Going Down in Flames (Going Down in Flames #1)(73)

“Time to think of snow.” Mr. Stanton backed up.

The twister became a funnel of glistening white flakes, which flew out in all directions.

“I have a confession,” Bryn said. “I thought about the twister in Wizard of Oz as I tried to sustain your emissary.”

“Bad idea,” Zavien called from behind the file cabinet.

“I don’t have much reference for twisters. Be grateful I didn’t conjure any of those creepy flying monkeys.”

“You used your own experiences to manipulate the emissaries. Since you’re using Quintessence to sustain them, that make sense. Now, I’d like to try another experiment.” Mr. Stanton picked a paper clip off one of the tables. He straightened one end and scraped the back of his hand. “I want you to touch my hand and visualize my skin undamaged.”

No way. “Give me the paper clip. I’ll try it on myself.”

“No. You’ve had your share of injuries. Anything you do can be undone by a medic.”

“What happens when you grow a third hand?” Zavien asked.

Mr. Stanton chuckled. “You’re both over thinking this. Bryn, you change your hair with ease. I’m asking you to apply the same technique to my scratch.”

“I’ll try, but you better hope a medic is on duty.”

Closing her eyes, she visualized Quintessence flowing through her body. Keeping her breathing slow and even, she opened her eyes and traced her finger over Mr. Stanton’s scratch. Nothing happened. She concentrated on feeling the Quintessence flow to her pointer finger. The scratch turned from angry red to dark pink. She visualized healing white light flowing from her fingertip.

The scratch faded and disappeared.

“Oh my God. I did it.”

Mr. Stanton examined his hand. “Yes, you did.”

“She did it?” Zavien joined them.

Bryn did a small victory dance. “I did it.”

“How do you feel?” Mr. Stanton asked.

“Happy, but tired.”

“Feed her and then have her take a nap,” Mr. Stanton said to Zavien.

“Hey, I’m not five.”

“Sorry, I’m feeling protective.” Mr. Stanton’s brow furrowed. “Don’t tell anyone of this. We’ll keep it a secret until you’re stronger. You’re still recovering. You need to take it easy.”

“I promise not to run around healing random strangers. Instead of spending second hour in the library, could I spend time with Medic Williams?”

“History is a required course. If you want to spend time with the medics in the evenings, I’ll make arrangements.”

It was better than nothing. “Thanks.”

Zavien checked his watch. “Clint and Ivy will be done with classes in an hour. Why don’t we go back to the dorm and find you a snack?”

“I want cookies or pie.”

“Anything but cake?” Zavien asked.

She nodded.

“I suppose I’ll have to commit random acts of cookies from now on.”

“Doughnuts would be good.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How long did I commit to bring you dessert?”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “For the rest of my life.”

“Wonderful.” He propelled her toward the door. “You get your pick at the vending machine, and then you’re taking a nap.”

…

Bryn ate the last powdered sugar doughnut, finished off her chocolate milk, and sighed in satisfaction.

Zavien passed her a napkin. “You’re a mess.”

The front of her shirt looked like she had a horrid case of dandruff.

“Guess I should change.” Since she planned to take a nap, she put on a hot pink tank top and her giraffe pajama bottoms. After brushing her teeth, she rejoined Zavien in the living room.

He sat at one of the desks, writing in a notebook. She’d hoped he’d sit on the couch so she could use him as a pillow. No such luck. “Wake me when Clint and Ivy show.”

He focused on his notebook. “Sleep for an hour. We’ll meet them for dinner.”

She wasn’t a toddler. “Just so you know, this whole bossy act doesn’t work for me.”

He turned to speak and laughed.

“What?”

“That is the most ridiculous outfit I’ve seen you wear.”

“Why does everyone feel the need to comment on what I sleep in?”

His eyes narrowed. “Who else has seen you in your pajamas?”

She ticked people off on her fingers. “Clint, Ivy, Merrick, and anyone who came to visit me in the medical wing.”

His good mood returned. “Right, I forgot about that. For Christmas, you’re getting red plaid pajamas.”

“Pajamas aren’t a good Christmas present.” Retreating into the bedroom, she closed the door.

…

Something poked her arm. She rolled over.

“Bryn, wake up.”

She recognized Ivy’s voice but wasn’t ready to crawl out from under the covers. “Go away.”

“It’s time for dinner.”

The distinct garlic aroma of Fonzoli’s restaurant drifted through the room. Bryn opened her eyes to find Ivy fanning the lid of a carryout box.