Inferno : Elements Series Book One

Gwen

Thanks to Carmen, I’m awake at 8:00am on a Saturday. I should be sleeping, especially since I didn’t get home until 2:30 this morning. I drag myself out of bed and head for the kitchen. A cup of tea and a shower and I should be ready for the day. I put my phone in my iPod dock and turn Ed Sheeran up. I wasn’t lying when I said I should be cleaning the house. My floors are disgusting. Vacuuming is the bane of my existence. I hate it and so I don’t vacuum unless it’s absolutely necessary. Today, much to my dismay, it is absolutely necessary that I vacuum. I can’t help thinking about my dream. It was completely ridiculous and yet it feels more like a memory than a dream. It feels real, like a real conversation, but I’ve probably just read too many books. Like I said, I have a fantastic imagination. Turning my music up louder, I immerse myself in housework. With the vacuuming, mopping and dishes done and the house clean again, I have nothing left to distract myself. At least until I go to PT at 4pm but that’s still five hours away and after calling my sister and parents to check up on them and see what they’ve been up to, my thoughts easily slip back to the mystery creep. Tall, muscly, blue eyes to die for, hair the colour of dark chocolate perfect cheekbones and I hope I never forget that accent. He looks like the perfect mix of bad ass, Greek god and supermodel. Unfortunately he knows it. How he ended up in my dream is a mystery. I’m taller than most girls, definitely thicker than most girls, I’m awkward and opinionated and have no trouble telling you exactly what I think. In short, definitely not the type of girl to attract the attention of a guy like Derek; if that is his name, if he even has a name! I’m thinking way, way too much about a guy I dreamt up. I start to look for some matches. The windows have been mostly shut for the last few days and the house has begun to smell musty. I open up all the windows, pull out a scented candle that Carmen got me and set to work finding matches. After a few minutes I manage to dig some out of the kitchen draw and turn to light my candle. There’s just one small problem; it’s already lit and I sure as hell wasn’t the one who lit it. I blow it out. I’ve had enough weird this week and a self-lighting candle is just not going to be a part of my Saturday. I reach for the candle to put it away and immediately pull my hand back. The candle is lit again, and this time I saw the flame light up out of nowhere. I blow it out, reach my hand out to grab it and watch it light up for a third time. I begin to smell something else burning and, looking up, I realise that the rest of the candles on my shelf have lit up; every single one of them.

“What the hell is going on!”

What am I supposed to do? I grab a bucket, fill it with water and dump all the candles into it. I just destroyed about fifty dollars’ worth of candles but I don’t care. I retreat to the safety of my room and my little library, all plans for the day forgotten, and bury myself in City of Bones by Cassandra Clare. One of my favourites and I let myself exist only in the book. When I read it’s like the words become images and the story plays out like a movie in my mind. It makes it incredibly easy to forget everyone and everything and forget about whatever is stressing me out. Things like freaky candles and creepy guys. By the time I look up again it’s nearly 3:30pm and I have to get to training. On the list for today is kick-boxing and I LOVE it. I get to let out my frustration and relieve my boredom all in one activity. I don’t do it for fitness and I don’t compete, although my trainer thinks I could do well if I put in the required effort. Lana, my trainer, is always trying to push me to do more and today is no different. In short, she spends an hour kicking my arse and then ends the session with a two minute rapid fire round where she pretty much tells me to try and destroy the punching bag with my hardest kicks and punches. I’m exhausted by the end and head straight for the pool. I always feel great after a few laps to cool down. The pool is empty and I don’t hesitate to cannonball straight into the deep end; only to witness all hell breaking loose.

The water begins to move, and not from my cannonball. It’s making shapes and hovering in the air and freezing into solid blocks of ice. There are ice bergs all through the pool by the time I manage to drag myself out. A public indoor pool, with ice bergs, and I’m freaking out. Is someone messing with me? Is this some sort of trick? Jesus Christ, have I literally gone insane? Am I hallucinating? A million thoughts whiz through my mind and I watch in stunned silence as the ice bergs pop like balloons, water cascades back into the pool and the ground begins to shake. Looking out of the windows I see dirt and rock erupting from the ground, looking like giant brown whales breaking the earth’s surface. I have to get out of here. I grab my bag and run as fast as I can to my car. I break a few traffic laws getting home, but thankfully I don’t get pulled over. I lock my car, run inside and open all the windows up again to breathe in huge gulps of fresh air. Once I’m calm and my breathing returns to normal I go for a shower. Turning the water on as hot as my body can stand, I sink to the floor and just let the water flow over me, loosening muscles as it goes and clearing my mind so I can relax. I can’t think of any sort of phenomenon that could cause what happened at the pool so I just let my imagination run wild. All sorts of scenes begin to play out from books I’ve read, from magic to mind tricks, and I relax enough to get out of the shower. Putting on my most comfortable pyjamas, an oversized Marvel’s Avengers t-shirt and boy shorts, I curl up on my bed and will myself to sleep. Hopefully ending this day and waking up in a new one will make this all better.

My hope is dashed when I’m pulled back into another dream.

I don’t have the energy for this. Two dreams in two days. He’s sitting in my chair again, as overly confident as last night, although he looks a bit surprised. I sit up on my bed and prepare my best pissed off expression, but I’m too shaken by what’s happened today to put any real effort into it.

“Are you going to make this a nightly thing or are you just that determined to make me mad?”

He blinks and just keeps staring at me.

“What are you staring at? Did I grow a moustache and sprout wings in this dream or something?”

“You’re glowing, incredibly bright. You look like a supernova. You look beautiful.”

That has me stumped. The only people to ever call me beautiful are my parents and sister and they don’t count. My shock must register on my face but to his credit he doesn’t say anything about it.

“So are you going to listen to what I have to say this time?”

“I’m dreaming and you’re not real, so go for it.”

“Not real? You saw me on your street a few days ago, that isn’t real enough for you?”

“It was still dark and I was half asleep.”

“I was at the club last night. You saw me and left, why?”

“Because some guy I thought I saw outside my house, who was looking at me like he wanted to stab me, had suddenly appeared and I figured it might be in my best interest to get off his radar. Also you’re hardly in a position to be demanding answers here.”

He’s thinking about what I’ve said and I watch as he comes to a conclusion. He stands up and walks over to inspect my bookshelf.

“You like fantasy stuff. Elves and wizards and made up worlds full of fantastic stories and creatures. It’s nice. At least you don’t read that stupid romance crap that most girls like. You don’t seem like the chick flick type either. That’s good. You’re art is very good, by the way. You’ve filled up a lot of sketch pads.”

He pulls one down from the shelf and begins to flick through it, a green covered book that I devoted to landscapes. What a weird turn for this conversation to take?

“So you’re stalking me to find out what I read and draw? Bit intense, next time might I suggest a book store and an art gallery?” I reply, my voice dripping sarcasm and my tone all annoyance as I move to take my sketch pad from him.

He just ignores me. “Tell me about what happened today.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” I reply more firmly. I don’t owe him any answers and I sure as hell won’t be letting him question my sanity, I’m doing enough of that for myself. My face must betray my thoughts.

“You’re not crazy. It’s why I’m here, I know what you are but I’m not sure how strong your abilities are. That’s what I’m trying to find out here.”

“What I am? I’m a convenience store clerk with an addiction to reading and questionable sanity who is talking to some guy who has invaded my dreams and is stalking me!”

I stand up again, genuinely pissed off now. He’s being so vague and acting like a know-it-all. I hate it when people are like that, like they know this huge secret and have all the answers in the world but they want you to drag the information out them or simply dangle it in front of you to get a reaction.

“You aren’t wearing pants again,” he says with an arrogant smirk on his stupid face.

I look down and realise that, again, I’m wearing boy shorts and like that, my temper explodes. My room bursts into flames and I’m pulled out of my dream.

I jump straight out of my bed; the flames are climbing my walls and blocking my way out of the door. I have a book shelf half covering my window, blocking it as an exit and I’m trapped in my room. I begin searching for my phone. If I can just call the fire department, they can get here, right? I realise that my phone is still in my gym bag that I threw down next to the kitchen table when I came home and any hope of getting help evaporates. I can feel the heat on my skin and grab the blankets from my bed. If I can smother the flames that are blocking the door then I can get out. My plan fails. All I get out of the attempt is a burn on my right wrist. I am NOT going to burn to death in my own damn house! I move to the book shelf covering most of my window and begin trying to move it. It’s heavy, and on fire, but despite the new burns on my hands and forearms I manage to start moving it. Inch by inch, just a little further and I can smash the window and climb out.

“Stop,” says Derek, taking hold of my burnt left hand and stopping my escape attempt. I didn’t even hear him come in. He must have broken the door down, but the flames are loud and my mind is racing. If he’s here though it means that I’m unconscious, so is this still a dream?

“You’re not dreaming and yes, your room is actually on fire,” says Derek, a smirk on his stupid face.

“We have to get out, ouch! Stop that!” He squeezed my hand, making white hot pain shoot up my arm. I pull it out of his grasp. I didn’t realise how burnt it was. It’s blistered and some of the flesh is scorched black and flaking.

“Concentrate on the flames. Think about extinguishing them and make it happen.”

We’re about to burn to death, why is he so calm?

“We have to get out,” I start to move toward the door but Derek stops me. His hands are on my shoulders forcing me to face him.

“Just calm down and concentrate. I’m not going to let this get any worse but I do want to prove something to you. Just do what I say. Concentrate on extinguishing the flames. Use that imagination of yours.” He taps his index finger against my forehead, probably to emphasise my concentration and imagination. I think about knocking him out and getting the hell out of there but after all the weird stuff over the last few days I find myself doing what he says. I survey my room and imagine the flames receding, leaving my stuff completely undamaged and, to my complete astonishment, the flames begin slowly dying down. I feel something surge through my veins, I want to think it’s just an adrenalin surge but it feels so different to anything I’ve ever felt before. It feels natural, like home and joy and before my eyes the flames are shrinking before my eyes. My book shelves go from charred blocks of wood and destroyed books to the whole and undamaged items of furniture they were before. Like a time-lapse in reverse. I walk toward the fire, imagining that it can’t burn me. I find myself surrounded by extinguishing flames and I’m not burning at all. I feel the warmth but it’s more like a warm embrace, the flames lick across my skin but it feels welcome. Like that’s exactly where the flames were meant to be and then all of a sudden they’re gone. My room looks the way it always did and there isn’t even a lingering scent of burning left to hint at the presence of fire. I turn to find Derek just standing there, looking like he’s never seen anything like it before. I don’t blame him.

I’m in a state of shock. I just did that. I put out the flames, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what the hell has just happened and part of me still believes I’m dreaming. Looking at Derek I notice that his shirt has a whole burnt into it.

“Your shirt is burnt,” I frown.

I savour the look of shock that crosses his face, a chink out of his overly confident facade.

“That’s what you’re thinking? Your hands and arms are burnt, but you’re thinking about the hole in my shirt, seriously?”

I forgot about my hands, my shock over what had happened had momentarily made me forget. But I definitely remember now, it’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life but no way will I let that show in front of Derek. I’ve always had a pretty high tolerance for pain and relying on that, I turn to my bathroom. I struggle for a second with the cupboard door before Derek walks over and opens it for me.

“What are you looking for?”

“First aid kit,” I reply. “It’s in the cupboard on the second shelf.”

“I’ll get it, go sit down.”

I do what he says. Partly Because I want the comfort of my favourite chair to help me sort through my thoughts, but mostly because there are black spots dancing in front of my eyes and I’d rather not pass out of the bathroom floor.

Derek enters my room with the kit just as my butt hit’s the chair. He takes my hands, turning them over and assessing the damage before he opens the first aid kit. He pulls out a clean cloth and grabs the bottle of water from the nightstand. Wetting the cloth, he begins to wipe the grime from my hands and reveals the red welts and charred flesh beneath.

“I should go to the hospital and get this fixed up,” I say. “It’s probably going to mean I have to take time off work. Crap.”

“No need, you can heal this yourself,”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He looks straight into my eyes, probably to make sure I’m paying attention.

“You can heal this yourself. Probably the same way you fixed all of your furniture. By the way, how did you do that? It was a long shot this early in the development of your powers that you’d even be able to extinguish the flames but you managed to do that and restore everything to the way it was.”

“I just thought of how it was before.”

“Then do that. Look at your hands and think of them without the burns.”

I’m too tired to argue. Is it possible to be tired while you’re dreaming? I do what he says. I stare at my hands more intensely than I’ve looked at anything in my life and imagine them without burns. Just the way they always were. Once again I feel that strange and beautiful surge of energy and I watch as my blisters shrink, my skin knit’s itself back together and my burns fade to the reveal the smooth skin I had before.

“Holy shit,” says Derek. “I wasn’t expecting you to be able to do it.”

“What does that even mean? Who are you and could you just tell me what’s going on?”