The Fiery Heart

CHAPTER 19 ADRIAN

IT WAS SYDNEY’S BIRTHDAY, and my car wouldn’t start.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said, turning the key for what felt like the hundredth time. The engine churned and churned but wouldn’t turn over. I groaned and rested my forehead against the steering wheel. “This is not happening.”

“Problems?”

I looked up and saw Rowena standing outside the driver’s side door, which I’d left ajar. I threw my hands up. “As you can see.”

She tilted her head to study the car, causing some of her lavender braids to slip forward. “How old is this piece of junk?”

“Bite your tongue, woman. Sydney loves this car. Maybe more than she loves me. Besides, you’re an artist. Figured you’d appreciate a vintage piece. You know, the history, the craftsmanship . . .”

She shook her head. “I drive a Prius.”

I tried to start the Mustang again. No luck. “Damn it, not today of all days. It’s Sydney’s birthday. We had plans.”

“Call a tow, and I’ll give you a ride back home.” She patted my shoulder in sympathy. “I know a guy who works at a shop. He’ll give you a good deal.”

“Not that good,” I said, getting out my cell phone. “Unless it’s free. I’m pretty much broke for the next week and a half.”

“I assume because you got her some sort of extravagant gift?”

“Not exactly. It’s a long story.”

I’d actually come to terms with not being able to shower Sydney with gifts. I was no longer depressed over it or worried I’d have to sell Aunt Tatiana’s cuff links. The pills probably helped with that, but I knew there was more. Between Jill’s pep talk and what had happened in Pennsylvania, excessive material goods no longer held the appeal they had. Would I have loved to drape Sydney in diamonds? Sure, but I didn’t need to. There were far more important things between us. I was content to make her dinner and just savor time alone with her. That was what mattered now. Just us.

Of course, I’d planned on some of this aforementioned alone time taking place in my car, which now seemed to be out of commission. Maybe I no longer plunged to not-getting-out-of-bed levels of despair, but I could get as down as anyone about a failed plan. I said little as Rowena waited with me in the campus parking lot and mostly just let my dark mood simmer around me.

“You’re a poster boy for a brooding artist,” she teased me. “You take classes to learn to do that?”

“Nah, it’s a gift I was born with.”

She grinned and elbowed me. “Cheer up. I’ll take you wherever you need to go. We’ll salvage this day, kiddo.”

It was hard to stay too glum in the face of her sunny disposition. More than that, I could hardly have Sydney come over tonight just to find me pouting. She’d had to pull off a miracle to escape Zoe tonight and postpone a sisterly celebration. She probably could’ve saved herself a lot of stress by just postponing her festivities with me, but it meant something to me to celebrate on the actual day. I had pushed for this night, and now I had to make it work.

A tow truck hauled the Ivashkinator away, and Rowena and I were able to head back to town. I’d scraped the last of my money together to buy food for tonight’s dinner, and Rowena nearly had a heart attack when we arrived at a grocery store and she heard what I was buying.

“Frozen lasagna? An store-bought cake? I thought you loved this girl!”

“I do, but I’m no culinary student.”

“Cassie is.”

“Well, she’s not here.”

Rowena sighed and got out her phone. “Honestly, it’s a wonder you got by before me.”

An hour later, Cassie met Rowena and me at my apartment, carrying a bag of groceries. I watched as they unloaded all sorts of ingredients I’d never dream of using, like andouille and okra. There was also a bottle of white wine.

“Sydney doesn’t drink,” I told them.

“Whatever,” said Cassie, getting out a corkscrew. “This is for me while I cook.”

Rowena winced. After our outing to that bar, I was pretty sure Rowena thought I should be in a recovery group. Maybe she was right. I could tell she was about to chastise Cassie for drinking, and I waved it off.

“I’m fine.” To my surprise, I realized it was true. “Far be it from me to do anything that would interfere with a cook’s genius.”

Cassie glanced up from her glass. “Hey, you’re going to help. I’m not making this gumbo alone.”

“When I think romantic birthday dinners, I don’t think soup.”

“Soup?” She nearly choked on her wine. “You think this is mere soup? I needed something you can’t mess up while you’re waiting for her to get here. This is going to get better and better the more it simmers, and when she does arrive and taste it, she’ll be yours forever. You’re welcome.”

Despite her claims, Cassie didn’t actually make me do that much. I think she was afraid I’d mess it up, though I really did try to pay attention in the hopes of improving myself. Peeling prawns was a mystery to me, and I’d never even heard of roux. Cooking was actually kind of fun when you were with someone who knew how to do it. Once the gumbo was covered and on its way, Cassie began mixing up ingredients for chocolate-peppermint cupcakes. She had just handed me a spoon to stir when I heard my phone ring. Usually, I kept it on vibrate, but today, Queen’s “Under Pressure” played in full effect. Rowena and Cassie made no effort to hide their laughter.

I yielded the spoon and ran off to the living room, where I saw an unfamiliar number on the phone.

“Adrian? It’s Marcus. I’m in back in the country.”

For a horrifying moment, I had visions of Marcus crashing my awesome birthday celebration with Sydney. I could practically see him slurping gumbo.

“We’re still in Arizona finishing some stuff,” he continued. “But I’m planning to be in Palm Springs on Sunday. I figured we should set things up—and that I shouldn’t contact Sydney directly.”

“Good idea.” The Love Phone was just for us, and her other phone could be too easily tracked by the Alchemists. Sydney always worried about getting in trouble with them, but Marcus actually risked a lot more. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Do you know how much ink she made?”

I’d been around for a lot of the process. “About enough to fill a standard-sized paint bucket.”

“Hmm. Maybe we could meet in the parking lot of a home-improvement store. We’d look like ordinary customers.”

“Pulling up beside each other and exchanging a paint bucket? Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all.”

“You got a better idea? You never know where the Alchemists are watching.”

“Pretty sure they won’t be watching a teacher of hers,” I said. “The ink’s at her house anyway. Meet up there, and you’ll at least have a chance to talk. I’m sure Sydney’ll want to give you some instructions.”

“That’s a good idea,” Marcus said reluctantly. “As long as you think this teacher’s safe.”

“Perfectly.”

I gave him the address, and we set up a time. When we disconnected, Cassie and Rowena were giggling as they leaned together and worked on the cupcakes, so I decided to let them be. I dug out the Love Phone and texted Sydney.

Robin Hood called. He’s going to meet you at JT’s, Sunday at 8 p.m. Will that work?

Her response came quickly. I’ll make it work. Thanks for setting it up.

He figured everything should go through me to be safe. Think you can still come over tonight?

I could practically hear her sigh. Yes, but it was hard-won, and there’ll be hell to pay tomorrow. Plus we had another fight about the divorce. Tell you later.

Did you just use the H-word? Nineteen, and you’re a whole different woman.

As I started to put the phone away, I noticed I’d missed two calls from Angeline a couple hours ago. I debated over whether I should call her back. After all, there was always the stealing-a-shuttle-bus possibility. But surely if something was wrong, Sydney would know before me. Angeline hadn’t left voice mail, so I decided to take it on faith that everything was fine and she just had some random question.

The cupcakes were in the oven when I returned to the kitchen, and Cassie was finishing stirring a bowl of frosting.

“Wait, you can make that stuff?” I asked. “I thought it just came in cans.”

She tapped the spoon on the bowl to shake off the excess. “You sure you vouch for this guy, Ro?”

Rowena grinned. “Not for cooking. But for art and romantic good intentions, he’s a sound investment.”

“Don’t forget life advice,” I said. “I’m pretty good at that too.”

“I assure you, I didn’t forget that,” Rowena said drily. Glancing around, she frowned. “This is a nice place, but I’d never guess you had a girlfriend. There are no pictures. Doesn’t she ever leave anything? A coat or a stuffed animal?”

Her words caused a pang in my heart because she was right. Normal people let relationships fill their homes. At the very least, I should have had a picture of Sydney and me together taped on my refrigerator. My apartment showed no signs that I had a girlfriend because as far as most of the world was concerned, I didn’t.

“If you knew her, you’d know she never leaves stuff behind.” I didn’t acknowledge the lack of pictures. “She’s too organized. I’m the one you can’t trust to remember things.”

Cassie pointed at the stove’s timer. “Think you can be trusted to take them out and frost them? You’ve got to wait for them to cool. Most people don’t.”

“Sure thing. And just to prove it, I’ll write it down and—”

A knock sounded at my door, and for half a second, I worried Sydney had shown up early. Even if Rowena and Cassie were friends, finding two girls at your boyfriend’s apartment probably wasn’t an awesome birthday surprise. But when I looked out the door’s peephole, I was blown away to see Angeline.

She sashayed in when I opened the door and flipped her red hair over one shoulder. “We need to talk, and you wouldn’t answer your phone. Oh.” Her eyes focused on the kitchen. “You got a date?”

Rowena snorted. “In his dreams.”

I made introductions, passing Angeline off as my cousin, per our usual procedure in Palm Springs. Since there was no telling what might come out of her mouth, I decided it was best to get rid of Rowena and Cassie as soon as possible.

“You guys saved my life,” I told them. “For real. This is a lot better than frozen lasagna.”

Rowena winked at me. “Something tells me you and your charm could’ve sold it.”

“Well, now I can save that charm up for something else.”

Even Cassie smiled at that. “Don’t forget to add the crushed peppermint candy. And when you frost—”

“—make sure they’re completely cool,” I finished.

I walked them out, and she kept giving me last-minute instructions until the door actually shut between us. When I returned inside, I found Angeline poking around in the kitchen. “Do not touch anything,” I warned, seeing her reach for the gumbo lid.

She pulled back. “How’d they save your life? What’s all this for?”

“A friend.”

“Like a friend you sleep with?”

“Like a friend who’s none of your business.”

“These cupcakes look good.” She peered into the oven door. “You know, it’s Sydney’s birthday. If you were nice, you’d send me back with some.”

“I don’t even know why you’re here to begin with. Or how.”

“I took the bus.” Angeline abandoned her kitchen inspection and trudged out to the living room. “Something weird is going on.”

I nearly laughed, except her face looked so serious. “Which, uh, particular weird thing are you referring to?”

“Sydney, Neil, and Eddie. They’re up to something. They’re always talking and then stop whenever I come around.”

After what had happened at Court, I wasn’t surprised to hear that Sydney and Neil were talking a lot. I had no doubt she’d want to find out if everything was going okay with the tattoo—which, I reminded myself, I needed to help him embellish.

“A lot of stuff went down at Court,” I told Angeline. “Stuff that Sydney and Neil had a big part of. They’re probably just debriefing over it.”

“Then why’s Eddie involved?”

Good question. His role was a bit harder to understand, but maybe Sydney just wanted someone else to bounce ideas off of. I could understand why she’d prefer Eddie to Angeline. It was also possible that Angeline was exaggerating how clandestine the conversations were. Regardless, I trusted whatever Sydney was doing, and if she didn’t want Angeline involved, I’d support that.

“She probably doesn’t want to bother you since you’re so busy,” I said. “Aren’t you failing English?”

Angeline flushed. “It’s not my fault.”

“Even I know you can’t write an entry on Wikipedia and then use it as a source in your essay.” Sydney had been torn between horror and hysterics when she told me.

“I took ‘primary source’ to a whole new level!”

Honestly, it was a wonder we’d gotten by for so long without Angeline. Life must have been so boring before her.

“You better work on taking your grade to a whole new level.” I sounded nearly as responsible as Sydney. The oven timer went off, and I hurried to take the cupcakes out. “So get back on the bus, stop dreaming up conspiracy theories, and—God. You’re not supposed to leave campus alone!”

Her face showed that was the least of her problems. “I figured you’d give me a ride back and could cover if anyone said anything.”

“My car’s in the shop. You’ve got to get yourself back.” I carefully set the cupcakes on the counter. “Please, please, don’t get caught. Sydney doesn’t need that kind of trouble.”

“Her? I’ll be the one who’s in trouble,” Angeline argued.

“No, because you’ll just get to sit around and wait while she bails you out.” I would’ve preferred Marcus coming to eat Sydney’s birthday gumbo than Sydney sitting in the Amberwood principal’s office tonight, trying to keep Angeline from getting expelled. “Now get back. You’re sneaky. You can get in without them noticing.”

“I still think there’s something going on.” When I refused to play along with that, she nodded to the cupcakes. “Sure I can’t take some back?”

“They’re not ready. They need to be frosted.”

“Frost ’em now. I’ll help. That waiting-until-they’re-cool stuff is a bunch of crap.”

It was another moment I wished I still had full control of spirit so that I could compel her away. Finally—after I rustled up some change for the bus—she left me in peace so that I could finish the rest of my birthday preparations. I cleaned up the apartment and set out candles and then changed into a dark green shirt I knew Sydney liked. By the time that was done, the cupcakes were ready to frost, and when I dared a taste of the gumbo, I discovered Cassie had been right. It was more than soup. It was sublime.

Sydney showed up around eight, coming to a halt as soon as she stepped inside. “It smells like . . . shrimp. And mint. And pineapple.”

“Dinner, dessert, and these.” I pointed to a bright yellow candle. “Just got them. They’re called ‘Hawaiian Siesta.’”

“That’s not even—never mind.” She shut the door and hurried over to kiss me. It was one of those scorching kisses that made me lose track of my surroundings. “My best birthday present so far today.”

“Withhold your judgment,” I said, gesturing grandly to the kitchen.

She followed me in and stared openmouthed. “You actually made a roux?”

“If by ‘made,’ you mean ‘supervised,’ then yes.”

We ate at the coffee table in the living room, sitting on the floor by candlelight like we had two months ago. I’d never imagined she could be more beautiful than she was in that dream of a red dress, but with each passing day, she proved me wrong. We let Hopper come out, and he curled up near Sydney, taking delicate bites of andouille.

I fessed up to my kitchen helpers, which actually seemed to endear me to her further. Jill had been right that imperfection would get me farther than perfection. Sydney’s laughter died down when she recounted her day.

“Zoe was so mad. We’d been doing so well, Adrian! And now our relationship just totally regressed. I told her I was doing stuff for Ms. Terwilliger—like usual—and that it’d be better for us to go out on the weekend for my birthday anyway. More time and all that.” She shook her head. “Zoe didn’t buy it. All the work I’ve done to get in her good graces . . . gone. She went off about how I was neglecting the mission for personal reasons and that I just wanted to postpone the outing so that those creatures could come with us. But that wasn’t even the worst part. I said something I shouldn’t have.”

“That you were already spending your birthday with one of those creatures?” I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. But surely if something too awful had happened, she wouldn’t be here.

Sydney gave me a small smile. “I told her if she really cared about me, then she’d let me do whatever I wanted for my birthday, just like Mom did when I was twelve.”

“What happened when you were twelve?”

“Oh, Mom offered to take us all out for dinner—us girls, Dad was out of town—to celebrate, but I didn’t want to. This book I’d been waiting for had just come out, and the only thing I wanted to do was read it all night.”

“My God,” I said, touching the top of her nose. “You’re adorable.”

She swatted me away. “Anyway, Carly and Zoe really wanted to go out so that they could score a meal, but Mom just said, ‘It’s her birthday. Let her do whatever she wants.’”

“Your mom is cool.”

“Very.” Sydney stared off for several long moments, the candlelight reflecting in her eyes. “Well, mentioning her was the worst thing I could do to Zoe tonight. I’ve been trying to sell her on the idea of testifying for joint custody, in case she really can live both lives with Mom and Dad. I think she was considering it . . . then she asked Dad about it. And, well . . . he had plenty to say. One conversation, and she was completely brainwashed again, so when I brought up Mom, Zoe started going off on how we need to remember what a bad person she is. On and on.” She sighed. “I think the only thing that got me out of our room was when I told Zoe I managed to get her permission to practice three-point turns by herself in the faculty parking lot.”

“Ah, yes, nothing to get a young girl’s heart racing like control of a car. I hear that’s big in the Sage family.”

Her smile was starting to return. “That’s the thing, she’s still so young in many ways. One minute, she wants her license. The next, she’s got the power to call me in for breaking Alchemist rules. It’s dangerous, especially since she thinks she knows everything.”

I gathered our empty bowls and stood up. “And as we all know, only one Sage sister knows everything.”

“Not everything. I don’t know that recipe,” she called. “But I might have to. That was amazing.”

“Maybe we could go to New Orleans instead of Rome.” I put some cupcakes on a plate and gathered up a tiny candle and my lighter. Hopper watched with interest, especially the cupcakes. “Escape plan number thirty-seven: Go to New Orleans and sell overpriced Mardi Gras beads to unsuspecting tourists. No language problems. And I bet it’d be sexy if I learned to talk with a Cajun accent.”

“Sexier, you mean. You know, I bet Wolfe wrestled alligators down in the bayou.”

“I bet he tamed them in order to facilitate his escape from pirates down there.” I returned to the living room and sat beside her with the plate.

“I bet he did both,” she said. We were both silent for a moment and then burst into laughter.

“Okay, birthday girl.” I set one of the cupcakes in front of her and pushed in the little candle. My lighter, despite a month of neglect, lit the wick. “Make a wish.”

Sydney gave me a smile brighter than the flame in front of her and then leaned forward. Our eyes locked briefly, and I felt a bittersweet tug at my heart. What was she wishing for? Rome? New Orleans? Anywhere? She kept the wish to herself, as she should have, and simply blew out the candle.

I clapped and whistled and then dove into my own cupcake, dying to know how my creations tasted. And seeing as I’d done the hard work—frosting and decorating—I felt like I could take credit and call them my creations. All Cassie had done was get the ingredients, come up with the recipe, and do all the measuring and mixing.

“I never would’ve thought following up gumbo with cupcakes like this would work so well.” Sydney paused to lick frosting off her fingers, and I momentarily lost all higher cognitive functions.

“It was part of Cassie’s master plan,” I said at last. “She said making out is always better after peppermint.”

“Wow. She really is a culinary genius.” She finished off the frosting and then delicately wiped her hands with a napkin. “Speaking of making out . . . can I assume you got the Mustang detailed?”

“Ah. Well.” I’d nearly forgotten about that. “Don’t freak out but—”

“Oh no. What’d you do to it?”

I held up my hands. “Hold on, I didn’t do anything.”

I gave her a brief rundown of what had happened this afternoon and then watched as that earlier mischievous look turned to glumness. “That poor car. I’m going to have to call the shop in the morning and find out what’s wrong. We might have to take it to a specialty place.”

“Gah. I don’t know if I can even afford this place.”

She put her hand over mine. “I’ll spot you.”

I’d had a feeling that was coming and knew there’d be no way to fight it. “Coming to my rescue?”

“Of course. It’s what we do.” She scooted closer to me. Hopper tried to move in, and I pushed him out of the way. “I rescue you; you rescue me. We just take turns whenever the other needs it. And if it makes you feel better, think of it as me coming to the Ivashkinator’s rescue, not yours.”

I laughed and put an arm around her waist. “That totally fixes everything. Except, now that I don’t have a car, I can’t really make good on my birthday promise.”

Sydney thought about it for several moments. “Well. I’ve got a car.”

An hour later, I vowed I’d never make fun of that Mazda again.

It turned out to be one of our most intense encounters and certainly one of our most inventive, seeing as we had to deal with the space constraints of the backseat. As we lay together afterward, curled up under a blanket I’d had the foresight to bring, I tried to etch every detail into my mind. The smoothness of her skin, the curve of her hip. The exhilarating lightness that burned in my soul, even as the rest of me felt blissfully lethargic.

Sydney boldly sat up and reached for the moon roof. “How’s that for a birthday?” she asked triumphantly. A partial silver moon gleamed down at us through some branches.

Before the clothes had come off, she’d driven around the block to ascertain that there was no tail lying in wait. Even though she had no reason to think the Alchemists were tracking her, she still erred on the side of caution. Satisfied, she’d ended up parking in a pretty strategic spot on my street, one that was overhung with trees and in front of a vacant house a block from my building. Someone could still obviously come by and spot us, but the odds were pretty low in this darkness.

She snuggled back under the blanket with me, turned toward me so that she could rest her head on my chest. “I hear your heart,” she said.

“Do you check every once in a while, just to make sure I’m not undead?”

Her answer was a soft laugh, followed by a long, sensuous kiss at the side of my neck.

My hands tightened on her, and I again tried to memorize every part of this moment. There was such perfection in the way our bodies were wrapped together. It didn’t seem possible that outside the sanctity of this moonlit car was a world we had to hide from, a world that wanted to tear us apart. The thought of what surrounded us made what was between us seem that much more fragile.

“‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold . . .’” I murmured.

“Are you quoting Yeats now?” she asked incredulously, lifting her head slightly. “That poem’s about apocalyptic visions and World War One.”

“I know.”

“You have some very strange post-sex poetic choices.”

I smiled and ran my fingers through her hair. It looked neither gold nor silver in here, just some fey color in between. Even in the throes of love and joy, I could feel a little of the Adrian Ivashkov moodiness settling over me.

“Well . . . it’s just sometimes I feel like this is too good to be true. I couldn’t have created anything this perfect in one of my own spirit dreams.” I pulled her closer and pressed my cheek against hers. “And I’m enough of a pessimist to know we eventually wake up from dreams.”

“That’s not going to happen,” she said. “Because this isn’t a dream. It’s real. And we can handle whatever comes. You come across any William Morris in your poems?”

“Isn’t that the guy who makes cigarettes?” And here she was accusing me of non-romantic poems.

“No. William Morris was an English writer.” She rolled over and rummaged through the mess of clothes on the floor. A moment later, she lifted up a phone and did a search on it. “Here we go. ‘Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter.’” She tossed the phone back into the pile and snuggled up to me again, resting her hands over my heart. “The poem’s called ‘Love Is Enough.’ As long as we’re together, that’s how we’ll be. No trembling. No faltering. We’re unstoppable.”

I caught hold of her hands and kissed them. “How did you become the starry-eyed romantic while I became the worrier?”

“I guess we rubbed off on each other. Don’t make a joke out of that,” she warned.

“Don’t leave me such good setups, then.”

I smiled at her, but that brooding cloud still hung over me, even as I lay there so full of happiness. I had never thought I could love another person this much. I also never thought I’d live in such fear of losing another person. Was that how everyone in love felt? Did they all cling tightly to their beloved and wake up terrified in the middle of the night, afraid of being alone? Was that an inevitable way of life when you loved so deeply? Or was it just those of us who walked on a precipice who lived in such a panic?

I brought my face a mere whisper from hers. “I love you so much.”

She blinked in that way I’d come to recognize, when she was afraid she might cry. “I love you too. Hey.” She slid one of her hands up and rested it on my cheek. “Don’t look like that. Everything’s going to be okay. The center will hold.”

“How do you know?”

“Because we are the center.”