The Fallen Prince

By the end of the day, all our neighbors will know who and what I am. Kera and I will have to leave.

Wyatt hops to his feet and follows Grandpa like a pit bull after its favorite doggie toy. “I told you I wouldn’t talk, but you’ve got to think this through, Newman. Your boy here gets mad, he lights up. It’s impossible!”

“So you keep telling us,” I sneer.

He ignores me and harps after Grandpa. “Do you know how long he can light up without burning up? Everything is exhaustible. That fact should apply even to him. We’re all created with limits, right?”

I can see Grandpa weighing the odds of leaving versus listening. I don’t like it. I start toward the door. “Let’s go, Grandpa. We don’t need him anymore. I can deal with this on my own.” And I can. All I need to do is exhaust myself to the point where I don’t want to think, let alone catch fire.

“Boy,” Grandpa shouts, stopping me in my tracks, “what did I tell you about letting your crow get bigger than your cockscomb?”

I’m not sure what he’s talking about, and I’m scared to ask.

“You’ve got more to learn than you think,” he adds, then turns to Wyatt. “What are you suggesting?”

“Wait here.” He scrounges in the storeroom and pops out holding a firefighter’s suit. “I’ve got the protective gear. We should test him out. Find that edge, that place where he breaks.”

This guy was all for turning me over to the pitchfork-wielding townspeople a la Frankenstein, and now he wants to help the monster? I take a protective step back. “I’m not sure…”

Grandpa’s suddenly bobbing his head in agreement. “You may have a point.”

Deep in my bones, I know it’s a bad idea. From the moment Kera opened my eyes to what I really am, to the melting of the metal clasp, I know my limits are far and beyond what they should be. If Faldon’s right, every time I was forced to kill someone, I inherited new powers. I may have limits, but they’re so far out there, testing them may very well get someone else killed.

I try again. “Kera says I should only use magic when absolutely necessary.” I remember the first time I’d used it and the sick feeling that rushed over me, how I couldn’t even walk, and the mess I’d left behind. Grandpa means well, but neither of them have any idea what they’re in for. “Pushing myself can upset the balance of nature. What you’re suggesting is dangerous.”

“Don’t fool yourself, kid,” Wyatt says as he stuffs one leg into the fireproof suit. “You walking around is dangerous.” The suit slides up Wyatt’s other leg. “How many people know about you, bonfire boy?”

“Not many.” Grandpa hands Wyatt a pair of fireman boots. “People would think we’re running on half a tank if I said anything. If you hadn’t seen it for yourself, you wouldn’t have believed us.”

A sharp, short laugh erupts from Wyatt as he jerks on a boot. “No doubt.”

How’d they go from beating each other up to buddies in less than a minute? Watching Grandpa help Wyatt suit up is surreal. “This is crazy. I know what I’m capable of doing and it’s not something you want to see.”

Grandpa snorts. “Already seen it, remember?”

Wyatt looks from me to Grandpa, his face reflecting his intense interest. “Umm, yeah, I’m pretty sure I want to see it again.”

I can feel the anger grow in my belly. To Grandpa, I’m someone who needs discipline. To Wyatt I’m a weird phenomenon he can’t wait to experiment on.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Calm yourself,” Grandpa says. “We need to see if we can control what sets you off, or at least regulate the reaction. Then you’re safer. We’re all safer. That’s what we came here to do in the first place, right? Make you safer. That reminds me. I should get the hose.”

“What? We’re doing it here? In the barn? It’s made out of wood. Does that not ring any alarms?”

“We can’t do it outside where everyone can see,” Wyatt says as if I’m the dumbest person alive.

“Don’t worry, son.” Grandpa slaps me on the back. “I’ve got you covered.” And off he trots to get the hose.

“Seriously, kid. Show a little trust,” Wyatt adds.

Wow, this guy’s been hit in the head one too many times if he thinks I’m going to trust him. “Aren’t you the one who wanted to rat me out five seconds ago?”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “Now I don’t.”

My instincts scream at me to run. I don’t, and I’m not sure why. I voice my objections one last time. “I’m gonna go down as saying this is a really bad idea.”

Grandpa turns to Wyatt. “I say we use the industrial hose your daddy has at the shop.”

Wyatt throws him a thumbs-up and lumbers off. I clasp my head between my hands and spin away. My nerves crackle under the surface of my skin. “Grandma is going to kill us.”

“Stop digging in that well. It’s deep enough. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He grabs my arm and hauls me to the center of the barn and scuffs a black X on the floor with his boot heel. “Stand right there. Now, when I say so, go ahead and light up. Don’t push yourself too much. We want to see how hot you burn normally.”

This is a disaster, one I can’t step away from even if I want to…which I do, but I’m good and stuck. What’s that old saying? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em? I might as well jump into the mudhole they’re making and wallow around with them.

Resigned to my fate, I step onto the X.

Wyatt jogs back in with a coiled water hose hanging heavily in his arms. The boom when he drops it shakes the floor. They hook it up to a specialized spout, and then Grandpa, his feet planted wide, the hose tucked under his right armpit, shoots a stream hard enough to peel paint along the ground.

“Don’t want the floor to catch fire.” He cranks the water off and motions Wyatt forward.

Wyatt shoves on his masked helmet, and immediately goes into Darth Vader mode. I roll my eyes and shake my head. Why do I feel like I’m in a Jackass movie waiting for the stupid to drop?

“Okay, son.” Grandpa grips the hose tight. “Light up.”

When I’m not on an emotional joyride, calling forth the flames takes a bit more concentration. I hold out my hand and visualize the fire crawling through me and to my palm. A few seconds later, the fireball pops to life, flickering against my skin, tickling me where it would burn someone else.

“Cute,” Wyatt’s muffled voice says from behind the fireman’s mask. “Can you manage something a little more threatening?”

When the fire is alive, it does something to me. It heats up my blood, like I’ve just won a fistfight and I need to cool down. I want to let all the heat out as fast as possible. I need to let it out.

The flickering orb grows until it’s nearly the size of a basketball. I take aim and pitch it toward Wyatt. It bursts against his torso, sending him flying backward. He lands butt-first on the ground and skids until he hits the wall.

The hose drops from Grandpa’s armpit as he takes a step forward. “Wyatt! You okay?”

Wyatt’s helmeted head shakes as if he’s rattling his brains back into working order, and a string of curses fly.

Grandpa snorts and then mutters, “He’s okay.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’ve stacked some hay bales behind Wyatt, and thoroughly wet them down. “It’ll still hurt like hell,” Grandpa says to Wyatt, “but you shouldn’t break anything. You good to go?”

“I’m game. Let’s do this.”

Adrenaline junkie. That’s got to be his excuse. Who else would do something this stupid? I position myself back on the X, and when everyone is ready, I call the flame to my hand. At first it tickles, like a feather. The little ball is a friendly light, playful and easy to control.

Grandpa shifts the hose higher. “Let ’er rip, Dylan.”

“This isn’t a good idea,” I say one last time. I don’t know why I bother; he’s not listening.

As if I need encouragement, Wyatt starts calling me names that would make a prison guard blush. Usually being taunted never bothered me, but since I’ve gotten back from Teag, it doesn’t take much to stir the heat. I narrow my gaze and let the fire engulf me.

It’s strange, the way it crawls up my skin like a snake curling around a branch until it’s stretched along the limb waiting to strike. It flickers in front of my eyes, and everything I see is bathed in a warm glow. That glow