P.C. Cast - Burned

Stevie Rae snatched the paper from her hand. “Dang it, why didn’t you just say you were bringin’ me one of your poems?”

“I was gettin’ ’round to it.” Kramisha crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway, obviously waiting for Stevie Rae to read the poem.

“Isn’t there somethin’ you need to go do?”

“Nope. The rest of the kids is eatin’. Oh, ’cept for Dallas. He’s working with Dragon on some sword stuff, even though school ain’t starting again officially, and I do not see no need to rush things, so I do not get why he in such a hurry to go to class. Anyway, just read the poem, High Priestess. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Stevie Rae stifled a sigh. Kramisha’s poems tended to be confusing and abstract, but they were also often prophetic, and just thinking about one of them being obviously for her had Stevie Rae’s stomach feeling like she’d eaten raw eggs. Reluctantly, her eyes went to the paper and she started to read:

Stevie Rae shook her head, glanced up at Kramisha, and then read the poem again, slowly, willing her heart to please stop beating so loud that it would betray the guilty terror the thing instantly made her feel. ’Cause Kramisha was right; it was obviously about her. Of course it was also obviously about her and Rephaim. Stevie Rae supposed she should be grateful the dang poem didn’t say anything about wings and human eyes in a dang bird head. Shoot!

“See what I mean ’bout it bein’ ’bout you?”

Stevie Rae shifted her gaze from the poem to Kramisha’s intelligent eyes. “Well, hell, Kramisha. ’Course it’s about me. The first line says that.”

“Yeah, see, I was sure ’bout that, too, even though I never heard nobody call you that.”

“It makes sense,” Stevie Rae said quickly, trying to drown out the memory of Rephaim’s voice calling her The Red One . “I’m the only girl red vamp, so it’s gotta be talkin’ about me.”

“That’s what I thought, even though there is that whole bunch of freaky ’bout the beasts and stuff. I had to look up the gird-your-loins part ’cause it sounded nasty and sexual, but it ended up just bein’ a way to say you need to get real ready for a fight.”

“Yeah, well, there’s been a bunch of fighting goin’ on lately,” Stevie Rae said, looking back at the poem.

“Looks like you in for some more—and it’s some bad shit, too, you got to be real ready for.” Then she cleared her throat meaningfully, and Stevie Rae reluctantly met her eyes again. “Who is he?”

“He?”

Kramisha crossed her arms. “Do not talk to me like I’m stupid. Him. The guy my poem says you’re gonna give your heart to.”

“I am not!”

“Oh, then you do know who he is.” Kramisha tapped the toe of her leopard-print boots. “And he definitely ain’t Dallas, ’cause you wouldn’t be freaked about givin’ him your heart. Everyone knows you two got a thing. So, who is he ?”

“I don’t have a clue. I’m not seein’ anyone but Dallas. Plus, I’m way more worried about the parts that talk about Darkness and disguises and such,” Stevie Rae lied.

“Huh,” Kramisha snorted through her nose.

“Look, I’m gonna keep this and think about it,” Stevie Rae said, stuffing the poem into her jeans pocket.

“Let me guess—you want me to keep my mouth shut ’bout it,” Kramisha said, tapping her foot again.

“Yeah, ’cause I want to try to . . .” The excuse died under Kramisha’s knowing stare. Stevie Rae blew out a long breath, decided to tell as much of the truth as she could, and started again. “I don’t want you to say anything ’bout the poem ’cause I got a guy issue goin’ on, and havin’ it come out right now would suck for Dallas and for me, especially when I’m not real sure what’s goin’ on between me and this other guy.”

“That’s more like it. Guy shit can be one hot mess, and like my mama always says, it just ain’t right to put your personal business all out there for everbody to see.”

“Thanks, Kramisha. I ’preciate that.”

Kramisha held up her hand. “Hang on. Didn’t nobody say I was done with this subject. My poems is important. This one is about more than your jacked-up love life. So like I said before, get the crazy cleared from your head and remember to use your good sense. And also, every time I wrote the word Darkness , it made my insides feel wrong.”

Stevie Rae gave Kramisha a long look, then made her decision. “Walk with me to the parking lot, ’kay? I got somethin’ to do off campus, but I wanna talk to you on the way.”

“No problem,” Kramisha said. “Plus, it’s ’bout time you said something ’bout what’s going on inside your head to someone. You been actin’ wacked lately, and I mean even before Zoey got herself shattered.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stevie Rae mumbled.

Neither one of them said anything more while they walked down the stairs and through the busy dorm. Stevie Rae thought it was like the thawing ice had also unfrozen the fledglings. Over the past couple of days, the kids had started coming out and acting more and more normal. Sure, she and Kramisha still got plenty of looks, but they’d gone from hostile and fearful to mostly curious.

“You thinkin’ we might actually be able to come back here and go to school again, like this is still our home?” Kramisha blurted once they’d reached the sidewalk outside the dorm,

Stevie Rae gave her a surprised look. “Actually, I kinda have started to think that. Would it be so bad to be back here?”

Kramisha shrugged. “I ain’t sure. All I’m sure of is I feel right when I’m sleepin’ underground during the day.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem here.”

“The Darkness in my poem that makes me feel wrong—you don’t think that’s ’bout us, do you?”

“No!” Stevie Rae shook her head emphatically. “There’s nothin’ wrong with us. You and me and Dallas and the rest of the red fledglings who came here decided. Nyx gave us a choice, and we chose good over evil—Light over Darkness. The poem isn’t talkin’ about us. I’m sure of that.”

“It’s the others, huh?” Even though they were alone, Kramisha lowered her voice.

Stevie Rae thought about it and realized Kramisha could be right. She’d just been so preoccupied with guilt about Rephaim that it hadn’t occurred to her. Dang! She did need to get her head on straight. “Well, yeah, I guess it could be talkin’ ’bout them, but if it is, it’s really bad.”

“Please. We all know they real bad.”

“Yeah, well, I just found out some stuff from Aphrodite that gives Darkness with a capital D a whole new level of messed-up. And if they’re involved with that, then they’ve reached a different kind of bad. Like Neferet bad.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. So your poem might be talkin’ ’bout a fight with them. But also, and this is the part I wanted you to know, Aphrodite and I have started to learn about some ancient stuff. You know, really old. So old the vamps have even forgotten about it.”

“That’s some old shit.”