Emberlight

13. The Perks of Being an Ember

Kelsey

"What do you really hope to gain from this?" Tristan asked as he and Kelsey trekked up the country road. He asked it again as they journeyed across a stone path next to a sheep field, and a third time in some form of the question when they reached a signpost that read: WELCOME TO THE VILLAGE OF MULBERRY.

"A phone," she muttered too low for him to hear. I want to talk to my sister without my mother interfering. I want to hear my dad's voice. I don't need magic, I just need a phone.

"Here are some words, you choose the order: doing, what, are, we, and exactly?"

"Shut up, Tristan," Kelsey snapped.

"Original." He kicked a broken bottle aside. It rolled along a crack caused by an overgrown tree root. "You know, 'shut up' isn't doing it for me these days."

Kelsey didn't respond. They passed houses boarded up like advent calendars. A melted signpost warned of schoolchildren nearby.

He pointed to the crumbling brick wall that surrounded a convenience store. Ember slurs were sprayed all over it in a collage of colours. "Maybe you should take inspiration from these."

"What? Like 'die sons of Lucifer'?" Kelsey said as she read the graffiti. "I only want you to shut up."

"Okay, fine, I'll guess," he said with a grin. "You're out here for freedom, right? Freedom to make your own decision—that's an important thing. Creating your own secrets so that you choose who to share yourself with. Now that's freedom. Am I close?"

"You're overthinking. You'll ruin it," Kelsey muttered, cautiously checking a dark alley as they walked past it. Tristan might have let his guard down, but she knew better.

"You know, you could answer me. It doesn't have to be polite—just accurate."

She ignored him long enough to spot something worth looking at: a retro phone booth across the road. Of course, it was dilapidated as much as it was outdated, and a spider web print shattered the glass, but Kelsey could see a perfectly viable phone through the cracks.

"There's another thing..." Tristan continued.

Opening the booth, she grabbed the phone and paused. She knew Nadine's number—hell, she knew every phone number she'd ever looked at—but the Ashes equipment demanded loose change and her pockets were empty. She tucked her hand into her leather jacket and tried to conjure a Perl. Nothing happened.

"Kelsey?" Tristan said. "Seriously, Kelsey, look up."

She slammed the phone into the receiver. "What?"

"There's a man."

"Tell him to wait his turn," she said before glancing sideways at Tristan. His pale face was rigid.

"Not that type of man," he murmured.

Dread seized her muscles as she thought of all the strangers lurking around her lately. A man in the forest, a man rescuing her mother—who would this guy be? She craned her head to follow Tristan's line of sight. The image of the scarred man from the forest slithered over her like a threatening shadow.

She sighed as her eyes fell into the boy across the street, a chain of keys clinking from his baggy trousers as he walked.

"He's barely older than us."

"And armed," Tristan said between his teeth.

She dropped her eyes below his belt—they weren't keys she could hear. A selection of knives hung from his trousers like ladles in a soup kitchen. They clinked together as he walked, the jingle of death growing louder as he approached.