Ignite (31 page)

He laughs.

“Do you, Michael?”

He runs his hand gently through my hair, thinking. “In theory.”

My cheeks burn and I stay silent, letting him hold me as I watch the dark sky start to lighten into a steely morning.

“We need to leave here,” Michael says, letting go of me.

I step back and nod. “I need to get rid of the bodies. I can’t just… I can’t leave them.” My chest tightens again with anxiety as I look at the faces of the men. I know they’re dead, but I can still see their furious expressions, Danny’s eyes glinting in excitement. I should have known they were Lilim. They were much stronger than any human. They could have killed me. “I need to burn them.”

“I’ll help.”

“No, I need to do this.”

Michael stays quiet, watching me as I go up to the men one at a time, lift them over my shoulder, and walk them into an alley on the far side of the street. I struggle to carry them, my muscles straining under their weight, but I keep moving forward, gritting my teeth and pushing against the pain. I have to rise onto my tiptoes to drop their lifeless forms into the empty, green dumpster. They hit the metal bottom with a dull clang, and I bite my tongue, trying to keep from throwing up. I have to stop several times, propping myself against the gritty wall of the alley to catch my breath and steady myself. I set my ruined jacket in last.

After they are all stacked in the dumpster, I look inside. They lie on top of one another, their elbows bent awkwardly, their eyes open and foggy.

I’m surprised when I feel hot tears sting the backs of my eyes. They’re in the trash, where they belong. I won’t cry, won’t waste my tears on the loss of their atrocious lives. But I can’t help thinking about what they were like before the virus.

They didn’t ask for this, and for all I know, they were good. They probably have family, friends, people who will miss them. I blink quickly and look away, trying to swallow my tears as I reach my hand in the dumpster. I whisper, “Ignis,” and blanket the men in the blue fire of Hell, turning them to ash. I let the lid slam closed, hiding them from me forever.

When I turn around, I see Michael watching me. He nods his head and holds out his hand to me. But I don’t take it. I tie my arms around myself and fall against the rough brick wall of the alley. I slide down the wall to the dirty ground, paralyzed. He walks over to me and I look up at him.

“I should be crying, right?”

He’s silent.

“What’s wrong with me?” My bottom lip trembles and I trap it between my teeth.

Michael bends down in front of me and wipes at my cheek. He pulls his hand back and shows me a single tear on his thumb. “You are crying, and there’s nothing wrong with you.”

I shake my head. “You—you never saw the stars,” I say, breathless.

“Shh.” He stands up and pulls me off of the ground so I am with him, wrapped in his strong arms. He removes his jacket and sets it on my shoulders. “I don’t need the stars tonight. I have you.” He looks up at the brightening sky and then back at me. “We need to go before the sun rises much higher. You’re covered in blood. It’ll probably be best if no one else sees you looking like this.”

I glance down at myself. His jacket hides the worst of it, but my jeans are also stained, as are my hands, and I can feel dried blood sticking to my cheeks.

“I’m staying at The Aria Hotel. It’s just a block from here, that way,” I say, pointing across the street to another alley with a bloody finger. I stare at it for a moment, amazed at how the blood swirls into the small lines of my fingertip, before curling it back into my fist and tucking it below the long sleeves of Michael’s jacket.

“Then let’s go.”

He grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. Together, we walk through the now empty street and into the adjacent alley, rounding the corner and staying close to the closed shopfronts lining the sidewalk.

He keeps his arm around my shoulder protectively, and I bury myself into him, hiding myself from the few pedestrians that still linger outside of the last open bars, slouching against splintered door frames. I peer up through my tangle of blue-black hair and see a small group of women stumbling towards us, their makeup smeared from a long night out in the city. They’ll run right into us with the way they’re walking, but they don’t see us yet. They’re typing away on their small phones, talking amongst themselves in lilting whispers.

“Shit,” I hiss, nudging Michael with my elbow.

He looks over at me, his eyebrows raised in confusion, but then he looks down the sidewalk and sees the women. Without even having to think about it, Michael swings me off of the sidewalk and into the opening of the alley closest to The Aria. He looks at me briefly, his eyes telling me to trust him, and pushes me up against the brick wall, twining himself around me until we are knotted together, completely entangled. His lips, my lips; his body, my body. Where he ends I begin. I only have a moment to realize that we look just like the teenagers I saw from my window, passionately kissing next to a large, green dumpster. It’s much more romantic than I gave it credit for.

The women pass us, their heels clicking on the gritty sidewalk. I can hear one of them whisper about us, telling her friend to “check out the two in the alley,” but they don’t notice the blood I’m covered in. Michael’s hiding me with his body, with his hands, with his lips. When we can no longer hear them, Michael peels himself away from me, a small smile painted across his bright face.

“That was close,” he says, smirking.

I shake my head and grab his hand in mine as we slip out of the alley and pass the last few dark windows of boutiques before we reach the canopied entrance of The Aria. I keep my head down as we slide through the revolving doors and into the dimly lit lobby. This early, there is no one standing behind the front desk and we are able to sneak through and into a waiting elevator unnoticed.

“Top floor,” I say. He hesitates for a moment, looking at the unlit buttons in confusion. “Top button.”

Michael hits the button and it lights up, closing the door. We rise through the hotel in silence, still tangled up in one another, unwilling to let go. I keep my eyes on the floor of the elevator. I don’t need to see myself reflected in the walls and door of the elevator, covered in blood and standing next to Michael. I don’t want to see that.

When the doors open on the top floor with a ding, I grab his hand and pull him after me through the hallway and to my door. I panic for a moment, thinking I left my keycard in my jacket that I destroyed, before I remember it’s in my back pocket.

I slide the keycard into the slot and when the light turns green, I drag him into the room with me, closing and locking the door behind us. Michael is pinned between me and the door, his back pressed against the thick wood. The room is dim, only lit by the lights from the street, but I can see him smile at me.

“Nice room,” he says softly. “It sure beats the cave.”

I step to the side, allowing him to enter the room. “I suppose.”

He still has a hold of my hand and I follow him as he walks back to the bed, his fingers trailing lightly across the unmade sheets. He walks to the windows that look out to the mountains. The stars are gone from the sky, hidden by the light of the rising sun. I frown.

“I didn’t realize how close the mountains were,” Michael says.

“That’s where I stayed the first night. Up on top of the mountains in a small cabin.”

He turns to look at me. “Were the stars beautiful?”

“I’ll show you tomorrow,” I tell him, squeezing his hand.

He nods once and then scrutinizes my face. “Are you really okay?”

I don’t lie to him this time. “Not really, but I will be.” I drop his hand and slide out of his jacket, hanging it in a small, mirrored closet. The door to the bathroom is pushed open, but before I go in, I look back at him, suddenly worried. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” he asks.

“I don’t know, I just have this feeling that when I come back from my shower you’ll be gone. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t.”

I look at him closely, my stomach squeezed with anxiety. I don’t want him out of my sight. The men’s faces keep flashing before my eyes.

“I’ll be here,” he reassures me.

My vision darkens until the only thing I can see are their faces.

Angry.

Hungry.

Excited.

Snarling, snapping teeth.

I hear Michael exhale and realize he can see them too. “I won’t leave,” he promises again.

I squeeze my eyes shut and nod, trying to believe him. I push my fingers through my hair, bite the inside of my cheek, curl around myself—anything to keep from falling apart. It does little good. My own hands remind me of their groping, grabbing hands.

I can feel them all over me—on my wrists, on my waist. I can feel one of them rake their teeth across my shoulder again, dull and warm. If I hadn’t hit him at that moment, he would have bitten me.

I take several short, sharp breaths and open my eyes again, dizzy. Michael comes across the room in a few large strides, grabbing my shoulders. He hugs me to him, as if he can block out their faces.

“It’s okay,” he soothes me.

“It’s really not.”

I crush my eyes closed again, but I still see them. By the way he tightens his grip on me, I know that he still can, too. He sees the flash in their eyes, the threat in their postures. He can see Danny licking his lips, his eyes greedily devouring me. I bury my face into Michael’s chest.

“They’re gone,” he promises me.

“I know. I killed them. I’m lucky.” My voice is strained. “I wonder how many before me weren’t.”

I start to sink down the door frame, but he holds me up. He helps me into the bathroom and sets me on the side of the bathtub, opens the shower door, and turns the water on full heat. I watch him, frozen and unwilling to move. He kneels in front of me and unzips my boots, setting them to the side.

I look up from his shoulders and at the mirror across from the shower and tub at my reflection. I’m worse than I thought. I have a thick cut that spreads from my jaw to my mouth. Smeared blood is dried on my face, in my hair, and on my shirt. It reminds me of my nightmare where I saw myself covered in so much blood I was unrecognizable. Except this blood is red, not black.

It’s not mine
, I remind myself.
Not mine.

“Pen?” Michael stands up, blocking my reflection.

I don’t look up at him, I just stare ahead blankly.

Distantly I hear the shower running, but it sounds muted. I feel myself being lifted onto my feet and led into the shower. With my clothes still on, I am guided into the hot water, Michael’s hands on my hips holding me up. He brushes his large hands over my face, washing the blood from my cheek and neck.

His fingers carefully clean the cuts on my face. I feel the dull sting of the soap for a moment but don’t react because I feel them fade away under the water, the skin healing itself. I look down at the ground and watch as red water swirls and disappears down the drain.

Michael sets his fingers under my chin and tips my face up to his. His eyes search mine, and I try to focus them on him through the water but he’s so blurry. I squint and try to concentrate harder. The blue of his eyes pierces through the haze.

“Do you see me?” he asks.

I nod mutely.

“You see my face. Not theirs. Just look at my face.”

I nod again and blink away more of the blur. Other parts of his face slowly come into view. His golden hair. His strong, angled jaw. His peach lips and the blush that heats his cheeks. I see Michael’s face, not Danny’s.

I stay still under the shower, letting the water wash me and my clothes clean. Michael stays with me, talking to me calmly, and I continue to watch his face, my eyes following him languidly.

“You’re here with me,” he reminds me every few minutes. “Not them.”

His words slowly start to piece me back together until I can see him clearly again.

***

“Michael.”

He is bent down, rubbing at a bloodstain at the bottom of my jeans. He looks up at me and smiles. “Look who’s back.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

He stands up. He’s so tall that I find myself staring at the hollow of his neck that curves just above his collarbone. I don’t remember him being this tall.

“And you don’t deserve someone like me,” I say. “You deserve someone who’s good and kind and not insane, not broken. Someone who can return your feelings completely because they have a heart.” I bite my lip. “I can only give you so much. My feelings can’t be a bottomless well. I’m not capable of—of
love
, of—”

He cuts me off. “I don’t want someone else,” he says, folding my hand into his. “And I don’t need you to give me anything.”

The wide shower head sends a stream of water over us, beating down on our shoulders. I blink through the water. It’s like we’re back in the rain again. “You deserve someone better.”

“You’re wrong. Maybe I don’t deserve you, but not for the reasons you think.” He runs his free hand up my arm. “How many times do I have to tell you that you are good? I want
you
, Pen. No one else. I told you that you’re brave, smart, and strong. But you’re also beautiful, and whether or not you can admit it, you are good. Do you hear me? Regardless of how much darkness you’ve seen, goodness still lives inside of you, just as it does in me.
You are good!
”