Phoenix Reborn (Woodland Creek)(12)

5





That evening around seven, her cell phone rang. This was unusual; it always shocked Ashling to think that anyone used phones as speaking devices anymore. But there it was: a strange number lighting up her screen. For a moment she considered not answering it, allowing it to go to voice mail to check a few minutes later, when her heart had settled. But if it was him, she would never have the courage to call back. She should answer it.

“Hello?”

“Ashling.” The voice spoke the name like a statement, full of confidence and certainty.

“Yes — who’s this?”

“It’s Hawke. Hawke Turner, I mean. You know, the guy you smashed into near the Observatory. Then he tripped over a chair for you.”

She managed to keep her chuckle internal. Of course she knew exactly who it was.

“Oh, hi,” she said, longing for the gift of eloquent speech and cleverness. “What’s up?”

“Ranach gave me your number. I hope it’s okay that I’m calling.”

“Well, you do realize that the bulk of humanity no longer uses phones as phones, right? Talking into this thing is like carving pictures onto cave walls.”

“True. But this is a much more effective way of saying this: listen, I’m wondering if you’d like to do something with me tonight.”

“Tonight? I…do something?” Yes, she’d pretty well mastered the art of speaking like a cave dweller. “I mean, I’m sort of busy tonight.”

“Oh, okay. No problem. You’re probably making jewels for the royal family or something.”

What the hell was she doing, telling him that? She wasn’t busy in the least. She wasn’t even sort of busy. And he was actually asking her out. If she said no, it might mean she’d blown her only chance at a date with him.

But a yes would mean opening up old wounds, ones that were currently protected under a thin layer of scar tissue. It would mean concealing truths from him. Or worse, having him bring up that night. If he asked her what she’d done to that boy and why, she would have had to answer. And what could she possibly tell him?

Still, she wanted to say yes. More than anything, in fact. For once, maybe she should just throw caution to the wind. Or at least to a mild breeze.

“But tomorrow,” she added quickly. “Maybe I could do something tomorrow evening.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to see. A couple of producer-types are in town tomorrow and I’m supposed to meet them at Fibber’s to discuss a few upcoming scenes.”

“Ah.”

Fibber McGee’s was the local watering hole and a frequent meeting place when visitors were coming to Woodland Creek from out of town. It had been years since Ashling had set foot inside its door.

“But maybe you could join us there?” added Hawke. “Or come afterwards? We’re meeting at six, so you could show up around eight.”

“That sounds good,” she lied. An evening around strangers who were far more important than she could ever be. That sounded unpleasant at best. “Do you want to text me?” she said. “To confirm the time and place, I mean?”

“Do I?” he asked. “Hmm, let’s see. I’m…not…sure.”

Silence.

“Yes, Ashling. Of course I want to text you. I mean, I’d rather see you in person. Hell, I’d come over to wherever you are right now, if you’d just invite me.”

“I’m sorry, Hawke — it’s just — I have all these projects.”

“I understand. Can’t make time for the movie star.” Hawke let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Story of my life.”

“Shut up,” Ashling laughed. “Look at you; you’ve gotten all cocky in your old age.”

“You don’t know the half of it. But I’ll be in touch. You’re not escaping my talons this easily.”

“Good. Okay then. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

She hung up, wincing, wishing that her foot were capable of kicking her own ass properly. What kind of a woman puts off a chance to spend time with a handsome movie star who’s shown nothing but genuine interest in her? Her. That’s who.

Sitting around her apartment wasn’t exactly the “work” she’d insisted that she had to do, so she threw on a jacket and wandered outside, turning up Main Street to head towards Ranach’s place. When she arrived, she let herself in through the back door with her key, climbing down the steep staircase to the basement before her mentor had a chance to detect her presence.

She sat down at her work table, turning on the small lamp to her right. In front of her sat various lumps of metal, reminders of how unproductive she’d been these last few days.

The one completed piece that sat on the table was the firebird that she’d created. She picked it up, eyeing it. The feathers seemed to flow in streams behind the creature, burning ribbons left in its wake. It really was beautiful, and she wondered if it came from her preoccupation with her own cursed ability.

She put it down and turned to face the opposite wall of white concrete. Painted since that day so long ago when she’d turned it, and everything else, black. All of her fear of going out with Hawke, of getting close to anyone, was directly tied to her strange, destructive ability. But maybe if she could somehow learn to control it, to stop letting it rule her life, she could eventually have a chance at a normal existence.