"Sorry for talking to your plants, sir," Blaze mumbled. Once she heard what she was saying, she blushed and looked to the ground and anywhere the guy was not. It sounded ridiculous, and she wondered if he thought she was raving mad. Who in their right mind talks to plants, especially ones that do not belong to that person? Blaze mentally slapped herself for not being able to come up with something witty to say in response. Of course she had to go the awkward route. She kicked the ground behind her with her her toe as if imagining her foot breaking through asphalt would break the ice. When she realized she had been holding her breath, she let it out, her cheeks puffing out as she brought her jaw together. Great, that probably looked even sillier.
When she finally got the courage to look up, the man wasn't frowning. Maybe he didn't think she was crazy after all. He was smiling back at her, so maybe he was the crazy one. She frowned to herself, ashamed that she just mentally called someone crazy for smiling at her. Maybe she was losing it. She sighed, trying to think of something to say next. In her defense, she had bolted away from people for much less. He didn't look like a scientist, but she decided to keep her distance away from him anyway. He looked to be a few years older than her, perhaps in his early twenties. That was early enough for him to have a career in the sciences. Not all scientists were bad, she knew, it was just the ones she had come into contact with. After a moment of awkward silence, the guy stopped grinning stupidly and jumped as if he'd just gotten a small static shock.
"Sorry, no. I didn't mean to make you feel awkward. My name's Demitriev, and those aren't my plants," he assured her. "I'm the postman is all," he added to explain why he was halfway down the stairs of the thin house. Blaze nodded, but it didn't make the awkwardness go away. It hung in the air and she felt like she was in a fishbowl, exposed on all sides. She shivered and looked around to make sure she wasn't being watched, then looked back to the man. He didn't wear a uniform, and his post bag was more of a ratty messenger bag than a proper postman's bag.
"That's my truck," he pointed to a large rectangular van with 'FedEx' on the side of it. Blaze felt more at ease with the knowledge that he wasn't a threat. She had sized him up before to make sure that if she had to fight him, she could, but he hadn't seemed very strong, based on his muscle-mass to size ratio. There was nothing more to do than nod, smile, and walk away from the nice postman. She wasn't good at the whole talking thing when it came to strangers. She took a step to walk around him, and as she was passing, she heard him ask,
"You're the one working for Margery now on that corner shop, right?" There is only one way he would have known that, and that was that he had followed her. She saw through his guise now, he wasn't just a postman. He had to be some sort of scientist, spy, or just an overall creep. In the instant that she turned, she allowed all hell to break loose. She kicked him in the face, sending him stumbling back on the steps that he'd just descended. As he fell, she leapt onto him and knelt on his wrists so he couldn't grab her or get out of the pin she held him in.
"Who sent you? Why are you following me?" she asked, one hand on his shoulder to keep him down and one hand balled in a fist, ready to punch him out if it came to that. Wow, she felt a lot different from the innocent little girl who spent her whole life running. She was relieved the street was still empty, else someone might catch her and assume she was trying to hurt him. She wasn't, really, but she couldn't take any chances where he could take a syringe from his pocket.
"Uh, ow? I'm Margery's grandson. She texted me a moment ago with news that a blond girl with the most brilliantly violet eyes took a job there. And you're the first person I met who has violet eyes," the guy said, opening his palms to show that he meant her no harm. Alright, so there was another explanation for it. Something in his face told her that he had no idea what was going on. Blaze's face went red again and she took her knees off of his wrists and swung her body to the side so he could get up. He wasn't very quick to get up, though, and she could tell by his heavy breathing that he had become winded from falling onto the stairs. Worse than that, she had kicked him in the face.
"Er, sorry," she muttered as he sat up. He swept his hand over the short brown hair on the back of his head to make sure he wasn't bleeding, then shrugged. She expected him to be mad, to raise his voice and threaten to sue her, but he didn't. Instead, he just laughed. It wasn't a laugh at her, but instead at his life. He was staring at the ground in front of him, his fingers locked to each other with his elbows propping his knees up, and he was laughing softly to himself. Blaze wasn't sure how to handle it. Laughter made no sense in the situation.
"Uh, sir?" no answer.
"Demitriev?" she tried his name, and he looked to her with his soft blue eyes. Why did she think he would try to hurt her? She had to loosen up a bit. She wasn't in the Backstreets, nor in the grips of the scientists, who were probably still searching for her in Italy. She thought back to when she was hiding on the ship, and the fight she had with Cole, but then pushed it from her mind. Now was not the time to dwell on such things, and she had more serious matters to deal with. Those matters included the guy she had just kicked. He didn't have any bruising under his eye, but his cheek was flushed red where her heel had met his cheekbone.
"Are you okay," she asked, wondering if his body was freaking out and he was trying to hide it. She remembered that once, she had fallen and assured everyone that her tears and huffing were from laughing at the situation as opposed to crying from the pain. That was more a defense mechanism for a child, though. He didn't seem to be that hurt, aside from the redness of his cheek. Guilt flooded her mind and she put an arm under him to help him up.
"Yea, I'm all good. It's just been an interesting day," the guy sighed and started to head back to his delivery truck. Her arms felt like they needed to be shaken out, and her legs got a bit restless at that moment as well. Her body was responding to the guilt poorly, and she knew she wouldn't be able to get to sleep that night if she didn't make it up to him somehow. 'interesting', the way he'd said it, translated into her mind as 'bad'. Aaaand, she had just made it worse by giving him a nice bruise.
"Let me make it more interesting, then. Let me buy you lunch or coffee or something to make up for the, uh, kick," Blaze said. She had started off so confidently, but mumbled the kick part. That wasn't her brightest moment. He looked at her warily for a moment, but then nodded. Perhaps something in his mind said, 'you have to get up and get your life together. This is the start to doing that'. Well, that's what it looked like he was thinking. And now she was a mind reader? If only. She helped him up and he locked his car in case someone did walk by.
They walked in silence until they found a small coffee/deli shop squished between two shopping malls. Blaze didn't know if she would like the place, but upon entering, the small booth seats and the 'bar area' was a welcoming sight. The cloth padding on the booth seats was different from the usual plastic-y or leather seats found in the majority of diners. Then again, Blaze hadn't been to a lot of diners or coffee shops, so who was she to judge? They picked a table in the corner and Blaze sat with her back to the wall so she could scope out the area in case there was trouble. The scientists should still be searching Italy. They can't have moved on just yet, or that's what Blaze told herself in order to remain calm.
"So, what's your day been like?" Blaze asked, intent on making whatever it was better. Maybe it wasn't something she could fix personally, but sometimes it helped people to voice their problems so that they could walk through them. Granted, Blaze never did it herself, but she had helped others through issues before. She glanced at the menu and chose something to drink while he formulated his words. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles appeared white, and the table rattled quietly from the incessant nervous tapping of the back of his foot to the ground. Whatever was eating at him was really brushing a nerve.
"I...I don't know what to do," Demitriev began, looking at the table then up at Blaze. His eyes were glazed but not from sadness or hurt. His eyes were wide enough so that the brown irises were more like a thin hula hoop around the blackness of his pupil. Confusion. Fear, but of what?
"My wife and I had a kid a few years back. It was healthier than most, and now-" he started to say before he had to pause so his voice wouldn't crack irreversibly. Blaze braced herself for the worst. Did he lose a son or daughter, so young? She didn't allow herself to jump to conclusions though, because there was the sheer possibility that not everything turned to ash as soon as it got in fifty miles of Blaze. She was often the bringer of bad news herself, or bad luck. Maybe she didn't cause it this time, but she still felt responsible for others' bad luck sometimes.
"And now our little five year old can drop her uncle, a pro wrestler, in the blink of an eye," he explained. Blaze blinked-what? Well, it didn't make much sense to begin with. Who was to say that the uncle wasn't letting the kid win? Tons of parents did that with their kids when messing around or giving their kids confidence. Alright, Blaze didn't know that firsthand, but a few of the kids who ran to the Backstreets had told her about games they had played before their parents died. When Demitriev spoke, he had let slide the smallest amount of pride through his troubled voice. Could it be that the child actually had such manifested strength? Could the kid be a mutant with super strength? The way Demitriev put it, this was not a normal trait for a five year old to have.
"This morning, her ball rolled under a Toyota Corolla, so she lifted it up to get the ball. Thank god the neighbors didn't see, but what do I do when she grows up and decides to teach the school bully by flicking him in the nose, and ends up breaking his face?" Demitriev asked, dropping his head onto his hands. Blaze wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond. She hadn't before noticed the dark indents under his eyes. Maybe his lack of sleep was getting to him, or maybe he was just dreaming the whole thing up. Maybe he was crazy after all. But there was still the slim possibility that he was telling the truth. She didn't know why he was trusting her with this information, because what happened if she had been a scientist and wanted to test how strong this kid was? Blaze would never rat someone out for being a mutant, but it didn't seem like this guy cared who he said it to.
"Demitriev, you really shouldn't be telling this to strangers," she whispered as one of the hosts poured the coffee. Demitriev just shook his head which still rested in his hands, then allowed his arms to drop onto the table. He looked across the room, but all was just to avoid her gaze.
"I knew you wouldn't believe me," he muttered and started to stand up. Blaze caught his arm and pulled him back down, staring him right in the eyes.
"What I meant to say is this: Raise her well, love her well, and never put her down for who or what she is," Blaze replied. Demitriev decided not to go after all. Blaze continued to talk to him, giving him pointers on how to make sure she stayed out of trouble while still had room to grow. Blaze didn't believe that anyone's abilities hindered them from being human, and that the powers themselves could not be hindered without destroying a large part of who the person was. For the longest time when she was a kid, she had wanted nothing more than to be human. If she wasn't a mutant, then the scientists never would have come or done experiments on her.
If she was a regular human, she would have loving parents and siblings. She wanted Demitriev's kid to have the best of both worlds-no scientists injecting her with serums, no running away from who she was. Demitriev's concern showed that he loved the girl and didn't want to get hurt, which was a good start. If Blaze didn't talk to him, though, it could turn to a toxic situation where she was shunned for her powers.
"What's her name?" Blaze asked when he showed her a picture of a little girl in a dress sitting on the shoulder of her uncle. She was small and her hand wasn't much bigger than the large man's ear. It was hard to believe that the little girl could take him down so easily.
"Patricia Jane. She likes the name PJ though," Demitriev sat back in his chair. Talking about his girl filled him with love for her, and that ruled out the concern. It helped that Blaze was there to talk some sense into the man, though. He told her about her spunky, adventurous side and that how she always seemed to fall from trees but come off without a mark on her. "Durable, too, she is," Demitriev sighed. It didn't stop his heart from stopping every time he saw her in a dangerous situation, though. He loved the girl, and wanted her to be herself, but his wife worried for her safety from being called a freak or getting dragged off. A legitimate concern, true, but in just a few weeks more, it wouldn't matter.
"If you two ever needed a babysitter, even so you can get some sleep, just let me know," Blaze found herself saying. She missed taking care of the littles in the Backstreets, and PJ sounded like an interesting young lady. Knowing Charlie's spontaneity and sense of fun, though, Blaze couldn't tell if she would have her hands full with the fifteen year old or not. That girl had made a list of everything she wanted to do before she was sixteen, and they were the sort of thing that required at least one person looking out for her.
"How would I do that?" Demitriev asked her. Point taken. She gave him Charlie's email and home phone number, then headed back toward the penthouse. The sun was going down, and she pulled her jacket around her nervously whenever she passed through an alleyway. If she got mugged or into a fight, no doubt her wings would come out and blow her cover, and that would ruin the entire operation and make things difficult. A single video or picture, put on the internet and seen by the wrong people, would land her a padded cell back in the scientist's grasp. Or worse, a hunt. She quickened her step and eventually made it to the building. When she stepped out of the elevator and turned her key to the penthouse, she saw Charlie spin around in a large puffy black chair, holding a stuffed animal lion and stroking its mane. She had one eyebrow raised and asked,
"And where have you been, missy?" Blaze's jaw clenched as she tried to hold back laughter, but she couldn't. Charlie looked ridiculous, and she was petting the lion like an evil genius in a commercial she had seen in the diner where she had her drink with Demitriev. Charlie grinned and hugged the lion to her, then went to go put it back in her room.
"Talking to plants and learning about a girl with super strength," Blaze offered her excuse. Charlie tilted her head and gave her a puzzled frown as she walked toward the microwave to retrieve some tea on the 'bing' of the microwave timer. Blaze spent the rest of the night talking with Charlie about PJ and how she'd be babysitting for Demitriev and his wife every so often.
As the weeks went on, Blaze established herself more in the community, much to her surprise. She even got to know the regular customers of the craft store. Not only their names, but she knew their stories as well. Judy had a son who got into too much glitter, and they'd spent weeks trying to get it out of his hair. Harriet's grandmother was passing away and needed scrapbooking supplies so they could store their favourite memories in them for when she was gone. The work didn't seem so bad,and even though they didn't need the money because of Charlie's inheritance, she still felt good when she could take Charlie to lunch using the money she made.
Charlie visited the store from time to time on her lunch break, and on the weekends, introduced Blaze to commonplace cultural acts like dancing at bars, singing bad karaoke and trespassing on dark sports fields to watch the stars. Blaze even saw a few films that Charlie had deemed necessary for anyone of their age to have watched. The two of them took PJ to the park after her afternoon kindergarten class got out, and Demitriev and his wife Tatiana, occasionally had them over for dinner. Life was smooth, like it had been when she was with Cole at the farm in Pennsylvania, or on the sea with Cole and Flynn. She kept her objective at the back of her mind at all times, but allowed herself to enjoy the routine of a regular person's life.
One morning after she'd opened up shop, she sat and worked on a wire structure while she waited for someone to come into the store. Some mornings, like this one, could be very slow, because not many people bought craft supplies early on a Wednesday morning unless it was for a rushed primary school presentation. Blaze had worked there for a few months, so she knew the routine and when crowds would come. As the weather had gotten colder, people began to arrive later once the sun was up (around 9.30-10), and the store was near empty when the sun went down at four in the afternoon. It was only nine, and Blaze didn't foresee anyone coming until at least noon, which was fine with her. She had some time to create other shapes with the wire. Margery let her sell her artwork in the store, and around the holidays or someone's birthday, they were a hit. Some people came in with suggestions and requests, including a little boy wanting a red dragon with black eyes and blue fire spitting from its mouth.
She was working on its wings, putting the finishing touches on the inside spirals, when she heard the bell on the door hinge ring. She frowned and checked her watch to find that it was only quarter past nine...it was strange that anyone would come in so early. She didn't hear any footsteps in the store, though. It was possible that someone had opened the door then decided not to go in-that did happen occasionally. Still, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as if she weren't alone in the room. She put down the wire slowly so as to not make a noise. If no one were there, she would blush and hide back behind the desk, reprimanding herself for being so skiddish.
No, when she looked up, she definitely caught a glimpse of dark hair move from behind the yarn shelf on the opposite end. There wasn't the sound of footsteps, though. Blaze felt her heart jump when she thought of the boy who could tread undetected through a floor covered in mousetraps. Well, she didn't know if he had ever tried it, but he was the quietest person she knew. She walked around the desk and headed toward the yarn cupboard, where she knew the person was on the other side. She slid herself over to an angle where she could see the full body of the person who had entered. At the top of the tall figure sat a thick black mop of hair that had grown a bit longer than she remembered it, the straight black strands landing right at the nape of his neck. He wore a black collared button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and dark jeans that sat on a set of black trainers. Blaze could barely keep her heart-rate steady as she reached out to tap his tanned arm.
"Cole," she said softly, and the boy with black hair turned.
"You know my brother?" the boy asked as he set down the wire piece he had been inspecting. Blaze's jaw clenched as she realized that this was the boy who had been strapped to the board on the bed. He was an Azori, as Cole was. Ty. Part of her was angry that it wasn't Cole standing there, but part of her was glad it wasn't, because she wouldn't have been able to find the words to talk to him. It had been weeks...months,really. Winter was on its way and she hadn't heard from him or Flynn since she had left.
"Er, yea," she replied reluctantly, taking a step back so as to not crowd him. He looked exactly like Cole from the back, so much so that she hadn't a doubt in her mind it had been him until he turned around. Ty was a few years younger than Cole was, so he was probably fifteen or sixteen. When she had asked Cole how old he was when they had been traveling together, he'd shrugged and said, "eighteen or nineteen, I think." apparently it wasn't something that the Azoris kept track of. It was up to their older brothers to count the years from when they'd been born, and tell them when they were five years old. After that, it was up to the child to remember it for himself. As for Blaze, though she was a scientific experiment for much of her early life, she did know the year she was born when she had snuck into the office and tried to snag her file one night. She was seventeen years old, but she felt much older after what she had been through. Taking care of PJ (and occasionally Charlie), she felt like she was well into her twenties.
"That means you're Blaze. I'm Ty, nice to meet ya," he held out his hand for her to shake. Blaze looked at his hand, then up at him. How had he found her? Where was Cole? She took his hand cautiously, but found comfort in his supportive grip as he shook her hand. Blaze kept her eyes on him, watching for any sudden movements. Was he here on account of his family, or on account of Cole?
"Where is he?" she asked him. He frowned and bit the inside of his top lip, looking away for a moment. It was evident that he had something to say, but he wasn't exactly sure how to phrase it. Her heart beat harder in her chest for every second she waited for an answer. Had he been hurt? Had he decided not to meet up again after all, and just go his own way?
"Well?" she asked, crossing her arms. If only that would cure her rising anxiety, but it almost made it worse. She dropped her arms to her sides and he raised his hand toward the seat behind the cashier's desk.
"It's sort of...it's kind of a long story," Ty frowned, biting his lip again. His dark eyes watched her flip the sign on the door so that the 'Closed' sign hung facing out at the street. When she returned to her seat, he sat across from her on a wooden chair and let out a deep sigh before opening his mouth.