Ignite the Shadows. Ingrid Seymour

spinning, I wobble to my knees and look around. I can’t see anything. Horror grips me, then I realize it’s too dark to see through the helmet’s visor. The bike’s headlight must have shattered against the tree. I stand up on shaky legs, take off my helmet and look around under the dim moonlight that seeps through the trees.

      “Xave,” I whisper.

      My eyes search the darkness, and I can’t find him.

       Chapter 2

      Panic sets in. I’m about to scream Xave’s name when I’m pitched forward, shoved from behind. My helmet flies off and hits the ground as my arms flail in an attempt to keep my balance. I take two staggering steps to avoid a fall, then whirl and strike a fighting pose, ready for anything. Xave is behind me, apparently furious enough to shove me. His own helmet is on the ground next to him, his shaggy, brown hair matted to his forehead.

      “What the hell! You trying to get us killed?” Xave shouts.

      My instinct is to jump and karate-kick his ass for pushing me, but I manage to control myself. I need to come up with an explanation for my screw-up and fast. I haven’t had one of these episodes in over a year and never in front of Xave. Even Mom thinks I’m over my “epileptic” attacks, as she chooses to call them—even though the doctors never gave that diagnosis.

      I take a deep breath and relax my arms. Sensei would be proud of me. Hell, I’m proud of me. I may only be five-foot-five, but I don’t let anyone push me around. Never have. Xave’s a year older than me and considerably taller, but I can give him a run for his money, if it comes to that.

      “What kind of stupid stunt was that, Marci?” Xave sounds as if he’s about to pop. “The cops, the freaking cops, were after us.”

      “Not for long,” I say, sounding smug, just the tone I need for the explanation he unknowingly provided me: a “stupid stunt.” I abandon my defensive stance and make a big show of dusting myself.

      Xave limps in my direction. Uh-oh, did he break something? I’ll feel really bad if he did. His black leathers creak with every step. He stops and looks down at me with a kind of anger I didn’t know him capable of. I watch him, wary of sudden moves. It would suck if this ended up in a nasty fight.

      Moonlight cuts through the trees above and bathes Xave’s face. His hazel eyes look nearly black, his high cheekbones sunken.

      “I’m tired of your cocky, I-can-do-it-all bull-crap,” he says. “If you want to go all Evel Knievel, do it on your own time. Leave me out of it, okay?”

      “Hey, you were the one who wanted to spy on Clark.” I take a step back, trying to put some distance between us.

      “All you had to do was be ready to drive off. But you couldn’t even do that.” Xave’s tone grates on my nerves. “Now Clark knows we were there and on his Yamaha.”

      At the last word, his face goes all Hulk-green or maybe it’s putty-gray, I can’t really tell in the dim moonlight. He points at the wrecked bike, hand shaking.

      “Look, I’ll get the bike fixed,” I say, using a conciliatory tone—though it’s a lame offer, considering that Xave already spent hours working on this bike. He’s good at fixing things. I think he got it from his mom. She likes crafts, doing detailed things with her hands. He says he’ll be a mechanic after school. “I’ll talk to Clark and tell him it was my—”

      “Screw you, Marci.”

      I flinch at the harshness in his voice. What’s wrong with him lately? I know I screwed up, but where is all this anger coming from? We’ve been in bigger trouble than this before.

      “Everything’s always so easy for you.” His tone is mocking. “Oh, I’ll tell him it was my idea,” he mimics me in a whiny voice, which sounds nothing like mine. “We’ll lie, steal and cheat. It’ll be okay. Just chill out, Xave. You worry too much.”

      “Hey, you’re pushing it,” I tell him, feeling a bit injured.

      “Am I? And what are you gonna do? Land me in jail when I least expect it?”

      I take a deep breath to control my rising temper. I can’t get angry right now. Not after what I just went through. “Let’s just go home and talk about it later before we regret it. Okay?”

      “I already regret it. I don’t know why I bother with you anymore.” His words hold a venom I can almost taste. “You’re selfish and immature. You never stop to think of anyone but yourself.”

      “You … don’t understand,” I say.

      “Understand what?” he demands.

      I feel like my only choice is to wait for his fury to die down. I can’t tell him about the mess inside my head. I’ve been hiding it from everyone for too long to start sharing now. He’ll think I’m crazy, and I’d rather continue lying than face his disappointment. I get enough of that from Mom.

      A part of me tells me I’m wrong, that I should trust him, that he’ll understand. Dare I listen to it?

      I clear my throat and begin in a weak voice, “I … lost control—”

      “You’re damn right you lost control.” His anger runs unchecked, killing what little courage I’d mustered. “My dad’s gonna have my hide and so is Clark. Did you stop to think about that?”

      There isn’t a good response, so I start toward the bike to avoid answering. When I walk past, Xave grabs my shoulder and makes me face him.

      “You didn’t answer my question. Did you stop to think about it?” His eyes look darker than a starless universe would.

      “No,” I say, because a “yes” would mean I did it intentionally. “I just thought we’d have a little fun, that’s all.”

      “Like I said, selfish!” The word echoes through the quiet patch of trees.

      “Is that what you think?”

      “Yes, that’s what I think!”

      Rage seethes inside me. He has no idea what he’s talking about. He thinks he knows me, has me all figured out. Well, he doesn’t know the half of it. No one does. Dad was the only one who ever tried to understand, but he’s gone and now I have only myself.

      Through another deep breath, I manage to stay in control. “Whatever,” I say, trying to sound like the brat he figures me for. I look for my helmet on the ground. I can get home on foot from here. We’re only a mile away. When I spot it, I pick it up and start walking away.

      “Oh, so now you’re leaving?” he says sarcastically.

      “That’s what selfish people do.”

      “It must be nice to live never having to face the consequences of anything you do.”

      I whirl. “Shut up, Xave. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The anger rolls through me in waves. Automatically, my breathing slows and my thoughts shift at a million gigahertz a second. My defenses are second nature most of the time. They have to be. Anger is bad. Anything that can make me lose my concentration can bring the shadows back. That’s why my entire life I’ve felt as if I’m walking on eggshells, always afraid of cracking and spilling out my insides.

      “’Course I do. No one ever tells you anything or cramps your style with chores and speeches about responsibility. No one cares—” He abruptly stops.

      “Finish, Xave.” I dare him.

      He exhales, knowing he’s gone too far. A car drives by on the road, its headlights flooding our space for a quick couple of seconds. I see no hint of remorse in Xave’s face, but he doesn’t dare finish his sentence.

      “But