Ignite (28 page)

Smiling to myself, I look up to the sky, expecting to see an expanse of stars staring back at me. But I can hardly see any. The bright glow of the city pollutes the sky and turns the edges of the deep night a strange orange, extinguishing the lights of the stars. I sigh. I know the stars are there. They’re just masked behind the city’s brightness. I can unmask them if I can just get far away enough from the city and its glaring marquees.

I wonder if this is what Michael thinks when he sees me—that my light is just masked by pollution and if I just get far enough away from that pollution, I’ll shine brighter. If I am distanced from Hell, I’ll be able to see my light for myself. How much distance will it take?

I come out of the alley on a vacant street and run down the middle of the road, throwing myself into the air as my wings open wide and soar up into the sky, flying towards the dark mountains. As I leave behind the steel and cement of the city for the dark green, reds, and browns of the mountains, the stars become visible.

Small stars blink on, one by one, and they sparkle delicately below larger stars. Their silvery blue lights wink at me, welcoming me back.

It feels good to leave the busy city for the open, empty mountains. I fly above the peaks and through the valleys of the mountains, looking down at the trees that are now just beginning to drop their colorful leaves. The cold wind whips my face and brings light tears to my eyes. I spin around wildly, enjoying this moment of freedom and letting go of all my worries. This could be one of the last times I can do something like this, to really let go.

Recently, I have had the same feeling Michael has been having. My perfect house of cards, I fear, is about to collapse. It just takes one mistimed moment, one shaky hand. For now, though, I am able to forget about the uncertainty and just fly.

***

After a few hours of circling the sky outside of the city, I decide to go back to my room and check in with Azael again. He still thinks I’ve been spending my days with Michael, so I’ll have to come up with another story to tell him. An excuse to feed him to buy myself time.

I fall out of the sky slowly, folding my wings behind me as I land on the empty street. The streetlights lining the road are dark, their lightbulbs either shattered or burned out. I don’t mind, though, because I can see fine in the dark. I walk down the middle of the street, aimlessly kicking at gravel loosed from the paved road.

This road is much more narrow than the road in front of the hotel. It is only one lane wide, forcing traffic during the day to flow in the same direction, and there are no metered parking spaces. Instead, there is a short, wide parking garage at the end of the block.

A loud crash of metal garbage cans echoes behind me. I look over my shoulder and don’t see anything, so I keep walking. But then I hear something else, another loud sound that breaks through the darkness. The noise is high and twinkling, and by the smell I can tell its beer bottles falling against the sidewalk, the glass shattering. I stop, turn around, and wait. I scan the buildings lining the street and squint into the alleys that stretch between the offices.

An alley I just passed a few buildings back has a shattered beer bottle broken at its mouth, the green shards of glass sparkling on top of a murky amber liquid that spreads across the sidewalk. Shadows dance wildly in the alley, but I don’t move. I wait in the silence. My amulet pulses once, glowing faintly above my shirt, and I regard it suspiciously before tucking it below my collar. If it’s Azael, he’ll have to wait.

A group of men comes stumbling out of the alley, leaning on each other to keep from falling face first onto the sidewalk. Each of them has a bottle of beer clutched in their meaty hands, and they hoot loudly at one another.

The five men are large and muscled, dressed in stained sweatshirts and hats with logos, none of the brims facing the same way. I guess them to be in their mid-twenties. They all sway together as they fall off the curb and spill out into the road, like a tipsy ballet.

Even from here, I can smell them. They smell like a brewery—warm beer and something stronger and drier. The sour smell of sweat also clings to them and I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

I’m about to turn around and keep walking to the alley that lets out nearer to the hotel when one of the men spots me. He is tall and wide, thick as a tree. He whistles loudly and shouts something vulgar at me. His friends laugh, raising their bottles and taking a long swig. He breaks away from the pack, steadying himself as he takes a few steps in front of them, pointing at me with his hand that’s clutching his beer.

“You there. Pretty girl.” His words slur.

I sneer and turn away from him, but I don’t walk fast. I won’t run away from them. They are nothing. Just a bunch of drunk frat boys.

“Hey!” he shouts angrily. “What, are you too good for me or something?”

I keep walking.

“You’re a bitch.” His friends bark out an entertained laugh and clink their bottles together.

I stop, turning slowly on my heel to look at them all.

They notice I’ve stopped and the leader of their boozy pack steps forward again, striding up to me. His eyes are dark and slightly glassy, but they hold a sharpness to them, an understanding. He’s not as drunk as he’s pretending to be. He knows what he’s doing.

I look past him at his other four friends. One of them bends over and throws up on the street, wipes his hand across his mouth, and laughs, taking another swig. They’re all completely drunk, their eyes swimming with alcohol, but I can tell they’re not harmless.

The one in front of me, however, appears to be the most dangerous of them all—and he’s lucid. Something about him seems mildly threatening, his posture challenging and confident. He’s foolishly brazen.

I look at him, my eyes hard and my jaw clenched.

“Well what have we here?” He walks around me, pushing his body up against mine. He circles his arm across my shoulder and grips tightly, pinning me to his chest for a moment. His forearm presses against my windpipe, and if I had to breathe, I wouldn’t be able to. It’s a threat, a show of dominance.

I don’t flinch, even when I see the excited, smug grins of the four other men who watch me. None of them step up to stop their friend. If anything, he seems to be encouraged by their stares and squeezes tighter around my throat.

He lets go and stands in front of me, inches from my face. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out so late all by yourself?”

He reaches his sweaty hand out towards my face and I swat it away.

His eyes blaze with anger, but he beats it down. “No one is out this late unless they’re looking for trouble. You looking for trouble?” He no longer slurs his words; they are crisp and sharp with rage.

The desire to kill him boils up inside of me, hot and urgent, but I ignore it, taking a short breath.
Think of Michael.

I stare at him for a moment before I answer. “I think you are making a mistake.”

He ignores me. “Because if you are looking for trouble, I’ve got good news for you: you’ve found it.” He spreads his arms wide and tosses aside his beer. “Aren’t you lucky.”

“You should leave,” I hiss. I look over his shoulder to his friends again. “All of you should go, now.”

They laugh stupidly, snorting and huffing for breath. One of the four men behind the first guy calls out, “I don’t know, Danny.” A boozy hiccup bubbles up in his throat. “She seems pretty tough. Maybe we should just beat it.”

Everyone laughs except for Danny, who continues to watch me hungrily. “Shut up, Mark. I know what I’m doing.” He leans forward. “You’ve got really strange eyes, girl. What’s your name?” His sharp gaze rakes over me, sliding greedily up my legs and resting on my chest before it jumps up to my face.

I recoil slightly from his hot, putrid breath but stay quiet. The stone of my necklace pulses again. I close my eyes and picture Michael’s face. Before Michael, I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill these men. But now, I have pause. I don’t have to kill away my problems. That’s what Hell has taught me to do, but it’s not what I should do. I’ll just turn and leave, spare these idiots. But before I can step away, Danny grabs my wrist, crushing my thin bones in his tight fist.

“No, I don’t think so. You won’t be going anywhere.”

“I think I am.” I pull my wrist free, and his eyes narrow into slits.

“Mark, Kyle, grab her wrists. Alex, Liam, grab her ankles. Pin her down.” He smiles at me threateningly. “I’m gonna teach this girl a lesson.”

The four others behind him throw down their bottles. One burps before they all stumble forward, their meaty hands reaching out to grab me. The same hunger I saw in Danny’s eyes flashes in theirs.

Before any one of them can trap me on the pavement, I have my dagger out from my boot, gripped tightly in my hand. I hold the razor sharp blade out in front of me, pointing it at Danny’s wide neck. I’m thankful I didn’t leave it back at The Aria. I want to twist it in his fat, bulging veins and make him scream.

“Last chance. Walk away.”

A chorus of derision sounds from the four drunk men. Danny just stares unbelievingly at me, sizing me up. He takes another step towards me.

“That was a mistake, sweetheart. There ain’t no way we’re letting you go now.”

“
Isn’t
,” I correct under my breath, rage coiling around my gut, ready to spring.

He lunges at me and I swing out, slashing my dagger across his throat.

They should have just walked away. I told them to walk away.

He staggers once, grabbing at the wound, and I thrust my knife under his ribs, into his heart. I push him off of my blade and let him fall to the ground, dead. The four others stare at me, blinking stupidly.

“Leave,” I growl. “Now!”

“Danny!” One of the men walks forward and looks at him. Behind him, the other three watch. “You killed him! You’ll pay for that, you little—” he yells at me, fury thickening his words and snapping the others out of their daze.

All at once, the four men run towards me, surrounding me. They grab at me, tearing my shirt, pulling my hair, and crushing my arms in their grasp. I feel bruises begin to blossom on my wrists and I forcefully pull them free. I kick out at the first body to wrap itself around me.

Unseeingly, I drag my blade across the air, sending blood flying and another body to the street. A second meaty man wraps me in his arms, cracking my ribs painfully in his tight embrace. His hot mouth slides over my shoulder, his dull teeth skimming my veins. I kick out backwards, my boot slamming into his knee with a wicked crack. He shouts out, dropping me clumsily, and I turn around and stab him in the neck.

I pull my dagger back and it is slick with blood that slides down the blade, over the clean, white handle, and up my arm. My shirt is ripped and stained with more blood, but it’s red, not black, so I’m fine.

The last two men descend on me together, knocking me down to the pavement. I hit the ground hard, my elbow cracking on the street, and one of the men lands on top of me, pinning me down. He makes a growling sound, his teeth snapping at me like a rabid dog. I push my arm across his neck, keeping his hot, wet mouth away from my face. His face turns beet red as he fights against me, and I kick out, trying to roll him off of me. But he’s heavy and he stays on top, groping at me with calloused hands.

He throws one of his sweaty hands over my mouth. “Shut up!” he orders.

I bite down hard on his palm, causing him to cry out. I drag my blade across his throat while he calls for his friend, and he falls limp on me as his warm blood spills over my face. I turn my head to the side and choke, pushing him off of me with great effort.

I sit up slowly, my dagger gripped tightly in my scraped hand. I look around for the last of the men and see him running away, towards the alley they climbed out of. He turns back to look at me, his face drawn in terror. I raise my arm and throw my dagger with all of my strength, despite the painful protests of my injuries. I won’t let him get away.

The blade cuts through the air, spinning so fast that it blurs, and finds its target, burying itself in the last man’s chest, right over the heart. I never miss my target. With a soft yelp and a throaty gurgle, he falls down, dead.

I force myself to my feet, my bones bruised and broken, making it painful to stand. I walk over to the last man and pull my dagger from his chest. A dark red stain is spreading across his dirty, white shirt and pools in a thick puddle beneath him. I turn around and survey the damage I’ve done.

The five men are sprawled across the street, bloodied and still. I limp to Danny, looking down to his slack face. His eyes are open and glassy, all of the rage spilled out of him with his blood. His shirt is sticky with it, dark and ruby red, and I’m glad.

I don’t have the same joy I usually do when I kill someone though. I’m not reveling in the gore and wasted life. This is different. It’s a deeper kind of frustrating satisfaction that makes my chest ache. I’ve removed monsters from the streets—permanently. And that should make me happy, regardless of my allegiance. Shouldn’t it?

But behind this strange feeling is something else that I try to ignore. It’s almost like terror, but it’s not as piercing. It feels more blunt than sharp. My eyes burn in anger, and I kick out at him, my boot cracking his ribs.