watch the fire burning in the distance, the flames licking at the orange sky. It’s beautiful, in a way. The glow. The dance of the smoke. And then there’s the storm, the black rumbling clouds, the little flashes of lightning here and there. The rain so cool on my face, washing away the soot. That’s how it always is, I guess. Beauty and death.
Behind me, something moves in the bushes. I turn.
Christian steps out of the trees.
Time is a funny thing. Sometimes it crawls endlessly on. Like French class. Or waiting for a fish to bite. And other times it speeds up, the days zooming by. I remember this one time in first grade. I was standing in the middle of the elementary school playground near the monkey bars and a bunch of third graders ran by. They seemed huge to me. Someday, a long, long time from now, I thought at that moment, I will be in third grade. That was more than ten years ago, but it feels like ten minutes. I was just there. Time flies, isn’t that what they say? My summer with Tucker. The first time I had the vision until now.
And sometimes time really does stop.
Christian and I stare at each other like we’re both under a spell and if one of us moves, the other one will disappear.
“Oh, Clara, thank God,” he whispers. “I thought you were dead.”
“You thought I. ”
He reaches to touch a strand of my wet hair. I’m suddenly dizzy. Exhausted. Wildly confused. I sway on my feet. He catches me by the shoulders and steadies me. I press my eyes closed. He’s real. He’s alive.
“You’re soaked,” he observes. He pulls off the black fleece jacket and drapes it around my shoulders.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
“I thought I was supposed to save you from the fire.”
I stare at him so intently that he flushes.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was a weird thing to say. I meant—”
“Christian—”
“I’m just glad you’re safe. We should get you inside before you catch cold or something.”
“Wait,” I say, tugging at his arm. “Please.”
“I know this doesn’t make any sense. ”
“It makes sense,” I insist, “except for the part where you’re supposed to save me.”
“What?”
“I’m supposed to save
“What? Now
“Unless. ” I take a few steps back. He starts to follow, but I hold up a trembling hand.
“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “I won’t hurt you. I would
There’s a brief flash of light. When my eyes adjust I see Christian standing under the burned trees. He coughs and looks at his feet almost like he’s ashamed. Sprouting from his shoulder blades are large speckled wings, ivory with black flecks, like someone has splattered him with paint. He flexes them carefully and then folds them into his back.
“How did you.?”
“In your vision, did we meet down there?” I ask, gesturing down toward Fox Creek Road. “You say, ‘It’s you,’ and I say, ‘Yes, it’s me,’ and then we fly away?”
“How do you know that?”
I summon my wings. I know the feathers are dark now, and what that will mean to him, but he deserves to know the truth.
His eyes widen. He lets out an incredulous breath, the way he does when he laughs sometimes. “You’re an angel-blood.”
“I’ve been having the vision since November,” I say, the words tumbling out. “It’s why we moved here. I was supposed to find you.”
He stares at me, stunned.
“But it’s my fault,” he says after a moment. “I didn’t get here on time. I didn’t expect there to be two fires. I didn’t know which one.”
He glances up at me. “I didn’t know it was you at first. It was the hair. I didn’t recognize you with the red hair. Stupid, I know. I knew there was something different about you, I always felt — in my vision you always have blond hair. And for a while that’s all I saw — I’d hear someone walk up behind me, but before I’d turn around completely, the vision would end. I never saw your face until I had the vision at prom.”
“It’s not your fault, Christian. It’s mine. I wasn’t here to meet you. I didn’t save you.”
My voice is loud and shrill in the emptiness of the burned forest. I put my hands over my eyes and will myself not to cry.
“But I didn’t need to be saved,” he says gently. “Maybe we were supposed to save each other.”
From what, I wonder.
