Shadow Scorching: An Urban Fantasy Adventure

“This time, before you jump, before your feet even leave the platform, reach out to find the current. Then envision yourself plugging into it. Visualize it, don’t think about it.” Devon stepped out of the way.

I shook off my frustration and closed my eyes, searching for the cushion of air. There it was, like a cotton ball, hanging in front of me. Reaching out, I visualized hooks coming out of my hands. I held out my left hand, still focused on the imaginary hooks as I fed energy into manifesting them. Then, taking a deep breath, I jumped and tried to latch hold of the air current.

A second later, I was drifting to the ground as the breeze buoyed me up.

As I landed, Devon thrust his fist into the air. “Way to go!” He high-fived me. “You’re learning, Kyann.”

“Should I try again?” I was proud of myself. It was hard enough to cope with the fact that I was developing powers that I never expected to have. But learning more about my father’s demon heritage was also traumatic.

Devon had made it easier. His mother had been a succubus, though not from the same demon clan as my father, but his powers were close enough to the ones I was acquiring that we had quickly developed a rapport that was rapidly growing into a friendship.

“No. Leave it on a good note for now,” he said. “Why don’t you finish up with ten minutes of stretching to cool down. We’ll meet again at seven, on Thursday.”

“Thursday at seven,” I repeated, stopping to add it to my calendar on my phone. “Sounds good.” I began to stretch, easing into the splits, so I could stretch out either side.

Devon waved, then headed out. As he left the gym, I thought back over the past month. It had been one hell of a past four weeks. Sighing, I threw my towel over my shoulder after I finished and headed for the showers.

***

By the time I got home, I was starving. As I let myself into the house, the glow of the Yule tree spread an ambient shimmer through the living room. The tree was eight feet tall, and it nearly kissed the ceiling. The boughs were covered with soft white lights, red and gold ornaments, and ivory bows. The glow and glitter of decorations filled the house.

Garlands draped around the perimeter of the living room and hallway, encircling the ceiling, and soft faerie lights sparkled. Here and there, battery-operated red and gold and green candles flickered. Penn had helped me. She had brought a cozy touch to the house that had been missing. To add to the mood, a glorious smell filled the air. My stomach rumbled.

“What are you cooking?” I called out. I dropped my purse and backpack on the sofa before entering the kitchen.

Penn stood there, dressed in a rockabilly goth swing dress, with a cherry pattern–covered apron tied around her waist. She had pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and she was holding a wooden spoon over a pot of something that smelled like the best stew in the world. And from the sounds of it, she was watching a true crime show on her tablet. When I walked in, she paused it.

“Welcome home.” She adjusted her glasses—they were constantly sliding down her nose—then stirred the pot, turned down the heat, and without asking, she poured me a cup of coffee. She added cream and sugar, then carried it to the table where she sat down.

I dropped into the chair, realizing how tired I was.

“Thanks. What’s for dinner? Whatever it is, it smells fantastic.”

Penn loved to cook. She wasn’t a gourmet, but she cooked good, cozy food that satisfied both hunger and taste buds. Since she had moved in, she’d taken over most of the cooking, and had decided to start a food blog, inspired by the movie Julie & Julia. But instead of working her way through Julia Child’s cookbook, Penn decided to tackle recipes she found in various cookbooks she had bought at the used bookstore.

“Stew. I’m trying out a recipe that Curl gave me.” Penn was dating a chef. Although Penn didn’t really date. Her Fae side gave her a taste for unusual men, who could handle her independence and who weren’t looking for long-term commitment.

Curl was the sous chef for O’Brigatoni’s, a fusion Italian-Irish restaurant. He was nice enough, but I knew it wouldn’t last.

“How did training go?” she asked.

“I was able to float down to the floor today. It took three tries and my ass hurts from falling on it, but I did it.”

“Yay! So, you finally managed it. That’s a good reason for a celebration.”

“I finally managed it,” I echoed, lowering my voice. “I never thought I would. Even now, it seems so far removed. How do you do it?”

“Do what?” she said, returning to the stove to stir the stew, after which she removed a pan of biscuits from the oven.

“Magic. How do you manage to live your life steeped in magic without losing yourself to it? When I was floating down to the floor—even from ten feet up—it felt…impossible and yet amazing, all at the same time.” I closed my eyes, reliving the experience. “It made me laugh. I felt like a little girl again, playing pretend.”

Penn popped the rolls into a basket and handed it to me. Then, she dished out two bowls of stew and sat down at the table, placing one of them in front of me.

“Magic is my heritage. My mother’s a witch, my father’s Fae. I inherited her powers and his glamour. The best of both worlds, though my father would never have accepted me. My mother thought he loved her, but when I came along, he dropped her immediately. She doesn’t talk about him much,” she added, shrugging.

“But you know who he is,” I said. “I know nothing about my father.”

“Sometimes I think that would have been best,” she said, unfurling her napkin and placing it over her lap.

“What does your mother say?” I asked.

“I asked her once, what she would think if I searched for him. She said that if I wanted my heart broken, go ahead, but don’t come running to her when it happens. She wasn’t being mean, though. She doesn’t want me being disappointed. I can still hear the heartbreak in her voice when she talks about him. She loved him,” Penn said, shaking her head. She cut a biscuit open, slathering it with butter.

“I’m sorry,” I said, doing the same. “My mother was seduced by my father. Once, she called him an incubus, but I’m not sure if she meant it or not. I don’t think she loved him. I don’t know if she even knew him other than the night they slept together.”

As I bit into the biscuit, the layers of bread melted on my tongue. Penn and I had been close for years, but a few weeks of living together had deepened our friendship and we had started diving into our pasts, discussing the whys and hows of things that had happened to us.

“And I’m sorry your mother died. I know you loved, her,” Penn said.

I leaned back in my chair. Dante and Penn were the two people who knew how hard my mother’s death had hit me. And Penn… Penn had kept me from turning into a raging monster. Even Dante didn’t know the full story of what had happened, although he had also brought me back from the edge the first night we met.

I’d wanted to tell him the story for years, but Penn had sworn me to silence and I agreed. Because Penn had done what I’d wanted to. She’d done what might have pushed me over the edge for good, if I’d given in to my inner nature.