Page 78 of Beneath the Watching

He cast another glance at me and hurried his pace. We arrived at a crossroads and turned down another hall, the smoke billowing away from us as we went. Finally, we came to a set of doors.

“Back up,” Stefan ordered. He gripped the door handle after I moved to the side and opened it, keeping himself behind the wooden panel.

A rush of air and heat flew through the opening and Stefan crouched down as I flattened myself to the wall, out of the way. When the rush dissipated slightly, I lowered myself to peek inside.

Flames licked one entire side of the apartment and smoke was billowing out a window. Stefan rushed past me, and I saw Ilya on the floor, blood surrounding him. He gripped Ilya under his shoulders and began dragging him to safety.

“Clear the air,” I spoke aloud, again. The smoke obeyed, changing direction, and fleeing through the broken windows.

“Put out the fire,” I said tentatively, unsure if whatever this was would go so far as to be able to stop the terrible destruction.

The fire abated, snuffing itself out and leaving tiny wisps of smoke floating out the windows.

“What the fuck, Mabel,” Ilya groaned, twisting out of Stefan’s arms.

Stefan dropped to sit on the floor, staring at me in amazement. I shrugged and he looked away. “What happened?” He placed a hand on Ilya.

Ilya lifted his head and that’s when I saw it. The side of his face was flayed open, temple to jawbone. Blood poured out, running thickly down his neck. He held a hand up to the wound hesitantly, his eyes shutting for a second, and the bleeding stopped, leaving the flesh still separated.

“Kiara,” Ilya replied.

Drawing in a deep breath, I asked, “What did you do to her?”

He sneered at me and then restrained himself, hanging his head. “Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he said quietly.

Stefan tilted his head at me, sending me a look of warning. “Where is she?” I asked.

Ilya stood up and ignored my plea. “I’m going to the infirmary,” he said.

We listened to him groan and he stopped by the open doors before facing us. “Stefan,” he gestured vaguely, “take care of this.” He walked away, a broken man.

“When were you planning on enlightening me?” Stefan gave me a pointed look.

I defended myself. “I didn’t know if I’d interpreted it correctly. Remember I told you ‘Ask and you shall receive’? I guess it was literal?”

He looked thoughtful. “I guess. Be careful with that.”

I grinned at him, and he returned the smile. “It came in handy.” I said, pointedly.

This new benefit of the voice in my head astounded me. I wasn’t certain what to think of it and I was tempted to see what else it could do. I tried lighting a candle but nothing happened.

That was okay because playing with flames right now probably wasn’t the best experiment.

As you grew, so your magic grew.

I smiled to myself. Opening up to those around me, people who cared, welcomed me to a whole new world of possibilities. Things like bake shops—when I never would’ve been brave enough, before.

Stefan led us down a staircase and then along a walkway that took us to an infirmary. We found Ilya sitting on a chair, smoking a cigarette. “I’d have let you get me a chair but...” He began to smile at his own joke but then winced.

“Thats only in public, scar-face,” Stefan shot back. Briefly, I remembered him always dragging chairs to for people to sit on when we’d all be at the casino.

Ilya smirked. “I look like an asshole,” he muttered, holding a small mirror near his face, and tucking an errant strand of hair away from his face.

From what I knew of him, he was obsessed with his appearance. He was a good-looking man and took advantage of the fact at every opportunity. His image was carefully curated and being the bearer of a huge gash on the side of his face must’ve been quite the blow.

Once, I watched him berate a maid over wrinkled dry cleaning. His clothing was always immaculate, and he never shied away from a reflective surface. It was all about image, with him.

“Just be a sexy pirate,” I commented. “There’s girls who love that look.”

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