No. The corner of Ayana’s “Brackhaven For President” poster curled beneath blue flames beside her pink fourpost bed. A thin scent of plastic drifted towards her.
“This isn’t real,” she said in a choked whisper. If it were real, she could control it. She could call it forth at will. But she couldn’t could she?
Anya snatched her Maria Mercurial doll off her bed. She concentrated on the silver hair. With a sound like a zipper closing, the doll’s hair drew together. There was a hint of smoke and the hair began to glow ember red. Then it was ash.
No. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Didn’t she have enough to deal with? Fat and blonde, Ayana had too much working against her social status. Acne scars pitted her face. The boys called her Ork, and the orks laughed alongside them.
She called up her playlist in AR and spun the music dial until her favorite Latch-Key Kids song flared up. Music blared from tinny wall speakers, Kids don’t bother to love, because love has nothing on drugs. She wished she could dive into the music, go away, be anywhere else but here right now. Here was not safe.
A commlink sparkled and buzzed on the desk against the far wall, her mom calling her down for dinner.
One last meal? The thought brought a teary-eyed smile to her face. Yeah, that worked. She’d go downstairs and eat with her drekhead of a little brother. With any luck her ability could go off again and set her brother on fire. Wouldn’t that be wiz?
No. They would test again in the fall. Maybe by then she could find a way to beat the test. She could run away. Bobby Paine ran away from his parents back in the fifth grade, after the test. Everyone thought it was because he failed, but he said it wasn’t. Nobody believed him. Nobody would believe her either.
The pink bed squeaked as she stood.
Her father still used a straight-edge razor. He kept it in the bathroom on an old tin tray. She went there now, careful to avoid the planks of the old wood floor that could give her away. Ayana didn’t know if her father would be angry with her or proud for doing this, but one thing was certain—she would do it. The dishonor of her curse was worse than anything spilt blood could produce.
She saw it first out of the corner of her eye, a flame like the ones she was cursed to make. It started as a candle’s flicker and grew until it was as round and full as a grapefruit. Ayana wanted to run or scream, but she was too afraid to do anything. The thing hovered inches away from her. It had no eyes or mouth, only the candlelight flicker of its form. All at once a voice came out of it, like that of a young girl. It said, “Stop.”
Ayana gulped hard and stepped back, half falling unto the bed.
“Stop, girl. It isn’t your turn to go yet.”
“Wha-what are you?”
“You’ll learn one day. If you let yourself.”
“My family—”
“Will never understand what you are or what you are meant to become.”
The tears came now, cutting dirty rivulets down her pocked face. She sobbed and could not talk.
“Continue to pretend. I will continue to protect you, and when the time is right I will come for you. Do you understand?”
Ayana looked up at the light and nodded. The candlelight orb flickered twice and it was gone.