Ignite the Shadows. Ingrid Seymour
you,” I say.
Luke chuckles. “Does your bed have two bad sides?”
“What?”
“It’s just you’re always so … ill-tempered. I figured you wake up on the wrong side of the bed every day.”
“Yeah, I’m sure your bed is perfect.” As soon as I say this, I cringe.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea. All I can say is you would always get up on the right side of my bed.” His grin is wide. He looks so pleased at his own wit I could punch him. If it wasn’t for the crippling nausea his comment unleashes in my gut, I would do it.
I regain my cool in time to say, “Your foul, slut-ready lair, you mean.” I can’t hold the acid from my words. Great, I’ve answered his wit with an insult. I guess he is smarter than me.
He puts a hand to his heart. “I refuse to pay back your insult with another. This should serve as proof that I’m a gentleman and innocent of the accusation you lay before me.”
“Oh, get over yourself, Luke,” I snap.
He laughs and laughs, pleasure brimming in his gold-flecked, blue eyes. My mind churns with nothing but more insults. I squeeze my eyes shut and let it go. The game started the moment I sat in front of him. The pieces haven’t even moved and I’ve already lost.
Checkmate.
After Luke outsmarts me in chess as well as other areas, I ride my bike to Millennium Arcade to look for Xave. Cigarette smoke wafts past me as I open the door. Randy, the owner, ignores the public smoking ordinances. His patrons don’t complain.
I find Xave at one of the pool tables, playing with Cameron. He breaks the balls with a quick flick of his wrist and watches as four of them find homes. The way he plays pool should grant him a PhD in physics, if only this ability translated into good grades at school.
“What’s up, Xave?”
The smug smile disappears from his face when he looks up and sees me there.
“Had fun last night?” I ask, walking over to get a cue. “Hey,” I say to Cameron, who, used to the pool rivalry between Xave and me, gives me a quick nod and finds someone else to play with.
“You could say that.” Xave scans the balls, planning his next move.
A fast-paced song plays in the Dance Dance machine, trying to entice someone to bust a move. We all have two left feet here. Randy will realize that soon and get rid of the abomination. He’ll replace it with a good shoot-’em-up game, if he knows what’s good for business.
“So, are you gonna tell me how it went? Or is it some … national secret?” I examine the balls on the table, calculating possible shots. As I glance back at Xave, I wish assessing his mood was as easy as assessing this game.
He returns his cue to the rack, wipes chalky hands on his black jeans and walks away.
“All rightie,” I say, “I guess that means you don’t wanna play … or talk.”
Xave looks over his shoulder. “Let’s go out back.”
I don’t understand what’s up with him lately. God, I wish he’d quit acting like an idiot. It’s as if all that testosterone coursing through his veins has a negative impact on his IQ. I don’t think I can put up with his moody butt much longer. But for now, curiosity gets the best of me, so I play along.
We go into the back alley through the emergency exit. Xave leans against the wall right next to the door, pops a stick of cinnamon gum in his mouth and crosses his arms. I walk out, stand in the middle of the alley, my back turned, and wait for him to say something before making eye contact. He says nothing. I exhale and bite my tongue, trying to control the urge to scream. Maybe he’s still mad at me for crashing the motorcycle. If so, he needs to get over it.
My favorite alley cat shows up, purring at my feet. I squat and pet her, relieved for the distraction.
“Hey there.” I scratch the backs of her ears. Her round, green eyes squint, a clear sign of pleasure. I smile, almost forgetting Xave stands brooding nearby.
“Come here,” I say, picking Alley Cat up and sitting down on an upturned recycling bin. I place the cat on my lap, where she stays content.
Finally, I look up. Xave’s staring at me, frowning. I stare back, and for the first time take a good look at him. His light brown hair, usually styled to look casual/shaggy, lies limp like wet noodles. There are dark half-moons under his eyes and stubble accentuates his jaw. He looks tired, but above all, angry.
“So what, you’re still mad at me?” I ask.
His eyes are dark, hiding everything but his ill temper. He huffs, a quick exhale through his nose that makes his head go up and down.
You big bobblehead!
“What’s the deal, Xave? The cult got your tongue?” I chuckle.
Practically growling, he stomps toward the Dumpster like a lumbering bear and proceeds to kick it with the tip of his boot. Alley Cat spooks and jumps two feet in the air, but not before digging sharp claws through my jeans and peppering my face with black fur.
“Ow.” I jump up, rub my thighs and glower at Xave. He stands breathing heavily and slouching as if he just ran a race and is trying to recover.
“Look,” I say, “if you don’t want to tell me anything about your new friends, that’s okay. But you don’t have to act like a Neanderthal.”
I understand guys sometimes don’t like to talk about feelings and stuff. Hell, I don’t like it either. But if he’s still mad at me, he needs to spit it out, so we can get past this.
Do I have to be the one who brings reason into this mess? I sigh. “Okay, I apologize about Clark’s bike.” The words feel like spiked ninja Makibishi going down my throat. I swallow my pride and continue. “I promise to fix it and to never pull a stunt like that again.”
He looks at me as if I’m speaking Japanese. I guess Clark’s bike is not what’s on his mind. I put my hands up in a give-me-something gesture. He gives me nothing but a darker shade of those hazel eyes. Well, I guess we have nothing to talk about. With resolve, I walk past him and head toward the street.
“You know where to find me if you wanna talk.” I’ve taken five steps when he finally decides to speak.
“They call themselves IgNiTe,” he says.
I freeze. My eyes grow wide and my hands go as cold as dead fish. I whirl around, a tornado vibrating with the force of nature.
“What?!”
Inhale.
Keep cool.
Don’t choke him.
Xave stares at the ground. I wait for him to make eye contact, fingernails digging into my palms. His eyes flicker toward mine for a split second, then fall back down, this time to a broken crate. His anger is gone. He just looks embarrassed now.
With measured steps, I approach him until he’s at arm’s length. “You told them about me?” As I ask the question, my upper lip twitches, enough that I’m sure he can see my clenched teeth.
Xave sniffs once and flicks his nose with a quick thumb, a nonchalant gesture that he pulls off all too well.
“Did they catch you by surprise, Warrior?” he says.
What happened to being embarrassed? I never knew him to feel such … discontent toward me, never knew him to flip emotions so quickly.
“Why the hell would you do something like that?” I ask in complete disbelief.
I don’t get it. I know lately things have been squirrely between us, but we’ve been friends for a long time, ever