Pyro: The Elemental Underground, #1

PROLOGUE

NINETEEN YEARS AGO, PARCIA, LORD DARYLIS

My father had always said I should consider it an honor when I became lord of the Underground, but I saw it as nothing more than a burden when I took his place shortly after my eighteenth birthday. I wanted a simple life—to marry a nice girl and have a family. I didn’t want to be responsible for other people’s lives.

After a long day of being forced to learn my new duties from my father’s advisor, Jibril, I was exhausted. I escaped from the Underground and climbed the great willow tree that stood above it like a mother watching over her child.

When I was little, I had always loved climbing trees, especially the willow tree, one of few trees in the entire country. Parcia was a jagged, grassy country in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, a hundred miles south of Iceland. Although my parents were from Iceland, I called Parcia home. I had never been anywhere else.

I pulled my long legs into my chest and leaned back against the trunk of the tree, closing my eyes. It was a relief I had succeeded in hiding myself away. I sighed and listened to the silence of the night.

Footsteps whispered against the grass.

Opening my eyes, I leaned forward to sneak a glance through the leaves at who was coming. As I shifted my weight, my foot slipped against the branch, and I fell, landing on my back in the grass. I blinked for a moment, stunned. Then a heavenly vision appeared above me, and it was like I was in a dream.

She had long tresses of blond hair that curled down to her waist. Her lips and cheeks were pink, adding a splash of color to her pale complexion. I thought she was probably my age, and I didn’t hesitate before glancing down at the rest of her. To my utter distraction, she was wearing a tight black leather dress that didn’t even come to her knees and squeezed her breasts into perfect cleavage. She also had on black thigh-high boots. I found the strip of white flesh between the bottom of her dress and the top of her boots and stared at it in fascination until she spoke.

Are you all right? That looked like a nasty fall, she said.

My stomach fluttered at the sound of her voice, and I struggled into a sitting position, not wanting to look like my violent moment of clumsiness had affected me.

I’m fine. Who are you?

She gave me a smile, and her eyes sparkled as she stretched out her hand.

Catherine. Pleased to meet you . . .

Darylis, I said, accepting her hand and allowing her to pull me to my feet. Surprised at how strong she was, I continued to stare.

Are you—you can’t be the lord of the Underground? I was told to find Lord Darylis Caldridge, but I was picturing a man in his forties or fifties at least!

You’re picturing my late father, then.

Oh, I’m sorry. The sparkle in her eyes had gone.

It’s okay, except now I’ve got his position, so I’m in charge even though I don’t want to be. Are you a visitor?

From Sweden. I’ve been traveling abroad, trying to find someone other than a Swede to fall in love with. I can tell you know what it’s like to go stir-crazy.

I do. My stomach dropped. She was just like me, and she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I haven’t met many foreigners. What’s your ability?

I rarely share that with acquaintances.

I nodded, but inside I was thinking, I want more than anything to be someone she trusts. What I wouldn’t give for even a single night in her company . . .

Okay. Well, I can communicate with nature. For instance . . . I closed my eyes and reached out to place a hand gently on the trunk of the willow tree. I know this tree is feeling tired right now. When you’re as old as she is, you can’t help but be tired all the time.

The tree had been around as long as the Underground and was the power source that held the elfin dwelling together with its strong magical roots. I opened my eyes. Catherine’s were large and curious, and she took a step closer to me. The grass sighed as she moved toward me. I could hear it whispering and speculating.

Will they, won’t they? She’s perfect for him, he’s perfect for her.

Now she was close enough that I could feel her warm breath on my cheek. She smelled like mint and clover, and I breathed her in deeply. The flowers at my feet told me what she was going to do just before it happened. One minute, she was standing there, and the next, she was leaning, leaning . . .

When her soft lips brushed against mine, my mind exploded.

She became radiant, a beacon casting a brilliant glare on every other part of my life. I found myself light on my feet, as if I had just fallen into a different world—a better world—where she was the most important thing. I took her face in my hands, deepening the kiss and surrendering completely.

PART I

THE FIRE

1

MELISSA

MODERN DAY, MONDAY, AUGUST 23, CLEVELAND, OHIO

My senior year of high school started off with a boy, a girl, and fire.

Amber, my mom, had told me to try and make friends, as she always did on the first day of school, but like always, I didn’t have any intention of doing so. I waited impatiently in homeroom—the most pointless part of school—for the day to truly begin while I read a couple chapters of the latest pick from my to-be-read pile. I glanced up for half a second every time someone entered the room. As usual, no one sat by me, but I didn’t give a crap. Most of the kids I recognized. Sally, Nick, Bryan, Ethan, Abigail . . . hmm.

The unfamiliar boy was nearly as pale as me and had warm brown eyes and soft features that made me do a double take. I fought the urge to turn around and stare when he sat behind me. The much safer option was to look back at my book and try to read the rest of the page I was on. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when a shadow loomed over me from behind. I gulped, and then he spoke.

McCarthy?

I turned around and looked right into his eyes. To my surprise, the dark-haired boy had spoken with a weird European accent.

What?

"Sorry. I just noticed you were reading The Road. I love that book."

Oh. Yeah. I like it so far.

Sorry to interrupt. He scratched his head, sheepish. Carry on.

I turned back around and attempted rereading the same sentence a few times without processing it. Was he still looking at me? I adjusted my long red hair, making sure my side bangs still swooped to the right, covering my brown eye. I never wanted anyone to see my heterochromia. Not many people knew someone with two different-colored eyes. And it wasn’t that my eyes were two different shades of hazel. No. I had one brown eye and one green eye.

A few seconds later, another stranger entered the room, and I glanced back up. This time, it was a pale girl with silver-dollar eyes, dark-brown hair that fell past her hips, and a petite figure that made her look like a pixie. After an apprehensive look around the room, she settled down at the desk to my right. Two new students?

Okay! Everyone’s attention went to the front of the room as Mr. Ryan pushed his magazine aside and stood up. One more year, kids. You can do it. And in case you haven’t noticed, we have two new students: Willow and Cierra!

He gestured at the boy and girl respectively, and Cierra turned around to flash a smile at Willow. I blinked up at my teacher. Willow was the boy’s name? I could hear the other kids whispering about this, and I rolled my eyes when their thoughts went through my mind.

Isn’t that a girl’s name?

Did Mr. Ryan mean to say William?

Oh, man, poor guy. That girl is seriously cute, though.

As if my weird eyes weren’t enough, I also heard people’s thoughts occasionally. I couldn’t control it because it was almost like bumping the tuning dial in a car by accident and switching stations. By now, I was used to it and the slight mental itch that preceded it.

Then the announcements came on the loudspeaker, forcing us to hear the lunch menu for the day, the times of sports games and practices, and various sign-up times for different organizations. I didn’t hear any of this because the wheels in my brain were turning, trying to identify the origin of Willow’s accent. I hadn’t heard anything quite like it—almost Dutch, but maybe Swedish.

The bell rang, and I hurried to my next class—English. It surprised me when Cierra ended up sitting next to me again. She smiled over at me.

Hi. I’m Cierra.

Her accent confirmed she was from the same country as Willow.

I heard. I’m Melissa.

Good to meet you.

I nodded and chewed on my pen. We didn’t speak again until just before lunch, when I was walking out of my government class and witnessed a burly rugby player named Robert stick his foot out in front of Cierra. Not having been paying attention, she tripped and fell, spilling the contents of her messenger bag.

Robert cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, Freshman!

I flipped him off and ran over to Cierra, who was sitting up with wide, incredulous eyes. The other kids in the hallway either looked at her sympathetically or smirked, but none of them moved to help her.

What a jackass, I said, kneeling and collecting her things for her.

I’m not a freshman! Is it because I’m so short?

Ugh, just ignore him.

She took the books I was holding out to her and smiled widely at me in surprise. Her smile was so large and beautiful that my lips automatically twitched to return the favor.

Thanks! You didn’t have to do that.

No one else stopped to help you. Everyone around here sucks. All they care about is looking cool. You should stick with me, I heard myself saying.

I didn’t know why I was saying these things. Maybe there was a brain tumor or some form of insanity involved. I never tried to make friends with anyone at school.

All right!

She stood up and looped her arm through mine as we walked down the hall.

After asking me a couple times to stand in the queue with her, I realized she meant the lunch line, and I obliged. She immediately launched into a one-sided discussion of her favorite book, The Fellowship of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien, while I examined my fingernails and occasionally made noises of acknowledgment. By the time she had collected and paid for her lunch and we were walking toward my usual table in the back corner, she had transitioned to bookstores and was telling me about her favorite one back home, wherever that was.

I love bookstores too, I said, finally contributing. I pulled a smashed PB&J from my lunch bag and grimaced at it before taking a bite. It was ironic because Amber was an excellent cook, but I insisted on making my own lunch every day. She did too much already. I’ve always wanted to write a book, so . . .

Really? That’s cool! I’ve always thought it would be cool to own a bookstore. She shrugged. Geir’s Books is fantastic. I wish you could see it.

Where did you say you were from? I asked, knowing she hadn’t.

Er . . . Europe. Iceland. That area.

That’s cool.

She pushed her tray toward me and said, Want some of these?

I grabbed a handful of fries with a smile. The last thing I had expected from today was a new friend. Cierra smiled at something over my shoulder, and I turned around to see Willow walking over with a tray of food.

Hey, guys, he said when he’d reached us.

You don’t mind if Willow joins us, do you, Melissa? said Cierra.

Not at all. Willow took a seat next to me, and I was immediately aware that our arms were almost touching. I’ve never shared this table with anyone before.

Why not? Willow said.

My cheeks warmed. I don’t exactly . . . well . . . have friends.

Seriously? Cierra said.

Seriously. It’s always been that way.

That’s crazy, said Willow. Why not?

I shrugged. I just focus on school.

I had stopped caring about kids at school a long time ago, but the way Willow kept looking at me—as if he were truly invested in what I had to say—made me care quite a bit.

Everyone needs friends, Cierra said. You can’t survive for long without them.

Well, I’m almost eighteen, and I’m just fine.

We should hang out, Willow said, to my horror and delight.

For a few seconds, I found it hard to breathe. I cleared my throat and unclogged it of peanut butter. They waited for my reply.

Well . . . my mom owns a diner just down the street, Amber’s Place. We both work there. If you come visit me, I could probably get you some free fries or something.

Cierra smiled. Her happiness was almost tangible.

That sounds wonderful. Doesn’t it, Willow?

Yeah! Yeah, it does.

She nodded and said, We can come after school today.

Willow made a sideways smile at her, and she laughed a little.

Um . . . how do you guys know each other? Are you both from Iceland?

She’s my sister, Willow said, looking amused.

Twin, to be specific.

Both had pale skin and dark hair, and their faces were a similar shape. They had the same ears and almost the same mouth, although Willow’s was smaller. When they noticed I was comparing them, they burst out laughing. Willow’s laugh was big and full of gusto, which didn’t seem to fit his appearance.

Do we meet all the requirements? he joked.

You do look similar. I wouldn’t have guessed before, though. I always thought it would be cool to have a twin.

You’d think so, wouldn’t you?

Hey! said Cierra.

I love her, but I don’t always like her.

I had to join in their laughter because it was contagious. This was turning out to be the most interesting first day of school ever.

The bell rang. AP Calculus was my next class. After Willow and I turned down the same hallway twice, I said, Where are you headed?

Krieger.

Me too!

It surprised me how excited I sounded. I was making friends, and I didn’t know what to do with that information. He smiled at me, and we continued the rest of the way in silence. I could only hope I wouldn’t make a fool of myself.

And, miraculously, I didn’t. At the end of the day, I stowed my books in my locker and waved goodbye to Cierra and Willow after they promised once again to come visit me at work.

The sound of tennis shoes against pavement made me turn in time to see a flying blond ponytail and a cheerful smile. My next-door neighbor Bethany Winfried slowed to a stop beside me.

We’d occasionally walk to or from school together, and she also worked at the diner, but besides that, we had little in common. On the way home, we talked about things that didn’t matter, like how our summers were and how nice the weather had been.

I kicked a stone in my path with one of my yellow Converse shoes and watched it go sailing over four squares of sidewalk.

After a prickling sensation on my scalp, Beth’s thoughts came through.

I wish I were smart like her.

I smiled.

By then, we had come to the edge of our street and crossed to the other side. James Garfield High School was only a block away from our houses, which was nice and convenient.

I waved to Beth before walking in the front door of my house and catching a whiff of something sweet. Amber was baking, and that didn’t surprise me one bit.

What are you making? I asked her, dropping my bag on the kitchen floor with a loud thunk.

She turned around and smiled excitedly. Amber was just slightly taller than I was, and she had shoulder-length brown hair that was sometimes curly, sometimes not. Her eyes were large, her skin slightly tan, and she was often smiling. She looked nothing like me, except I might have inherited her nose. I had never seen a picture of my father, but I imagined I would recognize him if I ran into him on the street because he would look exactly like me. I didn’t really care about meeting him. He was out of the picture, so what was the point? Amber was all I needed. Right now, she was wearing a polka-dotted apron over her blue sundress. With a little laugh, she spun over to me on her toes, the nails of which were painted bright red.

Oh, just a little something. Taste it.

She held the spoon to my lips, and I sucked the substance into my mouth.

Yum! Is that homemade pudding?

White chocolate flavored. She winked and moved to open the oven door. That’s not all I made today.

I bent down to peer inside and saw a pan of brownies baking. That was what I had smelled. I knew without asking that she had made them from scratch and they would taste better than any other brownies in the world. After sighing happily, I let her pull me into a tight hug. Amber loved hugs almost as much as she loved cooking, baking, and people.

How was your day, sweetie? she said, releasing me.

It was good. I got myself a glass of water and sat down at the table. I think it’s going to be a good year.

Oh! She raised her index finger in the air. I have something for you to drink too. I waited patiently, and a minute later, she placed a glass of lemonade on the table in front of me. Freshly squeezed!

I took a sip. It was so refreshing that I sighed again.

Thanks, Mom.

Sure thing, babe. So, tell me more about your day. Did you meet anyone new?

Yeah, actually . . . I felt reluctant to tell her about my new friends, as if it were too personal a topic.

Really? Who?

Cierra and Willow. They’re twins.

Oh, lovely. Are they nice girls?

I choked on my lemonade.

Willow is a guy.

She raised her eyebrows and leaned against the edge of the counter.

I like them, and they seem to like me. They said they would stop by the diner tonight to see me.

That’s wonderful, Melissa! You made friends! On the first day of school!

On the last first day of school, I said, but that didn’t stop her from beaming.

She asked me to put some music on while the brownies finished baking, so I went to the other room and popped a record by The Beatles onto our vintage record player. First there was crackling, then the music started. Amber immediately started dancing around the kitchen, holding her pudding spoon like a baton. The timer dinged, briefly interrupting our dancing session. I helped Amber with the dishes while the brownies cooled, then we frosted the brownies. We were sampling the finished product when it came time to leave for work.

I told her more about Willow and Cierra as we walked down the street to the diner.

So, they’re from somewhere in Europe. Iceland, I think.

Are they really? Amber looked interested. That’s very cool. They’re exchange students?

I don’t know. We haven’t talked much yet since I only just met them a few hours ago.

But haven’t you, you know . . . read their minds at all?

You know I can’t control it, I said, rolling my eyes.

Sometimes I wondered if my father could also read minds, especially since Amber had no abnormal abilities to speak of. I wished I knew more about him, even just his name, but Amber didn’t like to talk about him very much. Sometimes I would find her poring over old photographs and crying silently. Whenever I walked into the room where she was, she would always put the pictures away before I could see, and she kept them in a secret place so I could never find them when I was home alone. I had gotten over this a long time ago and chalked it up to one simple reason: she was still in love with him.

We walked into Amber’s Place, the diner Amber had opened right after college, and moved habitually to our stations.

I began washing the dishes that had piled up while Amber checked to make sure things were going smoothly.

Hey, Randy, she said. How were things this morning?

Just another day at the pound, Randy mumbled as he sliced tomatoes.

Everything all right, Chris? Amber asked behind me as I held my hands under the faucet and waited for the water