Ignited

Chapter One

Jazz flung her bag on her desk and dropped the books next to it with a thud. Rubbing at her eyes, hidden behind dark glasses, the headache worsened. Hell. She blew her cheeks out with a sigh and sank into her seat knowing there was no point opening a book.
“Jazz? You okay?”
The voice made her jump.
Bex. There was no hiding a bad day from Bex. But today, Jazz could not let her know what was going on in her head. She forced a fake smile.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“What’s with the glasses?”
Removing them she squinted against the light, averting her eyes from her friend. Another thing she would have to hide from Bex today. There was no disguising the colour that been staring back at her in the mirror this morning. The vibrancy of them told her something she did not want to know, something she did not want anyone to know.
“Also,” Bex continued, “this is English Lit and you seem to have put out your books for French. We don’t even have French today.”
“Great,” Jazz muttered, scrambling in her bag for the novel she was supposed to have read, but hadn’t.
Yes, this is going to be a bad day.
“Jasmine-Daisy Pinnock?”
She raised her head with a scowl.
For heaven’s sake call me Jazz, do I look like a Jasmine-Daisy to you?
“Are you quite ready for me to start?” Miss Dungey (her very-old-and-somewhat-batty literature teacher) stood at the front of the class, holding a copy of Jane Eyre aloft.
Jazz pulled out her battered copy and slapped it on the desk. Today was going to get a lot worse, she could sense it.
Not even wasting a thought on trying to concentrate, the classroom slipped from focus. Jazz clenched at her hands. The feeling of dread consumed her once more. It had grown stronger throughout the morning. Old memories stirred within her. A secret she had dismissed many years ago was returning.
She forced a mask of calm on her face, but knots in her stomach made the look difficult to maintain. Fingernails dug deep into her palms, as she screwed her hands into fists, the pain allowing momentary relief from her fears. As the skin stretched hard across white knuckles, a warm trickle of blood ran down her wrist. She watched as the ruby river culminated into a droplet at the base of her little finger before falling to the soiled carpet, a tiny eruption of lava amidst a sea of grey.
A sudden breeze whispered through the window stirring her curls in its wake. But no scent of cut grass carried on this breeze. Jazz cringed as it touched her. Her palms were sweating. She had played in this wind many times as a child. Now it was unwelcome. For the wind brought with it a message. He is coming.
She resisted the urge to stand and run from the room, rubbing the sweat and blood from trembling hands onto her skirt. The lesson had started. No one paid her any attention. She felt sick. Electricity ran through her body as the wind brushed her skin. Memories were carried on this breeze. Reminders of years past filled her. Memories of when she was a young girl.
No, not again. Not now.
She could sense him. Her heart beat faster. He was close. She lowered her eyelids and took a deep breath. A large shadow passed over her, blocking the sun from her arms and the neglected book on her desk. He had come.
Running now would be pointless. Opening her eyes with a sigh, there was hope within her for a second that she was wrong, he couldn’t be here. Her eyes readjusted to the morning sunshine. Please let it not be him. She knew her hope was in vain.
Beyond the classroom window a crow perched on the sill. Larger than other crows, his guise betrayed him as being far from his true homeland. Black feathers gleamed in the sunshine. Outsized wings ruffled against his back, exposing hidden rainbows of colour. But she could sense darkness upon this creature. His head tilted and beady eyes blinked at her, revealing intelligence beyond her comprehension.
Anger replaced her dread.
I told you, I never wanted to see you again. She knew he would hear her thoughts.
The crow blinked and turned his head from her. There was sadness in him, she could sense it.
I’ll never forgive you for what you put me through that day.
He still was silent.
Talk to me, explain. Say something! Why are you here?
Despite a friendship that had begun when she was just six years old she had hoped he would never return. His appearance meant only one thing, something she wasn’t ready to face. But here he was.
Jazz looked down at her old wooden desk, staring at, but not seeing the years of teenage graffiti that adorned it. If she was honest with herself, she realised, she had known he would return to her one day. But now that day was here, she did not know whether to embrace it or not. With a sigh, the anger, for now was forgotten.
Her face lifted to meet the dark eyes of the crow.
“Hello, Auroch,” she whispered.
Young Jazz, I am sorry. His soft voice filtered into her head, unheard by anyone around her. But the time has come my child, for you to fulfil your destiny.
What? What do you mean? Why are you here?
Her thought was met with silence.
“Auroch?” she glanced around to check no one had heard her.
Child, I cannot explain now. Soon, I promise.
But, the power...it is back...it is...different, she added. It is stronger. As she spoke, his sorrow tugged at her heart.
It has had time to grow within you.
But it had gone!
No my child, it never left. And it never will, he added.
Pushing off with his feet, Auroch glided into the sky.
*
Staring at the empty sill, Jazz became aware of Bex’s urgent nudging.
“Ooww!” she said, rubbing her side. “What’s that for?”
Forcing her mind to return to the lesson at hand she found herself blinking at Miss Dungey, who was patiently awaiting an answer.
The bright colours of classroom displays hurt her eyes. Blinds at windows that could have filtered the light, hung broken and unused. The interactive whiteboard flickered, creating a throbbing pain behind her temples. She felt dizzy.
Pins and needles prickled through her body. The power was awake once more and despite her silent fight to keep it under control, it was already threatening to overcome her. She looked around hoping no one could tell, but the faces of her friends did not reveal any immediate concern. Jazz’s battle against the re-awakened power was solitary and private.
What was the question? She disentangled the pencil she had subconsciously wound into her hair. Bex was being of no help what-so-ever. Jazz frowned. Calm down, take a deep breath. No one knows what’s happening to you.
The knots in her stomach tightened. The power had never been this strong before, or so encompassing. And she had an eerie feeling the day was going to get much more complicated.
Glancing down at the open book before her, the text danced before her eyes. She gave up and sighed. Jazz blinked.
Miss Dungey stood, hands on her beige, tartan covered hips, awaiting an answer. Dark brown court shoes tapped impatiently on the carpet. “Well, Miss Pinnock? You have spent most of this lesson fixated on the window. Is there something out there which you would like to share with the class?”
Jazz opted for a shake of her head. “I errr...”
“Have you read the book?”
“Well...no...I mean, not all of it anyway, not yet...but I will!” she answered, sensing every pair of eyes on her.
“It’s a bit late for that, Jasmine,” replied Miss Dungey. “You do realise that I am expecting a two thousand word assignment on the main characters that Brontë depicts in this novel on Friday?”
“Yes, Miss!”
Jazz looked again at the book in front of her. She was aware that it was a classic but her usual enthusiasm for this class had faded. The deadline for the assignment was Friday morning. Today was Monday. Plenty of time! The lesson continued in an incoherent buzz around her. She glanced again at the empty sill. Familiar feelings surged anew from the tips of her fingers down to her toes. She felt like she was on a fairground ride. A wave of nausea crept over her. Jazz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Why me?
Beneath the desk, her hands felt strange, the power was there, behind the tips of her fingers, just one word...one word would set it free. She fought against its desire to be let out. Not yet, she told it. Not here.
She had not felt it for over six years; since the day her father had died. Part of her had died that day too; she had assumed (hoped really) that her power had died with it.
Why is it back? Why now? Had it really never left?
She inhaled the fresh end-of-summer air that now drifted through the open windows. It was still warm, but she could tell it would not be for much longer. Autumn was just around the corner. There was a very slight change in the air today. A feeling of suspense lingered on it. A feeling of fate – a fate she could not escape.

Chapter Two

In the distance of her thoughts a bell was ringing.
“Jazz,” said Bex, flicking her black hair. “Come on! That’s the bell, time to go!”
“Oh thank goodness!” sighed Jazz, sliding the unread book into her bag.
“What’s up with your hand? It’s covered in blood?”
Jazz wiped her hand on her skirt. “It’s nothing; I cut it, that’s all,” she said locking eyes with her friend, daring her to ask more.
“Wow, what’s up with your eyes? They look very...green!”
Jazz lowered them, having forgotten they could betray her secret. “They’re always like that,” she muttered, needing to be free of the room.
“Don’t forget the assignment, Jasmine,” she heard Miss. Dungey call from her desk.
Jazz grimaced and replaced her sunglasses. “Really Bex, can this day get any worse?”
“It could get better; we have science with Frank after break!” Bex cooed, raising her eyebrows.
Jazz smiled, suddenly regretting her attitude toward her friend, thankful for Bex’s ability to bring her back to thinking about normal teenage issues.
Frank. Frank Foster was already sixteen. He was the oldest and best looking boy in their year (well, in the whole school if she was honest). His dark hair and blue eyes certainly made him stand out from his friends. He had a cool swagger as he walked through the corridors of the school. His chiselled features and piercing eyes were constant objects of gossip amongst the girls. He was a member of the school athletics team, and there had been many times when Jazz had been dragged by her friend to watch him as he trained for his events.
It was September. The school year had started just two weeks ago and the girls were enjoying finally being year eleven students at Towers High school. They made their way through the crowds of pupils now filling the corridors, emptying lockers and shouting conversations from one end to another. A sea of green uniform flooded the hallway as they elbowed their way past the little lost year sevens.
Science was a laugh. Jazz had to admit that much. The conversations concerning Bunsen burners, refusals to wear the necessary goggles and the smell of sulphur on the air, set the girls into streams of giggles, allowing Jazz a much needed rest from her private battles.
But Jazz could not escape the fascination Bex had with Frank Foster.
“Is he looking at us?” she kept whispering. “He is isn’t he? I think he’s looking. Check, Jazz. Have a look...is he looking?”
“Err...I think he is now...I’m not sure the contents of the test tube are supposed to be that colour, Bex!”
As Bex fanned at the smoke that poured from her test tube and Mr. Cast ran through the aisles to their work desk, Jazz sneaked a look at Frank. He was looking; he met her eye, smiled and winked. As they exchanged looks the power buzzed in her ears. The pressure it had been forcing upon her had lessened till that point. Now it was there, awake and demanding to be free. Jazz whipped her head back round pretending she was needed to help her friend. She rubbed at her ears; the buzzing had left an itch. Why would he wink at me? And why has this damned power reacted so weirdly? She frowned. He probably just thinks I’m a ditsy red-head who can’t do science; although honestly, he wouldn’t be far wrong. She smiled.
*
She looked up at the classroom clock. 11:45.
“Oh, come on!”
Having cleared the room of the white sulphuric smoke, the girls were now writing up their experiment. Although Mr. Cast had been clear that they write what they should have done and not what they actually did.
Bex nudged her and a piece of paper was passed undetected across the table.
Only fifteen more minutes of this till lunch time
It was signed with a smiley face. Jazz scribbled a quick reply.
Can’t take much more. I need to get out of here!
She signed it with an encircled five pointed star before passing it back.
“Jasmine Pinnock, what are you doing?” called Mr. Cast. “If you applied yourself to the work I set as much as you do to Rebecca’s notes, I’m sure you would be getting better grades and my science lab would not smell of sulphur!”
Bex smiled sympathetically at her. She smiled back and raised her eyebrows in exasperation, pushing her curls back from her face she tried to at least look as if she was working.
*
Jazz bent her fingers until they clicked, which she knew Bex hated and got the expected glare to confirm it. The power’s demand to be free had lessened again. Jazz breathed deeply, resisting the urge to see if Frank was watching her. God! I’m turning into Bex! Is he watching? Is he not? She scratched at her ears again and frowned.
Auroch had always been the source of the power. He had shown her how to read people’s emotions; to sense where those closest to her were. But the power grew. Its abilities grew and Jazz had a vivid memory of the day when she had first called on the wind to move for her. The wind became her friend. One she could play with and command, it felt natural and made her feel whole.
But, over time the strength of the power increased. It became more difficult to control. It burned inside her, demanding to be used. She played with it often, but never used it to the potential she knew it contained. And she never questioned its presence.
Then one day; the day her father died – such pain had filled her heart. For the first time the power had shown its darker side. Before news of the accident reached them, Jazz knew he was dead. She sensed every emotion that her father experienced. She felt his agony at the impact of the crash, heard his screams for help in her mind, read his final thoughts for his family and before the emotions faded to nothing but a deep, black hole within her heart, she sensed his love and concern for her. She had screamed in anguish, demanding Auroch take the power away, leave her alone, never to return. But despite Auroch’s departure, the power had remained within her. Using every ounce of mental strength, Jazz shut down the power, she refused to allow it to speak to her; hoping that in time it would fade and disappear altogether. That was six years ago.

Jazz closed her eyes, quashing the emotions before they consumed her once more. The classroom came back into focus.
11.50.
I need to get out of here. She drummed the pen on the desk, but stopped as Mr. Cast glared at her. The power was making her restless, it was moving inside her, swirling like mist.

At his desk, Mr. Cast bent over his paperwork once more. Jazz’s hand instinctively played with the pendant that hung around her neck. It was a silver five pointed star and she would never dream of going anywhere without it, despite the strict school rules about jewellery. Her father had given it to her on her ninth birthday, telling her he believed everyone had a spiritual path already mapped out for them. The star would guide her along hers. He died two months later.
The star felt warm in her hand and she looped the soft ribbon up around her chin, as she often did when she was thinking.
As the bell sounded for lunch, Jazz risked another look in Frank’s direction. He was still looking at her. She rubbed her ears vigorously as the buzzing began again.
*
The rest of the day passed in a haze for Jazz. Even a lunch of chips and copious amounts of chocolate didn’t bring her out of her mood. The afternoon lessons were quiet and uneventful (she put it down to the fact that Frank was not present in any of them). Half-past-three could not come quickly enough. Jazz wanted time alone to think about the appearance of Auroch and the effect that the day had had on her. And Frank. She dismissed the thought immediately - there would be no thinking about Frank.
Jazz and her friends laughed and joked on their walk home. Jazz always felt free after a day at school, and at least Monday was over with for another week. She joined her friends in their chatter, loving the freedom of escaping bells and time tables. It was just a matter of time till the conversation turned to Frank again. Jazz winced. The intensity of the power had risen, with just the mention of his name. What’s wrong with me?
“We had science with him today!” said Bex with a sigh. “Didn’t we, Jazz? And I’m sure he smiled at me!”
Jazz had not yet had the chance to tell Bex, Frank had smiled at her.
Their friend, Fay laughed. “It was probably wind! We had French with him this afternoon!” she added nudging her friend, Eve. They burst into fits of giggles.
Bex sighed again. “I’d like to do something French to him!”
“Bex!” cried Jazz thumping her friend on the arm.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t think that too!”
Jazz laughed, making out the thought made her feel sick. But the thought of kissing Frank...stop it!
She ran on ahead.
“I gotta get going, see you all tomorrow.”
All Jazz wanted to do was curl up on her bed at home. Not that she considered the new house a home really. Her home had been the house they had sold. This new house had no character. It was a box, built amongst other similar boxes. There was no identity there, no individuality. Everyone was the same. There was only one house nearby that interested her. An old house; her special house. But it was not on the estate.
She had discovered the house two years ago and although she had not known of its existence, finding it was like reuniting with an old friend. The burnt and broken ruin had been neglected for many years. She didn’t have to pass it on her way back from school, but she always did. She would stand and stare up at its vacant windows; imagining it before the fire had taken its soul all those years ago. There was something that fascinated her about it.
She lived the furthest away from school so always completed the last leg of her journey alone. She loved the two contrasting parts to her walk. The warmth, chatter and companionship of her friends that changed into the comforting cold, quiet, loneliness she felt as her walk home once again led her to the old house.

Chapter Three

As she stood at the crumbling wall, Jazz found sanctuary in the quietness here. The knots in her stomach loosened. Here she could breathe, here she could be alone. But the power was as demanding as ever. It heightened her senses, as it had before. It tingled at her finger tips.
Not yet.
The house was demanding her attention. Marmor House, a burnt relic, cowered within years of overgrowth. The thick canopy of leaves allowed a small amount of ethereal light to penetrate to the ruin beneath. The house smelled of rotten, damp wood and a faint odour of smoke still lingered even after all these years. The glass in each window was broken, glossy green paint peeled from window frames and the old front door hung from its hinges partially buried under brambles.
Moss coated slates covered half the roof, the others lost to the fire or years of neglect. Burnt, broken, blackened timbers reached like dark skeletal fingers up into the encompassing canopy and were the only sign that the complete roof had once been there. The stillness was eerie as even the birds in the trees above seemed to realise they should maintain a respectful silence.
She had always known the place hid a morbid past. There was sadness here. The sadness emanated from every brick of the house. But today, that had changed. There was a new feeling; one of despair and hopelessness. It surrounded her, chilled her to the bone and she gasped at the intensity of the emotions the power allowed her to feel.
Looking for a clue to explain such a reaction, she was surprised she had not noticed sooner. The gates on the driveway were open. For as long as she had known the house, the gates had been padlocked and entwined with weeds. But someone had broken the boundary that had remained intact for so long, a boundary even she had never dared to cross. Someone had been in the house.
Intrigued, she hoisted her school bag over her head and across one shoulder. Jazz stepped toward the open gate. The power prickled through her as she stood silently. She shook her hands before her, trying to force the blood back into them. A large sigh escaped her lips and made her shoulders drop. It felt like a huge weight had been placed upon them.
Yessss.
Jazz turned abruptly at his voice. “Auroch?”
I am here, child.
Out of nowhere, the black creature landed wraith-like atop the crumbling pillar beside her.
Many emotions churned through her head and heart at the sight of him. His presence reminded her of her father, but the feeling of ‘completeness’ at his return surprised her. It was like finding an elusive piece of a puzzle, a piece that had not seemed important, but on finding it revealed far more than you expected. Her face softened and a small smile lifted the sides of her mouth.
“I suppose it’s kinda good to see you again,” she admitted, sensing an emotional pain within him.
And it is good to see you too, my child. I wish it were under better circumstances.
“What do you mean? Why have you come back?”
I cannot tell you much. There is much you must discover on your own. But it starts here. Here you will face your dreams and here you will meet your destiny.
“My destiny? I don’t understand.”
Your destiny is still what you make it; you know that, don’t you? But there is a path set out before you, a path down which I cannot stop you travelling. I gave you the powers to help you on your way.
“But you gave me this power when I was six. Have you known all that time, that there was this so called path set out for me?”
I have known, since before you were born.
“You will not be here to help me, on this, so called journey?”
I will be your shadow, but I cannot help you anymore. This is your path, not mine. Know this, sweet Jazz, your journey starts today, in fact it has already begun. The wind blew gently at her face as his voice surrounded her.
“So I must do this alone?”
I have considered this matter. There may be one, someone whose path has already run remarkably close to yours, though neither of you know it. If this one can prove themselves, I will allow them to begin this journey with you.
“But the journey has already begun. You said so.”
Patience, when I am ready for them to join you, you will know. With that, Auroch stretched his wings and effortlessly glided into the air.
“Wait! Why does it have to be now?” Jazz asked as he circled her head.
That is for you to work out, he answered as he ascended into the sky.
The wind whistled around her once more, whispering at her skin and then it was gone.
Jazz lifted her face, looking again at the old house. One more step would mean she was ready to face whatever secrets the house had kept hidden. One more step, would mean there was no going back. For the last two years, Jazz had been happy to stand and absorb the feelings that surrounded the house. But now the threshold had been crossed and she needed to know why.
She tried, in her mind to picture the house as it had stood; tended gardens, a grey slated roof glistening in the sunshine and rooms impeccably decorated and furnished. The family that had lived in the house had been very happy here, she knew that much, filling the rooms with love and sounds of the children’s happiness. A happiness ended by tragedy.
Jazz stepped forward.
The sound of gravel under her feet seemed alien in the stillness. Jazz looked anew upon the old house. From this vantage point it looked more forlorn and lost than ever.
She stopped. There was something else here. She felt as if she was intruding. Her power itched to be let free.
“Not now,” she told the house. “But I will come back, I promise.” She turned to leave and as she did, she caught a glimpse of something new, something that did not belong. A tall white post had been forced into the earth within the grounds of the house. On top of the post was a sign. A ‘FOR SALE’ sign. She knew instinctively that this was the reason behind the change of mood in this empty place.
One thing was for sure, Jazz realised. If the house was going to be sold, she did not have long to discover and explore its secrets, before it was renovated or worse, pulled down. Soon, she whispered in her mind to the house. Brushing her curls from her eyes, Jazz turned around and headed home.

At the whispered promise, a small, pale hand touched the glass in an upstairs window.