Ashes(34)

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean ‘mostly'?"



"Like I said, they can't be controlled. I wouldn't go as far as to say they have their own mind. They don't. But they have their own will."



Having been surrounded by their strength and power, Harper could agree with that.



"The point I'm making is that if you give them a target, they will focus on it. If your anger hadn't been so out of control and had instead been focused on Roan, the flames might have swallowed him whole rather than surround the entire trailer and then, traveling outwards, consume whatever they touched."



She narrowed her eyes as the comment triggered the memory of Knox standing there as red, gold, and black flames spouted from the ground to devour two dark practitioners in an alley. No other destruction, no sticking around to burn anything else – the flames had died down as quickly as they'd come. Huh.



"And now we practice." Knox threw an old photograph of Crow onto the ground. "There he is, Harper. There's the bastard that targeted me again and again. He wanted me dead, and he used you to try to get to me – he even went as far as to try to cut out your womb so you could never carry my child. Killing him was almost a kindness, really, considering the pain he deserved to feel."



She licked her lips. "You want me to call the flames to devour the photograph?"



"Unless you'd rather I'd brought a living person. Your ex would be my preference."



"The dolphin would be mine." Harper rolled back her shoulders. "Talk me through what I need to do."



"Tap into the link you have to your wings – the link that allows you to call them to you. It may feel physical, but it's psychic in nature. Find it."



Harper didn't need to search for it. The link was as much a part of her as the wings themselves. "Got it."



"Good, now you're stood on that bridge we were talking about. Crow is your target. Stare at that photograph and think about him. Think of everything he caused, every bit of pain the people around you suffered. Think of what he did to you and what he would have done to me."



She did, feeling fury build inside her like a firestorm. "The link …  it's getting hot. Really hot." 



"I want you to direct every bit of the rage in you at that picture. Feel the rage, and focus on the cause of the rage …  and call the power that's on the other side of the bridge."



She glared down at the photo, trying to project her anger onto it. "The link's super, super hot right now."



"Don't break away from it," he said, hearing the wariness in her tone. "The heat can't hurt you. You know that. Focus on the photo, Harper. Focus on Crow."



She sensed the power on the other side of the bridge raring to be released; she called to it. The air buzzed and the ground trembled, making the dead leaves at their feet flutter. It scared her enough that her resolve faltered for a minute.



"They won't hurt you, Harper. They can't. Direct them at Crow. He slapped you, he sliced you open, he tried to remove your womb and -"



Harper winced as an almost unbearable power shot up the "bridge" and flames erupted out of the ground with a roar. She stepped away from the blistering heat, even as she marveled at what she'd done. They consumed the photograph easily, but they didn't die down.



Knox was instantly at her side. "Okay, Harper, I want you to shove aside the rage. Crow is gone now. Dead. He can't hurt you ever again, and he can't hurt me. It's over." He whispered into her ear. "All over. That's it, good girl. The flames did what you needed them to do; now let them go."



The flames slowly eased, and the buzz in the air died away as the power returned to where it came from. The photograph was gone. All that remained were ashes that were dotted with a red residue. Harper gaped at him. "I did it. I actually fucking did it."



"Of course you did it."



She smiled. "Can I do it again?"



"I had a feeling you'd say that."



Harper clasped the door handle, staring into the dark, mostly bare room. The cradle was shaking in time with the baby's cries. Her heart ached at the sounds. The cries weren't loud, sharp or high-pitched. They were more fussy, whiny "Where are you?" cries that held a little indignation. But they still tugged at her, drawing her into the room.



She walked toward the cradle – each step was slow, careful, tentative. Some part of her wanted to turn and flee, though she didn't know where the wariness came from. But she kept moving purposely forward.



The cries lowered to soft, nasal snorts …  as if the baby knew attention was coming its way. Harper swallowed as her unexplainable wariness built. Still, her steps didn't falter. And then she was there, staring into the cradle.