Embers and Icicles

Chapter Seven

Chevy and Ed's voices boomed through the house, followed by Sammy's slightly discouraged laugh. When Silver walked in, he saw the classic scene. The boys all sitting around the table, cash and alcohol within reach. Sammy's stack of money was nearly depleted, and the half-empty bottle next to him told the same story. Poker was not his strong suit.

In other words, it was a classic Frozen Hand night. Silver leaned against the doorframe, just watching the three of them for a minute. Eventually, Chevy looked up and noticed Silver. His face went pale.

"Oh, shit." His eyes flicked to the bathroom door. A voice sounded from inside.

"What's wrong, Chevy. Is Sammy making a comeback?" Frank walked out of the bathroom, his eyes immediately catching on Silver. "Oh, shit."

Silver's gut reaction was to roll his eyes. "You're fucking kidding me. Chevy? Are you responsible for this?"

"Looks like things are a little awkward. I'd better leave you four to sort this all out." Frank stepped lightly over to the table and started shovelling cash into the front of his suspenders.

Silver glared at Chevy before turning back to Frank. "You know that's not going to work. I'm bringing you back to the cell."

Frank lifted his hands from the money reluctantly. "All right," he said. "I'll come with. But we don't have to do the whole chains and ropes shit. Unless you're into that. Lord knows I have no room to judge." He winked and walked easily alongside Silver. "Seriously though, I know I'm not getting out of here. I pinky promise that I won't even try to escape."

Silver still said nothing, so Frank continued. "What do you even want from me?"

"I guess you'll find out." Silver opened the door and half-shoved Frank through it. He locked up the redhead's wrists as tightly as the first time, but decided to leave his ankles free, just this once. His fingertips caught against the flame boy's wrists as he released them, drawn to the heat that emanated from him even when he wasn't actively using his element.

The brush of warmth that Silver could actually feel sent a rush of goosebumps across his skin. He saw them mirrored on Frank's arm, and the two flinched back, refusing to make eye contact.

"Okay, redhead. Get comfortable. I'll be back tomorrow morning." Silver let the door lock behind him with a resounding click. The three meatheads had already scattered, seemingly in a hurry–a chair was overturned, and a few poker chips were still scattered across the table.

They had, of course, had enough time to drain every last drop of alcohol. All three bottles they had opened lay empty. Silver shook his head as he got to work cleaning the mess up. At the very least, they hadn't gone farther than alcohol. If they had messed with the way they reacted to VisPlus, their livers wouldn't be the only part of them that was permanently damaged.

Between the synth's failure and the flame boy getting out of his cell, his day had been far from ideal. Still, he had one thing he could count on. The diamond boy hadn't caused any trouble. He seemed content to spend his days reading or going for walks around the property, despite the fact that a member of the Frozen Hand was always keeping an eye on him. Silver cleaned up the last of the mess and went to check on the kid.

Skip started when Silver entered the room, nearly dropping the book in his hands. He looked up at Silver expectantly, as usual not speaking first.

"How's it going, Skip?"

The kid mumbled something too quiet for Silver to hear.

"Speak up." Silver tried to soften his tone.

"Never mind. It's not important. I'm doing just about as well as you could expect." Skip was clearly battling between two instincts: whatever politeness had been instilled in him by his parents before they passed, and the urge to flip Silver off, burn the house down, and never look back.