Burned (Keeper of the Flame) (5 page)

My fingers close over the handle. Locked. Of
course. He’s a thief, why the hell does he need to lock his door?
Afraid someone’s going to come for retribution?

I take out my flashlight and examine the
front windows. It’s bordering on summer, the May air just starting
to heat up but still cool enough at night, he’d probably keep the
windows closed. Sure enough, none of them budges.

Keeping my flashlight aimed near the ground,
I hustle to the side of the house, trying to find a window. There
are two basement level windows that are dusty and set low in a
metal well.

Since the backyard is guarded by a tall fence
and it will take longer to get in there, I climb into one of the
window wells and grimace. Spiderwebs line the corners and I’m
stepping on something squishy, something I hope is only wet
leaves.

I curl my fingers against the lip of the
window and pull, surprised when it gives way and opens. I didn’t
even have to peel off a screen or anything. The window is small,
but so am I, and I squeeze through, trying to drop myself slowly
enough I don’t break anything below.

My feet slap on cement and I turn the
flashlight toward the room. There are boxes, a recliner, and a few
shelves with odds and ends. This part of the basement is unfinished
and uncluttered, making it easier to maneuver my way through.

I find the stairs quickly. Not knowing how
much time I have, I’d rather search for the book and get the hell
out of here.

Every single stair creaks as I climb, making
me wince. Shit. If anyone’s home, they know someone else is in
here, too. Screw it. I rush up the rest of the stairs, open the
door, and step into a hallway.

I check the living room first. There aren’t
any lights on and I trip on a pair of work boots, stumbling into an
end table. A lamp wobbles dangerously and I grab it before it
topples.

I hold my breath, wait for someone to jump
out from behind the couch and catch me. But the room stays silent.
Maybe Ryan’s out for the night. At the bar. Or with the rude
librarian.

Checking the coffee table, the end tables and
even the shelf in the corner, isn’t helpful. It’s a major bachelor
pad, heavy on comfortable furniture and electronics, short on
knick-knacks and charm.

I race up the stairs. His bedroom seems like
the next logical place to look. I bypass a bathroom and another
room that looks like a guestroom. I find his bedroom and snort in
surprise when my flashlight makes an arc across the clean space.
It’s cozy, a large bed with a wooden frame, plush bedding and even
a window treatment.

Logan said Ryan flips houses, so I guess he
knows a little about them. The building of them and the decorating
of them. Either that or he had someone do it for him. A girlfriend.
I chuckle to myself. His mom, probably.

There’s a noise from below. I yank in a
breath when I hear the front door.

“Shit,” I whisper, turning to leave.

But there are footsteps close to the stairs
and I back up. I can’t go that way. I can’t get out. My gaze falls
on a door I assume is the closet. I race over, open it up and thank
God it’s a walk-in. I shut myself inside just as I hear footsteps
on the stairs.

I hear Ryan flip a switch and a sliver of
light appears under the door. I press back into clothes‒shirts with
long sleeves, some of them flannel. They smell like him, woodsy
with a hint of spice.

His footsteps come close to the closet. I
slap a hand over my mouth to keep quiet. My heart races, trying to
jump out of my chest. I grip the flashlight, the only weapon I ever
seem to have when Ryan’s around.

That and the fire inside of me. If only I
could turn that on and off at will.

My hands start to shake when I see the shadow
of feet under the door. I hear him clear his throat and for a
minute, I’m sure he knows I’m in here. Then he moves away, shuts
off the light, and walks out.

I listen until I can’t hear his footsteps
anymore. Then I wait some more. Finally, I hear the front door. I
listen for the sound of his car starting, but I’m too far away,
buried in the pitch black closet with men’s clothes all around
me.

Holding the flashlight in front of me, I
slowly open the closet door. It’s dark in the room again, with only
the low light of the moon glowing in the windows. It’s silent and
peaceful.

My gaze narrows on the end table by the bed.
Just as I reach for the drawer, the overhead lights come on.

I whip around and find Ryan standing in the
doorway, a murderous look in his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh,” I say, glancing around like I have no
idea where I am. “This isn’t my mom’s house? I thought‒”

“Cut the shit.”

He steps forward, hands fisted at his sides.
His navy shirt is cut tight over his biceps, tapering down to his
trim waist. He’s wearing dark wash jeans, black boots, and a
scowl.

I hold out the heavy flashlight. “Don’t come
any closer.”

Amusement races across his face. “This is my
house and you’re the intruder. I can do whatever I want to you and
no one’s going to question it.”

Fear circuits through my body, making my
stomach churn. A thousand thoughts rush through my mind, but only
one sticks. I have to get out of here.

With my best aim, I hurl the flashlight at
his face and bolt. He deflects the flashlight as I try to shove
around him, and snags me by my waist. His whips me back so hard and
fast, my feet come off the ground.

In an instant, he has me pinned against the
wall. My breath whooshes out. His hands hold my shoulders to the
surface, so tight I wince, even as I try to fight him.

“Get off me!” I shout, trying to shove
him.

I hike up my knee, prepared to get him in the
groin, but he presses the entire length of his body against me so I
can’t move.

“Stop it,” he snaps.

“Get off!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Let me go,” I growl through my teeth.

“Once you tell me what you’re doing
here.”

“I came for my book. You stole it from my
room at the motel.”

He loosens his grip enough for me to get my
arms between us. Flames shoot from my fingertips, surprising us
both. He jumps back and I run for it. My shoes thud on the stairs,
and I slip on the last two, stumbling but gripping the post for
balance.

He’s right behind me, close enough I can hear
his breath. I go for the door, yank on the handle, but it’s
locked.

“No,” I cry out, but Ryan’s already there,
whipping me around.

I swing at him, getting in a weak punch to
his jaw before he grabs me again, making us both tumble to the
ground. I hit my elbow hard on the floor, and gasp when Ryan
straddles me and pins my arms above my head.

“That’s enough,” he says, breath coming out
rough.

I wiggle underneath him, but he won’t move.
My elbow aches and I exhale. “You took my book.”

“It’s not your book. It’s your mother’s.”

My mouth opens, surprised he admitted it. “I
need answers. I need to talk to my mom.”

“She’ll be back next week. You can come see
her then.” He shifts, hands loosening on my wrists. “Is that what
you came here for? The book?”

“Yes.”

He removes some of the weight on my waist.
“If I let you go, you promise to settle the hell down?”

“You started it,” I murmur.

His lips twitch, but he lets go of my arms
and gets off of me. When I sit up, I wince and cup my elbow.
“You’re an asshole,” I tell him.

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Why do you want me to leave so badly?”

“Trust me, it’s for your own safety.”

When I start to stand, he eyes me warily and
hops to his feet with little effort. He leans against the front
door, folding his arms.

I frown. “So…what? I’m being held
hostage?”

“If you promise to leave town, you’re free to
go. I’ll help you pack your bags myself.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he gives a curt
shake of his head. “You don’t have any reason to trust me, but I’m
not lying about this. Your mom left because she’s trying to keep
you and the rest of the town safe. And if you leave, too,
everything will be okay. Even better, you can come back the next
day. Just get out of here before Sunday night.”

“What’s Sunday night?”

“The full moon.”

“What happens when it’s a full moon?”

He sighs, drops his chin for a moment. When
he finally looks up, he says, “You want to sit?”

I think for a moment. He doesn’t seem to want
to hurt me. And the threats have stopped. But it still makes me
uneasy sitting in his living room.
Suck it up
, I tell
myself. This might be the only way I can get answers.

“Sure,” I say.

But he doesn’t walk to the living room. He
wanders to the kitchen, so I trail behind him. I stop in the
doorway to the kitchen when he leans in the refrigerator and
emerges with a beer. “You want one?”

“Sounds good.”

He pops the top for me and passes it over,
then grabs one for himself. We sit at the kitchen table, a round
chipped piece of furniture that looks like it gets a lot of
use.

“Your mom took a short vacation.” He quirks
the corner of his lips. “She wanted to see Mt. Rushmore.”

My eyebrows furrow. “You must be pretty close
if she tells you when she’s leaving and where she’s going.”

“We’re friends,” he says. “Have been since I
moved next door to her.”

“And she left because of the full moon?”

He nods, takes a swallow of his beer before
rotating it in circles on the surface of the table.

“Why?”

“Listen,” he says, meeting my eyes with his
gray ones. “You seem like a decent person, and I know it sucks to
show up here and be told to leave, but it’s better if you do. And
it’s better if that’s all you know for now.”

I consider this while taking a sip of my
beer. Him not telling me the details makes me want to know
more.

He lifts his eyebrows. “I researched
you.”

“Yeah?”

He nods.

“When you try to chase someone out of town,
you’re really thorough.”

Ryan laughs and scoops a hand through his
dark blond hair. “I researched you because I was trying to figure
out the best way to get you to leave. I have a feeling the more I
tell you, the more you’re going to want to know. And since you’re
into all this supernatural stuff, I figure that will make you want
to stay.”

“Is that what this is all about? Supernatural
stuff?”

“I kind of figured you already knew that when
you tried to set the library on fire.”

“I didn’t mean to.” I fold my arms. “It’s
your fault.”

A muscle works in his jaw. “I don’t remember
having the ability to make anything spontaneously combust.”

“You were threatening me.”

He runs his hand through his hair again. “All
right. Not my best moment, I’ll admit that. I was hoping scaring
you out of here would work. Instead, you showed up in my
house.”

“You showed up in my motel room first.”

“True.” He stands. “I’ll get your book.”

I listen to his footsteps fade and sigh. I
take another drink and consider what he’s saying. If there is some
sort of danger in me staying here on Sunday night, it makes sense
to leave. Especially if I can turn right around and come back.

After what I experienced in the Shadow Hill
Hotel tonight, there’s most likely a story here. I might as well
get some work done while I’m searching for answers about my own
past.

Ryan returns and sets the book in front of
me. I slide it closer on the table, flipping it open. My mother’s
name is inside, with her mother’s name before her and so on. I
close it and trace the raised pentagram on the front.

“She never told me any of this, you know,” I
say.

“About your history, who you are?”

I nod, hating that emotion for a woman I
barely remember keeps swelling inside. If I had known who I really
was, I might not have been so confused by the flames. I might not
have hurt anyone. I pick up the book and stand, quelling my
emotions with anger. It’s her fault she didn’t want to have
anything to do with her daughter. I turned out okay despite
that.

“I’m going to head back to the motel,” I say.
“Thanks for the drink. And for giving me the book back.”

He follows me to the front door and even
unlocks it for me to let me out.

“I’ll leave on Sunday,” I tell him, turning
back. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me what’s going on when I come
back.”

“Your mom will probably be back by then. You
can ask her.”

“Great.
If
she’s back by then. If not,
I want answers. Deal?”

He narrows his eyes at me. Finally, he holds
out a hand. “Deal.”

I take it, and a charge hums between our
palms. I look up into Ryan’s eyes. “What is that?”

“Deals between people like you and people
like me are pretty serious. A bond.”

The buzz tickles and warms. I breathe out.
“People like you,” I whisper. “What does that mean?”

He retracts his hand and tucks it in his
pocket. “I agreed to give you answers when you come back. Not
tonight.”

“Come on.”

“You keep your end of the deal first, and
then I’ll keep mine.”

I meet his eyes a long moment, searching for
deceit there. But I don’t see anything save for resolve and maybe a
little concern.

“Okay, I’ll keep my end of the deal,” I
say.

“I’ll meet you at the motel at check-out
time.” He opens the door for me. “From there I can follow you to
the town border.”

“I
said
I’d keep up my end.”

“I’m not worried about you keeping your
word.”

“Then what?” I ask, clutching the book to my
chest.