs through the mountains of paper inside her binder, like a dog hunting for a bone. “Ah! There is it.”

“Dork,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Now, c’mon. My first class isn’t for an hour, so I’m going to walk you to the bus stop.”

“I know where the bus stop is. You don’t have to walk me.”

“I want to and I’m going to,” I say.

She narrows her eyes at me, shoots me a sharp stare.

“Just let me be the big sister, please.”

“Fine,” she says, then she lowers her voice. “I’m so glad you’re back. And safe.”

“Me too.”

I’ve been home for a month now, catching up on school. It’s not easy, but I find the SparkNotes
are
helpful. I did read
The Great Gatsby
last week for English though, and Taj was right. It’s so beautiful.

Then I zip up my coat and tell Jana to put on a hat. “It’s freezing outside.”

“It’s ridiculous here,” she says. “It’s so cold in December. I don’t know how people survive like this.”

I love that we can talk about the weather, and the temperature truly is one of the few things we have to worry about.

On the way to the bus stop, Jana chatters about a boy she likes.

“You should ask him out,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

She nods several times. “Yeah, why not?”

“And don’t forget. Be home by three. You and mom are taking me to the airport tonight.”

“I’ll be home.”

They let Xavi into the visiting room. He sits next to me on the couch. He shrugs at me, an admission that he’s sorry we’re back like this.

“Hey,” I say softly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.”

“How are you doing?”

“The same. Always the same.”

I suspect he’ll always be the same.

“But what about you?”

“I’m good.” Except for my brother being behind bars, life is extraordinarily good. It’s also completely different from what I imagined. I always thought I’d have to save everyone—Jana, my mom, myself. In the end, I couldn’t save myself. I had to be saved. But then, knowing who to trust and who to love—Taj—was what saved me in the end. He saved me, because I finally let someone know me.

“How’s school?”

“I’m finishing my senior year of high school,” I tell him. “I started late. I missed the first two months of the school year with that whole granter thing. But I’m making up for lost time.”

“And Jana?”

“Oh, you know. She still misses Florida. But she’s getting used to Jersey.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “Can’t believe you live in New Jersey of all places.”

“I know, right? But Mom likes the change. We have a small apartment, and she had enough money to buy it from the sale of the house.”

“And you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you, dork. You.”

How am I? I don’t perform anymore, and I don’t miss it at all. And I haven’t gone dark inside like Xavi said would happen. Turns out we are different in some ways. Some people go crazy when they don’t use their fire. Some people grow saner. No one’s coming to get me, no one’s coming to lock me up. I
may have stolen fire, but I don’t use it anymore. I’d like to say it’s my penance, my punishment for the crime, but truth be told, I actually like not making fire.

“I’m happy. I’m going to apply to college. Maybe study English or something. I don’t know. Or maybe I’ll just be a barista. I don’t really know what I want to do with my life.”

But I don’t have to. Because my life is finally mine.

Taj waits for me outside, reading a book. He’s sitting on a bench just beyond the chain-link fence that keeps the prisoners inside. I watch him as he flips back a few pages, scans the words for whatever he’s looking for, then returns to where he left off. He likes reading even more now that he can take his time with books, now that he
has
time. He doesn’t have to race against a clock.

I sit down next to him. “Good book?” I ask.

“Great book.”

“I’m going to need to get you a how-to-take-care-of-Florida-wildlife one next.”

“Oh, yeah?”

I nod. “Yep. I need to go check on the gator. I promised I’d look out for him.”

A deal is a deal, after all.

Thank you so much to my agent, Michelle Wolfson, for her tireless and always passionate dedication to my books, to my editors Caroline Abbey and Michelle Nagler for their keen insight into how to make the story better, and to Brett Wright for getting the book over the finish line.

I am ever grateful to the entire team at Bloomsbury for their care and attention to books, especially Lizzy Mason and Cindy Loh.

Hugs and pizza and tea and chatter to my local girls, Cynthia, Malinda, and Cheryl.

Thank you to the librarians, teachers, and fantastic booksellers who share their love of books with readers of all ages.

As always, my husband and children are my loves, and my dogs are my writing companions.

And most of all, thank you to you—the person reading this book. I hope you enjoyed your time with Aria.

Starry Nights

Copyright © 2014 by Daisy Whitney

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

First published in the United States of America in October 2014 by Bloomsbury Children’s Books

www.bloomsbury.com

Bloomsbury is a registered trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Whitney, Daisy.
The fire artist / by Daisy Whitney.
pages    cm

Summary: As an elemental artist, Aria can create fire from her hands, stealing her power from lightning—which is dangerous and illegal in her world—but as her power begins to fade faster than she can steal it she must turn to a modern-day genie, a granter, who offers one wish with an extremely high price.

ISBN 978-1-61963-132-8 (hardcover) • ISBN 978-1-61963-392-6 (e-book)

[1. Fire—Fiction. 2. Magic—Fiction. 3. Family problems—Fiction. 4. Genies—Fiction. 5. Love—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.W6142Fir 2014    [Fic]—dc23    2014005596

ISBN: 978-1-61963-392-6 (e-book)

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