The Song of Burning Souls (COMPLETE)

6 - Lithe Like Light

When the fire girl saw Andrew, two things happened. First, she stopped singing. Second, she flared so bright with fear, Andrew had to pull himself out by his feet just to keep the blast from boiling his eyeballs.

He took two breaths, then dived in again.

"Lithe—" he called. "You don't have to stop singing—"

The fire girl had scrambled like a cat down the ducts. She crouched just before the second bend, quite far down.

They stared at each other.

Andrew did not know if he should be frightened or . . . if he should be fascinated.

He chose both.

"Please come back, I won't . . . I'll be careful," he said.

It seemed to Andrew that she was just as curious about him as he was about her. She confirmed this by inching forward at the pace of a creeping moon until finally, she was a mere foot away.

Andrew marveled at the tiny details of her face. Finite eyebrows, combed and curling. Pliant lips. Wavering eyes of flashlight yellow. Perfectly human but for the fact she was fire.

She, in turn, studied him.

"What are you doing in my vent?" Andrew finally asked.

"Singing," she said simply.

"I see. Well, it's making me too hot. Why don't you come out and play in my room?" He scooted out a bit.

The fire girl—or Lithe like light, Andrew decided--turned to show him why this was impossible: her tail, stretching like a river of flame down the duct, was pulled taught and would go no further.

"Fornax . . ." Andrew whispered. "Is that why you sing that sad song all the time? Because you are trapped?"

She nodded. "And I am awfully hungry. Won't you give me something to eat?"

Andrew shook his head. "If I leave my room, my mom will hear me."

"Don't leave!"Lithe said desperately. "Tell me something about your room! I would like to have a room!"

"Don't you have one?" asked Andrew.

Lithe ran her fragile fingers along the curve of metal. "Nothing in here but dust and spiders."

Andrew didn't like thinking of spiders, and talk of dust made him think of twelve child victims—and hopefully not thirteen. He quickly filled the silence. "I have a bed, and a desk, and a shelf of books."

"Books!" said Lithe in delight. "Books are delicious! Oh please, could you pick one you don't like very much and give me just a taste?"

"But won't that set off the smoke alarms?" he asked.

"We will be careful," she whispered. "No one will know."

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