Page 38 of Ignited Spirits
Sighing, I step back and consider the door, trying to figure out the best way to get through it. Opening a rift directly inside would be a great idea, but none of us know what it looks like in there.
We could try to blast the door apart, but that will be noisy and draw too much attention.
I’m still staring at the slab of concrete, trying to find the best spell to sling at it, when Cain steps up next to me and places his hand on the small of my back. “I can handle this, angel. I’ll melt it like I did to the door earlier.”
“I don’t want you to run out of power. You’ve never used it before, and I don’t want you to drain yourself.”
“If I start to feel low on energy, I’ll stop. But I think this is the fastest way to get it done, and we can’t afford to wait around until the council notices their guards missing.”
He raises a good point. “Okay. You can tackle at least the first one. I’ll try to mimic your magic on the second one. That way, it’s not all up to you. Deal?”
Giving me a small smile, Cain says, “Deal.”
I step back to let Cain work. He lets flames trail down his arms onto the floor before they make their way to the concrete slab. This door takes him a bit longer than the first one. Within a few minutes, the concrete falls inward. Levi cushions its fall with his magic, so the whole process is pretty soundless.
Cain has sweat starting to bead up on his forehead from the exertion of melting through this door. When I cautiously approach the opening, I see why. This door is at least three feet thick, so multiple times what the other one was.
I can’t help the swell of disappointment when I see that not only is my dad not there, but the cell is completely empty.
Worry that we’re not even in the right place and we’ll never find Dad tries to creep up, but I smother it. We will find him because I absolutely refuse to let him rot here.
Marching over to the next cell, I close my eyes and envision my magic forming super-hot flames like Cain’s and cutting through the door with ease. Letting my magic flow out of me, I keep picturing what I want to happen until I feel my magic taper off.
Opening my eyes, I’m mildly surprised to see the door to this cell is cut similarly to the one Cain did.
I smile to myself as I pick my way through the chunks of concrete that are scattered everywhere and over the now uneven surface of the door.
My mates and brothers follow behind me, but I’m the first one to make it inside and see the occupant. A guy around my age is standing in the back corner of the cell, probably to avoid being hit by the debris from me opening the door.
The man has wavy light brown hair, pale blue eyes, and freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks, making him look boyish. Instead of cowering, he’s standing tall with his shoulders back and his gaze focused on me. He makes no move to fight me or try to escape, instead watching the eight of us warily.
When he meets my gaze, he asks, “Who are you?”
“Isabel.” I hear Bishop swear under his breath behind me, like he’s worried about me giving the man my name. I ignore him and ask, “Who are you?”
He looks back and forth between all of us for a long moment, seeming to debate what to say. “Joseph,” he rasps, his voice rough like he hasn’t used it much lately.
I hop off the pile of concrete to stand in front of him, much to Bishop’s and Luca’s dismay, I assume. But it’s weird talking to someone while standing over them.
“Nice to meet you, Joseph.” I hold out my hand for him to shake before spotting his magic-dampening cuffs. I let my hand drop before he tries to reach up for it. “Are you planning to try to kill us?”
His eyes widen at my question, and he vigorously shakes his head. “No. I’ve never killed anyone. At least, not on purpose.”
Oh, that’s adorable. The sweet summer child has never murdered anyone intentionally before. How precious.
He’s definitely not a threat to us since he probably doesn’t even know how to kill us, much less has the stomach to do so. I idly wonder why he’s in here in the first place, but I don’t really care enough to ask.
Shrugging, I tell him, “Cool. Well, you’re free to go.”
I’m turning around to walk out and start heading to the next cell when his quiet words stop me. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I did?”
I pause and blow out a breath before spinning back around. “I wasn’t planning on it, but it seems like you need to get it off your chest. What’d you do?” I’m not really qualified to be his therapist, but I can listen with minimal judgment if that’s what he wants.
He closes his eyes and tips his face to the ceiling before reluctantly admitting, “I’m the reason my girlfriend died.”
I close my eyes, my heart hurting from the pain in his voice. I know what it’s like to be responsible for the death of someone you care so much about. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish Daniel were still here.
I don’t ask questions like “Why?” or “What happened?” or “Are you sure?” Instead, I just whisper, “I’m sorry.”
