now. He doesn’t need any more stimulation.” Her voice carried the impatient edge that came with fear.
“I have something for him. His brother sent it over.” She held up the phone.
“Jonah sent it?” The aide’s expression softened and she crossed to where Emma stood. “He’s so thoughtful,” she said.
“I just wish—” She shook her head. “I just don’t see a happy ending to this.”
“I’m Emma Greenwood,” Emma said, extending her hand to the woman. “What’s your name?”
“Martha Witcraft,” the aide said. She seemed eager to talk. “I work at the dispensary. Teaching yoga. His regular nurse got called away to Metro to consult with the staff in the emergency department.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m out of my league. I haven’t worked with Kenzie before, so I don’t know a lot. According to the consult, Kenzie’s seizures are strongly tied to his emotional states. The explosion was close to his suite . . . in fact, it woke him up. I think it’s brought back memories of Thorn Hill. Sort of like posttraumatic stress disorder. I think they thought . . . well, you know . . . meditation is helpful for people with PTSD. That’s why I’m here, but it’s not working out too well. The regular healers are too busy with the other casualties.”
“What’s that medicine you’re trying to give him?”
“I don’t know what it’s called,” she said. “It suppresses magic. They use it to dampen down his seizures. I’m supposed to give him a tablespoon. But I’ve got no clue how to get it into him when I can’t get near him.” It was obvious she was trying to help, but she was scared to death.
Emma studied the situation. It’d be no good trying to put the earbuds on him either. They were the standard variety, and they would just melt when they came into contact with his body. Yanking the earbuds out of the phone, she turned it to maximum volume. Still not very loud.
“If it’s all right with you, Martha, I’ll see if I can get close enough with this so he can hear it,” Emma said.
Martha nodded. Clearly, it was more than all right with Martha.
Taking a deep breath, Emma walked toward Kenzie, holding the phone out in front of her. She inched in, as close as she dared, but the tinny, thin-sounding music had no effect. “Kenzie,” she said softly. “I’m Emma. Jonah sent me over. He’ll be here soon.”
Kenzie’s eyes fixed on her, but the flaming seizure continued.
“He sent you some music, if we can find a way to get it to you,” Emma said. “Listen.” She held out the phone again.
Kenzie shook his head. At least he was responding to her.
Emma backed away until she reached Martha.
“Would you have a speaker dock for phone or MP3 player around here somewhere?” she asked. “Something with big speakers?”
Martha frowned. “I don’t usually work in this building, so I don’t know. I could try to find one.” She looked eager to go somewhere far away from burning boys.
“If you can’t find one . . . do you know Natalie Diaz?”
“Of course,” Martha said. “But I know she’s tied up with triage at the moment.”
“Ask her to call Rudy Severino and tell him I need a sound system for Jonah’s phone. That it’s for Kenzie.” She stuck out her hand. “Leave me the brown stuff. Maybe I’ll figure out something.” Martha looked troubled. “I shouldn’t leave you alone with him,” she said, looking sideways at Kenzie.
“It’s an emergency, right?” Emma said.
“I guess so.” Martha handed her the bottle and spoon. “Just be careful, okay?” She disappeared.
“Martha went to get us some more amps,” Emma said to Kenzie. “Now, what are we going to do while she’s gone?”
For a little while, she sat and talked while Kenzie burned. When she could stand it no longer, she examined the spoon. It was constructed like a kind of syringe that shot medicine into a person’s mouth. She just needed to get it close enough to Kenzie’s. She looked around the room for clues. Her eyes lit on the pile of extra blankets next to Kenzie, kindling an idea.
Carefully, she drew up brown stuff to the one-tablespoon measure and set the spoon aside.
Darting forward, Emma grabbed a fistful of blankets, then retreated to her starting point. Wrapping one blanket around herself, she draped another over her head, fashioning a kind of hood. She took a third blanket and wrapped it around her neck like a muffler, pulling it over the lower half of her face up to her eyes. She’d fashioned a kind of flameresistant toga. More like one of those burkas, she guessed. Draping the remaining blanket over her arm, she scooped up the spoon and approached Kenzie again.
He seemed to know what she was up to, because he wrapped his blankets more closely around himself, burrowing in, adding another layer between Emma and the white-hot flames. When she got close, she turned away, swathed the spoon in the spare blanket with the tip poking out, gritted her teeth, and lunged toward Kenzie. On her second try, she managed to push the spoon between his lips and pressed the plunger all the way.
By now, it felt like the skin on her face was cracking and she could smell her own hair burning, despite the hood. She leaped backward, landing on her butt a few yards away. Then scooted backward like a crab.
For a moment, she worried she’d drowned Jonah’s little brother. He coughed and sputtered, tears leaking from his eyes.
“Emma?”
Emma twisted around and saw Rudy Severino in the doorway, his arms loaded with equipment and power cords. He stared, nonplussed, at Emma, down on her back in her fire blanket getup. “Natalie said you needed a sound system?”
It took a few minutes to get everything in place. During that time, Kenzie’s flames dwindled and finally died. He slumped over, apparently exhausted, his blue-veined hands still writhing in his lap.
Finally, Rudy hit the go button and Jonah’s voice filled the air, layered with Emma’s guitar and Rudy’s kick- ass keyboards, Natalie’s percussion the heartbeat of it all.
Kenzie smiled, tilting his head back and practically purring, like a cat that’s found its spot in the sun. Rudy sat down on one side of Kenzie and motioned Emma to the other.
“I’m Emma Greenwood,” Emma said, sitting next to him. “I’m new at the Anchorage.”
“McKenzie Kinlock,” Kenzie said gravely. “I’m sorry I was ablaze when you arrived. Thank you for putting me out.” He paused. “That just seems
“That’s Emma you hear playing lead guitar on these tracks,” Rudy said, as if eager to bring Kenzie’s attention back to the music. “Is it?” Kenzie said, taking a second, closer look at Emma. “She’s sitting in for Mose on lead guitar . . . temporarily, at least,” Rudy said. “We recorded this at our last practice.
What do you think, Little Kinlock?”
“I think I’m going to catch on fire again if you call me
“No, really . . . what do you think of the tracks? Did we do justice to your songs or what?”
“Stop fishing for compliments, Severino,” Kenzie said, rolling his eyes. “You know this is staggeringly fabulous.” He looked at Emma. “I love how you improvised on the melody line. You’re not afraid of getting in Jonah’s way, but you leave room for the voice.”
“He’d better worry about getting in
“So you’re a triple threat,” Kenzie said, grinning at Emma. “Beautiful, tough,
“And you’re talented, tough, and full of bullshit.”
Kenzie laughed hard at that.
It feels good to hear him laugh, Emma thought. She tried not to think about what Martha had said.
“Do you play?” she asked him. “Are you a musician? I mean.”
“Only vicariously,” Kenzie said. “I write the songs, and hope they don’t mess them up. I can play compositions electronically—on a synthesizer—if I have time to build them. But I can’t hit my targets often enough to play on a standard instrument.”
Emma frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what you mean.”
“You’re seeing me at my very best, because I’m pretty much wrung out right now,” Kenzie said. “Usually I’m
