Let's see, the parking lot ramp is here. The sign for the complex, there. I plotted from memory and photograph, to drawing. Shaking out my right hand to loosen a cramp, I readjusted the cushion I was on. Comfortable in my pajama shorts and a fitted tank top, I sat with legs crossed, hunched over my sketch pad, opened to the ongoing drawing. With my gaze going from a photograph I had taken out the apartment window to the newly penciled background behind Spatula Man, I grabbed the water bottle Indy bought for me while shopping and took a swig, grimacing when I discovered the water was gritty.

Yes, what I'd sketched was accurate, right down to the few smokestacks and warehouse no. 5 of the fireworks factory that could be seen across the four-lane interstate.

Blinking away my artist's focus, I set the water bottle on the table and went for my crayons, thinking that the entire composition was finally coming together, thanks in part to details I regained during my nightmares.

Outside, a gust of wind blew a wave of rain into the side of the house, and I grinned despite the inclement weather. Micah was out retrieving his motorcycle, my shoes, and the aura cloak from where we left them on the hillside. The storm booming in the distance couldn't seem to curtail the expectation of my guardian walking through the front door at any moment, soaking wet. Micah with damp, wavy hair? Ah yeah. My toes curled against the cushion, and I lifted the lid on the crayons. I've gotta find an excuse to get my fingers into that!

Shaking my head, I frowned at the crayon box as I second- guessed that last thought. "I've really got to curb this misplaced enthusiasm," I muttered, inspecting what was left of my crayons after Trevor and Aaron got hold of them the other day.

I just had a wonderful, awesome, heart-pounding experience, and I'd come away from it breathless and aching for more. But that didn't mean I was ready for more. Nothing changed the fact I wasn't physically strong enough. Yet. I wish I were.

There were bite marks on the white crayon, and the orange had its point bitten off, but at least they spared me my green, and as I withdrew the crayon from the pack and edged a fingernail under its paper wrapper, loosening and peeling, my gaze rested on the new water bottle.

It was randomly kind of my aunt to get it for me, but she didn't do "random kindness." That she was going out of her way to get me something after Micah had made a show of getting me peach jam made me wonder if the two were starting some sort of gift war. And then there were also the new shoes, also given to me after the jam, but supposedly bought before that in New York...the small detail did smell slightly fishy at the time. Hmm, I tilted my head to one side, reconsidering. Well, whatever the order of it truly was, there were far more detrimental types of wars to be had than combat with presents, but still, things were becoming increasingly strained between them.

I leaned over the sketchpad, using the crayon's smooth side to work a hint of green wax into the sky above the fireworks factory. I pulled the color across the smokestacks, filling them in as a sign of their transparency.

As far as I could tell, devvis that lived together in small groupings weren't unlike pack animals—like wolves—who organized their members by rank. Since returning from the completion of his people's guardianship training, Micah said he had earned the highly revered title of Savior. His new rank surpassed Indy's Human Control Specialist position in their culture, and therein was our problem: he now outranked his elder cousin.

I chewed on my lower lip and dragged the crayon across the page. That she was still holding on to her position as Alpha over our threesome without so much as acknowledging that the group dynamic had changed was troublesome. Especially since I was new to all of this.

Done with the green, I set the crayon aside, and a clap of thunder—closer this time—made me jump. I wondered how long things could go on like this, tense, on edge, until something between Micah and Indy finally snapped.

Spatula Man had been standing on the astral plane when the windows blew out. I ran a thumb along the edge of the sketchpad before flipping to another page. I left it open to a harmless drawing of the student parking lot I doodled during trig—probably the reason I was stuck halfway through tomorrow's assignment. After spending this afternoon learning how to control my eyesight, it was clear to me now that my vision had been phased into spectral the morning of the apartment collapse. According to Micah, my seeing green— uncontrolled sight changing—was triggered by stress.

As I picked up the water bottle to give its contents a shake, my attention returned to the front door while I worked my tongue around my teeth to dislodge the remaining grit. I shouldn't drink any more of this stuff without showing it to Micah. The container I poured it from had been almost empty and seemingly forgotten, shoved to the back of the fridge. The powder mixed in just might be that something the boys were discussing yesterday at lunch, the substance Indy admitted to giving me to suppress my devvi half.

Something Mom had given me as well.

Upon hearing a drawer open in the next room, I shoved the water bottle to one side, thinking I'd hold off on bringing it up until Indy wasn't in the kitchen, or the house, or maybe even the county, lest I start World War III. Yep, I needed to use some discretion.

Not that I wasn't unhappy with Indy for giving me a substance that messed with how my body functioned, but still, I didn't like the thought of them fighting. Especially when she seemed to be trying to be nicer to me. I eyed the Sex Guide to the Elements sitting on the coffee table, a sixty-page manual on various devvi types. She'd found me some literature, which I had a brief chance to flip through. There was a short section toward the end on hormonal disorders. Marshmallows: Bettihemae probably shouldn't be eating them.

I grimaced as another thunderclap echoed among the factory's metal stacks. Apparently human food, particularly refined sugar, could sometimes wreak havoc in the system of a devvi who hadn't been exposed to it early on. Metabolism, hormone levels, even their elemental will could be thrown off if they didn't steer clear of manufactured foods. Veganism seemed to be the best dietary choice to bring one's body back into balance.

Moving quickly, I pulled my homework over the top of the sex guide when footsteps mounted the porch. I fidgeted as the door opened and snapped shut, but not before a whiff of rain-damp air slipped into the house. The rest of the guide was categorized by element. Because, apparently, "doing it" with a sun devvi was different than with water or fire or wind, and so on and so forth.

Good cheddar, my aunt had gotten me a How to guide.

"Hey you." Water dripped softly off Micah as he stood beside me, and I gathered my knees to my chin.

I was surprised that the lightning devvi section in the guide wasn't missing, considering it was something I might study, if I got up the nerve.

"How are you doing with the incoming weather?"

"Okay," I said without looking up. I just now realized I was trembling. "Better now that you're here. The storm's been awfully noisy." It was stupid to be afraid with him close by.

"The actual edge of the front is two counties away, and you're able to hear it? You must be becoming more in tune with Nature."

"Maybe," I said, then bit at my inner cheek.

"That's a thing to be glad about," he encouraged. "It means your body is adjusting to its new rhythm."

He moved my hair, tugging it back over my shoulder with an indulgent, damp touch. The tension eased from my shoulders.

"I know being able to hear it bothers you."

I lowered my knees back to the pillow, trying not to appear quite as anxious.

"Tell you what, I'll go change into some dry clothes, and put these in the dryer," he motioned to the soggy bundle of blanket and shoes he had under one arm, "and we'll find a movie on TV," he suggested. "We can turn the volume up and get you snuggled under a blanket with your Hatter on the sofa."

"That sounds good," I said, trying for agreeable, although I was unsure if I possessed the attention span for it, what with my twisted nerves. "Hang the blanket and shoes on the mini clothesline by the dryer instead?" I prompted and he nodded. Didn't want to risk shrinkage. And yet, would dark matter fabric even shrink?

Earlier Micah had asked me to name something I used to like doing with my mother. I told him about the movie nights she would plan, dropping everything work-related to spend an uninterrupted evening with me. Although I defaulted into telling him about that memory, what I missed the most was the way she used to come up behind me and surprise me with a hug. The way her chocolate eyes would catch the sun in the rearview mirror. And how she would sneak me a taste of vanilla ice cream every now and then, the kind that was colored blue, yellow, and pink. Just a teaspoon was all I could tolerate.

"Sure, let's do it," I said when his hand came down on the top of my head as he went to leave. I mourned the loss of Mom's chocolate eyes, hugs, and ice cream, but movie night would be a good memory to relive.

That Indy had finally found time to pick out the coffee table I was sitting at, along with a taupe colored love seat, a longer sofa, a flat screen and a slate and white checkered area rug to pull the whole front area together gave us the means to have a comfortable place to lounge. "I'll get Indy to make us some popcorn," Micah said before heading for the kitchen.

"That's okay. I'm not hungry." I clutched my storm-nervous stomach.

"You're going to eat something, little one." He paused mid- stride. "You need to eat more, actually, now that your metabolism has increased. You'll start to lose weight."

The sound of his damp feet on the wood floor faded as he made his way into the kitchen.

Restless, I pulled the "How to" guide out from under the math textbook and stuffed it into my bookbag before getting up to cross the room. I wasn't in the mood to try to tackle problem twelve again.

I looked out the window, peering past my darkly skewed reflection as the sound of Indy and Micah arguing over how long to set the new microwave for rose from the kitchen, their unaddressed difference in rank causing tension between them again. Why not simply push the popcorn preset button?

The microwave soon began to hum, and the rain outside picked up, turning the valley hazy as it forced the steam from the smokestacks down. The orange glow from hundreds of halogens became a warm fog to turn the darkness soft and loose. I tightened my grip on the curtain when an irregular flash lit the bulbous outline of the valley's far side, and I yanked the curtain shut. I stared at the tiny bit of lace that trimmed the bottom while kernels popped in the background.

I was afraid.

Frustrated, I cringed at another rumble of thunder. Sure he could protect me from the here and now, but he couldn't protect me from the past. He couldn't go back in time to defend me when I was eight. I don't deserve yellow and pink and blue ice cream.

"Aurora."

I jumped despite the fact I could tell he was trying not to startle me. Hand coming up in a nervous gesture, I brushed my bangs out of my eyes and spun to face him, pausing mid turn to give him a blank look.

He had taken a causal stance before me, rain darkened hair gathered in clumps to frame his face. The dishtowel that had apparently rubbed the excess water from his mane was draped over one broad shoulder. He was shirtless and holding a cereal bowl heaped full of popcorn against his delicately toned stomach. A slow smile spread across his handsome face while he waited for my brain to catch up with the rest of me.

Rolling my eyes, I leaned against the sill and took in his upper body back lit by the living room light in all its exposed obviousness. He looked strong, but wasn't as muscular as I would have expected, making his great might an underlying one. My mind went to his tendency for extreme speed, and I understood the downplay in muscle mass: godlike quickness called for a lean, more toned build. So my guardian was a dead ringer for a Calvin Klein underwear model. Too bad he put on a pair of loose-fitting jeans.

Dang, I wish I were stronger! I offered him a halfhearted smile, acknowledging the bowl. My attention went to the caramel-like substance drizzled over the top, knowing he meant well.

"What's with the topping?" I asked.

My smile became genuine as I watched him pop a kernel into his mouth. He licked the sauce from his thumb as if he was trying to convince me it wasn't poisoned. I picked out a piece to study it. It was warm. The color was too light to be caramel.

"It's a peach sauce." He smiled as I popped the kernel into my mouth. "An ice cream topping, actually. I thought maybe the combination might go together well."

I agreed and went back for another couple of pieces. My stomach was queasy, but the sweet of the fruit mixing with the salt certainly had appeal. The bowl was courteously small. He knew I wasn't up to eating a lot, so he wasn't going to push me. But he still wanted me to try.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

I paused to think about it, and then shook my head. "Mom used to get me that milk for the lactose challenged," I told him with a hint of nostalgia warming my expression. "But Indy quit buying it for me after she got a good mouthful of it with my cereal one day and proclaimed it wasn't fit for a cat dish." I shrugged, my gaze going back to the popcorn. I didn't think the over-processed milk was all that bad. His expression went thoughtful as the bowl started to shift my way. "I can pick you up a carton sometime, if you'd like."

"Yeah, with my money!" Indy hollered from the kitchen.

"Well somebody's gotta start spending it wisely," I muttered, extending a hand to accept the bowl.

The crazy woman—er uh, non-gender—was in talks with someone about partnering on a rehab of a local nightclub-gone- bankrupt. How in the world could Whyte Wine benefit from owning a nightclub near Pittsburgh? We were a clothing company, for goodness sake.

My gaze went to where Micah's arm was positioned over his side as he moved to pass the popcorn. I paused in mid motion, fingers on the bowl's rim. Not wanting to seem impolite, I forced my gaze away from what looked to be a burn scar across his hip.

"It's okay if you're curious," he said in a soft voice. "It isn't as if I'm trying to hide it."

"No, I suppose not," I said, eyes still averted from the mark because of the indignity I knew of trying to hide mine.

His scar was similar in color to the mark burned into the bottom of my foot. So, this meant, not only did he handle lightning, but he also knew what it was like to be struck by it.

"Seriously, little one," he insisted when my own shame started to heat my face.

Taking the popcorn back, he grasped my hand to bring it to his side, trailing my fingers over the scar. The two-inch wide mark started as faint strawberry above his navel, deepening in color closer to his hip, where it faded around his back. The sensation of the roughened skin was hotter than the smooth unmarred flesh that surrounded it, as if what burned him had never entirely cooled.

He stilled when he let go of me, and I continued to run my thumb over the mark. I looked up to find him solemn. There was a strange understanding in his eyes I didn't comprehend.

"Come away from here." He led me away from the window when another rumble made me jerk. Placing the bowl in my hands, he sat me on the sofa, and then turned to the spread of homework, photographs, and sketchpad on the table. "How's our trig homework coming?"

"What do you mean by our trig homework?" I asked around the nervous crunch of a kernel. "I'm not letting you copy."

"Ah, now you're just being mean," he teased with a slight toss of his head to clear a damp curl from his eyes. He reached for the pad, picking it up carefully. "You've been drawing again?"

"More or less." I shrugged. "It keeps me busy."

"This is good." He smiled.

He sat on the love seat adjacent to the sofa to study the top sketch of student cars and landscape. "It's only a doodle," I said, a twinge of nervousness dancing within me at his interest when he turned the page.

The metallic bang of a pot striking linoleum made me start, my nerves already on edge, and I turned my attention toward the kitchen. I frowned at the stream of profanity that followed. Guess Indy had been pulling the pot down from the rack that hung over the small island by the fridge. It must have slipped from her grasp. I didn't even have to be in visual contact to know what she was swearing about, I knew her so well.

What the heck was she intending to make? I winced when the pot struck the counter with a thump of frustration. Apparently peach- coated popcorn wasn't good enough for her.

"I need to make a phone call." Micah was already on his feet and heading for the front door when I turned my attention back to him. My eyes went wide at the abrupt drop in pressure in the room.

His movements were almost too fast to follow as he pushed through the screen door.

What was that about? I listened to the sound of his quick footsteps crossing the porch. He had to make a call—out in the rain?

Startled by his sudden mood swing, I stood, popcorn forgotten on the sofa when I noticed he left my sketch pad on the coffee table. It was flipped open to the image of the apartment scene. An intense stab of worry struck me as a rumble of thunder broke over the house. Above the fireworks factory, the green-crayon sky was scorched brown where Micah's thumb had held it.

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VOTE if you'd try peach-flavored popcorn at least once!

Funny thing, when we were reviewing this chapter, the host of my reader group brought out a bowl of popcorn with peach syrup drizzled on top. First time we all tried it. And it wasn't half bad, haha ;)

Thanks for reading!  See everyone back here on Friday for chapter thirty-one!  Stay safe and well.