Unearthly

“There are two fires. One pretty close, moving fast down Death Canyon. And a second one, over in Idaho near Palisades.”

A cold, sick dread crashes over me.

“Two fires,” I repeat, stunned.

“I called the house but Tucker wasn’t there. I think he might be hiking. He loves the fishing out there at the end of Death Canyon. And Palisades, too. I was hoping you were with him with your phone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I just have a bad feeling.” She sounds close to tears.

I have a bad feeling, too. A very, very bad feeling. “You’re sure he’s not home?”

“He might be out in the barn,” she says. “The phone doesn’t ring out there. I’ve left him like a million messages. Could you go check?”

I don’t have a choice now. I can’t leave here, not with the fire so close, not without knowing how long it will be until it comes.

“I can’t,” I say helplessly. “Not right now.”

There’s a minute of silence.

“I’m really sorry, Wendy. I’ll try to find him as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”

She hangs up. I stand for a minute staring at the phone. My mind races. Just to make sure, I call Tucker’s house and agonize while the phone rings and rings. When the answering machine picks up I hang up.

How long would it take me to fly to the Lazy Dog Ranch from here? Ten minutes?

Fifteen? It’s not far. I start to pace. My gut says that something is wrong. Tucker is lost. He’s in trouble. And I’m just standing here waiting for who knows what to happen.

I’ll go. I’ll fly as fast as I can, then come right back.

I summon my wings and stand for a minute in the middle of Fox Creek Road, still trying to decide.

No one said there wouldn’t be sacrifices. You belong here, in this moment.

I can’t think. I find myself in the air, shooting toward Tucker’s house as fast as my wings will take me.

It’s okay, I tell myself. You have time. You’ll just go find him and come right back.

Then I tell myself to shut up and concentrate on moving through the air quickly, trying not to think about what it all means, Tucker and Christian and the choice I’m making.

It only takes a few minutes to reach the Lazy Dog Ranch. I’m screaming Tucker’s name before I even hit the ground. His truck isn’t in the driveway. I stare at the spot where he usually parks, the smear of oil on dirt, the crushed weeds and little wildflowers, and I feel like the bottom has dropped out of my stomach.

He’s not here.

I run into the barn. Everything looks normal, chores all done, stalls cleaned out, the riding tack shining on the pegs. But Midas isn’t there either, I realize. Tucker’s horse isn’t there or the bridle he got for his birthday or the saddle that’s usually propped along the far wall. Back outside in the yard, I see that the horse trailer is gone, too.

He’s out there. On a horse. Away from phones or radios or news.

The sky is turning that familiar golden orange. The fire is coming. I have to get back to Fox Creek Road. I know that this is it, the moment of truth. I was meant to come here to check for Tucker, but that’s all. When I go back to Fox Creek Road, the silver truck will be there. Christian will be standing there waiting for me. I will save him.

Suddenly I’m in the vision. I’m standing at the edge of the road, looking at Christian’s silver Avalanche, about to go to him. My hands clench into fists at my sides, fists so tight that my nails cut into my palms, because I know. Tucker is trapped. I can see him so clearly in my mind, leaning against Midas’s neck, looking around him for a way out of the inferno that has overtaken him, looking for me. He whispers my name.

Then he swallows and bends his head. He turns to the horse and gently strokes its neck. I watch his face as he accepts his own death. In just a few heartbeats, the fire will reach him. And I’m miles away, taking my first steps toward Christian. I am so very far away.

I understand it now. The sorrow in the vision is not the grief of a Black Wing. This sorrow is all mine. It strikes me with such force it feels like someone has struck me in the chest with a baseball bat. My eyes flood with hot, bitter tears.

Tucker’s going to die.

And this is my test.

I jerk back to Lazy Dog, sobbing. I look up into the sky, where storm clouds are gathering in the east, a bit of hell spilling over onto Earth.

You are not a normal girl, Clara.

“This isn’t fair,” I whisper furiously. “You’re supposed to love me.”

“What did the fish say when it hit the concrete wall?”

“What?”

“Dam!”