I peer down at my hand, eyes wide, expecting my fingers to sprout more lightning. I’ve had things spark around me, but not my own fingers. They look normal now.

“That’s why I can’t use a phone?” I ask. “Because of this Flame?”

He nods. “That’s right. The Flame is a supernatural energy. Found everywhere. Less so around high concentrations of iron. But it doesn’t mix well with technology—electronics are useless around it. You will learn to contain its effect.”

Supernatural energy? Is he pulling my leg? “How do I get rid of it?”

“You don’t. You’re Flame-born, Michael. A Channeler. A reality you will adapt to. Alyona and her kind use the Flame-born, enslave them. That’s why we’re helping you.”

I grasp my thumping head. Has somebody slipped me crazy pills? I can barely absorb what he’s saying.

I’m about to ask another question, but Flanagan says, “Rest for now. We can explain everything later. Let’s get you to safety first.”

Safety? I haven’t let go of the lockdown comment yet.

I need to get my bearings. I make a third attempt to shove up from the floor. Flanagan thumps his hand on my sternum to stop me, but he doesn’t push, only prevents me from rising.

I grasp his wrist, ignoring the sparks shooting off my fingers. “Get the fuck off me, man.”

The driver’s voice cuts in, “Sir, the dashboard’s going haywire.”

“You must remain calm, Michael.”

“I’ll stay calm when I know who you are.” I try one last thrust upward, and he relaxes his hold, letting me rise, but my move makes my head spin. I grasp my temples, nausea forcing me back to the metal. “Shit. What’s wrong with me?”

It’s the young woman who answers—Laasya. “Concussion. You’ll be fine. The wound is already healing. It’s probably best to lie still, though. Are you feeling any nausea at all?”

I squint up at her and get a sense of light brown skin with horn-rimmed glasses and messy dark hair. “Yeah. A bit. And my eyesight’s off. Everything’s blurred.”

“Let’s see if I can help you with that.” She places a delicate hand on my forehead and her other on my stomach. Flanagan moves his giant paw to my thigh. Not a better position. The feel of that one hand completely drowns out Laasya’s gentle touch. My groin fills with the tingling sherbet sensation he’s drawing from my body, and my dick loves it, twitching out a request for friction. It’ll have to wait. Getting off isn’t exactly a top priority right now. Thankfully the van’s interior is dim enough to hide my reaction.

Laasya closes her eyes and takes long, deep breaths. With each exhale, steady warmth flows from her hands and sinks into my flesh. The heat cascades through muscles and limbs until tension melts into pliancy. My body sags against the floor. Details replace blur. The van’s interior sharpens. My stomach stops its attempt to give me back my vodka.

“That’s some trick,” I comment, able to see the face behind the glasses now. She looks about eighteen but could be older. Though a waif of a woman, she’s cute. Her plain features are saved by big brown eyes and a button nose.