TORCH (25 page)

Black Hat finishes splashing fluid around in the kitchen, but instead of lighting it, sits down to wait. He pulls off his right glove and texts someone, and then puts the phone away and taps the tablecloth with his gloved left hand. It’s a familiar tablecloth, although I can’t quite place it. Then, as the back door opens, Black Hat stands.

I recognize Uncle Rick immediately from the streak of silver in his hair. Leaving the door open, he says, “What are you doing here?”

Black Hat doesn’t answer. Instead, he flicks his hand, hard. The fireball moves so fast, I only know it existed at all because I see a couple of stray pink sparks. Uncle Rick’s head snaps back and he falls, blocking the doorway. Black Hat drops a pink fireball to the floor and the flames ignite. Then he steps over Uncle Rick’s body and leaves.

“Dad,” I say, holding back the hysteria. “Wake up.”

The guys have left and he’s alone in the kitchen, with his head on his arms. Thankfully, there’s no sign of beer cans.

“What? What’s going on?”

“There’s a fire at Uncle Rick’s.” I keep my voice low, because Regan is asleep in the guest room. Uncle Rick left her with us because he was working an evening shift and didn’t want her to be alone.

He jumps to his feet. “I can’t leave you alone.”

“Then send some of the others,” I say, handing him the phone. I can’t stand the thought of Dad being the one to find Uncle Rick anyway.

T
he phone’s ring wakes Regan and she stumbles groggily into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Dad gently eases her into a seat at the kitchen table beside me. Then he shares the worst possible news: despite a full turn out from official and unofficial fire crews, Regan’s dad has died.

“Died?” she says, too bewildered to take it in. “How?”

She turns to me for the answer, reading it on my face. “Black Hat.”

“I’m so sorry, Regan,” I begin, knowing there is nothing I can say to make this any easier. Tears are streaming down my face, but for the moment, she is dry-eyed.

“It’s your fault,” she tells me.

“Regan,” Dad says. “I know you’re upset, but it’s only one man’s fault, and I promise you, we will stop him.”

“Phoenix could have stopped him already,” Regan says, fiercely. “You could have let me tell my dad about it
months
ago. But all you cared about was being with Kai. Until it was too late.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. Part of me thinks she’s right, that it is my fault. If I’d just gone straight to my dad or hers about these dreams, maybe this could have been avoided. “I loved your dad, too.”

I reach for her arm but she jerks it away. “I hate you.”

“Regan, listen to me,” Dad says, gently, but forcefully. “I know how you feel. I lost my father. Then I lost my brother. Then I lost my wife. And this year, I lost my son. That’s what can happen to people like us, like your dad. It was not Phoenix’s fault.”

“Did Mom die from fire?” I ask.

His eyes confirm it, but he says, “This isn’t about us, right now, Phee. It’s about Regan and Uncle Rick.”

“But why is this guy after us?” I ask.

“It’s political,” Dad says. “Some people don’t believe in Rosewood—in the concept of everyone integrating in peace. So far everyone this guy has targeted is a big proponent of the mosaic—none bigger than Rick Wilder. This is a statement.” Regan, who’s been staring at her hands, looks up at my dad. “You mean, it’s a statement about Torches and Floods being together?”

“You know it started before that,” I say. “Killing Nate was his first ‘statement,’ although I’m not sure why.”

Dad puts his left hand on Regan’s forearm and his right hand on mine, trying to unify us. “There are traditionalists who believe Torches and Floods should keep to themselves. Period. Your dad and I didn’t support that, Regan. We didn’t want to live in isolation, or raise our families that way. And yet we’re more at risk in the general population, without the protection of like-minded people. We chose to move here because Rosewood is supposed to be a place where people agree to live without using their special abilities.”

“Are there other groups?” I ask. “Beyond Torches and Floods?”

Dad nods. “We’re trying to live as normally as possible. Mostly it works, although lately it’s become an armed neutrality.”

“People are dying,” Regan says. “What’s the point?”

“Living here is
our
statement,” Dad says. “No matter what happened, your dad stayed true to his beliefs.”

“And now I’m alone,” she says.

“Never alone,” Dad says. “You’re with us.”

I
worry I’ll miss the next fire, not because I can’t dream, but because I can’t sleep at all. Hearing Regan sobbing in the next room is heartbreaking. Even when she’s quiet, I hear it in my head, along with her words, “It’s your fault.”

It is my fault, and I’m ashamed. I didn’t start Black Hat on his evil crusade, and Dad didn’t give me enough information early on to help me realize the scope of what I was getting into. But at some point, maybe after the attack on Ms. Giddon, I should have realized this was too big for me. By that time, I was too caught up with Kai, and the excitement of fighting fires together, to see the forest for the trees. Outwitting Black Hat only provoked him to make bigger “statements.” When I finally did tell Dad, and he roused the Torch community, it escalated the problem. Yet I missed one detail that may have helped them identify him:  the pink fire fingerprint. I’m certainly not telling them now, when Black Hat has already started to deliver on his threat to kill “everyone I love.” While my first thoughts were for Dad and Graham, obviously that included Uncle Rick and Regan. And probably Kai, too. His family is as committed to the mosaic as ours.

In this case, “better late than never” didn’t apply. Since I missed the early turn off for full disclosure, I probably should have taken Black Hat at his word and said nothing, waited till I was stronger, and had the right opportunity to trap him myself. Before I spoke up, his attacks were milder, and he often left enough time for his victims to be rescued. Afterwards, he delivered on his threat with a fireball aimed directly at Uncle Rick’s head. Now, he’s going to pick off everyone I love, one by one, to make sure that I experience the most wracking guilt and pain before he puts me out of my misery.

If I don’t kill him first.

That's my plan. The fact that I'm the only one dreaming about him makes me believe it is my job to put an end to this. But if I can’t sleep, I can’t do it.

Hux picks me up for a training session, sitting in the lifeguard stand while I do my laps, and then setting up for target practice.

“The guy hasn’t struck in four days,” I tell Hux. “What’s he waiting for?”

“Strength,” Hux says. “It takes a huge amount of energy for a Torch to kill one of his own. Depending how strong he is to begin with, it could take a week.”

“I wish someone had told me that earlier. Maybe I could have slept.”

“Sleep,” he says. “This is in good hands, and that’s the best thing you can do to help. There is no way you can take this guy on yourself. You can see that, right?”

If I share my view that I’m destined to kill Black Hat, Dad will have someone watch me twenty-four/seven. So I nod. “Yeah, I know this guy is a maniac and way stronger than me. But I also know I’m on his hit list. My number is going to come up eventually, Hux, so help me protect myself. How did he take Uncle Rick out?”

“Surprise,” Hux says. “Rick obviously had no idea what was coming. In effect, he was unarmed. He may have known the guy.”

I remember the expression on Uncle Rick’s face when he saw Black Hat. He knew the guy, all right. “Are you checking out everyone he knew?” I ask.

Hux nods. “We’ve got all kinds of people on the ground, snooping. Right now, you can’t trust anyone.”

“Even you?”

He smiles. “You got it. But I’ve had plenty of opportunity to kill you already, and I wouldn’t be teaching you tricks to use
on
me, would I?”

“I guess not. Teach me some more.”

Walking away from me along the deck, he begins. “First order of a firefight is to exhaust your opponent. Like I said, it takes energy to battle a Torch. So tire him out. Keep him moving. Fire shot after shot, as long as he’s retaliating. Because you have to manage your own energy, too.”

“Can’t I just hit him once in the head, like he did to Uncle Rick?”

Hux winces at the thought. “If you meet up with this guy, you probably won’t have the element of surprise on your side. He’ll expect it and defend against it. And you need to do the same. So our goal for today is to work on your shield. He knows you’re new to this, and will underestimate your skills. That will be the ace up your sleeve.”

I slump against the wall, overwhelmed by the challenge ahead. “I’m so tired, Hux. What if I flake?”

“You won’t,” he says, patting my shoulder. “You can’t afford to.”

This lesson is utterly exhausting. At first, I can’t focus enough to throw up a mental shield. Then I lose confidence in it every time Hux’s shot comes at me, and end up dodging. The shots glance off the wall and singe my clothes.

“Phee,” he says. “You’ve done this. Tap into your intuition. Have faith in yourself.”

I crouch on the deck and take a second to gather myself, trying to anchor myself in the present, not the past, not the future. Lives depend on my getting this. I can’t afford to flake. “Okay,” I say, standing. “Hit me.”

Hux paces back and forth, so that I won’t know when to expect the shot. But this time, I listen to my intuition, and when I do, I feel it: the exact moment his intent connects with energy and starts down his arm. When he twitches his hand, I fire first, meeting his fire almost before it’s taken shape. He strikes again faster, but I imagine myself surrounded by an invisible dome. The fireball barely touches my shoulder and directing my focus on it, I force it to bounce back at Hux. It hits him in the chest with such force that it knocks him into the pool.

Surfacing, he says, “Crap, did you have to?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I can’t afford not to.”

I
’m watching TV in my room when it starts. There’s a prickling feeling all over, and my heart pounds. At first I think I’m having an anxiety attack, but then it strikes me that Black Hat may be at work, only I’m not asleep to see him.

Pacing back and forth in the small space, I try to figure out what to do. It’s not like I can will myself to sleep now, but maybe, just maybe, I can use the techniques I learned in drama club to clear my mind and tune into his channel.

Throwing myself down on the bed, I try to force every panicky thought from my mind and slow my racing heart. I pay attention to my breathing, to the ticking of my old-fashioned alarm clock, to the heat whooshing through the vents on this cool night.

It takes ten minutes of persistence, but eventually my mind slows. I imagine a sheet of silver, on which to project the image of the arsonist. I pretend to be floating, staring down, as I always see him. And I finally, the Black Hat appears, foggy at first, but coming into sharper focus. He is pacing around in a large space, surrounded by metal containers. Like the tank from our barbeque, only far bigger.