Page 63 of Up In Flames

“Because you’re shaken.”

“Because I don’t love you. I realized it while Xy was telling me about my people. I’ve been missing out.” On horror. On evil. On darkness. “I belong with them.” I make myself sigh, though my breath escapes in choppy measures. I hope she’s too upset to notice the small tell. “Look, I could use you for children. I could make you my zona. I’m going to need one. But we have history, and even if I don’t love you, I do respect our past. I don’t want to use you. Plus.” I go in for the kill. It kills me. “Plus, I really would like to have someone capable of matching me in my Red Room. Now that I know what I am, I can really let loose. I had hopes for you, but… well.”

She staggers under my words until her back meets the wall. Her throat moves as she swallows back a sob. “Aren’t you swell?”

Ragged whisper. I can’t let it destroy me. Not yet.

I shrug. “I try to be a nice guy. It’s an act, but you know, it makes life easier if people trust me.” I send her the coldest, most insincere smile I can muster, but it’s not easy. “Let’s just say that I’ve learned to blend, but maybe now I don’t have to.”

Except, it’s not as hard as it should be, either. Because I’ve already died. I’m ice down to my soul. Pretending to be evil is no harder than pretending to be alive.

“Better pack up Mr. Mittens. I’ll get this down to the truck. Meet me in the garage.”

And without a backward glance, I move out from her life, wrapped in agony and chill and impossibility.

It’s a long, long drive back to her home. We don’t say a word, not even goodbye.

But on the drive back, I have to pull off to the shoulder because I’m sobbing so hard, I can’t see the road.

CHAPTER 21

Nina ~ seven days later

Even Mr. Mittens misses the gentle giant. Six times, the stupid cat has bashed himself against the bedroom window, his gaze set on the tree branch slightly below. Others might think he’s seeking a bit of adventure. I know he’s hoping Sampson will come by and rescue him again, if he could only manage to leap outside.

Cats are like that. They’re creatures of habit. Once done, oft repeated. But me, I know an ending when I see one.

Nicholas puts down the old laptop I let him use to build cities on some site he likes, and crosses to the cat. Gently, he lifts the mewing beast into his arms. Mr. Mittens is happy to settle for a second or two.

Cats are like that, too—they live in the moment, content with second best if what they really want is far away or lost to them. Me? Not so lucky.

I slam my laptop shut. I don’t even bother to save my draft. I don’t care. Not about the book, not about my life, not even about eating the pineapple ice-cream that Chase just delivered for Nicholas. My life, seemingly so full just a month ago, is as empty as a well-licked plate.

The urge to run out, go somewhere, do something to escape the pain, scrambles wildly through me. But I already know from the past seven days, there’s nowhere to go.

Nicholas looks over at me. “Are you going to the fire station again?”

“I would, but I’ve been banned.” Apparently, showing up multiple times a day, begging to be let upstairs into the private quarters, and shouting Sampson’s name from below when denied, isn’t what a sane person would do. I’m supposed to stay away until I can return to my senses.

Well, that’s not happening.

“Probably shouldn’t have started the fire in the garbage bin right outside the station doors.”

“I wanted to get Sampson’s attention.”

“How do you know he’s not at home instead? Have you even looked?”

About a hundred times. “Gee, Nicholas, that’s a spiffy idea. Too bad the elevator is now locked and requires a key.”

“Only because you yelled at Mr. McGuire and told him to mind his own business when he caught you upstairs pounding on Mr. Dean’s door the day after he broke up with you.”

Yeah. There’s that. Subtle and gracious in my grief, I’m not. If I thought for a moment that Sampson was serious about not loving me, I’d retreat into my own private shell to lick my wounds. But I don’t believe him. I can’t, and I figure that if I cause a big enough scene, he’ll have to deal with me. If he has to deal with me, he won’t be able to resist the bond we share.

As targeted plans go, it’s right up there with “let’s commit Armageddon just to destroy the ant population in my basement.” Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of other options.

“Well,” Nicholas says with all the solemnity of a boy his age, “you’re thinking about this all wrong. First, Mr. Dean was gaga about you. He’s not going to stay in town and risk seeing you, because it will hurt too much. Second, he won’t want to deal with you when you’re acting crazy, so even if he visits, he’ll avoid you.”

“And third, you don’t know shit. Er—shoot. Fuck. I mean—funk. Ugh.” I run my hands through my hair and swing my desk’s swivel chair from side to side. “How did you get to be so smart?”