The power was incredible, but the rage burned so deep in Noah that Lindsay couldn’t begin to see the bottom. Noah’s magic was dangerous, and Lindsay could see why someone would send him to Cyrus for safety, but the magic wasn’t Noah’s problem. Noah had complete control over the magic. What he wasn’t in control of was himself.

The anger inside him held all the heat the illusory fire lacked. It was hot and white and ready to rip him wide open with the slightest provocation. Lindsay could feel it pressing at Noah’s seams and aching to tear Noah apart. The magic, Lindsay could handle, but he had no idea what to do with all that self-hatred eating Noah from the inside out, except to let it burn itself out with the fire that was filling the pool and creeping up the walls.

Noah looked at him, through the fire and the distance, and his eyes were like blue stars lit with fire from within. For a moment, Lindsay could see into them and he saw what was behind them. It was too much information, too many images at once for him to put them in order or assign them significance, and then Noah closed his eyes again. He pushed his hands out to ward something off and Lindsay heard as much as felt the word, “No.”

The rush of power that followed was like a nuclear warhead hitting ground zero where Noah stood.

Utter devastation rolled outward, devouring and furious fire. Instead of losing strength, Noah simply became stronger, like the fire. He could see through the fire, see what the fire saw, feel what the fire felt.

Everywhere the fire was, he was, raging from that endless wellspring of pain and fury that was somehow contained under his skin.

Finally, he found something of a limit. The fire became too immense and broke off into non-sentient, mundane infernos. If they hadn’t been illusions, the destruction would have continued unabated.

Noah began to withdraw. Lindsay could feel him pulling back the power, extinguishing those seedling fires, reining all of it in until only the room they stood in roared like a furnace. Then that was gone, between one breath and the next. The fire was out. Almost out.

Everywhere that Lindsay could see, the ruined space had become a garden. A garden of molten gold climbing roses, with rustling leaves and delicate tendrils that clung to the remains of the walls and ceiling and floor. From the shadows, sparks fell like tiny stars, a light rain of fire, and each star burst against the ground before it faded away. When a tentative breeze sighed through the building, the entire garden breathed with it, and roses—in every color of fire—began to bloom.

All that rage and power and still Noah had this inside him. He was scarred and burned and broken, incredibly fragile, but beautiful, too. Lindsay wanted to call him back, to draw him in and soothe away the burns until this took the place of the anger running wild under Noah’s skin.

“They’re almost a weed.” Noah walked toward Lindsay, his steps slow and lazy. He looked more at peace than Lindsay had seen before. “They grow everywhere. But they have magic of their own. If you have the sight, you can see it at the right hour, though you might think it was a trick of the light.” He opened up his ruined hand and a rose unfolded there. The petals spread, growing into delicate wings, and it flew away. All the fires faded into nothing as it soared into the dark. “Have I done well?”

The fire might not have been real, but making it had left Noah sleek with sweat. Rivulets tracked down his bare chest, skirting his wounds and skating along his scars to soak the waist of his pants. It wasn’t just his magic that was beautiful. But Lindsay couldn’t touch him. He was too fragile.

Lindsay held out his hand. “Time to come back now, Noah.”

“You should put the barre on me.” Noah took Lindsay’s hand tentatively; his fingers sliding against Lindsay’s palm made him shudder convulsively and he swallowed hard, as though he were nauseated. Fire sputtered along the sweat lines on his chest. “There are times...” He closed his eyes. “I forget. And then I remember again. All the time.”

“I can’t.” Lindsay wouldn’t apologize for it. The thought of it made him want to scrape his own scars raw. He had to give Noah something, though, some way to hold the fire at bay. “But I can do this. I can keep you from touching the magic, if that’s what you need. For the night, at least. You need to sleep.”

Noah nodded and Lindsay couldn’t tell if there was real agreement there or just acquiescence. “Thank you.” Noah’s shoulders slumped, and Lindsay could feel his shame clearly—like a mirror, it was so familiar.

“I’ll keep you safe.” That assurance had been one of the most important things Dane had given Lindsay, in the beginning. For Noah, the danger came not from people hunting him but from his own magic and, maybe, Cyrus had been right to give him to Lindsay. None of the others—none but Cyrus himself—

could keep him safe from that.

“As you will.” Noah exhaled slowly. “Was there anything more?” He looked at Lindsay from under his lashes. His eyes were an almost unearthly shade of blue.

“Nothing.” Lindsay let his hand go to reach for the shirt hanging from the wall. “I think we should stop and buy you a lighter on the way home, though.”

“And here I just threw all mine out.” Noah shrugged into his shirt, tugging it down as it resisted sliding over his damp skin.

“You can’t go around lighting cigarettes with your fingertip in front of humans, anyway,” Lindsay pointed out. He passed over Noah’s jacket next, and headed for the door.

“I know what humans are like.” Noah pulled the jacket on as he followed. “I used to be one. I just...wasn’t expecting to end up back here. Out in the world. Without my magic.”

“Well, I’m sure you couldn’t have anticipated this. Not every mage gets their very own illusionist to cut them off from their magic.” Lindsay pushed through the double doors and out into the corridor. Maybe teasing would make this easier for Noah. Maybe.

“I wondered if this was part of some fancy new charity program. Home for Wayward Fire Starters.

Donate now, because every year, Fire Starters all over the world are left homeless.” Noah sighed and shook his head. “When I was twelve, I could hardly wait for this.”

Noah had grown up knowing what magic was. Lindsay wondered what that would have been like.

“When I was twelve, I had no idea any of this existed.”

“Cyrus thinks he’s clever, I see.” Noah pulled out the flask and took a drink, a long one. Lindsay watched Noah as they stepped out into the night.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Better to know now. Lindsay couldn’t change that he hadn’t been born to the magical world.

“No. Maybe for some. Not me. I left and lived in the world. He’s avoiding having you learn only Dane’s terrible manners. Terrible by our standards. Fine for his kind.” Noah snorted and took another drink, draining the flask. “There’s a store up here.” He gestured ahead. “I guess I’ll pick up that lighter while I’m in there.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

Lindsay stopped at the corner and watched the people passing him by. None of them knew about the magical world either. They all lived on the surface, where magic was something found in fairy tales and fantasies. He’d lived there too, once. Not anymore. The depths of the magical world were home, now. He could hardly imagine leaving the way Noah said he had. But Noah’s magic was new, he’d grown up believing he was human in a magical world. Wrong, exactly the way Lindsay had always been.

When Noah came out, he had a lit cigarette in his mouth, a brown paper bag under one arm, and a six-pack of beers dangling from his good hand. He looked, in the garish lights of the store and the shadows from the streets, disposable. Human.