Into the Flames

Chapter 11

Gianna shut down the computer. The screens shut down, and silence filled the air after the humming of technology died.

“Isn’t it your turn?” Jenna asked Gianna.

Gianna smiled at Jenna and shook her head. “Not today.”

Jenna felt adrenaline coursing through her veins; she never felt so alive. Jenna frowned at Gianna’s response; why wouldn’t she go subway surfing?

They rode the elevator in silence, Dylan’s whistling echoing through the shaft. The tune sounded like a mixture between Beethoven’s “Fur Elise” and the Pachelbel Cannon. The elevator went up to the first floor with a little ding! Everyone walked up the stairs, the dim lights casting long shadows against everyone’s faces. Jenna glanced up at Dylan, who was taking two steps at a time. The darkness didn’t dim his eyes; they brought the green out. They seemed to glow in the dark, luminescent like the moon, similar to cat’s eyes. Everyone dispersed into his or her own bedroom, murmuring good nights. Jenna changed out of her sweaty clothes and went into the shower, warm water sending a curtain of steam against the mirror in her bathroom. A sigh escaped her mouth as the warm water washed out the sweat and grime out of her hair.

            Jenna knocked on Dylan’s door, staring at the nameplate with “Dylan A.” embossed on it. Jenna saw scratches on the bottom right corner of it, as if someone tried to take the nameplate off. Dylan opened the door, shirtless, with his jeans hanging loosely on his hips.

            “What do you want?” he asked, leaning lazily against the doorway.

            “I have to ask you some questions,” she said, training her eyes on the top of his head so they wouldn’t wander down.

            “I was about to take a shower,” he said. That explained the steam trailing into his room.

            “I’ll be quick?” asked Jenna, biting her lip.

            “Just sit there,” said Dylan, pointing to his bed. “And don’t touch anything until I come back out. If I run out of warm water I’m blaming you.”

            Jenna obediently sat at the edge of his neat bed. The plain blue covers were soft underneath his bed. Dylan’s room was so plain, undecorated. There was no color on the walls, no decorations. She sat on the bed, untangling the knots in her hair. The bed smelled like Dylan; like the pine and citrus scent with a boyish undertone that she smelt the night she got hurt. Dylan came out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel.

            “Okay, what do you need,” he asked, picking at a hole in his shirt.

            “What were those monsters that I fought in the subway?” asked Jenna.

            Dylan looked up, trying to recall the monsters. “The first one was just an Acrus, or a porcupine. They’re just nuisances; if you had a problem killing that one, then you would need a lot of help. The second one was a Seeker. Remember, the one I killed at your old school,” said Dylan, with a note of discomfort.

            “What’s wrong with them?” asked Jenna, hearing his unease.

            “There’s nothing wrong with them, unless you count that they don’t like us. Then again, every monster doesn’t like us. They’re just monsters that do what they’re named after: they Seek. The Timors use them to get something, whether it’s a person or a thing as simple as a specific plant,” said Dylan.