When I bring the money back to Lochlan I have to search all over the place for him. I finally find him behind the garage, hard at work re-wrapping wicks on his torches. He's been trying to give his bad arm a workout, albeit for very short increments. He says it hurts like hell but he doesn't stop. His muscles have atrophied and he's anxious to return them to shape. Only I think he pushes it. He wasn't supposed to risk injury. The torches are heavy and it's far too much too soon but Lochlan doesn't listen to reason when it comes to his own preservation. Only mine.
Can you hold this? He passes me the roll of webbing. I drop it almost instantly.
That's a no, then? He laughs and scoops it up, putting it back into my hands. Just don't move. He holds his hand up to freeze me in place.
He's always done hand signals in case I miss the words. Like Cole, he never acknowledged the fact that I might have a hearing loss, he just compensated for what was missing. Cole talked directly into my ear, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight, shivers going down my spine. Lochlan used hand signals, because I was always on the other side of a ride, or at the top of a platform or out in the crowd looking for easy marks. Subtle signals that he still uses and I still obey. They certainly aren't as in-your-face as Caleb and Ben's forcible verbal directions and so they mostly escape scrutiny. When Lochlan issues a verbal command, I fulfill it even faster. He has degrees of seriousness and I know him better than I know anyone else. Maybe even myself as I continue to stand there holding the roll of tape while he lights the other five torches that he has with him tonight.
He motions for me to walk out ten feet. I'm in the center of the driveway. He turns around and walks to me backward, throwing the torches low. They burn red today. Magic fire, I always say and smile and he laughs. There's no magic in this, he tells me each time.
When he reaches me he stops walking. I am peeking over his shoulder. All around me torches rise and fall and spin and twirl and burn. I am in the center of a maelstrom. Firestorm. I step forward slightly until I am pressed against his back. I feel his shoulders working alternately, I watch his hands let go of the handles of the torches. He steps away slightly, always mindful of the danger and where I am in relation to it.
I step forward again and he walks five paces away, still throwing and then when he's far enough away he drops his hands and lets everything fall. Burning torches bounce on the concrete rolling in lazy arcs back and forth slowly as he turns around. Flames fall from the sky to light a circle around us. When I take count of the torches I see that I am in the circle too.
I look up at him in surprise.
How did you do that?
Magic, Bridget. You used to believe in it wholeheartedly. He turns away and begins to dunk the torches in the bucket, one by one.
Still do.
He doesn't look up but I see him smile wide. It's enough.
