Page 8 of Where We Belong

I have found that sins allure,

will crouch and pounce at night.

Cars send flashes across the window when they drive past, briefly lighting up my dark bathroom. Sweat coats my face and neck, and my hair is probably a halo of frizz. Something sharp slices into my back when I roll over. Clenching my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering, I catch my reflection in shards of mirror. A vague memory of knocking it from the wall, in an attempt to grab onto something after last night’s binge lumbers through my mind. Although I’m not sure what I’m experiencing now is a hangover after all. It comes and goes whether I’m drinking or not. Before, I thought it was withdrawals, but the weed I’ve been smoking all day hasn’t even come close to numbing it. After looking up my symptoms, either I’m dying or I have a cold — and it can’t be a cold because my sinuses are so clear I can smell every last bead of sweat pouring out from under my arms. Gripping the side of the bath, I haul myself to my feet, the flimsy plastic cracking under my weight. My stomach locks as I heave over the side. Sour fluids coat my tongue. How embarrassing would it be to die here in my filth? Even though there’s no one left to care, apart from Macy and Raph.

A loud bang rattles the front door. “The fuck,” I mutter, one hand braced on the wall.

“Ashley!”

Raph. My stomach grows heavy. I really do feel bad for stealing from him last night, but I needed the cash. For food. And rum. If we’re being honest, just rum. Urgh, not cool, Ashley. The banging intensifies like a drumbeat on my skull.

“What kind of lowlife steals weed? Open the fucking door! I know you’re in there, probably buried under a pile of dirt!”

I guess only Macy will be at my funeral now, since Raph will be in jail for my murder. Swaying slightly, I press my palms to my temples, trying to block out his voice, his anger, my shame; it’s all too much. My chest begins to tingle. Oh no. Not now. I clench my eyes shut and crouch low, gripping my hair. If there’s any ounce of control in me, please reveal yourself. But my fingers are numb at the tips. Just before I decapitate myself, I jerk my hands away from my head, stretching them in front of me, desperately willing the heat to draw itself back up my arms.

“Please,” I beg, “please, please, please.”

When the tingling ebbs, I think for a split second I’ve done it, but I’m quickly disappointed by a loud bang. I open one eye slowly. My bed is broken clean in half, smoking down the middle. A storm of feathers rains the room. Maybe Raph didn’t hear that and he’s left.

“What the hell are you doing in there? Do you think I can’t hear you?”

Only when the banging dissolves into muffled threats and angry footsteps stomp up the communal stairs do I exhale, staring at the ruined bed, wondering how the hell I’m going to fix it. Stupid, dumb magic. Tiptoeing, I scramble for the half-empty bottle of rum that shakes against my teeth, before scooping a handful of stones into my pocket. If today is the day I die, at least it will be in my happy place and not at the hands of the man who used to warm my bed.

*

I don’t realise how feverish I am until I plunge into the icy sea, the chill clutching me like a straitjacket but doing nothing for the fire under my skin. I’m burning. Disappointment scorches through me so fiercely even the freezing water can’t put it out. My knees dig into the sea floor, and I clutch at the sand, begging it to bring me peace. The rum bottle is caught somewhere in the current with whatever hope I had left. The roar of the waves barely drowns out the echo of my pain. On days like this, I long for home. Not here by the sea, but the place dad spoke about when he tucked me in at night. He painted beautiful tales about our lands. Exotic and welcoming. Where Kings and Queens ruled with flames that dance to the beat of drums. I always knew they weren’t just stories. Even before the very powers he spoke of began to pour from my body.

Clutching the blasted black rock in my hand, I crawl further into the inky tide; the chime of the church bells rings somewhere in the distance. Twelve beats. Happy birthday, Ashley. Thirty-one years since I was born. Twenty-two since the fire that stole them. Twenty-two years of nightmares and loneliness. Of unjust punishments and never truly being understood. Fuck everything. Fuck Maurice, fuck Raph, fuck Bobby, fuck this fucking magic. I wish it would leave and never come back. With a hateful scream and all the strength I can muster, I hurl the stone into the ocean as far as it can go. Just as the blasted thing leaves my fingertips, a flash of lightning blinds me and thunder detonates so loudly I gasp, sea water flooding my mouth. The ground beneath me gives a horrible groan, vibrating under my knees like the entire ocean wants me dead.

Before, silence.

Then, a grunt.

A grunt?

And a weird rhythm in the waves. Inching to my feet, I widen my eyes as much as possible, as if that will help me to see any better. What is that? Something like the silhouette of an angel. Walking on the ocean, against the roaring tide as if it’s a puddle. My brow tightens, and just before I dismiss it as a hallucination, a vicious blaze erupts around him. My ass hits the water, and a squeal escapes my lips. Shielding my eyes from the brightness, I scoot back, sea water splashing my chin. Flames lick from his back, illuminating the waves, and steam rises and sizzles with every step he takes. I manage to scramble to my feet, but when the fire man gets close enough that I can see his face, I accidentally take a step toward him. As if he tugged at some invisible rope around my waist. He’s a seven-foot-something monstrosity of a man. Beneath his dull copper eyes, a thin vertical tattoo runs down each sharp cheekbone, disappearing into a matted beard that bleeds into dark hair falling past his shoulders. Making him look primal. He’s a few feet from me now, close enough for me to see the blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. He lunges for me. Absolutely not. I run for my fucking life. The adrenaline pumping through my veins has flushed all substances and sickness from my body. And he’s following. I can feel it. But I push on towards home, almost smashing into the main entryway. Desperately, I fumble around my drenched hoodie pocket. Shit. Did I drop my keys on the beach? Ah-ha! It swings open, and I take the stairs three, maybe four, at a time. I round the corner, but my door is already wide open.

Raph.

Thunder booms from the bottom of the stairwell as if the communal door has been knocked clean off its hinges. Hurling into my apartment, I slam the door shut, slide the bolt, and press my shoulder to the wood, breath burning.

“Where the fuck is my lighter, Ashley? Huh?” He grabs the front of my hoodie and drags me into the middle of my room.

“Raph.” My breath is caught somewhere between my chest and my throat. “Someone-coming-n-now.”

BOOM!

My front door splinters, the shards turning to ash as soon as they hit the floor. The fire man ducks through the frame. Black smoke billows behind him like a cloak, and brittle flakes float around his boots.

“What —?” Raph loosens his grip, blue eyes blown wide. In less than three strides, the stranger is standing chest to chest with him. Golden flames hotter than hell bloom from his back like wings, black charring the walls. Charcoal smoke pours from his hands before he clamps a fist around Raph’s throat.

“Coward,” he growls through clenched teeth. It’s something guttural, feral.

Raph’s skin bubbles under the man’s fingers while he chokes on the smoky substance, clawing uselessly at the stranger’s forearm. His feet kick in the air. The man releases him and he scrambles for the door, tripping over himself on the way. I barely have time to will my magic to my elbow before I’m hoisted off the ground, letting out a winded yelp when the fire man throws me over his shoulder like a sack of rice. All I can hear is the shrill ring of the hallway fire alarm as he marches me out of the building.

Chapter 11

Kaed