Touching Smoke (11 page)

“You mean a great deal to him, Fallon, and these people know that.”

It would have been easy to believe him, to sink into the illusion that someone out there cared enough about me to want me safe. But the heart of the matter was that he had made no effort to make contact with me my entire life. If he cared about me as much as Isaiah claimed then he would have done something.  He clearly knew where I was if Isaiah was always one-step ahead of us. But he had chosen to stay away. Besides, who was to say I could trust Isaiah either. Mom certainly hadn’t and maybe for good reason.

“These people are the ones who killed my mom, aren’t they?”

I didn’t need to see his nod to know my answer; the fist-size burn hole in her chest was answer enough. But I had to know. I had to know who the enemy was, and whom I had to stop.

“Where can I find them?”

His brows knitted together. “I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t want to go facing these guys by yourself.”

“Trust me, you have no idea what I’m thinking,” I replied tightly, practically vibrating with the anger coursing like boiled water through my veins.

He leaned across the table, dropping his voice and boring into my eyes with intensity that would have left me breathless if I could shake the red haze drifting over my senses.

“You have every right to be upset for what they did,” he put his hand up when I started to open my mouth. “But these guys aren’t normal. They’re not like regular people.”

“I know,” I said quietly, never breaking eye contact. “I know exactly what they are.”

He shot back as if I just splashed hot coffee into his face. The wide-eyed stare would have been comical if it didn’t just confirm what I had already figured out.

“You do?”

I wondered if the smirk twisting my lips looked as wooden as it felt. “I’m not stupid. I can figure out when something isn’t right. People who can run faster than the speed of sound, shoot fire from their hands and look like something from Comic Con… yeah, I figured it out pretty quick.”

His blue eyes darted around us, looking to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. When it seemed safe, he leaned in again.

“What do you think they are?”

I scoffed.
“They?
Don’t you mean
we?”
My grin only broadened when his eyes narrowed darkly. Something in the stare told me to back off, to not push those buttons, but really, what did I have left to lose? What more could anyone possibly take from me? “Yeah, I know what you are as well, Isaiah.”

“Fallon…”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I promised. “I only want answers and the people who killed my mom.”

As plans went for revenge, mine wasn’t even half-baked. It wasn’t even formed. All I knew was that I wanted those responsible to pay.
How,
was still a mystery. But I needed Isaiah to tell me more about the fire-throwing creatures. I needed to know where they came from, and how to stop them. But after my ridiculous declaration, my protector refused to answer any more questions. He’d gone strangely mute and very stiff, and I was too wrapped up in my pathetic plotting to tell him I really had no idea what he was, or what those people were.

I had an inkling, but even I wasn’t ready to go delving into those theories just yet, except the longer I looked at Isaiah, the more I wanted to know about him. His refusal to talk only increased my curiosity, and for a person with as much time on their hands as I had… that was dangerous.

“Stop it.”

Blinking, I looked away from the salt and pepper shakers and focused on him again, having almost forgotten he was still there. The guy sat so quietly sometimes that it was easy to forget I wasn’t alone.

“What?” I asked, pushing away the plate still holding the burger and a handful of fries.

The plate was pushed back in front of me. “You know what. This game you’re trying to play isn’t safe. Stop now before you go too far.”

I wish I could have felt some smug satisfaction knowing I had unnerved him, but I genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. I hadn’t done anything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, shoving the plate back again, returning his challenging glower without blinking.

“No one will ever understand your need for revenge half as much as I do, but you need to understand when I tell you it’s a crazy notion.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “You cannot stop these people. Stronger and faster people have tried and failed.”

“Then I’ll go to the police!”

I realized what a stupid suggestion that was even before his brow lifted. What police officer in his right mind would believe my mom was killed by fire-throwing men in trench coats and glasses, ones that hover off the ground no less? Not only would I be thrown into a padded cell, but also I had no proof. Even as I sat there, deliberating my predicament, my mom was being cremated by a hunched little man in our hotel room. If that wasn’t illegal, I didn’t know what was.

To top it off, I was almost certain the police were already looking for me for taking off after that earthquake and fire that happened at Lady Clara’s. If I was caught, not only was I looking at a padded cell for the rest of my life, but a foster home for being sixteen, without a guardian or money. The only person I had was Isaiah, and I didn’t trust him enough to let my guard down. It was then I realized, for the first time in my life, I was completely alone.

“Your father can help,” Isaiah said, quite possibly reading my mind — I didn’t doubt anything anymore.

“So you say.” What was the point of suppressing the resentment? I didn’t owe him anything. “I don’t need his help.”

“Fallon…” He was speaking; it was painfully obvious from the movement of his lips…lips I suddenly couldn’t seem to stop staring at.

They were just lips, yet they weren’t. Everything about them seemed surreal, kind of like a masterfully sculptured statue, unyielding and seemingly hard, but when they moved with speech, or a smile, it was all I could do to keep from reaching across and touching them, just to see if they really were as firm as they appeared. I suddenly had a vision of them feeling taut, warm, and smooth against mine.

Beneath the table, I clenched my hands together tight, clasping them between my thighs. I was a moth captivated by a flame. Drawn. Enchanted. Addicted.

No! I had to stop.

I had to look up, to fixate on his mesmerizing eyes and the words pouring from his beautiful mouth. Unconsciously, I licked my own lips, feeling a little drugged with the new swell of emotions.

“Fallon!” The growl sizzled with feral warning. It hit me like a gust of wind. The sudden interruption sent my mind teetering like a house of cards. I half expected to be blown away. Instead, I was faced with the dark figure glowering back at me from across the table, blue eyes  filled with an upwelling of something I’d never experienced before, something not entirely human. It frightened me, but not in any manner that I should have been frightened. My fears were based solely on the knowledge that I
wanted
to give in, give up… surrender to the demon staring back at me, daring me to do just that.

The unsteady tremble in my nerves brought focus to the dry desert in my throat and the rapid hammering in my chest. I was mindlessly drawn to him, to his heat. His presence. His soul. His scent.

Nothing else was real, not the stench of deep fried food, grease, sweat, stale cigarette smoke, floor cleaner, perfume. There was just…
him.
His very existence beat around me like a heartbeat. Every ragged breath I drew burned with his aroma, and like a starved animal, I greedily drew it all in, soaked up every last drop. 

“Stop!” The plea in his growl was what shook me.

 I was devoured by an uprising of mortification. I couldn’t believe I had just sat there staring at his mouth like some crazy addict attracted to him.

Okay, so I was attracted…
very
attracted, but to sit there and gawk? Really? What the hell was wrong with me?

“I’m—I’m sorry…” My tongue stumbled over itself blurting out the apology. My cold, clammy palm touched my sweaty brow, my hand trembling. “I don’t…”

His eyes seemed to darken further at the apology. The muscle along the slant of his jaw jumped. I was so busy watching the hypnotic pulse beneath the golden stretch of flesh that I actually jumped when a loud crack shattered the air like splintering wood. I half-expected to see a tree falling on us. Instead, my gaze dropped away from the leaping flames behind his gaze to the white-knuckled grip he had around the table edge, and the deep fracture running the length of the glossy surface just inches from where his blunt fingernails clutched the table.

The breath in my throat caught.

“What—?” But he was out of his seat and practically running out of the diner before I could finish.

I traced the crack with an unsteady finger. Had it always been there? It must have been. But how did I miss it? The table was practically in two, held together only by a small sliver of wood in the middle where the pole attached at the bottom to the floor; it was as though an elephant had sat on it.

Images of Isaiah’s hold filled my mind. I could almost see the death grip he’d had on the table. But how could a person break a solid table with only his fingertips?

People can’t throw fireballs with their bare hands either…
a small voice in the back of my mind pointed out.

“OhmiGod!”

I don’t remember getting out of my seat, but I was running before I could even second-guess my next course of action. The waitress behind the counter yelled after me, but I hit the glass door with shattering force and all but landed on my face on the other side. My shoulder throbbed like I’d run into an oncoming train. I stumbling, but kept running. It didn’t even matter where I was running as long as it was far away from the crazy world I’d fallen into as possible.

Cars screeched and honked when I lunged across the street without looking. I ignored the shouts of profanity, keeping my whole focus screwed on the Impala parked in front of the motel. The Rust-Bucket had never looked so welcoming. A handful of feet away from promised freedom, and the motel door opened and Edger emerged, wiping his hands on a motel towel. He spotted me before I could hide — not that there was anywhere
to
hide.

“Oh, good, I was about to call Isaiah,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the room. “All done in there. I left the ashes on the table.”

Ashes… Mom…

I didn’t even ask how he did it. I didn’t thank him either. I shouldered straight into the room and went into instant alert. My breathing pulsed in my ears as I raced in, grabbed the tin box and ran out. I stalled long enough to glance up and down the parking lot, trembling with panic even though I repeatedly told myself I had a right to leave if I wanted to. That I wasn’t a prisoner. That Isaiah couldn’t stop me — wouldn’t stop me. Still I expelled a sigh of relief when I didn’t spot him.

Wasting no more time, I crawled into the driver’s seats, slammed the car door and peeled out of there with an earsplitting screech. The last thing I saw before turning the corner was Edger’s puzzled expression. But that was easily dismissed with a quick adjustment of the rearview mirror. I took the first three rights, then two lefts, followed by another right, just in case Edger told Isaiah which road I took. From there, I floored the gas pedal and shot straight for the highway, keeping a careful eye out for anything that might stop me, like cops or a giant, black motorcycle.

“Okayokayokay.” Now that the adrenaline was gone, leaving my system shaken and disorientated, I had no choice but to slow my haste and really concentration on what I was doing. “Just calm down and think.”

He had no idea where I was, or how to find me. If I did some backtracking and switched directions, I could probably lose him for good.

I threw a panicked glance out my rearview mirror. No motorcycle.

Why are you running?
There was that voice again inside my head, and, now that I was as familiar with Isaiah’s voice as I was with my own, I was bowled over with how much it sounded like him.

Are you kidding? I wanted to yell at it. Why do you think I’m running? In truth, I had no idea why.

Maybe because I didn’t trust him. Maybe because I didn’t trust anything right then. Maybe because I needed to run, needed to just get away from everything. I’d probably run from myself if I could. My own skin felt alien to me, felt wrong. I would have gladly peeled it all away, skinned myself alive, just to make it all stop.

“Oh God, I’ve gone completely crazy!” I hadn’t realized I was uncontrollably sobbing until I could no longer breathe properly and had to pull into a shopping center parking lot to keep from killing myself or someone else.

I lay my forehead against the steering wheel and closed my eyes. My bones rattled violently with every ragged breath I sucked into my lungs, fighting to control the raw madness, raising its ugly head, inside me. 

“Why is this happening to me?” I screamed at the empty car, slamming both fists against the steering wheel. The horn blared beneath the attack. “Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”

Absolute silence reverberated around me, broken only by the thundering of my heart in my ears and the irregular wheezing of my lungs. I dropped back in my seat and stared up at the roof. Hot tears fell like rain off my chin, dampening the front of my t-shirt, but I didn’t bother wiping them away; I scarcely had the strength to flex my fingers let alone raise an entire arm.