“Genie?”
I barely heard Wilder’s voice. Everything was white noise, except a faint crackling in the back of my mind.
“Genie? Hey. Princess. Snap the fuck out of it.” He grabbed me and shook me, and I wheeled around on him ready to smack him.
“What?” We were both still whispering, but my annoyance was evident.
He pointed at my raised hand.
Red flame licked all the way up from my fingertips to my elbow. My fingernails and the skin around them glowed white-blue, the way super-hot fire might.
I tried to shake the flame off, but it stayed in place, stubborn and unyielding. It didn’t hurt, but the longer it remained, the wider the blue color spread, and I didn’t think it looked particularly good for my skin to be turning blue.
In my previous experiences, I had willed the flame forward, like when I used it against the truck back on the highway. This was different. I hadn’t consciously called my power up. And this flame was more intense than anything I’d managed to conjure up in the past.
Since I hadn’t created the magic intentionally, that meant it had fed off my emotion. It had responded to the intensity of the hatred I’d felt towards those in the church and my desire to watch them burn.
I’d wanted to set fire to my enemy, and my body had given me the weapon I craved.
That was fucking scary.
The sobering realization of what fueled my power was what caused the flame to flicker out. The fire froze in place on my arm, then turned to red ash and blew away into the night. For a few seconds my fingers continued to glow blue until that, too, returned to normal.
“What are you?” Wilder asked, his eyes wide.
I said nothing.
Because I didn’t know what the answer was anymore.
My head felt foggy now that the flame was gone, and I couldn’t quite remember what I’d been thinking about or what we had said right before the incident. It was like my memories were a photo and someone had gone over them with grease, blurring the edges and throwing everything out of focus.
Movement inside the church distracted us, saving me the awkwardness of trying to come up with a reasonable answer for what had just happened. I had no clue where the ability to subconsciously cast had come from. It had felt so natural I was amazed it had never happened before.
That I could remember.
I thought briefly about the charred woman I’d been seeing, and my fingers tingled in response to the thought.
No…there couldn’t be a connection there.
There couldn’t.
I set the horrific notion aside to focus on what was unfolding inside the church.
Hank had been pulled to his feet, though he was too wobbly to stand unsupported. His hands, which had previously been bound, were now free.
What were these people up to?
Timothy beckoned to someone, crooking his fingers out to the attendees like he was inviting them closer. Only one of them got up though. The woman in the sweater and jeans sitting towards the back rose to her feet and came to the front of the church to stand next to him.
None of the others looked directly at her, nor she at them. Her expression was something deeper than stoicism. She was totally checked out. The lights were on, but no one was home. I wished I could see her closer up to tell whether or not she was on something. I’d never seen a sober person appear so empty.
Timothy placed a hand on her shoulder, and in response I felt a chill, as if he’d touched me and not her. She didn’t even flinch.
He leaned in and whispered something to her, and a moment later she removed her shirt, then her pants. She stood next to him in her underwear, and none of the other churchgoers did anything. Most of them were focused anywhere but on her.
I didn’t have to know what was happening to know this wasn’t good.
Timothy pushed the woman in front of Hank, but Hank c