by S. K. Kelley
“This isn’t your fault,” she says mildly. “James is...troubled. That much is obvious. But Ice must be furious about the whole thing.” She glances toward the den, chewing the tip of her thumb. “I should talk to him.”
What good will that do? He barely talked to me at all.
I avert my eyes. “He did seem upset.”
“I’m sorry—about last night, and if Ice was harsh with you this morning.” She stands from the table. “Will you be okay?”
“Some ibuprofen would be nice,” I say with a sigh.
“Top right drawer in the bathroom,” she says, already inching backward. “Let Smoke know if you need anything else. He can’t fix hangovers, though, so, um... Sorry.”
I thank her.
Once she’s gone, I drop my forehead to the tablecloth.
thirty-six
ICE HAS BEEN AVOIDING me all day.
Whether it’s because of what happened last night—whichever unfortunate thing that might be—or our talk after I woke up or maybe something said during the two-hour conversation he had with Night this morning, I have no idea, but it sucks.
At least I feel better physically. My stomach doesn’t hurt. My headache is minimal. My shoulder is still rather tender. I must have bruised it, but I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I won’t get over.
Though, I remember the night more clearly now.
The way Ice dismissed me after I kissed him, playing it off like nothing. Climbing the electronic gate to get back into Westbrooke because I couldn’t remember the passcode. The horror in James’ eyes. I may have hit him. I think he started crying as I took off.
Ugh. I almost wish I didn’t remember so much.
And Night won’t stop hovering. She’ll spend several minutes treating Ice with overcautious positivity—talking with a smile like everything is fine—and then cross the room to ask if I’m okay or need anything. I keep drinking water and reading the cheesy chick-lit novel she lent me and trying to take it easy, but she’s stressing me out.
Even worse, Ice periodically glances at me from his spot at the dining table—like he has no idea what to do or how to approach me. I get that. I don’t know how to approach people all the time, but I never expected him to have a similar problem.
Considering the circumstances, though...
Should I say something? Does he feel bad for not stopping me? Does he blame himself for what James did—or that I was hurt?
Either way, we can’t sit in the same room and ignore each other all afternoon. It’s too awkward. Smoke has said more than Ice has today, and I only saw him for a few minutes after my shower and during lunch.
I glance up from the book as Night stands from the table with her teacup in hand. She ruffles Ice’s hair. He swats her hand away, his annoyance passive at best. With a soft laugh, she dips into the kitchen and rinses her cup in the sink.
There’s no perfect time to do this, so...
I set the book on the coffee table and take another breath to hype myself up before I leave the safety of the couch. Ice doesn’t look up from his iPad as I cross the room toward him. He continues typing like I’m not there.
When I clear my throat, standing only a foot away, he finally offers me his reluctant attention.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Am I—?” He tips his head, his expression blank. Then he smiles and refocuses on the iPad. “Yes, of course. Are you?”
Right...
I run a loose strand of my hair through my hand. “I’m okay. I just wanted to apologize. For how I acted last night. I drank too much, so... I hope you don’t blame yourself for what happened.”
“I don’t.”
Aah— You don’t?
He locks his tablet, sets it on the table, and looks to Night. He asks her to give us a minute—alone. She bristles for an instant but quickly recovers and dries her hands on the nearest dish towel.
“It’s probably good that you talk,” she says.
“That’s the idea,” he replies, his voice deadpan.
“Be nice.” She walks past the table, reacting to Ice’s apparent disinterest with a sigh before she smiles at me. “I’ll be in my room—in case he gives you any trouble.”
What kind of trouble does she think he’ll give me?
Ice’s narrowed eyes track her path out of the great room, and the room fills with an uncomfortable silence as he remains focused on the empty archway she left through.
“I don’t think she trusts me,” he says with a muted smile.
“Why not?”
“It’s hard to say. Perhaps she doesn’t believe I’ve grown up. I’m older than her, but she still treats me like a child.” He meets my gaze. “Isn’t that funny?”
I frown. “You’re upset about what happened last night, right?”
“What is there for me to be upset about?” he asks, distaste creeping into his voice. “You’re here, you’re fine, and you have the River Sapphire. Yes, last night was...rather unfortunate, but it’s nothing of consequence.”
Uh-huh. Right.
“You can be honest with me, you know?”
He laughs easily. “Oh, Jayde. You do not want me to be honest with you on this one.”
I take a deep breath, biting the inside of my cheek before I sit at the table and fold my hands on the cool, glass surface.
So, he’s quite mad about the whole thing. That’s fine. What James did was not okay, but this can’t be entirely okay either.
“I am curious, though,” he says. “As to exactly what James did last night. You mentioned waking up in his car. Do you remember anything else?”
A moment of hesitation.
“Yeah. I remember.”
He listens intently, his expression fixed, as I explain the gist of what happened after I woke up in the back of James’ car. How I jumped out and ran into the creepy, dark building. How he kept asking for the River Sapphire—the necklace he didn’t even know the name of. The gun that fell from his pocket and gave me the chance to escape. After that, everything’s fuzzy.
“I think, um—” I look up from my hands. “I think he was...pretty drunk too. But I know that’s not an excuse.”
His eyes narrow. “No, it’s not.”
“I think...the whole night was a mistake.”
“The whole night?”
Our eyes meet, and my face grows hot. “I drank way too much. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I messed up.”
“Humans aren’t very resilient, are they?” he asks with a soft laugh that quickly fades. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me if James is similar in that regard. Still, intoxicated or not, what did he think the River Sapphire would do for him even if he did take it from you last night? Is he so desperate he managed to convince himself it would help him morph?”
I glance away pointedly, but I’m not surprised he feels that way. If he didn’t care for James before, he certainly likes him even less now.
“There aren’t many people in the Human Immortal Program, right?” I mumble, wringing my hands. “I can’t imagine the way the gemstones work is common knowledge...”
“Don’t tell me you feel bad for him.”
I look to him again, but his wry smile only confuses me more.
“It is kind of sad, isn’t it?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes as disgust tugs at one side of his mouth. “Oh, I agree, Jayde. It’s very sad. But a man like James Reid is hardly deserving of your pity.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Hm.” Frowning, his eyes flick down as his expression levels out. “I’ve been thinking, considering recent events, that perhaps you should avoid interacting with other immortals as freely as you have the past two weeks.”
For some reason, I laugh. “Avoid all immortals? Why? Just because one guy had a psychotic break?”
“No,” he says, his voice sharp. “They simply don’t understand your situation, and it puts you at risk—as last night so clearly demonstrated.”
“That’s not fair. I don’t even
understand my situation, but immortals aren’t the issue. James is the only one I’ve had any problem with. Everyone else has been nice. Or at least ignored me.”
His eyes narrow. “You do realize James only knew who you are and where to find you because of Night and her friends, right? This would never have happened if she didn’t get you involved in her social life.”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t think so?”
My hands ball into fists. “No. I don’t. And I will hang out with whoever I want, thanks.”
“Oh?” He laughs once, his eyes somewhat brighter. “You’re not concerned at all?”
“Concerned about what?” I ask, scratching my arm as I lose steam. “Last night, James looked almost as scared as I was. It was a mistake, and, like you said, I’m fine, so maybe we should just...forget it happened?”
Fingers brush my cheek, sliding up my jawline, and Ice cups my face in both hands. Warm. Strong. My breath catches, and a chill runs down my spine as our eyes meet. A foreign electric shock at the sight of blue eyes. Then he tips his head, still smiling that passive, curious smile.
“You want to forget the whole evening?” he asks.
His voice carries a strange lightness, and I stare back at him, my throat suddenly dry. The whole evening? Everything after I drank too much? The kiss? James? Everything? Is that possible?
“Maybe I do,” I say.
“Done.”
He grins, and his hands leave my face. He stands from the table and pushes the chair in. Then, facing me, he crosses his arms. His posture is casual, though. Relaxed. So comfortable, it makes me nervous.
“Now,” he says breezily, “about the skyrockets you missed out on; you were looking forward to watching them, right?”
“Oh, um...”
Glancing away, I raise a hand to my warm cheek. Is it seriously so easy for him to push the feelings down and act like nothing happened?
“We never set them off,” he reasons. “If you still want to see them, we can try again tonight. I’ll take you.”
I force a smile. “Sure. I’ll go.”
thirty-seven
SMOKE SIGHS AND LEANS back into the couch. “Man, if I didn’t have a livestream scheduled tonight, I’d tag along to watch those fireworks.”
“I’d hate to keep you from your loyal followers,” Ice says, his voice dangerously dry.
“When are you planning to leave?” Night asks. She glances from Smoke to me and Ice, where we sit on the other loveseat. “It’s getting late.”
He laughs. “Are you worried? If it makes you feel any better, we’re taking the car, and I doubt Jayde has any intention of running off on her own this time.”
Ha—
“I’m not worried,” she insists. “It’s just— Well, it’s been a long couple of days, hasn’t it? I’m sure Jayde wants to go home.”
Everyone looks to me. Skeptical. Expectant. Mildly concerned. My face goes hot, and I scratch my cheek.
I haven’t thought much about going home.
Things have calmed down since this morning. Everything has been more-or-less pleasant, with no further mention of anything that happened last night, and Ice isn’t avoiding me.
So I shrug.
He smiles. “Perhaps we should get to it, then. Ready to go?”
I nod, but I can’t match his smile. Even the passing memory of the awful, itchy dread is enough to leave me unsettled.
“Don’t keep her out too late,” Night says.
“It’s only three fireworks,” I say, hoping to reassure us both. “I’m sure it won’t take long.”
Ice stands from the couch. “No, it won’t.”
I glance at the crack of fading light at the far end of the thick curtain over the sliding glass door. There’s nothing to be nervous about, right? I’ll be with Ice the whole time. We’re taking the car. Everything will be fine. And then I’ll go home.
Right?
“You coming?”
“Oh—!” I tear my eyes from the door and pop up from the couch too. “Yeah, I’m coming. Just gotta grab my bag.”
I grab my backpack from behind the loveseat. Smoke offers me a passive smile and wave, while Night wishes me well. Then I follow Ice down the dark hallway to the garage.
Once we’re both inside the car, and I nestle my backpack at my feet, he passes the small cardboard box of fireworks over the center console. I hold it in my lap and study the three thick, cardboard tubes inside. Each is decorated with brightly colored construction paper, contains a golf ball–sized round, and has a long fuse trailing out from a hole near the bottom.
“Where’d you get these?” I ask. “Out of state?”
He snorts, a real laugh. “Try right down the street. Some kid Night knows in the neighborhood makes them every year, so I had her buy a few off of him. Consolation for not attending his party, I suppose.”
“They’re homemade?” I suddenly feel like I’m holding a box of bombs. “Are they safe?”
“They’re as safe as fireworks can be. I’ve never heard of any unfortunate mishaps over the years, but you can hide behind me if you want.”
“I’m not scared.”
He laughs again, more mildly this time. “Nor should you be.”
I peer into one of the cardboard tubes. How far up into the sky will they fly? What color will they be? How big will they look, standing so close?
“Maybe we should have gone to the party,” I say quietly.
“No.” His voice carries an unexpectedly harsh edge. “It’s for the best that we avoided it.”
“Oh?”
I look up, but his eyes are focused on the road ahead. With both hands on the steering wheel, his expression appears neutral—contemplative, maybe? It doesn’t quite match his tone.
The car pulls up to the curb near the front of the cul-de-sac. The engine idles, headlights illuminating the SOLD sign in front of the nearest empty lot. With a sigh, he leans against the steering wheel, still watching out the windshield with narrowed eyes.
“You can stay with us for a while,” he says. I make a soft noise, and he glances over. “There’s not much for you at home right now, is there?”
For a second, I’m relieved—the prospect of my empty house isn’t the most appealing right now—but why offer to let me stay? He’s still pretending that nothing happened yesterday, right? Is it not as easy for him as he makes it look? Is he worried about me?
“Is that okay?”
He shrugs, his expression softening. “I can’t imagine it would be much trouble. The twins like you well enough. But I’m your sponsor, Jayde. You’re my responsibility now.”
Is that all?
“Oh, well... I guess I can stay a few days.”
“Night may complain, but she’ll get over it. We can stop by your place when we’re done here.” A deep breath. Then he clears his throat and smiles. “Now then, let’s set off those fireworks.”
We cross to the far side with one of the mortars—leaving the other two on the hood of the car. I listen while he explains the fuse length. Once he lights the fuse, we have about fifteen seconds to make it back to the car before the shell launches. Technically, the car is not a “safe” distance away from the empty lot, but he says it with a laugh like I shouldn’t worry. I guess he trusts the guy who made them.
Still...
“I’ll head back before you light it,” I say.
He laughs again. “Go on, then.”
I jog back to the car and turn to watch as Ice kneels beside the firework. The tiny, bright flame of a pocket lighter held against the paper fuse. A spark as it catches, and his silhouette glancing over one shoulder. A white cat takes his place and dashes across the blacktop, and he returns to human form a few paces away.
He smooths his shirt, and we watch the fuse burn. A tiny light in the dark that disappears into the cardboard mortar. I hold my breath.
How loud will it be? How bright?
A beat of silence.
With a flash of light, a whistling streak shoots out of the tube and flies into the sky. I track it with my eyes—up, up, up, at least a hundred feet in the air—until it goes off with a deafening BANG! The burst sheds a globular shower of white sparks and red stars and pale smoke that fills the sky above the cul-de-sac.
A chunk of smoldering cardboard hits the ground with a thud halfway between us and the spent mortar.
“Whoa!”
The sparks fade to black as they drift down from the sky. My heart still racing, I turn to Ice. He watches me with eyes reflecting green in the low light.
“It’s that exciting for you?” he asks.
“Mm... I think we’re standing too close.”
He laughs and excuses himself to set up the second firework. I stay with the car, still unconvinced this is in any way safe. If I lived around here, I’d call the police. Though, dozens of similar fireworks went off in the neighborhood last night, so they might be used to it on holidays.
Ugh... This is cool, though.
A feline Ice races back and morphs before reaching the car. He stands a little closer than before. Another inch or two, and his arm would brush mine. But we don’t touch, and his eyes zero in on the empty lot across the road.
Whoosh.
Ziiiiiip—
I catch sight of the flying shell, more prepared for the blast than I was the first time. Like cannon fire resonating within my chest. A shower of white and gold and green. The sparks dim and fall as the smoke drifts higher into the sky. It was so bright, white specks dance around my vision.
For some reason, I want to apologize again. For leaving the group last night. Or for kissing him. Or something. But he hasn’t mentioned the kiss once, and he was so eager to pretend like the whole day never happened when I suggested it.
“Last one,” he says.
I nod.
He takes the final mortar and crosses to the other side again.
The wind picks up, and I brush my hair out of my face and over my shoulder. A finger swipes the River Sapphire’s chain as my hand falls away, shifting the pendant’s weight against my skin.
A chill down the spine. Goosebumps prickle on my arm.
What’s up with that?