Jennifer DiGiovanni - Fire in Ice

Published by Evernight Teen at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright 2018 JenniferDiGiovanni

ISBN: 978-1-77339-556-2

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Melissa Hosack

ALL RIGHTSRESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproductionor distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part ofthis book may be used or reproduced electronically or in printwithout written permission, except in the case of brief quotationsembodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names,characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actualevents, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, isentirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Amy, my first reader

FIRE IN ICE

The Generators, 1

Jennifer DiGiovanni

Copyright 2018

June

Cara

My shoulder collides with a wall oflockers when blackness creeps into my vision. The world seems tospin a second or two ahead of me, and no matter how hard I try, Icant catch up. This last week of junior year has been an endlessstream of exams, projects, and papers.

Cara, wait. How was yourfinal? Rachel bursts out of a nearby classroom when she sees mepass by. Her flip-flops slap the linoleum as she rushes to catchup.

I press my fingertips into myforehead, willing my brain to refocus. I just spent the longesthour of my life balancing chemical equations.

We pass an empty soda machine with ared light blinking an ominous farewell to bleary-eyed studentshurrying toward the promise of summer vacation.

Can you at least pretendto be excited? Rachel bumps her arm into my side. I know you lovetests, homework, and writing ten-page papers, but even straight-Astudents manage to be happy this time of year.

Im happy. More likerelieved. I just need to get out of here. Because my headis killing me.

She shoots me a quick glance, thenpauses mid-step, taking a second to really look at me. Are youshaking? That chem final mustve been brutal.

I dont know. I feel hot.Achy. I throw open my locker and fan myself with an old draft of aModel U.N. speech.

Placing her hand on my forehead,Rachel winces, like shes been burned. Come on. Ill drive youhome. Test out my new wheels. Reaching past me, she sweeps thebooks and papers into my backpack.

We cross through the atrium, out tothe flagstone courtyard, on our way to the car her parents boughtlast month, after she finally passed her drivers test; a shinylime-green, two-door. The sun slides out from behind a cloud andsome sort of reverse lightning strikes mea flame igniting in thecenter of my heart propels shockwaves to my fingers and toes. Ablinding white light flickers in front of my face. I lose mybalance, throwing my arm out to grip the back of a paintedbench.

Watching me, Rachels eyes widen.Cara? Tell me what to do.

Just drop me off at theInn. My moms working in her office. Because Im sick, and likeevery sick kid in the universe, I want my mother.

As we roll down Main Street, I squeezemy eyes shut and dig my fingernails into the dashboard, countingthe four blocks to the Amber Lea Inn in my head. When Rachel pullsup to the curb, I jump out of the passenger side with a quickgood-bye.

My parents are co-owners and operatorsof the historic property with fifty guest rooms, a restaurant, anda lower level ballroom located in the center of town. For me,growing up in the family business means spending most of my lifeoutside of school working here in some capacity. The lobby is mysecond home, with its familiar gold-painted walls and blonde woodfloor. Passing by the reception desk, I run my hand over the marbletop and shiver at the feel of cool stone brushing against myblazing skin.

Mom pushes asides her paperwork when Idrop into the chair in front of her. I swallow, feeling a burn fromthe top of my throat down to my stomach. Im sick. Reallysick.

She takes in my bloodshot eyes andflushed cheeks. You cant be sick now. Its Friday afternoon. Thedoctors office is closed.

I open my mouth to further explain mymisery, but my voice seems to dissolve when it meets the air. Aftera limited amount of grumbling over missed work time, Mom drives meto the Amber Lea General Hospital, where Im hooked up to monitorsand an IV.

Dad arrives at some point, and myparents stand by as I drift in and out of consciousness.

My father is a calm, quietpresence.

My mother is on the phone polling thecitizens of Amber Lea for advice. Flipping open her laptop, shecomplains about the spotty Wi-Fi. She texts my brother a fax numberso he can send medical research, which she reads aloud to anyoneentering the roomincluding Dr. Eric Barnes, chief of emergencymedicine, whos taken a special interest in my case.

Typically, yourdaughters symptoms arent much to worry about, Dr. Barnes informsmy parents. Fevers happen. Headaches, too. But her initial bloodwork indicates the presence of several minor irregularities. Takingthis into account, Id recommend running a few more tests andbringing in a specialist for a consult.

By the time the next doctor arrives,Im heavily sedated. Through a feverish haze, I feel my leg jerkwhen a mallet pings my knee, testing my reflexes. Cool fingerspress my wrist, checking my pulse rate, sending a line of heat upmy arm. Eyelids fluttering, muscles tensing, I push back againstthe burning electricity that seems to have attached to mybloodstream and is circulating through my body with every beat ofmy heart.

What are you doing toher? Is she trying to wake up? Moms closer now, the scent of herfamiliar lilac perfume easing my terror. Still, I wonder whosgoing to be the subject of her wrath when she eventually explodes.But, prior to total parental detonation, my wrist falls out of thedoctors grasp and the electrifying pain dissipates.

I wouldnt expect Cara towake up just yet. Shes been given a lot of medication to make hercomfortable. The virus she contracted is actually quite rare, buttreatable. The female doctor speaks again, naming my illness usinga word with too many syllables for me to count. Shell sleep for afew days before the fever breaks. When she wakes, youll notice amarked improvement. Possibly some lingering headaches and weakness,but no reason not to expect a full recovery. Someone types notesinto a digital device. We can follow up in three to six months tomake sure shes not suffering from any long-term side effects. Asfar as immediate treatment, heres our plan The doctor beginsanother complicated explanation Im sure my parents wontunderstand as I slip away again.

****

The next time I wake, my headache isgone. Green lines on a nearby monitor flicker like bad specialeffects in an alien encounter movie. Ive been moved from the ERinto a quiet room with pastel artwork and a smallwindow.

Lightning from an early summerthunderstorm flashes in the sky, followed by booms of thunder. Momis fast asleep on a fold-out cot next to my bed, her chestnut brownhair pulled back in a neon pink scrunchie, one she must keep in hertreasure chest of eighties memorabilia.

Cool air rushes over my face,triggering a tingling chill racing down my spine. I fumble for myblanket. Lightning strikes again, but the brightness refuses tofade. A hand reaches out to help me and I gasp when I recognize thewomans emerald wedding ring. My grandmother is here. In myhospital room. She looks so real that for a second I forgetCassandra Knowlton died twelve years ago. But its definitelyherthe bright green eyes shining down on me are the exact samecolor as mine.