Ignite the Shadows

by Ingrid Seymour

  A foul smell, like ten pounds of rotting meat, inundates my nose. I shut my eyes, oblivious to what will happen next. I’m nothing but scraps as it is. I don’t even feel the pain anymore. In the effort it’s taken to tip the van over the cliff, I’ve lost myself and what’s left of me isn’t enough to put me back together. The hollow feel of my bones, the unconcerned quality of my thoughts, the absence of hope. I’m as good as crocodile bait.

  Something like a thunderclap followed by an insistent voice calling my name brings me back from oblivion. My eyes flutter open.

  I’m still here, on the frozen ground.

  Really?!

  Give me a break.

  The one repeating my name over and over is James, I think.

  I hear another loud pop, followed by Blare’s loud curses. “Take that, you bastard!” A flash of silver catches my eye—Blare’s large gun. I flinch as she discharges another round, gun pointed toward the ground. I glance over and catch a glimpse of something gruesome. Blood and splattered tissue.

  I don’t want to be awake. Nothingness is better than this. I try to tell James to let me be, but only garbled nonsense comes out. Pain is a ghost threatening to haunt me once more. I want it gone.

  “Stay with me, Marci,” he says.

  Can’t really go anywhere, can I? He won’t let me, and even though something strong and blissful lures me, his rumbling voice has a stronger hold on me. My lips move.

  “What, honey? What did you say?” James says tenderly in my ear. His voice shifts, changes directions. “We have to get out of here. Now!”

  “I don’t think we should move her,” Aydan says in a feeble way.

  “We have no choice,” James says, as he picks me up in his arms.

  Pain is definitely making a comeback. I groan.

  “I’m sorry,” James apologizes.

  My head falls to his chest. The world turns, bounces, and jerks as James runs. Pain returns with a vengeance. I will darkness to take me away once more, and it doesn’t take long to answer my call. The sliver of consciousness conjured by James is too weak to withstand this pulsating agony.

  I’m sorry, James. I can’t stay with you.

  Chapter 45

  “Say that again.”

  My throat, my mouth, my whole body feel dry, like a husk. I can’t say it again.

  “What did she say?”

  “I don’t know, but she needs to stop trying to talk.”

  “Is she in pain?”

  “She shouldn’t be. I gave her enough morphine.”

  “She has to make it.”

  “She will. She’s strong.”

  Before I open my eyes, I become aware of my labored breathing, strained voices and shuffling steps. The word I’ve been trying to say sits like a practiced verse on my lips. It rolls off easily and this time I’m strong enough to make myself heard.

  “Xave.”

  Someone squeezes my hand. “Hey, sweetie. Can you open your eyes?”

  “Xave.”

  “Shhh, it’s okay.”

  No, it’s not okay. My eyes spring open. I want to know where Xave is.

  Kristen stands over me. Other indistinguishable figures surround me.

  “Xave,” I repeat as forcefully as I can, which isn’t saying much. Hot irons press against my ribs with the effort of saying his name.

  “Calm down.” James appears next to Kristen. “We’re at The Tank. Clark and Xave don’t know this place.”

  They don’t know if Xave’s okay. They still don’t know anything! If I could scream, I would. I struggle, feebly. Yet it’s enough to get a reaction.

  “I’ll go find him for you. I promise,” James says.

  “No, I’ll go.” It’s Aydan. I must be in really rough shape if he’s offering to help.

  Kristen calls the shots. “C’mon, let’s take her in for an X-ray. Then I’ll hook her to an IV.”

  I slip in and out of consciousness. My lips move in a constant litany no matter whether I’m awake or dreaming. I don’t know other words. Only Xave’s name. In my semi-wakeful moments, the pain is just a dull, faraway thing. There’s something on my face, but my hands don’t obey me when I order them to fling it away.

  How long have I been here? If they told me it’s been five years, I’d believe them. If they said five seconds, I’d believe them too.

  Suddenly, I’m awake, staring at James who is sitting on a chair next to me. He’s still wearing the same clothes. There are scratches on his arms and a bandage on the side of his neck. I guess I haven’t been out that long.

  “Where’s Xave?” I demand in a hoarse whisper. “You promised to find him.”

  James straightens from his slumped position on the chair.

  “You look better,” he says.

  My tongue feels like sandpaper. I swallow a dry lump. “Where is he?”

  “You are one determined pain in the ass.” James laughs and walks toward the door. “I’ll go get Kristen.”

  “You promised,” I croak.

  “Hey.”

  My heart skips a beat, then begins to thud at a higher pace. Slowly, I look to my left. Xave is sitting right next to the bed. A small smile tweaks his mouth, in spite of the concern brimming in his beautiful, hazel eyes. I exhale a thousand pounds of apprehension and inhale the peace of his presence.

  “What happened to you? Are you all right?” I croak.

  Xave gives an incredulous snort. “Am I all right? You silly goose!”

  He hasn’t called me that in a very long time. When we were little, I learned the endearment from Dad and used it on Xave. He used it back a few times and, apparently, still remembers it.

  Something stings in my eyes. It must have something to do with the dull throbbing in my head.

  Hesitantly, Xave takes my hand. An unearthly feeling prickles through my body till it collects in my core, making me feel like a smoldering ember inside.

  He shakes his head, glaring at me. “What the hell were you doing in there, Marci?”

  “They didn’t explain?” I ask, unsure of what to say. The fact that he’s here at The Tank raises a lot of questions. I don’t know how much James told him.

  “I just got here. I came straight to see you. Besides, it’s a mad house out there.” He gestures toward the door with his head.

  “Why? What’s happening?”

  “Forget that. I want you to tell me why you went inside that clinic. You were supposed to be in the van, helping that pompous jackass. Next thing I know you’re inside the freakin’ building.” The heat in his words, although subdued compared to what I’m used to, shows the same anger raging in his quick-tempered, hard head.

  I clear my throat and make a big show of swallowing, which isn’t that hard to do since I’m parched.

  “Is there any water?” I look around the room.

  With a frustrated sigh, Xave stands and pours some water from a pitcher on the side table. He sticks a straw in the white Styrofoam cup and puts it to my lips. I manage a few sips, but when my stomach threatens to send it back, I shake my head. Setting the cup back on the table, he sits and takes my hand, igniting me all over again. He glares at me.

  We look at each other for a long moment, then I say, “It’s hard to talk with all these bandages against my ribs. Why don’t you tell me what happened to you? The others can explain why I had to go in. Or I can tell you when I feel better.” Strangely, I feel as if I could break into a dissertation of my side of the story, but instead I wince and hold my side, pretending it hurts more than it does. I’m surprised by how well I feel, considering that just hours ago I thought I was going to die. My pain tolerance must be super low. What a wimp.

  My bit of acting douses Xave’s anger and replaces it with concern. It’s wrong to worry him, considering how upset I was when I didn’t know if he was okay, but I can’t risk revealing something I shouldn’t.

  Xave humors me and begins his story. “That jackass kept me out of the loop.”

  I’m guessing he means Ay
dan, but I don’t know why he keeps calling him a jackass. I mean, I know he’s a jackass, but I don’t know how Xave reached the same conclusion so soon. I resolve not to interrupt, hoping any questions I have are answered along the way.

  “I had no idea what was going on. I sent Clark a text, telling him my earpiece wasn’t working anymore, although at first it was receiving with no problems. He texted me back, said he’d let me know anything important. A while later, I get another text saying you’d gone in.”

  Xave squeezes my hand and stares at it, as if to make sure it’s real. I squeeze back. He looks up, surprised, then tries to hide his reaction by jumping back into the story.

  As I listen, I hold on tightly, wondering how to make things right between us and hoping to find the courage.

  Chapter 46

  Xave talks in a low voice. “When I saw that car speeding down the road, I warned Aydan about reinforcements. When he copied my message, I realized the earpiece was working all along and that jerk just thought I wasn’t important enough to know what was happening.”

  That sounds like Aydan, all right.

  “It’s either that or …” He trails off.

  “Or what?”

  “Nothing,” he says, sounding like it’s definitely something. “Anyway, I knew I had to stop them. I had to give you time to get out of there.” The way he says “you” makes it clear he definitely means me and not everybody else.

  “Trying to be a hero?” I want it sound like a joke, but it comes out like a reproach, which is what it really is. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

  “Um, do I need to point out I’m not the one in a hospital bed?”

  I roll my eyes. “So what did you do?”

  “I chased them on my bike and shot out their tires.”

  My eyebrows jump up, but before I can ask, Xave answers what would have been my next question.

  “Clark gave me a gun. Turns out I’m still a good shot.”

  Xave used to go hunting in north Washington with Clark and his father when he was little. I used to tease him and call him Yosemite Sam, using Bugs Bunny’s voice. He hated it.

  He continues, eyes fixed on our linked hands. “Their car skidded off the road and slammed against a tree. I waited to see if they’d come out. I wanted to make sure they wouldn’t just run into the clinic. Next thing I know, three guys jump out and start toward me. I flipped tail and started driving away, but lost control of the bike. Got some pretty sweet road-rash on my back, but didn’t feel it at the time.” Xave cracks his neck and winces a little. “I feel it now, though.” He gives an unamused chuckle.

  “Has anyone looked at it?”

  “Nah, everyone’s more banged up than me.”

  “Still, you need to have it checked,” I adamantly say.

  Xave peers at me sideways. “Since when did you become so protective?”

  “Um, I’m not. It’s just … common sense. You know.”

  “A-ha.” He’s not buying it. With a satisfied smile he lets me off the hook and continues his story. “After I skidded along the road like an old piece of trash, I saw those freaks were still walking toward me, all cool and relaxed, as if they were chasing an ancient grandma. I was still clutching my gun, and they just kept coming. Something in their eyes … spooked me. I’m not embarrassed to say it,” he adds in a hurry. “Those things are unnatural.” He pauses, his hazel eyes dark and lost on a faraway spot beyond this room. “Evil,” he whispers.

  I shiver, remembering the glittering eyes of the half-crocodile beast that almost ate me. “Were they walking … normal?”

  My question gives Xave pause. “Normal?” he repeats. “Yes, I guess. If walking all Terminator-like can be called normal. It was like they knew I would freak out, like they expected me to run even though I was armed.

  “And I did. I took off into the woods like a mad man, trying to find a place to hide. I could hear them crunching leaves behind me. I docked by a huge hollow tree and clutched the gun to my chest. It could’ve been a stuffed animal or something for all the good it was doing. I couldn’t think straight.” Xave shakes his head, smirking at his idiocy with incredulity.

  “One of them laughed. He sounded like a freakin’ hyena. That made me snap out of it. I wasn’t about to just sit there waiting for them to flush me out like a rat. So I did what I thought they expected the least. I came out shooting.”

  “What?! Are you insane? You? Against three Eklyptors?”

  “Yeah. Me. Against three freaks.” The you-have-a-problem-with-that tone makes me doubt his sanity.

  “You idiot,” I say. “No one needs a dead hero.”

  “Sorry to point out the obvious, sweetheart, but I’m not dead.”

  I never knew Xave could smile with such sexy charm. And he’s calling me sweetheart? In spite of how ridiculous it sounds, I find my face getting hot. What the heck? Am I blushing? I don’t do blushing. He doesn’t seem to notice, so I try getting it under control.

  “And, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the one wrapped up like a stinking mummy,” he adds.

  I put my hand on my torso, feeling for the bandages. I vaguely remember Kristen putting them on while I sat in a daze. She said I had a broken rib and would feel better once I was bandaged up. At first, I doubted anything would help, but it has.

  “I don’t stink,” I protest, but I can’t help wrinkling my nose a bit as I take in my own scent. Xave laughs. I do too, but stop when my broken rib starts to sing.

  “Man, they were fast!” he continues his tale. “I kept missing, but all that experience shooting deer came in handy. I aimed ahead and two ran right into my bullets,” he says, jaw twitching with intense feeling.

  “The third one got smart. He almost had me. He jumped up in the air and sprouted freakin’ bat wings. I’m not making it up.”

  “I know you’re not.” My own horrifying memories of the night come back to me and I have no trouble imagining what Xave saw. I know the underpinnings of this nightmare.

  “Clark’s the reason I’m still here.”

  “So yeah, you are an idiot,” I say, holding his gaze. “Just a very lucky one.”

  He becomes all serious, props his arm on the pillow, and looks deep into my eyes. With his thumb, he smooths my eyebrow in a soft, shy caress. The room begins to spin, the bed becomes a weird, fluffy cloud. He’s never looked at me this way—Xave with his stormy, hazel eyes and perfect lips. The temperamental boy who seems to have grown into a courageous man overnight and who risked his life to buy me a few precious seconds.

  “I was so worried about you,” he whispers, and he’s so close that his warm, cinnamon breath grazes my cheek. “I panicked, started thinking that … I’d never see you again.”

  My throat tightens. I felt the same panic for him and hearing him talk openly about it—forgetting all our differences and clumsy attempts to communicate—cracks me open.

  How could I ever pretend it was best to grow apart? Maybe he won’t want me when he finds out what I really am. Maybe he will feel betrayed, revolted. But who was I kidding? I’d risk everything for just this moment.

  “I thought I’d never get a chance to tell you …” His eyes are moist. I’ve never seen him like this. Ever. “To tell you what a pain in the ass you are.” He fights a smile.

  I mock-punch him and I open my mouth to reply, but he puts a finger on my lips for a fraction of a second. Heat seals my lips, makes me crave his touch.

  “I’ve been dense, to say the least,” he says.

  “Yeah, a blockhead.”

  He gives me a sad smile. “That day at the arcade, I brought Judy to see how you’d react. I was shooting for Jealous Vixen, but got Cold Queen instead.”

  “What a genius plan,” I say sarcastically.

  “Hey, I’m just a plain old average guy. Yeah, it was stupid, but I didn’t know what else to do. You’d turned away from me when I tried a different approach.”

  “Um, I did?”

  “That time we en
ded up this close, remember?” He measures an invisible inch with his fingers.

  “You did that on purpose? I thought that was an accident!”

  He shrugs.

  “Subtle,” I say.

  “Oh, I can be subtle,” he says, then brushes his thumb along my jaw. I shudder.

  “Let me finish, okay?” he says.

  Who knew Xave could string more than two sentences together? Since he turned thirteen, I thought kicking Dumpsters was the extent of his communication skills. Of course I’m not about to discourage him, now.

  “Well, Ms. Cold Queen, what I realized tonight is that I was being a coward.”

  “Mmm,” I mumble, nodding in full agreement.

  “Yeah, I admit it. But no more. Because even if you run for the hills after I tell you … well … I’ll still feel exactly the same way. And I’ll always regret not being braver. Besides, I can’t run from it. Believe me, I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. ’Cause it’s you, Marci. It’s always been you. And I’ve always known it, always been afraid that you would hate me and push me away. But I’m done with hiding from it. I’m crazy about you. Have been for a while.”

  He waits for me to say something, searches my face for a reaction. I’m not sure what he sees there, but I doubt it’s helpful. My emotions are out of control, and maybe I expect him to say more. But short of the “L” word, there’s nothing else he can say. Besides, I don’t know if I’d be able to say it back. For that matter, I don’t know if I’ll be able to say anything at all, because that last thing he said … well … I’m dumbstruck.

  “Um, you don’t have to say anything,” he says, staring at my mouth with more than just interest in the words that might come out of it. “I know it’s hard and you may not … I mean, this may be too much for you right now.”

  I try to say something and only a puff of air comes out. How can I top what he just said when all I can think of is “Ditto, Xave, just kiss me already”?

  He stares at the door in concentration, knits thick eyebrows and asks, “Do you want me to go? Let you rest?” He lets go of my hand and stands.