Free TORCH by Yvonne Collins, Sandy Rideout Page B

Not often in Rosewood, but it happens.”
    “I want—”
    He turns and starts walking again. “Ask your dad.”
    “But he won’t—”
    “Ask your dad.”
    “Stop it,” I say. Who is this guy to withhold information about me—information that could save my life?
    I feel a tingling in my hand and look down just in time to see a tiny indigo-tinged fireball drop from my fingertips and roll along the deck toward Hux. It’s slow at first, but as I grab my bag and start after it, it picks up speed. In seconds it will collide with Hux’s sneaker and the smell of burning rubber will end any hope of keeping my problem quiet. Lifting my bag, I throw it at the racing fireball.
    I miss.
    The clatter startles Hux. He turns quickly, sees the fireball and with a flick of his wrist, sends a bigger, yellow-tinged fireball of his own at it. They collide and combust. Smoke trickles upward and Hux whips off his jacket to fan it away.
    When the smoke dissipates, he slings his jacket over his shoulder and continues walking toward the office, as if blasting a student’s fireball to smithereens is all in a day’s work.
    Unlocking the office door, he calls, “You coming?”
    I stand where I stopped, staring at my hand.
    Hux chuckles. “Yeah, I remember the first time I just let one drop. It was brutal—worse than farting on an elevator.”
    “But I... How did you...?” Fragments are all I can manage. “You just hit it and it—”
    He shrugs before disappearing into the office. “I’ve had a little practice.”
    Finally I follow him, saying, “You’re a Torch, too.”
    He waggles his eyebrows. “Sounds like you got it all figured out.”
    “A Torch who works with water. Isn’t that some sort of oxymoron?”
    “Now you’re thinking. That’s why I want you to get back in the pool. You need training and discipline. You can’t go around scorching people’s purses.”
    “It was an accident,” I say.
    “You’re a fire-starter. Accidents can kill people.”
    “But I don’t want to be like this. How can I make it stop?”
    He gestures to his desk chair and I collapse into it. “The bad news is that you don’t have a choice. It’s what you are.”
    I stare at him for a moment, hoping he’ll crack another smile and tell me it’s all been a joke. Instead, he cups his hand and a tiny, yellow fireball appears. Then he closes his hand and it disappears. His face is blank, as if he’s simply illustrating a fact.
    I cover my face with my hands, and rock back and forth. “No...” I moan. “I don’t want to kill people.”
    “The good news is that you have choice about that,” he says. “You train."
    “Then I'll train,” I mumble into my hands. “I need to know how to stop this.”
    “And you need to know how to protect yourself,” he says. “Like I said, Floods kill people, too. Sometimes they wipe out entire towns.”
    I look up at him. “You mean Kai could...?”
    “Probably, if he’s strong enough. And he’s not the only Flood in town.”
    Suddenly I realize why Rosewood’s charming facade has made me uneasy. There’s a lot going on underneath that isn’t pretty at all.
    Hux continues. “Your dad should be training you, but if he won’t, I will. You’ll need supervision to set fires and put them out. Rinse and repeat, until you’re in full control.”
    “When do we start?” I ask.
    “When you stop seeing Kai.”
     

     
    I don’t need Hux’s help. I can start fires and put them out without supervision. It’s a simple matter of setting up a lab and practicing until I’ve got it nailed. Then I can pretend none of this ever happened.
    My lab is the family bathroom. Dad is working the late shift, as usual, and Graham is sound asleep. I’ve got everything laid out:  a spray bottle, a couple of wet towels and the fire extinguisher that Dad normally keeps in the kitchen. I’ve taken the batteries out of the smoke alarm in the hall and turned the extractor fan on in the bathroom. Just to be safe,