Spark

CHAPTER 39

Layne sat in the back corner of the library, blocked by the stacks, yet with a crooked view of the entrance. The same table where she always sat. The same table where she’d stood up to Gabriel, two weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime ago.

The library wasn’t crowded, but no one ever sat back here because the books were old and smelled musty. They must have cleaned the carpets over the weekend, because today it also smelled sweet yet acrid, a chemical scent that was giving her a headache.

Her palms were sweating, and she swiped them on her jeans, again reveling in the realization that there were no scars under the denim along her left thigh.

That was the only thing she’d left out of her confession to her father.

She just wasn’t sure what to say. She was used to dealing with facts and numbers. Her father was used to dealing with truths and untruths. Neither had any experience dealing with the supernatural.

Because it had to be, right?

This morning, in math class, Gabriel had reminded her of the way he’d been that first morning on the trail, when she’d compared him to a land mine. Only this time it was more like a hand grenade after the pin had been pulled. It was just a matter of time before he went off.

“It’s like every time I see you, you’re sitting all by yourself.”

Layne jerked and almost fell out of her chair. Ryan Stacey was behind her, leaning against the bookcase. He must have come around the side of the stacks.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said. “But I like it. You will, too, I think.”

Now her palms were sweating for an entirely new reason. “Go away. You’re lucky I’m not having you arrested for assault.”

“You kissed me, too, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.” She threw a glance at the doorway and prayed for Gabriel to appear.

He didn’t.

“Besides,” she said, making her voice hard even though her insides felt like jelly, “I’m not the only one you’ve assaulted.”

“Yeah, like your baby brother is going to earn any friends by being a retard and a tattletale.”

“Simon is not a retard.”

“Whatever. I took care of him.” He took a step toward her, and she scrambled out of the chair before she could stop herself. Her back hit a bookcase, and the metal shelves dug into her shoulders.

A smile lit his face, but not in a good way. “Too bad about the fire at the horse barn. Did that satisfy your little burn fetish? Add a new scar or two?”

She flinched, but then he looked at her crookedly. “Or is it Merrick who has the burn fetish? I guess you freaks all have to stay together—”

“Leave her alone.”

Layne was choking on her breath, on her heartbeat, fear warring with relief. Gabriel was here, looking as fierce as ever. He’d protect her.

She just didn’t want him to do it at his own expense.

She moved close to him, letting her hand close over his forearm like she had in class. “Don’t fight,” she said. “Let him say what he wants. It’s not worth it—”

Gabriel glanced down at her hand, as if surprised to find it there. “I won’t fight him.” Then he made a face. “What is that smell?”

“Don’t you know?” said Ryan. “I mean, they’re going to find a bottle of it in your locker.”

The forearm under her hand turned to steel, but Gabriel was absolutely still. “What are you talking about?”

Layne realized what Ryan had said. “You knew about the fire at the farm. You knew I was there.”

“Of course I did. You told me where to find you.” His eyes flicked to Gabriel. “Of course, I didn’t realize you were riding more than just horses.”

“Shut up!” she snapped, feeling tears grab at her throat.

“It was supposed to be a hay bale. I was just screwing with you,” said Ryan. “I didn’t realize the whole place would go up like that. When the cops found me in the woods, I had to say I was out running and saw who started it.” A wicked smile at Gabriel. “Too bad for you it happened in the middle of an arson spree.”

“You?” gasped Layne. “You . . . but Gabriel didn’t—”

“Really, I hadn’t planned on either of you being here, but it’s kind of poetic justice.” Ryan pulled a lighter out of his pocket.

Gabriel started forward. “It’s you. You’re the one starting the fires.”

“Nope. You are.” Ryan flicked the igniter.

And tossed it.

Layne didn’t see where it went. She was just aware of the blast of heat, the roar of flames, and the feeling of her shoulders hitting the brick wall of the library. Gabriel’s body trapped her there.

She couldn’t see anything but fire and smoke and the side of Gabriel’s face, all but pressed against hers.

“Lighter fluid,” he said. “He sprayed the whole area with lighter fluid.”

And the books were providing plenty of fuel. Layne coughed, her lungs trying to find oxygen through the smoke.

He pulled her down, against the ground, and suddenly it was easier to breathe.

“We have to move,” he said.

She nodded. “But can’t you”—she coughed—“can’t you do something?”

He pulled her along the wall, to the corner, then swore. All the stacks in this back part of the library were blazing. The school’s fire alarms were blaring now; one was right overhead.

He yelled over it. “I’m going to try to get us out of here.”

“No—the fire. Like at the farm.” Another cough. “In those houses. You can do something to stop it, can’t you?”

“Not if you want to keep breathing.”

She coughed again, and he pushed her closer to the floor. “What? I don’t—”

“Wrong twin.” His voice was grim. “I’m not Gabriel. I’m Nick.”

When the fire alarms went off, Gabriel’s pencil streaked across the paper. Students were suddenly flooding the hallways, laughing and roughhousing and carrying on, shouting over the alarms.

He looked at Ms. Anderson. “A drill?”

She was already slinging her purse over her shoulder, a grade book in her hands. “There wasn’t one scheduled, but they don’t always tell us.” She sounded exasperated. She took the test and put it on her desk, even though he’d only finished the third question. “Come on.”

He shouldered his backpack and headed for the hallway. His nerves were already shot, and the pulsing alarms weren’t helping.

But as soon as he hit the hallway, he felt it.

Come play.

He stopped short in the middle of the flow of students. They were all heading right, toward the stairs at the end of the hallway that would lead outside. The fire was somewhere to his left—and that left a lot of school to search. He’d have to fight a sea of students to find the source.

He saw Ronald Coello, a guy he’d played soccer with, heading his way.

“Hey, Coello,” he called. “What’s going on?”

Drawing attention to himself was a mistake. Ronald stopped and stared at him. So did everyone else in the general vicinity.

Another guy from soccer, Jonathan Carroll, gave him an unfriendly up-and-down and got in his face. “The school’s on fire, dickhead. You know something about it?”

Gabriel was ready to shove him back, but Ms. Anderson put a hand up in front of his face—and in front of Jonathan’s, too. “We’re evacuating, gentlemen. Keep moving.”

Ronald and Jonathan kept moving.

“You, too, Mr. Merrick.”

He hesitated. His element was calling him.

But his brain was warning him. If the school was on fire, being caught anywhere near it would be bad.

Then someone from behind him snorted and said, “Leave it to Merrick to find a way to set the library on fire.”

The library.

Layne.

And Nick.

He shoved a hand into his bag for his phone—which wasn’t there, of course.

“Mr. Merrick,” said Ms. Anderson. “We need to move.”

He moved all right—bolting left, fighting the surge of students, ignoring his teacher’s protesting calls behind him.