I back up and go to the next aisle, avoiding passing the abusive man and drop my popcorn at the register. I pluck a book of matches from the display and set it on top of the popcorn. When I finish paying, I step outside and wait for the man and woman to exit.
A few minutes later, the door crashes open and the woman stumbles outside, the man shoving her toward the gas pumps where an old, beat-up teal pickup truck is parked.
I fall in line behind them, scanning the parking lot. Most of the cars that were parked here when I arrived have already driven away.
The man pulls the gas nozzle from its holder and feeds it into his gas tank before noticing me. He yells at the woman, who’s spinning the thin wedding band around her bony left finger, over the bed of the truck. “Get in the fucking truck, Darla.”
She reaches for the door handle, her sunken eyes filled with despair, and I grip her arm. “Run.”
“What?” Her eyes drift to his, her face paling. “No. He’ll kill me.”
“No, he won’t. I promise.” I pull a hundred-dollar bill out of my wallet and place it in her palm. “Get as far away from here as you can.”
She nods, takes one last look at the man, who’s staring at the pump watching the numbers go up, turns and takes off in a sprint.
I round the truck bed and stand behind him. A car horn honks, and he turns his head just in time to see Darla, jetting across the street in front of traffic.
“God Damnit, Darla!” He shouts in her direction. “Get the fuck back here.”
“Hey,” I yell at him from behind. “Leave her alone.”
His eyes narrow at me as he fights to remove the end of the nozzle from his gas tank. “You fucking bitch. What the hell did you do?”
He grabs my arm roughly, sending a sharp pain through it.
Fear courses through me, sending prickling adrenaline across my flesh. Inside my head, I wonder if I made a mistake. What if Mastyx doesn’t come, and this guy takes me?
“Answer me.” The man twists my arm, but despite the pain it causes, the fear lifts from my body and dissipates in the air. It’s like my brain and body somehowknowMastyx will come the minute I call him to my side.
Does he know I’m in trouble somehow? Is he sending me a message from the sanctity of his dwelling beneath my feet?
“I saved her,” I say with a smile, yanking my arm out of his grasp. “And you’ll never hurt her, or anyone else, ever again.” I open the book of matches, pluck one out and strike it, watching the flames grow before my eyes. “Mastyx.” I drop the match between us, and it lands in a small puddle of spilled gas, lighting up the ground at the man’s feet.
The nozzle breaks free from the truck as the man tries to move quickly away from the open flame.
I bolt away from him, knowing Mastyx will fan those flames right for the gas pump.
A massive explosion deafens my ears, and a shockwave knocks me to the ground, face-first against the pavement. Blood pools in my mouth as my teeth drive into my lip.
Someone grabs me from behind and hoists me to my feet. “Run,” the cashier from inside the store screams in my face, but I can barely hear his muffled voice.
He all but drags me behind him, heading straight for the metal dumpster where he slings me behind it as a second explosion rocks the ground beneath our feet. I peer around the corner, staring wide-eyed at the inferno.
Mastyx briefly emerges from the flames, his claws curled into the man at the pump’s chest. The man’s face suddenly sinks in, his skin melting off and seemingly transferring to Mastyx as he sucks out his soul before they disappear into the billowing black smoke, the fire raging out of control.
I’m right. Well, at least I think I am. It does appear that Mastyx can take the face of the person whose soul he takes.
I gaze down at my hand, still clutching the plastic bag containing my box of popcorn, with a small tear in its corner. The cashier turns away from me, pulling out his phone and no doubt dialing 9-1-1. I walk briskly to my car, still parked on the side of the building, and climb inside.
The cashier turns around and scans the area beside the dumpster, searching for me. I push the key into the ignition with violently shaking hands, start the car and drive away.
Chapter Nineteen
The Lighting of the Flame
I didn’t return to my parents that night after the gas station explosion. When I peered at my reflection in the mirror, I realized it would be hard to explain my fat, bloody lip and the singed hair on the back of my head.
Mom and Dad heard about the fire and immediately called me when I didn’t come back. I pretended like I didn’t know what they were talking about and acted genuinely surprised. I hate lying to them, but what’s the alternative? Tell them the truth?
