Home Fire By Kamila Shamsie Novels & Stories

From the day i was born my mother always told me i was a fireball, but she never knew at the age of fifteen that i would become not only the first of our kind to attain the power of fire but the only of our kind that didn't shift into a lycan but instead some type of hybrid of a hellhound and a werewolf but also coming with the ability to manipulate fire. some called it a gift but to me it was a burden no matter where i went my entire life I've been one big ball that people just can't seem to understand, It also didn't help that i could care less to help them understand either.

Although this graduation painting had not yet been completed, it was far superior to any of my previous works. The moment Willow saw the painting, her expression subtly shifted. I caught the flicker of greed and jealousy in her eyes. I looked around the room. In the next moment, I did something that left everyone completely flabbergasted. I pulled out a lighter and flicked it. Then, I brought the flame close to one corner of the canvas. "Cassidy! What are you doing?" Jess shouted sharply almost immediately. Needless to say, she was the first to react. The flame licked at the edge of the canvas and spread quickly. My masterpiece, the product of my passion and skill, burned down to ash before

They were speaking in low tones. Shirley was crying uncontrollably and Jamal was trying to console her. I slowly got up and realized that other people like Mrs. Hardley were crying too. This wasn’t just my home. It was a fortress for the people. I walked up to one of the firefighters after wiping my eyes with the back of my palm. “Excuse me, sir. Please were you guys able to find anything? Like maybe the cause of the fire?” He cleared his throat loudly and proceeded to take off his mask. “Well, based on what we’ve seen so far, it’s safe to say it’s a domestic accident. It’s just so bad that it escalated to this point,”

Kian When she said at the end of the street, I turned slightly and saw the figure standing there; when he realized I was looking at him, he walked away. Someone was screwing with her, first the facility and now her house. A few of the other homeowners came out. It took them almost an hour to put the fire out. I saw the fire chief; she walked over to him. “Chief, this is my house—well, what is remaining of my home,” she said.

As the fog in my head thinned, awareness returned to me in shards. My home was on fire. At first, my limbs refused me, as though they had been filled with sand. I tried to push myself up, but my arm trembled and collapsed beneath me. I rolled, coughing again, my chest tightening. A violent crackle snapped through the air. Flames had climbed the drapes I once bragged about; custom imported fabric, limited edition, chosen to make the living room “powerful.” Now they disintegrated like paper. Fire crawled across the walls, licking higher, hungrier, growing bolder by the second. And behind the roar of destruction, I heard a laugh; low, mocking, and enjoying every second.

She motions for me to come with her. I leave the table. Camilla is behind me. I can feel her fear. I hate this for her. We follow Brooke to Camilla’s room. The walk is beautiful. The fellowship has built so many beautiful homes on the land. There are garden areas that seem to go forever. In the distance I see a huge fire starting to burn. I guess that is the bonfire. We arrive at Camilla’s room. Her room is not as nice as the one I am in but much nicer than the huts I saw. Camilla grabs me as soon as we walk in.

Heat blasted her face, and the smoke made her cough, tears stinging her eyes. “Julian!” she screamed, the name torn from her throat before she could stop it. No answer. Camille ran, barefoot, through the mansion as alarms shrieked and smoke thickened. The fire spread fast—too fast. As if the house had been soaked in gasoline. As if this wasn’t an accident. She tore through room after room, searching for him. Where was he? The study was engulfed. The library crumbled in on itself, books devoured by flame. The kitchen—empty. The guest wing—a wall of fire.

“But she had me put my hand in her fire and it didn’t burn me at all. I can’t believe it. When Kenna was blasting her fire everywhere, it was so hot. But now ...” “Kenna’s fire is hotter than mine, especially when you add the full force of her emotions behind it,” Ember says to him. When she pulls her hand out of his, Killian looks like he wants to pull it back, but he doesn’t, once again giving her the space she needs. “But you’re right. You are immune to a fire dragon’s fire now.”

The heat radiated off the burning structure, the air thickening with the stench of charred wood and smoke. Satisfied, he slipped back into the shadows, vanishing into the forest, leaving destruction in his wake. The next morning, Layla was awoken by urgent knocking on her door. Groggy and confused, she opened it to find one of the younger pack members, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. “Layla,” she stammered, “it’s… it’s your family’s home. There was a fire. I’m so sorry…” The words barely registered. Layla felt her mind go numb, disbelief and horror gripping her.

I came around the corner at full speed and skidded to a stop on the gravel and stood there with the heat rolling off the blaze in waves and black smoke swallowing the stars above my childhood home. The mansion was on fire. My parents. Everything else, logic, caution, the four years of careful living I'd spent learning how to keep the wolf quiet, all of it went silent. There was only one thought left and it wasn't even a thought, it was just a direction. In. Forward. Through the heat and the smoke and the roar of the flames eating everything I'd ever known. I ran straight to the fire.