Not Your Destiny: Chapter 36
Marked
Book 1: Not Your Destiny
Chapter 36
They stay through both movies, although they manage to miss seeing most of the first one. They spend the second curled together in the back seat, the blanket tucked up around their chins, with Tony’s arm behind Ángel’s back, and Ángel’s head on Tony’s shoulder. As midnight passes and moves on into the wee hours of the morning, Ángel’s tired, but there is nothing that would convince him to sleep. Not right now.
When the credits roll, flood lights shine brightly on the lot as cars start up and people move. The people who were sitting outside their cars pack up chairs and blankets as other cars slowly move out. Ángel and Tony climb out, rearrange everything into the back so they can sit in the front seats again.
The first fat raindrops fall, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance, and Tony presses the button to put the top up.
Ángel runs his hand along the top, still a little amazed that they did that. They put this back together, and he helped Tony, at least a little, with this incredible car. As he climbs in, he leans across the center console, waits for Tony to meet him for another kiss. “Incredible first date,” Ángel murmurs as he settles back into his seat.
Tony motions for him to buckle up, waits until he does so before he carefully pulls out of his parking space. The radio clicks, the announcer wishing everyone a safe drive home and hoping they make it back soon. “Mm?” Tony says, glancing at Ángel.
“You took me to the drive-in in a convertible,” Ángel says, patting the space between them. “You have to admit, it’s kind of hot.”
It’s only after he says it that he remembers Tony’s story of trying to impress Daphne with the drive-in ten years ago. He winces inwardly, hopes he’s not stepping on old wounds.
Tony tilts his head, frowning as he maneuvers the Mustang through the crowded exit. “Is it the Mustang, the drive-in, or the company?” he asks idly.
“All three, definitely.” It could be the right time to finally ask. Now. After spending four hours in each other’s company on a date, after spending a good part of that time snuggled together or making out. Ángel could ask.
He just doesn’t know how to ask.
“Are you staying at the house, or heading home?” Tony asks, and Ángel’s heart skips. Tony finally makes it out to the main road, and is able to speed up, following traffic to the light at the end. Tony stops behind the line of cars, glances at Ángel. “Are you awake enough to drive safely?”
There are so many layers to that question, and Ángel isn’t sure what the right answer is. He licks his lips, tries to find words in a sleep-fogged brain.
Tony reaches over, squeezes his arm. “You’re crashing at the house. I don’t think you should be on the road right now.”
“Okay.” It’s easy to agree, without knowing how that’s going to work. Will he be in the room he’s claimed? Will he stay with Tony? It wouldn’t be the first time. Will anything happen? Does Ángel want anything to happen yet? It’s all a tangled mess in his brain, and he sighs slightly, sinking down in the seat.
A soft laugh. “It’s not a complicated question, Ángel,” Tony murmurs. The radio station is crackling now, and Tony twists the dial, turning it low enough that he can speak over it more easily. “You need sleep.”
“Mm.” Ángel can agree with that, and for the moment, he closes his eyes and drifts while Tony drives.
The rain fades by the time they arrive at the house, hissing and spitting a few drops onto the windshield while thunder rumbles in the near-distance. Streaks of lightning shoot across the sky, and Ángel counts the seconds between sound and light automatically, as if he were still a child.
Tony huffs as they approach the house. “Street light’s out again. Third time this year,” he mutters. “I’ll call them on Monday. They never notice, and it’s not like I want it shining in the windows of the house, but people should be able to walk.”
“Mm.” Ángel makes a small noise, sits up and stretches slowly, trying to get feeling back in his backside. He’s been sitting too long, and near-sleep makes him lazy. When Tony pulls up to park, it takes Ángel time to unwind his body and step out.
Tony’s standing, one hand on his door, perfectly still.
“T—” Ángel goes silent as Tony cuts him off with a sharp hand motion. Tony leaves the door open, stalks toward the garage, pausing only momentarily as he passes the house.
Then Tony starts to run, and Ángel runs after him, a ball of sparks forming in his hand for light. He throws it when Tony stops, and the sparks explode in the air above him.
Ronnie Hamilton laughs, the sharp sound echoing off the side of the garage with a crack, then fading abruptly. “Wouldn’t it have been poetic if you’d set it off yourself?” he calls out, a flame appearing in his hand, just before he tosses the lighter to the side.
Shit.
Ángel’s mind goes into slow motion, taking in all the points that he needs: detached garage, twenty feet from the house, flames licking high and fast up the sides. Mustang down the drive a bit, Helga off to one side with Cleto’s car parked next to her, Gabi’s and Luca’s cars in the driveway but too close for comfort.
The probability that Ronnie laid the accelerant around the house as well, and it could spread.
Ángel screams. It’s the only way. He can’t run to the house; he has to try to put this fire out. Tony has to deal with Ronnie. But someone has to warn the others, someone has to try to call them out of the house, just in case it spreads.
There’s a shout somewhere in the distance, a low growl that’s much closer.
“Don’t hurt him,” Ángel says, because sleep-fogged as he is, he knows with a crystal clarity that if Tony hurts Ronnie, then the police will have to act. Even if he’s protecting himself, there are laws for use of Talent against those who have none.
A hiss in response, and when Ángel glances over, there’s a cat in Tony’s place. A big cat, stalking forward, back arched and tail fluffed, teeth bared as it hisses again.
Ronnie stands his ground.
Ángel needs to call water. Thunder rumbles in the distance and he wishes he were a weather witch, that the storm was his to call. He holds out his hands, closes his eyes, and tries to center himself.
“How fitting that you hunt me like the animal you are,” Ronnie yells. “Creatures, all of you! Demons from the pits of hell, and you drag others into hell with you! Lince, you call yourself, but I see you, demon! I see the way you lure others in, taking them against their will!”
“Tony!” Gabi’s voice yelling, a door slamming behind her.
Ángel can’t open his eyes to look, can’t spare a moment’s concentration. It’s hard to narrow his will down, when he feels the sparks in his fingertips rather than water. When his anger bubbles over, hissing along his skin like steam.
He pulls his will in, coils it tight in his gut, building power. Water, not electricity. Water, not flames.
Water.
“I’ve got you.” Luca’s voice, hands on his shoulders and a strong body to lean against when Ángel slumps back. Luca wraps his arms around Ángel’s waist, holds on tight.
It’s getting hot. Ángel can feel the flames licking the air, flickering far too close. “It’s going to spread unless I—”
“Gabi’s called 911. Maritsa, Cleto, and Tony are cornering Hamilton,” Luca whispers. “Do what you can.”
“They can’t hurt him.”
A moment’s pause, and Luca exhales. “They won’t.”
He can do this.
Ángel feels the first trickle flowing through him, water lapping at his skin. It spurts from his finger tip in a weak spray, and Luca pulls him back. Ángel murmurs and Luca stops, holds him still.
Ángel digs deep and calls again, and this time it rushes out with the force of a fire hose. Thunder booms, and sirens respond in the distance.
“Got him!” Cleto yells out.
Ronnie’s voice is muffled. Face down, maybe. Ángel wants to yell again not to hurt him, but he can’t do anything but channel water and pray that it keeps coming. That it comes enough to put out the flames.
The smoke is thick, choking him. He coughs, and the water sputters. He draws from his soul again, gathering every bit of energy he can find and pushing it outward. Thunder booms and water crashes down over him, soaking him as Luca yells out.
The sirens are closer now, deafening. Ángel’s knees wobble, give out, and he’s grateful for the way Luca scoops him up and cradles him close.
“Let the firefighters take over,” Luca says, the words ringing like thunder in Ángel’s ears.
Fingers brush against his cheek; there’s shouting somewhere in the distance that he can’t really hear. He’s settled somewhere that isn’t the gravel or grass, but is still too hard to be comfortable. It moves under him, maybe a thin mattress on a cot. Something fits over his face and he wants to reach up and pull it off, but he can’t move his hand.
He tries to say that he’s okay, but when he opens his eyes, there’s nothing to see but red at the corners of his vision and darkness spiraling out from the center.
And then, for a long moment, there’s absolutely nothing at all.
“…And if my gown smells like smoke…”
“Maritsa.”
“She’s just worried. Let her rant about the gown.”
“Is he okay?”
“Better than the garage.”
“He’s going to be fine, just let him rest.”
Faintly. In the distance. “…The government takes them as children! Trains them to be assassins and sends them off to foreign lands!”
“Someone shut him up.”
“They’re trying to get a statement.”
“I don’t think they’re succeeding.”
“Tony, go talk to Mr. Cruz. See if you can help.”
A shout. Still in the distance, but louder now. “Don’t let him near me! He wants to change me! He wants to turn me into a demon like the rest of them, place his curse on my body!”
“Look, Zita, that’s working so well.”
“He said he’d prefer that I don’t try to help.”
Ángel blinks, tries to open his eyes at Tony’s dry words. His vision is blurred, as if his eyes can’t manage to focus. He twitches his fingers, clutches at the hand holding his.
Gabi makes a low sound. “He’s awake.”
“Not sure I’d call that awake.” Luca touches the side of his face. “You with us, Ángel?”
“No.” The one word scrapes his throat raw, and he coughs after that. Someone fits behind him, helps him sit up and cradles him against a large chest. Warm, comfortable. “Tony.”
“Mm. Don’t bother talking. We’ve got you.” Tony settles in behind Ángel on whatever uncomfortable bed they’re on.
Outdoors. Water in the background, and the rumble of trucks. The thunder’s gone, along with the rain, and Ángel wonders how long it lasted and how long he was unconscious. “I passed out.”
“You passed out,” Zita confirms.
“Scared the shit out of us.” Luca stands as close as he can get, touch flickering along Ángel’s shoulder before he pulls back.
Gabi squeezes his hand. “Don’t do that.”
“Thank you for saving my wedding,” Maritsa murmurs, and that makes Ángel laugh. It’s rough and rasping and it hurts so damned much, but it also feels good. Cathartic until the moment that he feels tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes and realizes that if he starts crying, he might never stop.
“Right,” he manages to say, turning his head to press his face against Tony’s chest and hide the tears. “Because it was all about your wedding.”
He gets it, though. Understands the concept of misplaced worry, even as tired as he is. He remembers when Mami died, and how he cried about losing an action figure during the funeral. He couldn’t cry over her then, not without the hurt being overwhelming, so the action figure became the center of his tiny universe.
In a strange way, he appreciates that his well-being ranks with Maritsa’s wedding in her mind.
“I feel like shit,” he mutters.
“Drink this.” Tony takes a cup from Zita, places the straw between Ángel’s lips so he can suck in a sweet, cold liquid. Tony rubs the backs of his fingers along Ángel’s jawline as he drinks, and it’s soft and soothing.
“The house?” Ángel finally asks. His throat feels better, and he rubs at his eyes, drying the moisture. He pushes, and Tony lets him twist around so he can look.
He’s sitting on a rolling cot by the ambulance; the redness in his vision is the after-effects of the lights, still swirling in the darkness. The rain is gone, and everything’s soaked, thick lines of burn marks up the side of the garage. But it’s still standing, and despite burn patterns on the ground, there are no marks on the house.
The fire trucks idle, but the hoses are rolled up. Police cars line the driveway, and Ángel spots Papi with two officers. Ronnie Hamilton sits on the bumper of the car, his hands trapped behind him, head bowed.
“He’s been spewing nonsense about how ever since the Emergence, people just disappear, no one seems to care about it,” Gabi says quietly. “He thinks we were trying to steal his sister. That we’re demons, and some kind of blight that’s going to spread.” She huffs. “As if we want Daphne.”
“Gabriella,” Zita says, and Gabi falls silent.
“People do disappear,” Ángel offers. “Some people Emerge as Clan and get lost in their animal side. Some Talents change people so much that they might leave, or choose to run away. Or they might be sick, like Emerson. Or some people can’t handle the influx of power and burn up from the inside. He’s not wrong about that part. Talent, when it’s Emergent, can be terrifying.”
“But we’re not doing that to people on purpose,” Gabi protests, voice low. “We’re not making them disappear.”
“Neither is the government.” Cleto’s voice is a quiet rumble. “He thinks the government is creating child armies. Just talked to one of the officers, and they’re going to be looking into a cell of conspiracy theory extremists. They think Ronnie is a symptom of something larger, and if he didn’t have something against Tony personally, they might not have found out until it’s too late.”
“Lovely, so him attempting to kill all of us is going to save the world in the end. Perfect.” Maritsa crosses her arms, twists long enough to glare at Ronnie. “I hate people like him.”
“It’s over,” Zita says. “They’re taking him away. We’re safe.”
Tony’s arms tighten around Ángel, and he understands the meaning behind the gesture. If there’s really an extremist group out there, then they aren’t safe. It probably goes beyond northern Florida. It probably goes beyond Ronnie Hamilton’s personal issues with the Mollicones and the Lince. There’s a good chance that it’s something much, much bigger.
But that’s also a rabbit hole just as big as the one Ronnie himself fell down. If Ángel starts spouting off about rabid groups out to get the Talented, he sounds like Ronnie screaming about the government kidnapping Talented Emergents to make a child army of assassins.
There’s a fine line between reality and paranoia. Ronnie’s crossed it. Ángel doesn’t want to fall off that ledge.
“Can I take him home?”
Ángel glances to his left, realizes that Papi is no longer with Ronnie and the police. In fact, Ronnie is being carefully manhandled into the back of a patrol car, and Papi is talking to the EMT.
“He’s physically fine,” the EMT responds. “Oxygen levels are fine, I’m not worried about his level of smoke inhalation. If anything, he’s exhausted. He needs rest, plenty of fluids, and if there’s anything specific you folks do for exhaustion of your Talent, he should do that.”
“Rest,” Papi says dryly. “In his own bed. Alone.”
Papi isn’t looking at him, but Ángel hears the order in his voice.
“You could still stay,” Tony murmurs against his ear.
“I don’t think any of us will be staying here tonight, either.” Zita’s tone is normal, pitched for Papi to hear. Ángel sees the way Papi’s head tilts in acknowledgement before Zita continues. “There are still at least three firefighters in our house, and it’s late. If we want to sleep, you’d better come home with me, and we can come back once they give us the all clear.”
Papi shakes the EMT’s hand, motions for Ángel to get down from the cot. Ángel’s legs are shaky but he stands with Tony behind him and manages to be almost stable while the EMT puts the cot down and wheels it to the ambulance.
“There’s no damage inside the house as far as we can tell, and I don’t think they’ll find anything,” Papi says. “But they do want to make sure that there are no stray sparks that’ll come back in an hour. It isn’t unusual for a fire to start up again after the fact, and with the amount of accelerant that Ronnie laid down around the foundation, it’s a risk. They’re going to do their best to get that cleaned up, too, to lower any risk.”
“Thank you.” Zita holds out her hand, clasps Papi’s firmly, squeezing slightly. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
“I’ll be launching a full investigation into everyone who handled evidence for the case for your shop,” Papi says quietly. “And you’ll be notified if there’s anyone else in the conspiracy cell that’s close to you and your family. The police are aware and will be taking care.”
“Thank you,” she says again, stepping back and gesturing toward the cars. “Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing more we can do, and it’s late. Everyone needs to rest, and Ángel needs to go home.”
Tony buries his face behind Ángel’s ear, inhales and exhales roughly. “I could come with you,” he murmurs.
Ángel’s skin heats. “Yeah, I don’t think—” He catches sight of Papi shaking his head in his peripheral vision. “I’d better just go home. And possibly sleep through most of the weekend, if I’m feeling this burnt out. This is one of those times where letting Abuela feed me and Papi worry over me is the best thing I can do. I’ll be fine. Are you going to be fine?”
“We’ll make sure he is,” Zita assures him. “Come on, Tony. We’re going to go home now. Ángel, we’ll see you on Monday.”
Tony lingers, and Ángel takes advantage of it, kissing him slow and soft.
“It may have ended in a shitty way,” Ángel murmurs against his mouth, “but it was still a fantastic first date until the fire started. We should do it again.”
A low, rough noise from Tony, and the kiss goes deeper, just for a moment before Tony finally pulls away. “Definitely,” Tony rumbles.
Papi’s hand falls on Ángel’s shoulder, fingers curling to keep him there as Tony walks away. “I take it you’ve worked things out,” Papi says. “Did you ask him about the ink?”
Ángel winces. “Not yet. But if it’s not him, I don’t think I want to know who it is. I just want to figure out where we’re going next.”
