Of Fire and Roses

Published by Evernight Teen at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright© 2014 Danielle Belwater

ISBN: 978-1-77130-731-4

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: Lisa Petrocelli

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For Matilda and Chloe, my reasons for breathing.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Where to begin. The list of people who I owe gratitude for this book coming into being is endless. But there are a few very amazing individuals who were instrumental in this book’s journey into reality.

First and foremost, my husband Dave, the love of my life. Always the voice of reason and quick with a glass of Muscat.

To Khloe Wren who must have thought I was a stalker when we first met and Imogene Nix who talked me down off a ledge more than once.

The Five Angels, my posse. You guys inspire me and push me to do better, as well as listen to an old girl whinge from time to time.

Lisa Swallow, a precious lady who has become one of my dearest friends but we’ve never actually met in person. Thank you for listening and understanding.

Alysha Ellis, I couldn’t have asked for a better teacher, guide and mentor in the ways of critiquing and grammar and taught me everything I know about dangling participles.

And last, but by no means least, Cheryse Durrant who helped me to help you find this book.

OF FIRE AND ROSES

Erlanis Chronicles, 1

Danielle Belwater

Copyright © 2014

Chapter One

Flames licked at my arms and legs, alive and hungry like a tiger about to jump its prey. White heat blistered my skin as I burned. The colour red filled my eyes and ears, crackling and taunting me. There was nothing but pain and scorching heat. I wrapped my arms around my head, making myself as small as possible.

Roses. The soft, delicate scent surrounded me, comforting me, filling my soul with…

A brutal stab of pain through my skull jolted me from my daydream as the truck rumbled along the pothole-riddled motorway. Geez! My hand shot to my head.

"Hey Dad, ever tried missing the big holes in the road?"

My head bounced off the metal door frame, making me jerk in the seat. I was happy in Atlanta, or at least I thought I was. Dad had taken the caretaker’s job at Pike Lake State Park. The nine-hour drive was nine hours too long. Dad’s truck, a vintage red and white Ford F250, was his pride and joy, but it wasn’t air-conditioned. Every twenty minutes, I peeled my legs off the black vinyl to avoid becoming a permanent attachment to the seat. I opened the window all the way, shoving my head out like a dog, and let the wind’s full force thrash my face. Its crisp bite invigorated me. Trees and paddocks blurred by as I stared out the window.

My stomach growled, reminding me that it had been hours since I had last felt the pleasure of food.

Can we stop and get something to eat? I sounded like a three-year-old child with my foot rapping up and down on the floor of the car.

Dad’s face was etched with deep, jagged crease lines that, with the combination of sweat and dirt, created dark rivers of sadness. My mum died a year ago and Dad blamed himself.

We’ll be there in half an hour, wait until then. His voice was devoid of emotion. From experience, this meant keep my head down and stay out of the way. I dropped the issue and dug into my backpack for anything hidden. Shoving my hand down each pocket, I hit pay dirt. My fingers wrapped around a squashed granola bar from six months ago that was still sealed. I tore at the silver wrapper, demolishing the bar in two huge bites. The tiny snack had taken the edge off for now, but the aching emptiness in my stomach wouldn’t stay silent for long.

As we cruised along the main highway, the scenery changed from bright, open crop fields and paddocks to long, thin tree branches tangled overhead, engulfing us in an eerie twilight.

I wasn’t paying attention when Dad slowed the truck and turned onto a gravel driveway. We stopped just short of the entrance and Dad leaned out of the window. He examined the black iron plaque tacked with tarnished brass nails to one of two stone pillars towering on either side of the driveway. Engraved on the plaque were the words, "Emily’s Rest."

Are we in the right place? I couldn’t take my eyes off of the two stone gargoyles perched on top of the cement plinths overgrown with ivy. Their steely eyes and crooked beaks gave me the creeps. They’d look more at home adorning some Gothic castle in eastern Europe. I glanced away as Dad put the truck into gear and we cruised down the driveway. Stones crunched under the tires as we pulled up to a two-story log cabin with a steep pitched roof and dark grey gables.

The house looked as if it hadn’t been lived in for years. The slightly elevated building had a porch that traveled the full width of the house. At least half of the balusters were missing or broken. Louvered shutters covered the windows and were nailed shut. Cobwebs, plus their occupants, hung from every corner.

It’s okay, Dad, we’re gonna’ be okay. It was more for my benefit than Dad’s.

He reached into the glove box of the truck and dug out a set of keys. I was in no rush as I climbed out of the car, grabbed some bags off of the back seat, and headed up the porch steps. Dad found the key labelled house and forced it into the rusted lock. It took some muscle to unlock it. The hinges screeched like a banshee as he pushed the door open. Stepping inside was like entering another world and certainly not the modern one. I felt around for the light switch and cowered slightly as I flicked it up. The lightbulb buzzed before filling the room with bright, fluorescent light. I expected the whole place to go up in flames.

Suspended above the dining table, a rectangular bronze rack hung with big S-shaped hooks sticking out at odd angles. Each hook was loaded with saucepans of different sizes. Spiders had woven intricate lacework between each of the ancient metal pots and now sat admiring their handiwork. A wood-fired combustion stove in the corner snarled at me with metal grated teeth.

I dumped the luggage on the floor and threw myself into one of the orange fabric lounge chairs, discharging a massive cloud of dust. My sneeze shook the whole room. Dad heaped the pile of groceries he had been carrying onto the bench and fished through them. He held up a couple of cans of baked beans where I could see them. Baked beans it is.

Dad heated them in one of the old steel saucepans on the decrepit stove and divided them onto two plates. I dragged myself out of the cozy armchair, grabbed a plate off of the bench, and sat down at the table. The meal was a quiet one. I’m sure Dad thought about Mum, as he always did. I’m just hoping this change of scenery might get him out of the dark hole he’s been hiding in for the last twelve months.

I looked at my watch. The broken clasp dangled around my right wrist, pinching my skin. It read three o’clock, and the slight distance between Dad and I was opening up to a chasm.

I’m going for a run, Dad, is that okay? I needed to get out and stretch my legs. Nine hours in a car nonstop with my dad would drive anyone to madness, and running was my thing.

Don’t be too long, son. Dad didn’t even look up, but shook his head at the cobwebs and dust that inhabited every corner. I better get out of there before he roped me into the thankless task of cleaning.

No problem Dad, I want to stretch out a bit and have a look around.

****

I was out the door in a split second. I took in my surroundings and contemplated which direction to go. A narrow path off to the side of the house looked like it might lead to somewhere interesting. I started at a slow jog, building my speed as I ran. The fog in my head lifted and my muscles found their familiar fast-paced stride. I don’t know how long I ran. Time tends to get away from me when I’m on the track.

While in school, I had always excelled at track and field and I had trophies and, hopefully, a college scholarship to prove it. Running had a magical healing effect, stilling my thought processes. For a few hours, all I needed to focus on was the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement and the sound of blood pulsing through my ears.

I stopped to get my bearings. I sucked in a deep breath to restore some much-needed oxygen in my lungs, then placed two fingers on my neck to check my heart rate. Once it had returned to normal, I took a second to look around.

I felt insignificant among the forest of tall, needle-like trees. Tree roots, covered in a thick green moss, erupted from the ground like long twisted fingers. A fine dewy mist hung low to the ground and rays of sunlight speared through the dense canopy. The path that had brought me to this point had now become nothing but a trail of crushed leaves and forest litter.

Which direction had I come from? Trees, mist, and fog enveloped me. My throat constricted. I needed to get out of there. I searched for my footprints to head back the way I’d come. I found them straightaway and was about to make for home when I felt a curious prickle on the back of my neck—that weird sense that someone was watching me. While I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, my instincts told me something or someone had entered my little bubble of personal space. There was a familiar scent in the air, out of place in this earthy forest, the sweet perfume of roses.

I stood motionless, willing the entity out of its hiding spot. A movement, a blur, the rustling of leaves, then nothing. This place was messing with my head and I’d been here less than five minutes. Convinced my brain was playing tricks, I took one last look over my shoulder, then trekked back into the forest, not sure whether that was the right direction.

A flash of red whipped between two trees in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. I pressed my palms into my eyes. When I let go, tiny white flecks danced around my vision like fireflies. After a moment, my eyes regained their focus, but not before I stumbled, tripped over a tree root, and fell squarely on my arse. Something uncomfortable dug greedily into my thigh. I pushed the huge rock away and rubbed my leg furiously, knowing that was going to leave a bruise. Great.

The ground was cold and hard and dampness seeped through the seat of my shorts. I rolled to one side, ready to push myself back to my feet, but what I saw stole the air from my lungs and I fell back to earth with a thud.

Was it a girl or an angel? Surely, normal girls didn’t glow like that? I lay on the hard ground, transfixed and completely unable to move. Watching me from a short distance away was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my life.

Fire-engine red hair flowed across her shoulders and drizzled down her back like honey. The cherry-coloured fabric of her dress dripped from her body and flapped languidly in the breeze. The girl was on fire. She reminded me of a piece of music, graceful and beautiful. I had to talk to her, ask her name at the very least. Engage brain.

Umm, Aggh. Smooth. Real smooth, Nate. I brought my hand up to my forehead, giving it a thwack, burying my face in my hands. By the time I’d managed to regain control of myself and plucked up enough courage to try again, she had vanished. Where had she gone? She couldn’t have gone far. Surely, I could run faster than a girl in a long, red dress. Couldn’t I? The image was etched into my retinas. I sniffed the air like a bloodhound. I had to find her.

Nothing. Not a single trace. She had disappeared, as if she were a ghost. After who knows how long searching in every direction, my frustration took over. Trees crowded and suffocated me, mocking me with their long, spindly arms. I bent over and hugged my legs. A solitary ray of sunlight cracked through some tree branches above and crept over my shoulder. It was getting late but I didn’t want to leave. What if she was lost out there? If I left, she might never come back. So I sat on a fallen log and waited. My watch read six o’clock. Dad might be getting worried. A wild flash of anger at my dad’s lack of enthusiasm since Mum died boiled to the surface, throwing my already unsteady equilibrium well and truly off balance. Before I could stop it, my fist connected with the tree trunk. Hot, searing pain flared in my knuckles, subsiding to a dull ache. Drops of fresh, bright-red blood dripped down my fingers, soaking into the brown earth. The pain felt good and my anger at Dad, as well as the frustration at not finding Flame-Girl, dissipated.

****

My keen sense of direction steered me well as I broke through the forest line and out onto the wide grassy yard. I loped up the porch stairs two at a time. Flashes of red hair and white skin whirled through my head. I flung myself through the front door, almost knocking it off the rusted hinges. I collided with Dad at the top of the stairs and the clothes he had been carrying flew around us.

Shit! Sorry, Dad. I hid my bloody knuckles behind my back. He’d think I’d been fighting again. His eyes narrowed before returning to their normally dull state.

Which bedroom…? I panted. Dad pointed to a