The Fire Wars Read online

  I smiled. I could sympathize with this mysterious Chance. Playboy or not – certainly he didn't sound like the class bookworm – Chance was likely to be as lost and alone on day one as I was. Perhaps we'd make friends, I told myself – perhaps, like his father, he'd overlook my lowly background as the daughter of “the staff,” and we could team up against the cliques and challenges of senior year.

  “See, Mac,” my mother was telling me. “I don't know what you were so worried about. You won't be the only new kid in the senior class. You'll have Chance there. You two can help each other!”

  Antonio grinned. “I'm sure Chance will be glad for the company. He needs good, reliable friends. Perhaps you'll help keep him in check. God knows he needs somebody to do that for him.” Yet as he spoke, Antonio's smile vanished. He was no longer talking about a rakish playboy, getting into scrapes for seeing too many girls. His voice was too serious for that.

  In check? I looked up. Who was this mysterious Chance Cutter – and how could I manage to keep him from getting into trouble? I had my own problems to worry about – a new school, a new life, this new place – without worrying about someone else's? Yet something about Antonio's smile gave me a shiver. Did he know something I didn't?

  Chapter 2

  The conversation between Antonio and my mother turned once more to business, and I took this as my cue to make a graceful exit. As much as I loved my mother, there was something about this place, this night, that made me want to be alone. Alone to watch the fire-dancers, the flickering of the flames. Alone to cast my eyes over the grass skirts and the fluttering flowers, the muscled chests of the shirtless dancers.

  The feeling of uneasiness I had about Antonio's Chance began to grow. I felt as if my body, my blood, were reacting to something in the air – like an allergy, a sickness. The fire, the music, the throbbing beat of the drums and the pulse of the melody, seemed to course through my body; it overwhelmed me. I walked closer to the bonfire, my body aching to feel the flames once again close to my skin, to let them singe and caress me so slowly, so gently...

  The music grew louder. All conversation subsided as the drone of the music, punctuated by the ever-more-rapid beat of the drums, took over. I could feel my heart beginning to beat to the rhythm – the loud, long wail of the singers mingling with this passionate pulsing as the drummers struck their hands against the stretched skins of their drums, again and again. The flame at the center of the bonfire seemed to grow brighter; as I looked into its white-hot heart, I felt all at once that it was calling to me.

  Come on, Mackenzy, it seemed to be saying. Come here. Come join us.

  I took a step closer. I could feel the heat of the fire – so hot now that my skin was prickling and the hairs on my arm grew singed – and yet I felt no pain. I felt only a strange, dull pleasure in the heat – a pleasure that grew as the music grew louder still, echoing in my ears.

  Come on, Mackenzy. Come closer. Come with us.

  Without knowing what I was doing, I took another step towards the flame, shaking as I did so. All at once, I wanted nothing more than to throw myself onto the bonfire, to catch my clothing alight, to burn, burn with the fire and the passion and the magic of this music, of this sound. I wanted it to envelop me; I wanted it to become part of me, to be one with the music and with the fire.

  I took another step closer.

  Suddenly, I was pushed back, coming back to my senses as a group of masked male dancers made their way onto the stage, their sweat-drenched bodies glistening with effort as they began leaping and dancing into the air.

  I looked around wildly, trying to figure out what had happened. What had come over me? As I looked at the spot where I had stood, so painfully close to the flame, so close to danger, I was overwhelmed at my own stupidity. Didn't I know I could have been killed? It would have been so easy for a misplaced spark, a stray gust of wind, to set me alight...

  And yet I had felt that force of desire within me, so strong, so overpowering. I had wanted to get closer to the flame. I had wanted to be burned. It was just exhaustion, I told myself – I hadn't even finished unpacking, and the stress of school tomorrow was making me nervous. I was just tired. That was all it was.

  The men's dance quickly distracted me. This was the most skilled dance I had seen yet, an acrobatic set of jumps and kicks, as the dancers flirted with the flames, their feet and arms lightly skirting danger every time their bodies passed through the fire. One by one, the dancers were reaching into the audience, pulling up women – mostly the other hotel guests – to dance. They came – some reluctantly, some (including one eminently flattered-looking woman in her late seventies) with glee – eager to participate in the luau.

  I tried to slink away as quietly as I could. The event with the fire had unnerved me, and although I normally loved to dance, I wanted to stay as far from the flame as possible, lest that strange desire overtake me again. I looked away, hoping no pairs of eyes would catch at mine from behind the mask.

  Yet one of the dancers seemed to fix upon me. His face was hidden beneath a wooden mask decorated with red and orange flames, but a look at his body alone was enough to assure me that he was, without a doubt, the most attractive of the men onstage. Even sparkling with sweat, his beauty was clear. His body was not the lifeless chiseled marble I had seen on so many Californian surfers – carefully sculpted abdominal muscles that looked as dull and dead as the stone they resembled – but a powerful, dynamic thing, full of force and vigor. His power came not from hours at the gym, but from something more. Something deeper.

  It was the sight of this body, so animal in its strength, that made me hesitate a moment before trying to get away. And this moment was all the man needed. In a single movement, he bounded over, taking my hands in his.

  In that instant, I felt a sudden spark, mingled with confusion. The strange feeling that had taken over my blood earlier seemed to rise up again, stronger this time, as if I were in the very heart of the flames themselves. I jumped back, surprised at my own reaction. But as I looked at the dancer, I felt not strangeness but familiarity – as if I knew this figure, knew his touch. Had we met before? Certainly not – I had only been in Aeros a couple of days. But something about the way his fingers held mine...

  No, I was being silly, I told myself. It was just exhaustion; that was all.

  “I should go,” I said. “I'm tired...”

  But the dancer would have none of it. He grabbed hold of my wrists and pulled me roughly into the circle, moving his hips in time with the music. I watched with amazement. Most guys I knew limited their experience of dancing to a reluctant grind or two to an R&B song, but this was different. This boy seemed totally in sync with the music, his body connecting with the force of the rhythm, the magic overtaking him. He wasn't just dancing; he was making the music with his body, taking part in creating it.

  And I was moving with him. Even as I felt myself resist, I knew it was too late. My body was swaying back and forth in time with his. I could smell the sweat on him, his fierce animal musk. Our bodies were so close together that I could feel his hot breath on my face. As he held me close, his body pulsing with the beat, I looked up into his mask and saw two shimmering eyes, brilliant and blue like the sunlit sky, eyes that seemed to bear deep into me, finding me out, knowing all my secrets. His gaze frightened me. Could he see that deep, I wondered? Did he know about the fire – about how close I had come to walking straight in? About that feeling of connectedness – with the flame, with the music, with this place – that had come over me, that was now stronger than it ever had been before?

  I had to break this spell. I had to come back to my senses. I tried desperately to make conversation, hoping that talking to this mysterious figure, having something as stupid and banal as cocktail-party small talk, would break the power that the flame had over me.

  “So, uh, do these happen all the time?” I asked, feeling foolish as soon as I said it.

  “The hotel puts these on, if that's what you m
ean.” The voice was not what I had expected. It was light, almost dismissive – certainly not American. The accent was tinged with the trace of something foreign, although where the dancer was from I could not make out. “You know, for the tourists.” It sounded like he was scoffing. “The hospitality trade and all that.”

  I took a step back, hurt. If this dancer was going to make me dance with him, the least he could do, I reasoned, was be a bit politer about those of us dragged into the circle.

  “But it must be fun,” I tried again.

  I heard a snort from behind the mask. “If you're an outsider, I guess it's all bright and shiny to you.”

  I pulled away, stung. “Well, I am an outsider,” I said hotly, anger rising in my face. “And I do find it fun! And if you don't, I don't see why you bothered asking me to dance.”

  “It's not like I had a choice,” said the dancer roughly.

  “Well, nobody's making you now!” I crossed my arms, bringing the swaying to a screeching halt. “You can go home if you want. If you're too good for dancing.”

  “Not if Antonio Cutter has his way.” The boy gave a bitter laugh.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing,” he said harshly. “Let's dance. Come on – you're too stiff. You're trying too hard.”

  “Me? I'm...”

  “You need to go with it. Close your eyes. Stay calm – relaxed.”

  “I'm trying. It'd be easier if I weren't being insulted.”

  “Go with it!” His voice grew louder as he grabbed hold of me once again. His scent was intoxicating; as he pulled me to his chest, my anger turned fast to desire. I was dancing with him again, as much as I didn't want to, unable to resist the heat and pull of his strength, his passion. His eyes locked into mine – his blue eyes boring into my green ones – and I could hear his heartbeat in his steps.

  The music came at last to an end with a final flourish of drums, and we were standing face to face, so close that our lips were almost touching, and as he exhaled I felt his hot breath on my neck. He reached out an involuntary hand – it came so close to stroking my hair, my face, my cheeks – but then let it fall limply at his side.

  The bonfire seemed to have vanished now; the music was over. Around us there was nothing but the applause of the hotel guests and the other dancers.

  The boy pulled roughly away. “See you around,” he muttered reluctantly, and again the blush rose to my cheeks.

  “Wait!” I cried.

  “Yeah?”

  “What's your name.”

  The boy shrugged. “Cutter,” he said.

  “Chance Cutter?” I began, but it was too late. He had already vanished into the crowd, leaving me alone by the remnants of the bonfire, the torch lamps still hanging high above us.

  I returned to my mother's side, my blush brighter than ever. Had she seen me dance with the mysterious Cutter – had she seen the way my blood rose within my skin, the way I responded to the flames, to his touch? I knew my mother – she was far less likely to be scandalized than she was to give me a profoundly over-sharing lecture on how precisely to use condoms. That was what I was worried about.

  But she let me off the hook relatively easily. “That was some dance,” was all my mother said, although her wry smile told me that she could have said a great deal more on the subject if she wanted to.

  I decided to steer the topic of conversation away from the nature of my lust for the mysterious boy. “I can't believe we were so close to the fire,” I said, laughing. “Is that a Health and Safety risk or what? If we were back on Angel Island we'd have to fill out so much paperwork to even have a bonfire – what an insurance risk! But they seem so laid back here.”

  “Fire?” my mother turned to me with a vague smile. “I don't remember seeing any fire.”

  “Don't be silly,” I said. “The bonfire – the great big one...” I could feel its intoxicating heat once more on my face, feel the lure of its flames.

  My mother laughed. “Don't be silly. I could get sued if I had a big bonfire on the premises. It was only a trick of the light – we had nothing but torch lamps!”

  My heart sank. Confusion flooded over me. It had been real – I knew it: that heat, that desire.

  “But what about where I was dancing with Cutter,” I said.

  “Cutter?” My mother's smile vanished. “Chance Cutter? Or was it Varun?”

  “Was it who?” I looked up, confused. “I thought Antonio said he only had one son.”

  “He only has one son, although from what I hear, people who know him doubt his true son is his biological one. His nephew, Varun – his late sister's kid. While Chance has been at Eton, Varun chose to stay at Aeros in Aeros and learn the trade that way. He and his uncle have always been close. You danced with him, I imagine...”

  “Why do you say that?”

  My mother avoided my gaze, darting around the question. “Well, Antonio's a self-made man, you know. He doesn't like the idea that his sons would forget where they came from. And he insists that Varun participate in the local rituals and meet the guests – to ensure that they feel like part of the Cutter family.”

  “And Chance? Wouldn't he want Chance to participate too?”

  “Well...” my mother hesitated. “I'm sure he would – only...”

  “Only what?”

  “Now Mac,” my mother began, in an uncharacteristically parental tone, “I don't want you spreading this around. It's only gossip, you see – and it's not something I should even necessarily be telling you. But I don't want to be dishonest with you. It's something I heard tonight from the other members of staff. The reason Chance was really expelled from Eton.”

  “Antonio told me,” I said. “Girls.”

  “Not just girls,” my mother looked grave.

  “What was it, then?” I asked. “Did he get somebody pregnant? Cheat on a test? Play a prank on a teacher.”

  My mother sighed heavily. “No,” she said. “Nothing like that.”

  “Then what?”

  “There was an accident at Eton,” she said. “During a dance with a girls' school. There was a fire and...a girl died.”

  “And?”

  “And...” my mother said. “It was never proven, you understand. Never made public. But he was asked to leave nonetheless. You see, apparently they thought Chance caused it...”

  Chapter 3

  The Aeros Academy was one of the most beautiful building I had ever seen. Unlike the schools in California, which had been built in the high-tech Post-Erosion style so common among the American Islands, this school had a distinctly historical charm. The building was whitewashed stone with a terracotta roof. But its main beauty was its location. At the foot of a collection of ripe, verdant mountains, the Aeros Academy site looked out over the sea, which appeared bluer than ever in the early morning light. The foam sprayed softly on the shore, and as my mother drove me up to the steps I could spy a few students – evidently on a free period – sitting and sunning themselves on the rocks, their toes dragging in the bright surf.

  For a moment, I almost had hope. But as I bid farewell to my mother and entered the hallowed halls of Aeros, it became almost instantly clear to me that I was absolutely out of my element. The students here weren't like the simple, middle-class kids I had known at Angel High; my bright orange sundress, although the height of fashion on the Island, was here in sharp contrast with the meticulously plotted outfits on the lithe, tanned bodies of the students here. The sort of outfits that looked as if they had been chosen, just like the perfectly-highlighted color of the girls' hair, by their personal family stylist. I shuddered as I looked down at my simple dress. Would they mistake me for the maid? It was clear that my background wasn't anything like theirs – I couldn't even recognize half the designer labels sticking out so prominently from every perfectly tailored object of clothing, but I knew enough to know that they were expensive.

  How had my mother managed to send me here?

  I shuffled my fe
et to the receptionist's office, where I reluctantly handed her my forms. She waved me into the principal's office without so much as a word.

  “Dr. Newton, my forms...”

  The principal peered at me over her red polka-dotted glasses. “Miss Mackenzy Evers,” she said, nodding as she looked me up and down. “Congratulations,” she said.

  “For what?” My heart started beating faster. The last thing I wanted to do in this new school was stick out – for better of for worse.

  “Why, the Cutter Scholarship, of course!”

  “The Cutter Scholarship?” I repeated in a dull voice. My mother had announced to me that the money to send me here came from a lucky inheritance. She certainly hadn't told me anything about a scholarship.

  “It's not every girl that Antonio Cutter picks out to send here,” said the woman. “I can only remember the award being given out once or twice in my lifetime. And I've been here a long while, my girl.”

  Antonio Cutter was paying for my education? I shivered, cold all of a sudden. Why would my mother's boss pay for me to go to some expensive private school? And – more worrying still – why wouldn't my mother tell me about it if he had? My mind flashed back to Antonio's suddenly solemn face when talking to me about Chance. What was I doing here – really? And what did it have to do with Chance Cutter?

  “Hey there, new girl!”

  I whirled around to see a bronzed, ruggedly handsome boy lounging on the chair behind me. I almost gasped at the sight of him. He had long blonde hair that curled ever so slightly at the base of his neck, hair streaked by the sun with natural shimmers of white and gold. His skin was beach-darkened, and his hair and clothes were sopping wet. Evidently he too had partaken in the Aeros morning ritual of a pre-class swim. His shirt clung tightly to his body, and through the damp spots I could see his tight, firm muscles.