Ignited

by Corrine Jackson

  I shook my head. “Not yet. Not until we’re away from them.”

  Healing myself or anyone else weakened me further. We couldn’t afford for me to be out of commission. First, we had to take care of the enemy.

  The headlights shone on the barn a few minutes later. The structure leaned to the right, and weather and hard use had aged the wooden walls to a pale gray. If it had been painted once upon a time, the color had chipped off long ago. The place looked like it would fall down any minute, but it would serve our purposes. Crops stretched into the distance with no other buildings in sight. That meant nobody would stumble across the men while we made our getaway.

  I jumped out to swing the huge door open, and Lucy pulled the truck into the empty space inside. As soon as she hit the brakes, Asher launched out of the truck and dragged the men from the bed by their feet. They hit the ground on their backs, one by one, their heads bouncing off the dirt. They moaned in pain, but it had no effect on Asher’s stony expression.

  I shuddered at the violence in his movements. He’d changed since my grandfather’s men had held him hostage this past summer. Lately, he alternated between rage and sadness, growing more and more distant. He’d been tortured for weeks before his brother, Gabe, and I had rescued him. Maybe it was too much to expect Asher to treat these men with compassion when they’d happily hurt him all over again if their positions had been reversed. Still, the easy violence in Asher’s movements frightened me.

  Lucy gathered the handcuffs we’d stashed earlier that day and helped Asher bind the men to posts a few feet away from each other. We’d also stored water for the men, and I placed a few bottles within reach of each of our prisoners.

  “You can’t leave us here,” Goatee-Man said. “You can’t leave us to die.”

  “Because you intended to show us so much mercy?” Asher asked.

  A chill spiraled its way down my spine at the way he curled his hands into fists and stared at the man. Asher’s energy buzzed in the air, his lack of control raising the hair on my arms.

  “Let’s go, Asher.” Please, I thought. My stomach hurts.

  Almost immediately, he snapped to attention. “Okay, mo cridhe. We’ll go. Lucy, do you mind driving?”

  “I’m on it,” she said.

  The three of us headed for the barn door, ignoring the men as they yelled. After we’d put a few hours’ worth of distance between us and them, we’d call in an anonymous tip to send ambulances their way. We passed through the entry, and Asher swung the door closed behind us, slapping on a padlock that we’d picked up at the hardware store. Then we circled around to the back of the barn where we’d stashed our latest transportation—another truck, except this one was older and more beat up than the one we’d left in the barn. The last owner hadn’t even bothered to apply a coat of paint to the gray primer, and dents lined every side of the body. It had been easy to steal because nobody would want it.

  Asher tossed the keys to Lucy, and I climbed in the middle to make room for Lucy on one side and Asher on the other. A few minutes later, we rumbled along the dirt road back to town. At least the engine worked.

  We hit a particularly bad dip as we turned onto the gravel road, and I moaned. An arm cradled my shoulders, and I looked up into Asher’s eyes as we passed under a street lamp. Normally, their color—a clear, forest green—distracted me, but we hit another bump and my eyes crossed at the fresh onslaught of pain. Asher’s forehead wrinkled in concern. He traced a finger across my brow and brushed my hair behind my ear, letting his hand come to rest under the thick waves against my neck. His breath warmed the skin there when he leaned close and whispered, “Let me help.”

  It had been too long since he’d looked at me like that or touched me with tenderness. The love that had once blazed in his eyes had been banked or burned out for months. He’d been through hell at my grandfather’s hands, so I’d given him space, hoping and praying that he would return to me. I waited and savored every accidental touch and rare embrace.

  My fingers curled around his wrist, as I closed my eyes in concentration. Then I lowered my guard to let him in. With a little time, I could heal myself from most injuries or illnesses, but borrowing a Protector’s energy hurried the process along. A second passed, and I felt it. Asher’s energy floated over me and into me, and pins and needles prickled under my skin. I used his power, manipulating it to seek out my injury. I pictured the wound and imagined the torn edges of the skin tugging together. Flames licked my skin, burning me from the inside out. Left on my own, the healing process caused me hypothermia, but when I borrowed a Protector’s energy, heat scorched through me. His power receded, and my eyes flickered open.

  Asher’s dark brown hair fell over his forehead. It had grown back into a tangle of waves, hiding the scar his torturers had left on his scalp. The night Gabe and I had found him, his hair had looked as if a knife had been taken to it. Asher’s smile faded as I reached up to touch it, and he removed his arm, blocking me. He shifted toward the door, putting an inch of space between us. His physical and mental retreat cut deep when he raised his mental walls. I should have been used to the rejection after all these months, but every time he pulled away the pain rippled through me. I dealt with it as I always did—by pretending the pain didn’t exist—and Asher pretended along with me. I was afraid of what would happen if we acknowledged the cracks widening between us.

  Now able to think past my injury, I shifted to meet Lucy’s worried eyes in the rearview mirror. Without preamble, I said, “Dad’s alive. Franc said he’s okay, and I think he was telling the truth.”

  Lucy’s breath caught, and she gripped the steering wheel. She looked afraid to let hope in. I didn’t blame her, but I hated seeing my happy sister so changed and sad.

  “We’re going to get him back, Luce.”

  Her knuckles spread on the steering wheel so my fingers could slide between them, twining our hands together. “Promise?” she asked.

  “Promise.”

  No matter what, I thought. I owed her that.

  CHAPTER TWO

  We drove several hours before we stopped to send Franc’s men help. Asher wanted to wait longer, but I insisted. I wasn’t exactly of a mind to champion the men, but I didn’t want them to die because we’d left them bleeding. That would make us like them, and I didn’t want that.

  After we called the Alabama police from another antiquated pay phone (and I’d changed out of my bloody T-shirt), Asher took the wheel. Lucy and I slept, leaning into each other and swaying with the movement of the truck. I woke when the engine shut off, the comforting roar fading into a deafening silence. I rubbed the grit from my eyes and looked around. We’d pulled off the highway at a truck stop. Harsh gray dawn light did nothing to improve the looks of the rundown café in front of us. The squat building sported dirty windows, and trash rolled through the parking lot like paper tumbleweeds.

  It sucked sleeping upright, but I’d almost mastered the art. Lucy’s head snapped off my shoulder as she woke, too. I stretched, cracking the bones in my spine an inch at a time. I sneaked a glance at Asher under my lashes. Who would he be today? The distant stranger or the loving boyfriend?

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  We’d been on the road all night and a good part of the morning, putting as much distance between us and my grandfather’s men as we could.

  “Somewhere in Arkansas,” Asher answered.

  Exhaustion drained the color from his tanned face, leaving his handsome features dull. I couldn’t stop myself. I traced the growth of whiskers shadowing his jaw, and he dredged up a tired smile. He shifted and my hand fell away. It might have been an accident, except that it happened all the time. Avoidance hunkered down between us, a wedge that I couldn’t budge.

  I knotted my fingers together and stared at them until they blurred. “We should call Lottie to check on Laura and then find a place to rest,” I said.

  My grandfather’s men had run my stepmother down with their car when they’d been
making their getaway with my father, and she’d been in a coma for months. Never good with head wounds, I hadn’t been able to heal her injuries. We’d been forced to hide her away in a Chicago hospital under a fake name, and Lottie, Asher’s powerful Protector sister, had volunteered to watch over her.

  “That’s a good idea. I didn’t get to call yesterday,” Lucy said.

  She tried for calm, but she couldn’t hide the ache in her voice. She’d led a sheltered life before my father had brought me to live in Blackwell Falls. Since then, she’d lost both parents and been forced to leave her entire life behind. Sometimes I thought she would implode, but she surprised me every day with her strength.

  Asher nodded and tipped his head toward the diner. “Let’s eat lunch first.”

  Lucy glanced at the restaurant and grimaced. “Yum. I think my stomach actually cramped just now in protest. I can smell the grease and bacteria from here.”

  “Don’t be a wimp,” I teased her, sliding across the bench seat and exiting the truck after her.

  “Yeah, you say that now, but wait until you have to heal my severe case of food poisoning.”

  She continued grumbling as we crossed the parking lot. The diner wasn’t much better inside than out. In the middle of the room, a group of men sat along a long counter, sipping coffee and eying the ancient TV that hung over the window where waitresses dropped off orders and the short-order cook threw down dishes piled with steaming food. Booths formed a U around the bar, and most were occupied by truckers in flannel coats or the odd bedraggled traveler seeking a shot of caffeine before they hit the road again.

  Our group waited to use the unisex restroom. I winced when it was my turn, knowing Lucy would freak out when she saw how dirty the small bathroom was. Sadly, it was better than some of the places we’d been to lately. Eating on the run meant grabbing food when and where we could, and home-cooked meals were a thing of the past.

  How far we’ve come down from our life in Blackwell Falls, I thought. I missed our house with the sea glass in the windows and the view of the Maine shore.

  I hardly dared to glance in the mirror, afraid of what I’d see. I’d given up on makeup ages ago because my appearance didn’t seem important in the scheme of things. My daily uniform consisted of jeans, boots, and T-shirts. Apparently, plain features, freckles, and crazy cotton Q-tip hair worked for some guys, because Asher had seen me at my worst and liked me as I was. At least I had my father’s height and navy eyes, something to remind me of him.

  I exited the bathroom, stepping aside to allow Lucy to enter. I hesitated two seconds, long enough to hear her disgusted moan as she took in the filth, then I smiled before making my way to Asher. He’d chosen a corner booth overlooking the parking lot, a strategic spot that would ensure no one could sneak up on us. I sat across from him.

  “I figured we’d call Lottie after we find a place to rest for the night,” he said.

  He didn’t avoid my gaze. Rather, Asher’s eyes appeared empty when he spoke, as if he’d retreated deep inside himself and pulled the door shut behind him. Times like this I considered flashing him to see if I could replace that look with something else. Desperation was an ugly thing.

  “Okay,” I said quietly. With my eyes, I begged him for more. Give me something, Asher. Something to tell me you’re still in there and that you care.

  He lifted his menu, but he might as well have tossed the Grand Canyon between us. He’d been avoiding me for weeks, maneuvering things so he never had to be alone with me. I couldn’t go on like this much longer. We had to figure things out, because we couldn’t fix what had broken if he wouldn’t talk to me.

  Out loud, I asked, “Do you think maybe tonight we could—”

  “There’s Lucy,” he interrupted me. “Do you know what you want to order?”

  Relief flickered across his face when Lucy pressed into the booth beside me, and I guessed he’d heard my thoughts. My bottom lip trembled, and I bit down on it. I busied myself with my coffee, emptying three sugars and four creamers into the ceramic mug. Once upon a time, I’d had to shut off my emotions to survive. That had ended when I’d left the nightmare of my stepfather’s abuse and my mother’s neglect behind. My new family and Asher had changed me, melting the glacier inside me. Wouldn’t it be easier to shut down again? a traitor voice whispered. Isn’t that what Asher is doing? The urge to close ranks and protect myself tempted me, but I’d worked so hard to change.

  A waitress stopped at our table, and we ordered lunch. Our food arrived minutes later, and we ate with little enthusiasm, too worn out to bother with conversation. I’d gone for a salad, hoping for the best, but the thick coating of ranch dressing smeared across the limp lettuce in a way that canceled out my appetite. It had been weeks since we’d stopped long enough to eat a good meal. I missed macaroni and cheese, the good kind that oozed strings of cheese from each bite. And mochas with clouds of whipped cream sprinkled with cinnamon. And pizza smothered in toppings. My imagination ran until I sipped my doctored coffee and almost spat it out. I loved coffee, and even I couldn’t keep this swill down.

  Asher made a noise. One corner of his full lips tilted in the hint of a smile. I melted into a little puddle under the table. I’d missed his smiles. Lucy glanced over curiously, guessing that he had read my mind.

  “Food fantasies,” he told my sister with a shake of his head. “Shameless ones.”

  I flushed to the tips of my burning ears. “Shut up. Like you don’t fantasize about food, too. I just have better taste than to imagine crumpets and tea.”

  He threw a fry at me. “Hey! I would never have shared my favorites if I’d thought you’d use them against me.”

  I ate his fry. “Your favorites are such sissy snacks. When I asked you what foods you missed, I thought they would be macho things like steak and potatoes.”

  I scowled at him, but truthfully, it felt good to be teased, even if it was about food.

  Despite looking my age, Asher hadn’t been eighteen for many years. In the late 1800s, the Protectors had tired of the Healers using them like slaves, and they’d fought back. When the war erupted, Asher had stepped into the battle, along with the other members of his family. He’d killed a Healer to defend his sister and accidentally stumbled onto what he thought of as a curse: Protectors could become immortal if they killed a female Healer and stole her energy. Immortality cost him his senses of taste, touch, and smell, a fate that all immortal Protectors shared and most hated.

  He’d lived what he called an empty life, sleepwalking through the years until he met me. Our bond had changed him. His senses had begun to return, along with his mortality. For the first time in decades, he could taste foods again, could smell the sea air, and he’d felt my touch. Of course, the return of his senses meant that he’d also felt every bit of pain that Franc’s men had inflicted on him.

  The memory deflated the small bubble of happiness inside me. Asher avoided my touch. It made sense that he blamed me for how my powers had changed him. Where did that leave us?

  I cleared my throat, pulling myself out of my miserable thoughts and back to the night before. Franc had said I could be with my father if I would go “home.” As much as I hated to return to Pacifica, that was where we’d find my father.

  I sipped my coffee. “About Franc . . . You all know that if we go to Pacifica we’re walking into a trap, right? He didn’t tell me about Dad out of the kindness of his heart.”

  Lucy’s brown eyes narrowed. “He’s using Dad as bait.”

  I exhaled. “Yeah. Not a doubt in my mind. Asher?”

  He rubbed a hand over his square jaw. “Definitely.”

  From the beginning, we’d guessed that Franc had taken my father to lure me back to him, but these last months, we’d been too busy running to go on the offense. Sometimes the Healers found us, and sometimes it was the Protectors who got too close for comfort. Our only choice had been to keep moving. Keep hiding. Last night we had taken a stand and manipulated our hunters to get t
he answers we wanted—namely that Ben was alive in San Francisco. I was scared to admit how good it had felt to use my powers again to take down those men.

  I shoved a sad-looking cherry tomato around my plate. “He’ll have people watching the airports, bus stations, whatever.”

  He’d admitted as much the first time I’d met him. He’d established the security measures to make his community feel safe from their enemy. They made a point of tracking Protectors and knowing when one entered their city.

  Asher ran a hand through his hair. “I was thinking the same thing. We should drive in. They’ll be watching the motels, too. I’ll ask Lottie to set us up with a house.”

  Thank goodness the Blackwells had more money than Jay-Z. I could have gotten by on very little, but the logistics required for three people changed things. Money made hiding easier, even if it couldn’t solve our dine-and-dash problem.

  “How are we going to find Dad when we get there?” Lucy asked, dumping ketchup on her fries. “Without getting caught, I mean.”

  I tapped a finger on the table. An idea had occurred to me last night, but it didn’t sit right. Unfortunately, it was the only idea I had.

  “What?” Asher asked me, noticing my hesitation.

  “I was thinking that they know we’re traveling together. They’re looking for three people.”

  He picked up the thread. “You’re suggesting we split up.”

  Lucy’s mouth dropped open. For months, I’d preached that we stay together no matter what. To suddenly suggest that we break up our trio must have had her head spinning. I couldn’t see a way around it, though.

  I rushed on. “Just to follow them. We need to figure out where they’re keeping Dad. I think Alcais and Franc are our best bets. If we separate, we can cover more ground and hold on to the element of surprise. They won’t see us coming when we go in for the rescue.”

  Asher and Lucy didn’t say anything. Alcais was a sadistic boy who had tortured Asher, and I hated to bring up his name. Lucy absently turned a butter knife over in her hand, the light glinting on the metal as she flipped it again and again. Asher studied the ceiling with his arms crossed. That went on for several long minutes until Lucy heaved a huge sigh.