“Yeah. Yeah, it feels good.”

“Draw it from within you. From here”—he taps his abdomen—“and direct it out to your hands. Know that it follows your will. Then imagine your hands are on fire.”

I do as he says. Eyes open this time, I draw the heat up from my belly and send it out, watching my fingers as I move them through the air. My arms burn with inner Flame, hot enough to rage with fire, but nothing appears.

I stop my movements to squint at my palms. “It’s not happening. Should it be?”

“Let’s rest a moment.” Zahir lays his huge hands on my shoulders. “You’re tense, Michael. You’ve been through a lot. Take a few deep breaths.” He gives me a friendly rub, and I shake my arms out, sucking air in.

“I will admit it surprises me,” he says. “You’ve absorbed enough Flame to light the room on fire.” His brow dips. “Are you afraid of the Flame? Or maybe worried about hurting someone?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.” My words still slur.

Quinton shouts from the side room, “I think I may know the problem, Commander. May I come in?”

Flanagan shakes his head. “No, Councilor.”

Quinton shrugs, indifferent, but I’m sure I catch a curl to his upper lip.

“Here, right now, you’re safe, Michael,” Zahir says. “I want you to think about some of the things that worry you.”

I raise an eyebrow. That’s a lot of worries.

He smiles, a warm, friendly smile. “This may seem counterintuitive, but let your concerns rise to the surface. Then let them float away for now so you can completely relax. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I close my eyes and flicker through the catalog. Councilor Belanger obviously. Is she right? Am I a dangerous freak who should be locked in a dungeon? Will I grow fangs? Start craving blood? Am I gay? Will I let Flanagan fuck me? Whoa! That’s a scary thought. Will I ever get away from Blackriver? Am I somehow linked to a raving egomaniac who controlled zombies?

The image of the Warlock—standing on the hill, arms alight with dark flames—rises to my mind. My chest tightens. I shove the image away.

I think of the Flame instead, the burning presence in every cell. I know I can light it, as sure as I know my own name. So why won’t it respond?

Come on, Flame, I know you’re listening. Give me an answer.

A clear-cut image of Alexei strikes the front of my brain. I’m in his wings, lost in his beauty, in the black expanse of his eyes. A pearl of blood glistens on the pout of his lower lip. He leans forward to kiss me. When his mouth touches mine, the Flame flares to life.

I ignite.