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Chapter 18

Henley wasn't sure if the time the gangly kid with spiked hair asked her to the eighth grade dance counted as a date. But if standing awkwardly next to each other for the duration of a dance set to obnoxious pop music, until he ditched her for a girl wearing an obscene amount of Bath and Body Works cherry blossom body spray, didn't count as a date, then tonight was her first date. Moving every few months hadn't given her much chance for friends, let alone dating.

A flame danced across the back of her hand and she gave her hand a shake, extinguishing it. Sucked in a breath through her teeth. Narrowly escaping death and being turned into a freak of nature was an even worse time to start dating.

She pulled on a jean skirt and tugged on the hem to straighten it. Her fingers singed the edges. She pressed her lips together and pulled it back off, taking it to the kitchen and her scissors to cut the couple inches of damage off. She pulled it back on. It hit mid-thigh. Good enough.

She only had a few shirts to choose from. Most had been relegated to rags after burning. A plain black t-shirt hid most of the singes. There were a couple holes near the neckline thanks to her hair catching fire when Peter really irked her.

Thoughts of Peter had her blood heating. Anger. It was anger that caused the heat. She told herself that's what it was. Mostly.

"Ugh," she let the frustration burst out as she grabbed the t-shirt and scissors. She wasn't going to think about Peter and the unexpected sympathy he had managed to stir. She focused on her t-shirt. She would turn it into a v-neck and salvage it the best she could. Her paychecks from the record store weren't going to be enough for a new wardrobe every week.

She did the best she could and pulled the shirt on. The raw neckline dipped lower than anything she would have bought, but she wasn't especially well-endowed so it wasn't like there was anything to put on display. She pulled on the shirt, adjusting it a little higher. Black lug soled boots that were built for comfort had her ready to go.

Henley jumped at the knock on her door. Sparks fell on the carpeting, marking a new constellation of pinpoint scorches. She quickly snuffed them out with the toe of her boot. Huffing a breath, she tucked her hair behind her ears, gave her hands a look to make sure they weren't glowing, and opened the door.

Bobby Finstock stood there.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Henley answered. "I just need to grab my jacket," she said. She started to open the door wider so he could come in, then caught herself. "Be right out," she said, then shut the door in his face. Super smooth, she grimaced to herself.

She grabbed her jacket, making sure she had cash and her ID zipped in the pocket.

She glanced at the burned remnants of her apartment and opened the door just enough to slip out, pulling it closed behind her. No need to have him ask if there had been a fire. Multiple fires.

If Bobby thought that was odd, he didn't say anything. Something that had Henley giving him a small smile. He really was nice.

"You look—you—wow," he said.

The heat in her cheeks had Henley's heart skipping a beat in panic until she recognized what it was. A blush. Not flames. She self-consciously brushed at her denim skirt, feeling the frayed spots under her palms.

"Thanks," she finally remembered to answer. He looked nice, too. She realized she had only seen him in Beacon Hills polo shirts at the school. In jeans and a t-shirt, he looked younger. A little closer to her age.

"Have you been to the inferno?"

"The what?" Henley asked. Her steps faltered and he reached out a hand like he thought she was about to trip.

"Whoa, you ok?"

Henley acted like everything was completely fine. She proved it by continuing to act like she knew how to walk.

"The Inferno," Bobby said. "The club the concert's at."

The club. He wasn't asking her about an actual fire.

"Uh, no. I haven't…" How to explain she hadn't lived in Beacon Hills that long during high school and only just came back? "I haven't been in town that long."

"It's a great place," Bobby said. "Demented played there last month."

"Seriously?" Henley asked, turning to face him. "I bet that was a great show."

"Until the drummer passed out drunk. But he came back after an intermission."

Henley looked over at the high school coach. She hadn't met someone who knew all the same bands as her before. Music had always been a refuge—or an escape—from the loneliness. Never something to share with someone.

Bobby stopped in front of his silver sedan. He opened the door for her.

Henley felt herself start to relax when he closed the door and got into the driver's seat.

"So you're new in town," he said. "Is your family from here?"

Henley felt familiar heat—heat that led to fire—slide through her veins. She clenched her fists, hiding her hands under her legs. Better to not talk about her family.

"Not really. It's just me." It would have been a lie last month. In spite of the distance, her dad had still kept tabs on her. But now she knew she couldn't count on her dad or brother. Not when she was one of the creatures that they hunted.

"That's hard," Bobby said.

The sympathy was unexpected. Henley didn't like the surge of emotion it brought.

"So you coach," she said, abruptly changing the subject. "Do you teach at the school, too?"

"Yeah," he said slowly.

"Gym teacher?" she guessed.

"Not quite." He slid a look towards her and winced. "Economics."

"That's…smart," she said.

He looked at her, and she lifted her eyebrows. "It's kind of cool that there's an econ teacher that listens to the Trash Pandas."

He looked like he was weighing the honesty of her words. "Well…thanks. For that. For thinking it's cool."

He pulled into a parking lot behind a low cinderblock building. He jogged around to open her car door.

Henley was about to thank him when she noticed a car down the block.

No.

No way.

He wasn't following her on her date.

She looked to see if anyone was in the driver's seat, but it was too dark to tell.

She wasn't letting Peter ruin her night. She turned her back on the car.

"I liked math," Henley said. "I probably would have liked Economics."

Bobby flushed. "I would have liked having you for a student." He looked stricken. "No. Not a student. I don't—I would never—I don't date my students," he stuttered.

Henley tried to bite back a smile.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's forget about Economics?"

"Good plan," she said. She went into the club with him.

#

Peter stood at the bar in the club. He couldn't see Henley or her…date.

What was she doing out on a date? He seethed to himself. She could barely keep from burning Derek alive, and she thought it was a good idea to go out with someone who didn't know what she was?

He took another drink of the beer he had ordered. The club was disgusting. Dirty, crowded, loud. But they had a decent selection of drinks.

A familiar blonde head squeezed in between people at the bar. She was shorter than everyone there, but got the bartender's attention.

"Two club sodas," she called over the noise.

"Sounds like you're having a wild night," Peter commented.

She swung her head towards him. Her eyes flashed before they dimmed back to gray. She clenched her jaw and faced forward. "He doesn't drink," she said. "And I'm underage."

"The makings of a great night," he said with feigned enthusiasm. "Where's the rest of your skirt?" Peter asked with a frown, looking down at the half a denim skirt. She was short, not much over 5'3", and somehow managed to have long legs. Long legs her skirt didn't come close to covering. Her shirt wasn't much better. His eyes snagged on the collarbone and length of skin that dipped down towards—

"You sound like a dad," Henley said. But he noticed her give the skirt a small, annoyed pull to adjust it.

He didn't correct her that he was—technically—a dad. He looked at her shirt again. Smelled the slight scent of smoke that clung to her. It was…sultry.

She looked up at him. The faint flicker of a spark rolled under her collarbone. Peter reached out a finger to trace the trail.

"You might want to cover that up," he said in a low voice.

The heat in her eyes wasn't from the fire.

Her dark haired date came up behind her. "I told you I'd pay," he said, fishing out a wallet.

Peter dropped his hand from Henley.

"For the club sodas," Peter said. "How quaint."

The man's brow furrowed and he looked at Peter. Henley pressed her lips together and looked away from Peter. When she looked back at him, her eyes were narrowed in annoyance.

Didn't she realize Peter was doing this for her sake? How did she think she'd feel when she severely burned her first person who wasn't a supernatural with healing powers?

"Is he bothering you?" the guy asked Henley.

Henley quickly shook her head and stepped between Peter and the guy. As if Peter was going to suddenly sink fangs into a high school lacrosse coach's neck.

"Hey, pal, you can just move along," the coach said.

Peter rested an elbow on the bar and took a leisurely drink of his beer. "You like this noise?" he asked Henley over the music, ignoring the other man.

Henley narrowed her eyes at him. "The Trash Pandas redefined punk on the West coast," she said.

But he saw the hint of pain in her eyes. The decibel level was hurting her ears. She didn't know how to turn down her powers all the way.

"Do you know him?" the guy asked Henley.

Henley fixed Peter with a steady look. He saw the stubbornness. She wasn't going to admit weakness. One side of his mouth curved slightly. She was tough.

"He's just some guy I have a history with. A bad history," she said.

"Not that bad," Peter said quietly, knowing she would be able to pick up his words beneath the music.

He saw her hesitate. He wondered if she was thinking of their quiet conversation at her kitchen table when he had told her about his family. Or remembering the way he had looked at her when she had been in nothing but a towel in her bathroom.

"Look," the guy said, a challenge in his eyes as he faced Peter. "Henley's on a date. She doesn't need a creepy ex hanging around."

Peter took another long drink.

"Come on," Henley said, starting to nudge her date. Peter saw the start of sparks on the palm of her hand.

She quickly dropped her hand behind her back and fisted it. She darted a glance toward Peter. He raised his bottle in a toast to her.

She quickly turned away and disappeared into the crowd with her date.

Peter watched the bartender bring two club sodas over for no one. He held up his bottle and ordered another drink.

Even at a normal level, the music really was horrible.

#

Henley walked to the door of her apartment with Bobby. The night had been…really nice. Other than trying to hold onto her control and Peter's obnoxious intrusion, it had been fun. Bobby was funny, thoughtful…flammable.

Henley forced a smile at her door.

"Thanks for a fun night," Bobby said.

Henley held her smile, but she kept her hands fisted in her pocket. Her muscles ached with the effort to keep the flames at bay for the past three hours.

"Thanks for asking me," she said. If anything was normal, she would probably invite him in. But normal would mean an apartment that hadn't been incinerated and the ability to keep from lighting him on fire accidentally.

"Maybe we can, you know, do something again. Sometime. If you want."

"Yeah," Henley said. Maybe she'd have her powers under better control by then and it wouldn't feel like she had run four marathons trying to keep from bursting into flames. "We should."

His grin spread. "Ok. Good. Well…good night."

"Night."

He didn't move away. Instead he stepped forward. Hesitated. Henley bit her lip. Should she…

She rose up on her toes and met his lips for a kiss. Friendly. Easy. No flames involved.

But…it was nice. And she felt a hand reach up to his shoulder, one of his hands at her waist. Her fingers tightened slightly on the fabric of his shirt. Her skin heated.

She quickly backed up a step before she lost control.

Bobby grinned even wider. He brushed a hand awkwardly through his hair. "Ok. I'll…I'll call you. Have a good night. I mean, this was a good night. Ok. Good night."

Henley unlocked her apartment and slipped inside with a last wave to him. Inside, she closed the door and all but collapsed against it.

The flames started at her hands and moved up her arms. She quickly moved away from the wooden—flammable—door.

All the emotion, the control she had held tightly for the evening, fell away, leaving her shaking, fanning the flames that covered her.

"No," she said, trying to fight off heat. "No." She wasn't giving in to this. Not tonight.

Her muscles quivered with exhaustion. She couldn't fight. Her muscle ached, and it rivaled the pain in her ears. The music had been too much. She didn't know how to dial back her hearing. Now the silence of her apartment rang in her ears, a relief that was almost painful in the suddenness.

The flames flared around her. She couldn't draw them back. She couldn't slow them down. There was nothing she could do. Nothing but succumb to the flames.

#

Scott watched Coach jog up the walk to his apartment building. If the goofy grin on his face was anything to go by, the date had been a success.

"There he is," Scott said to Stiles. "In one piece, not on fire."

"And no Henley," Stiles said, relief evident as he fell back against the seat of his Jeep.

Scott slid him a sidelong look in question.

"Did you want to see her and Coach going into his place to do who-knows-what?" Stiles asked, gagging slightly.

Scott didn't particularly want any details about Coach's love life either. Seeing him go home alone was more than good enough for Scott. "Can we go now?" he asked.

Stiles nodded, turning the key in the ignition. "As soon as we check on Henley."

Scott sighed. "Stiles, Coach is home safe. Henley's not with him, so that means she's not burning anyone alive. Can we please go home now? Stalking Coach and Henley is not how I want to spend my Saturday night. If we go now, I can still do something with Kira."

"And how much fun will you have with Kira if Henley's burning something to the ground while you and Kira make googly eyes at each other?"

"Oh my—" Scott made a sound of frustration. "Just do a drive by then. We'll see she's home safe and then we're done. Ok? No more stalking, no more stakeout. We go do something else."

"Yep. Just a quick check in on our friendly neighborhood phoenix."

Scott held back the eye roll. Sort of. He at least kept it smaller than he wanted to. He texted Kira during the drive to tell her he had one more stop to make, courtesy of his insane and paranoid best friend.

"Uh…Scott?" Stiles said as they pulled into the parking lot behind Henley's apartment building.

"What?" Scott asked, patience gone.

"I don't think she's home safe and sound."

Scott looked up through the windshield. On the third floor, one window glowed with the moving flicker of flames.

He and Stiles swung their doors open and leaped out of the Jeep. Stiles was right with Scott, aimed toward the building before he suddenly stopped, spun, went back to the Jeep and opened a back door. He ducked in and emerged with a fire extinguisher and ran back to Scott.

"Seriously?" Scott asked.

"Some of us aren't going to heal when she toasts us," Stiles retorted as they ran to the door of the building.

"Maybe she's fine," Scott said when they got to the stairwell and started taking the stairs two at a time.

"Yeah, because I always get home from a date and spontaneously combust," Stiles said, winded as they hit the second flight.

Scott opened his mouth to say something and Stiles cut him off. "Don't," Stiles said. "Don't even say it."

They shoved through the door on Henley's floor and raced down the hall. An orange glow was coming from under her door.

Stiles reached for the handle and jerked his hand away. "Ouch!"

Scott braced himself and tried. Locked. He pushed a shoulder against the door, the wood giving way with a crack.

"Henley," Scott called.

Smoke streamed from an open door to another room. Scott exchanged a glance with Stiles. Stiles hefted the fire extinguisher and pointed the nozzle in front of him, like a Navy SEAL armed and approaching an enemy.

The door opened to a small bathroom. Water rained down on Henley from a shower above. A burned and melted shower curtain hung from rings on the curtain rod.

A fully clothed Henley stood under the spray, flames reaching out in all directions. Her wings of fire stretched up, licking the ceiling.

The water steamed, hissing when it hit her and evaporating, but no hint of slowing the fire that covered her.

She turned panicked eyes on them.

"We're here to help," Stiles assured her from next to Scott. And then he unleashed the fire extinguisher on her.

#