My blood became ice.
I turned the volume up.
The image flashed to Serena sitting on the back of an ambulance, a reporter beside her. It was dark out—this had been recorded last night, right after the incident.
“What happened after you ran from them?” the reporter asked.
The girl was shaking, and her eyes were glossed with unshed tears. “T-they ran after me. T-there was a group of people close by, and I yelled for them. When they started running to me, the masked men retreated.” She lifted her arm and ran her hand over her neck.
I gasped. She had my bracelets. All of them.
A memory snaked into my mind.
When I was twelve, I had a best friend in middle school. Layla. During winter break, Layla went to visit her grandparents. So, before she left for the break, I had made her a necklace with broken shells I had collected.
“I’ll never take it off!” she had promised.
Layla sent me a picture during her Christmas dinner with her family—she had still been wearing the necklace. That was only a few moments before it happened.
What the police described as masked men invaded their house and killed Layla and her family. And the necklace? The police told me they didn’t find any necklace. It was gone. Vanished.
Or taken.
I shuddered and switched the channel.
On the screen, a group of teenage girls got ready for a party—I had no idea which movie this was.
I sighed, envious of those characters’ busy weekends. I rarely did anything other than stay home and watch movies. Every Saturday morning, I started a chant in my head. I’ll go out tonight. I’ll go out tonight. So my mind would be prepared when it was time to get ready. But whenever the time came, I stared at my poor closet and gave up every time. Not because I didn’t have anything to wear, but because I didn’t have the courage to do it.
In high school, the popular girls threw parties that went late into the night. I had been invited to a few, but my mother never allowed me to go. I was teased for having a mother who not only looked like a cuckoo, but was also a huge control freak. I sneaked out of the house a couple of times and went to the parties. I had my first kiss at one.
And the more I snuck out the bolder I got, going out more often and staying out longer. The night I met the guy who could have become my boyfriend, I was caught. I was grounded for an entire month, and my mother decided we should sleep with our bedroom doors open. She started checking in on me in the middle of night. She even threatened to install a security alarm, but she didn’t go that far.
This time, there was nothing or anyone to stop me. I should go. I could have fun. Meet someone. A friend. A guy.
Insecurity crawled up my spine and took root around my heart. I wasn’t ready to let anyone in. I should be alone. If my insecurity wasn’t enough, then remembering what happened to Serena was.
And to Layla, so many years ago.
I embraced my fear and remembered my mother’s warnings: Do not trust anyone.
That always kept me on my toes and away from everyone.
“That’s it for today, my little sweet buns.” I turned off the music. The eleven girls, ranging in age from four to six, came running and screaming at me and embraced me all at once. “Easy, easy,” I teased as they tried to squash me under their thin, young arms.
This was their first class after summer break, and they certainly seemed excited to be back.
“Miss Reyes,” the new member of our class, Annie, called to me once the others released me. She had been brought in by Julie two minutes after class started this morning. She had been shy and quiet for the duration of the class. “You’ll be here next class, right?”
I knelt before her and held her hands. “Of course. Why?”
Her big green eyes fixed on mine. “I don’t want you to leave. Ever.”
I smiled. “Why would I leave?”
“I don’t know. I’m just asking that you don’t,” she said, her plump cheeks enticing me to squeeze them.
“I won’t go anywhere,” I told her before kissing her forehead.
“There you are,” a male voice came from the door. I stood and saw a well-dressed man coming in. “Hi, sugarplum.” His smile was genuine, and his arms opened wide as she squealed and ran to him.
“Daddy.” Her sweet voice was muffled by his arms around her.
My stomach churned and my eyes became wet. A dad coming to pick up his little princess and hugging her as if he had found gold. What a kind, sweet gesture, yet simple and free. A gesture I had never had.
I would forever envy daughters whose fathers cared for them.
“Excuse me,” I muttered as I walked past father and daughter and left the classroom before I made a scene and cried my eyes out.
Why did I care so much? I was twenty years old. A grown-up. I should be over it. No, I shouldn’t even think about it. My father had abandoned my mother and me because he wanted to. Why would I give a damn about him?
Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy.
“Miss Reyes?” the man called after me, releasing Annie. She hugged his leg.
I quickly wiped my eyes before turning to them with a practiced smile. “Yes?”
“I’m Phillip Morrison, Annie’s dad.” He extended his hand to me, and while I shook his hand, I couldn’t help but notice two things. One, he was young to have a five-year-old daughter, and two, he was cute. Very, very cute. Tall and broad, with blond hair and blue eyes.
I let go of his hand. “Mirella Reyes.”
Smiling, he glanced at his child. “Why don’t you sit on the bench?” He pointed to a wooden bench that ran along the corridor wall. “And change your shoes while I talk to Miss Reyes?”
Annie nodded and sat on the bench a couple of feet behind us. Without the smile, he turned to me.
Worry tugged at my chest. “Is there something wrong?”
“I just wanted to let you know that Annie is a little shy, but she warms up eventually,” he said in a low voice. “We’ve moved so much lately because of my work, it’s hard for her to open up and make friends. But I really hope to stick around this time and make it work for her.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t usually tell this to strangers, but her mother was young when she got pregnant, and she didn’t want Annie. Right after her Annie’s first birthday, she gave me full custody and disappeared.”
“O-okay.” Why the hell was he telling me this?
“Sorry. I just … I wanted you to understand her a little. She’s reclusive. I’m trying to change that.”
I smiled, touched by this father’s love. “Thanks for trusting me, Mr. Morrison. I’ll try to coax her out of her shell while in class.”
“Thank you. Um, call me Phillip, please.”
“Okay,” I muttered.
He glanced over his shoulder to Annie. She was seated on the bench, her sneakers on her feet, and she glanced at a blank spot at the wall.
“Ready to go, sugarplum?”
As if snapping from a daydream, Annie jumped off the bench and nodded.
“Bye, Annie.” I waved at her. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Bye, Miss Reyes,” she replied, her sweet voice a little low on enthusiasm.
Phillip smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Reyes.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to call me Mirella, but they turned and started walking away before I could. I heard Annie asking him to enroll her in another class, and that warmed my core. Apparently, the first class had gone well if she already wanted more.
After finishing the new flamenco for adults class Thursday night, I dropped my bag on the bench in the center of the dressing room and sat down beside it with a heavy huff. Before the flamenco class, I had taught a ballet class for teenagers and another one for little kids, and before that, I had had English and biology classes. I was exhausted.
Tonia, Maria, and Ellie entered the locker room, chatting.
>
“Miss Reyes,” Maria started. “Great class.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking off my flamenco shoes. “Please call me Mirella. I’m about your age, and I feel like I’m fifty years old when you call me miss.”
Maria chuckled. “Sounds good.”
Ellie dropped her bag beside mine. “We’re going to a pizza place a few blocks from here. The Pizza Tower? It’s supposed to be good. Want to come with us?”
My hand froze over my sandals. I had heard the same thing about that pizza place; although, I still hadn’t gone there. But that wasn’t what made me freeze.
Ellie was inviting me to go out. Like a friend would ask another friend to eat out. I looked at her. She was smiling at me, waiting for a response. Her eyes shone as if she was happy and excited, as if she wanted me to say yes.
But why? Why did she want to be my friend? And why was I overthinking this? All I had to do was say yes. Yes. I could go out with them. Meet new people. Open up. Make friends.
The images of Layla’s bloody body on the floor and a shaking Serena telling the reporters about the masked men flashed in my mind, and I flinched.
I averted my eyes. “Sorry. I can’t.”
She lost the smile. “Oh. Okay.”
Trying not to pay attention to their conversation, I fished the new studio sweatshirt from my bag. Beside me, Ellie did the same.
“Jinx,” she said, holding up the dark pink and black sweatshirt in front of her. “I really like it.”
“Me too.” My cell phone beeped, and I dropped the sweatshirt on top of my bag to answer it at the same time Ellie knocked one of her flamenco shoes off the bench. I checked the number, half of my attention on Ellie while she let go of her sweatshirt and picked up the shoe. Unknown number. “Hello?” An automatic voice talking about a nonexistent credit card came from the other side of the line. Shit, I hated these calls. Annoyed, I turned off my phone.
Beside me, Ellie had exchanged her leotard and tights for the studio sweatshirt and jeans.
She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Bye, Mirella. See you next class.”
“Bye,” I said before she left with the other girls.
I took off my leotard, put on the studio’s tee, and reached for my sweatshirt. It wasn’t on my bag. I looked around and found it on the floor. Frowning, I picked it up and checked the tag. My name wasn’t written there.
The blood drained from my face. Shit. Ellie was wearing my sweatshirt. Fear gripped my gut. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I shoved my ripped jeans on, slipped on my sandals, and rushed out of the changing room.
“Where’s the fire?” Julie asked as I raced through the lobby, stopping only long enough to leave my bag behind her desk.
“I’ll explain later,” I said, knowing all too well that I would have to come up with some beautiful lie.
I shot out of the dance studio and ran toward the pizza place. There were two possible routes, and I hoped I had chosen the right one.
Two blocks later, I caught up with the other girls, but not Ellie.
“She said something about dropping her bag in her car,” Tonia said.
“Where is her car?”
“At Al’s parking garage.”
Oh crap.
I yelled thanks and ran back. Al’s garage was an old and dark, four-story building on the corner of the street where the dance studio was. The old and dark part got to me, and my stomach twisted.
I had never prayed in my entire life. I had never had a reason to. But this time seemed as good as any. Please, God, if you exist, don’t let me be too late.
I halted at the main entrance of the garage. Shit, what now? How would I find her?
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and released my senses. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, how it would feel, and how I would identify it, but I knew the air felt different whenever there was distress, when something was happening.
The first floor felt fine, the second floor too. At the back of the third floor, something dark and heavy loomed.
My eyes shot open, and I darted to the nearest stairs. I climbed the steps three at a time. On the third floor, I found Ellie closing the trunk of her car right in the front of the building.
“Mirella?” she asked, walking around her car. “Did you park around here, too?”
“Um.” Now what? I didn’t even have a car. What should I tell her? “Not really.”
She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“I—” The something dark and heavy moved. My head snapped in its direction. There was nothing there, but I couldn’t see much because of the weak lighting. “We should go.”
“Um, I was going to the pizza place.”
The darkness came closer and closer.
I shoved her sweatshirt at her. “This is yours. You have mine.”
She looked down at herself. “Really?”
“Yes. I have my name written on the tag.” I showed her the tag of her sweatshirt. “See? No name here.”
She chuckled. “You didn’t have to come all the way here for it. I would have noticed and brought it to you next class. Washed and ironed.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think of that.” I extended my hand to her. “Can I have my sweatshirt, please?”
With a frown, she took off the sweatshirt, leaving only a tank top covering her upper body. “Here.” She pushed the sweatshirt to me, and then put on hers.
“Thank you.” I clutched my sweatshirt as the heavy feeling—the dark feeling—became stronger. “You should get going. The girls will be worried.”
She still looked at me as if I were crazy. “Right.” A loud beep echoed through the garage as she locked her car. “I’ll see you around.”
I waved at her. “See ya.”
She turned and started walking toward the staircase. I thought staying put would look creepier, so I walked away from her. Closer to the darkness.
I glanced over my shoulder—Ellie turned into the staircase and climbed down.
Holding my breath, I halted.
The feeling was suffocating. It was hot, heavy, and slick. It felt like oil, but there was nothing in front of me.
Until there was.
I turned to run to the staircase.
The masked men appeared around me. Just like that. Appeared. Out of nowhere. Like shadows. But they were real. Very, very real, and very, very big.
My heart raced.
Was this it? The warning from the Romani woman. Was this death coming for me?
Wearing all black, the eight men closed in on me. On instinct, I looked into their eyes. Big, black eyes and little white. Bald with pale skin and a black mask covering the lower part of their face. I swallowed and tried to think through the panic rushing through me, threatening to take me under. I had come here to save Ellie, hadn’t I? Now, she was safe, and I had to save myself.
“What do you want?” I asked, forcing my voice to come out loud and clear. And failing miserably.
Looking at me, the men extended their right hands and a thin sword appeared from dark smoke. Just like that. Again.
Holy shit …
“What do you want?” I repeated the question. For some reason, I thought they wanted me. But if so, why did they kill Layla and come after Ellie?
“I don’t know about them, but we’re gonna play,” a new voice said.
I turned and saw three men behind the masked men, also holding swords in their hands, but these men weren’t masked or wearing black.
The guy in the center stared into my eyes. “You okay?”
Ensnared by the intensity radiating from him, it took me a second to answer. “Y-yeah.”
He approached, left hand raised to touch me. A black and red tattoo peeked out from under the folded sleeve of his shirt. Just a hint of thick, wavy lines.
I stepped back, wary of any of them. Afraid, actually.
He dropped his hand. “It’s okay … just stay back.”
“Enough talking,” the guy on his left said
. He had been the first voice I had heard. He raised his sword. “Let’s play.” He advanced on the masked men.
I jumped back while those guys engaged the masked men in a fight. The clang of swords and the grunts of effort reached my ears, and I kept walking back and away. The blows, the jumps, the whirls … they were all so beautiful, and also crazy. All of this was too crazy.
I shot to the stairs. I ran down the steps and out to the street and back to the dance studio.
Out of breath and heart racing, I stopped by the front steps.
My mind was on the masked men. I had seen them tonight. The men who killed Layla. The men who attacked Serena. And just now had gone for Ellie. Who the hell were those people? Who the hell were those other men?
That wasn’t the most important thing now. The important thing was that Ellie was safe. I had gotten to her before anything bad could happen.
But for how long? For how long would I, or anyone who got too close to me, be safe?
3
I barely slept a wink. The events of the previous night kept replaying in my mind. Over and over and over. And every time I closed my eyes, I saw those dark eyes and those shadowy swords. Because of that, I was up at six in the morning on a Friday—when I could actually sleep in.
I had my breakfast while browsing Netflix, not really paying attention to it.
I had to get myself tired. That was the only way to force myself to sleep—a deep, dreamless sleep. I could go down to the studio and dance. Dance until I was dripping with sweat, until I couldn’t lift an arm or a leg anymore, until I fell on the floor like a big blob. Then, I could drag my sorry ass home, fall in my bed, and sleep for real.
I went back to my bedroom and grabbed my dance tote. It should have everything I needed to dance, but—
The doorbell rang.
I froze.
Who the hell could it be? Besides Julie and Miss Dona, no one knew where I lived, and my neighbors never bothered me.
My heart thundering in my chest, I tiptoed to the door.
“Who is it?” I called out.
“It’s me, sweetie.”
My knees gave out, and I had to reach for the knob to not fall on my butt.
Heart Seeker (The Fire Heart Chronicles Book 1) Page 2