Dustin’s house, out in the woods, would have been the perfect spot for the fire. Unfortunately, his mother was working at the hospital that night, which meant his insomniac aunt was staying with him and his three younger brothers.
“She thinks we don’t have enough supervision,” Dustin had complained. “She spends the night, like, patrolling the halls. No way we can be in the backyard. It’ll be hard enough to sneak out.”
The second-best option was Hugo’s house, since he had a fire pit in his backyard and his mother was also working that night.
“We have to be silent though,” Hugo had told them. “Silent. If my stepfather wakes up, I’ll be in so much trouble.”
Dustin had snorted. “Whatever,” he had said. “Marcus is so nice. I don’t get why you don’t like him.”
“I like him fine,” Hugo had said flatly, stiffly. “However, this is none of his business.”
That night, right before midnight, Alma put on her coat and shoes in her room. She put her flashlight in her pocket. Then she tip-tip-tiptoed down the stairs, breath held, movements in slow motion. At the back door, she turned the handle by infinitesimal degrees, and opened and shut the door as if it were made of crystal.
Once outside, she ran to the shed, where she retrieved the bike-lock key from under the potted plant again. She unlocked her bike and then rode, reckless and pell-mell, toward Second Point. She thought, as she flew down the streets, that she would almost certainly be caught—her parents were watching her too closely.
This was her last chance.
Hugo and Shirin were already in the backyard when Alma arrived, and they had a tiny blaze going in the fire pit.
“Do you see anything?” Shirin whispered to her as she walked up. “In the flames, I mean? I don’t know how to tell if it’s true fire without the quintescope.”
“Apologies, but I’m not sure how long we can keep this burning,” Hugo said. “If Marcus finds us, we will be in extremely serious trouble.”
Alma searched the dancing copper and gold flames. Shirin was right; every single one looked pure and extraordinary, burning and gleaming so brilliantly. And of course Hugo was concerned. They had lit a fire in his backyard in the middle of the night.
“You call that a fire?” Dustin’s voice came booming through the yard.
“Oh my goodness! Be quiet,” Shirin hissed. Hugo moved to the other side of the fire as Dustin came up.
“Fine,” Dustin said. “But that thing’s too small. Don’t you think, Alma? There isn’t going to be any true fire in there.”
“It is little,” Alma admitted. “We don’t want anyone to see it though.”
“No, we don’t,” Hugo said, kneeling to add more kindling to the flames.
Dustin snorted. “So we’re not even going to try? Look what I brought, Alma.” He held out a small plastic container to her. “Add this, and we’ll see what happens. It will only be big for a minute, and then I’ve got—I’ve got something for the flames.”
Alma took the container. “What is it?” she asked, squinting at the label in the flickering light.
“It’s lighter fluid and some other stuff I mixed together,” Dustin said. “My dad used to do it all the time when we made bonfires and had cookouts and stuff.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Hugo said, jerking to a stand. “Mixing accelerants is very risky. There is the possibility that—”
“Why can’t you just listen to me for once?” Dustin cried. “You always think I’m wrong. I’m not stupid, Hugo!”
Hugo took a step back. “I never said you were stupid.”
“We don’t want to do anything dangerous, Dustin,” Shirin said, pointing her braids at him. “Anyway, you’re not in charge.”
“Like you’re so careful,” Dustin shot back. “I’m surprised you don’t break your neck when you bend down to tie your shoes. And I never said I was in charge! But I’m part of the quest, whether you two want me to be here or not.”
Alma turned the bottle over in her hands. She didn’t know a lot about lighting fires, but she knew that people sometimes used lighter fluid. It couldn’t be that dangerous. She wondered if Shirin and Hugo would be objecting if she were the one suggesting it instead of Dustin.
“Just do it, Alma!” Dustin cried. “Why are you waiting forever? Don’t you want to finish?” He took a step toward Alma, and his green eyes were burning in the light of the flames. “We can do it, Alma. You don’t want the Starling to die, do you?”
She didn’t. With her whole heart, desperately, desperately, Alma wanted the Starling to get home. This didn’t feel exactly like the right way to do it—it wasn’t the way she would have chosen. But maybe Dustin was right. Maybe this would lead to pure and true fire, huge and flaming and brilliant. Maybe this would finally give them the last element.
And maybe it really would be her element.
Alma squeezed the bottle. An arc of golden liquid shot out.
But when it reached the flames, that liquid turned to fire.
A rope of fire.
A rope that blazed right back to Alma.