Ingrid Seymour - Ignite the Shadows

INGRID SEYMOUR

Harper Voyager an imprint of

HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper Voyager 2015

Jacket layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Ingrid Seymour asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008113667

Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780008113667

Version: 2015-03-12

Para mi madre Por todo lo que me ha dado y aún me da

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page Ignite the Shadows INGRID SEYMOUR

Copyright Harper Voyager an imprint of HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk First published in Great Britain by Harper Voyager 2015 Jacket layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015 Cover images © Shutterstock.com Ingrid Seymour asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780008113667 Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780008113667 Version: 2015-03-12

Dedication Para mi madre Por todo lo que me ha dado y aún me da

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

I try not to look inside the alley. It’s dark. Creepy dark.

Really, I don’t know what I was thinking when I let Xave slink in there to spy on his brother. He walked between the two buildings until shadows devoured him.

Shadows …

Crap, Marci. You know better. Don’t think of shadows.

Sunny days. Think of sunny days.

So I think of my dad and me at the beach all those years ago—his broad hands under my arms as he threw me toward the sky and caught me on the way down. A sad smile spreads across my lips. I push thoughts of Dad aside. I don’t want to get depressed remembering him, so I concentrate only on the sand, the ocean, the palm trees. As hard as that is to do in the middle of February in freakin’ Seattle, I force the images to stay inside my head. Without Dad, the beach colors come out lackluster, but it’s the best I can do.

My hands sweat inside rubbery gloves. The black cloak that fell over Xave’s figure as he disappeared inside the alley is imprinted in my mind and fights the sandy haven I’m trying to recreate. He’s been gone too long. What if something happened? Clark can only be up to no good on this side of town, and he won’t like it a bit if he catches his little brother spying on him.

I wait in the empty street under the cover of night. It’s cold. The motorcycle purrs against my thighs, ready for Xave. My rapid heartbeats feel like a drum roll. I don’t need this kind of stress. It will trigger me.

No, it won’t. Stop thinking about that.

Bright things. Pretty things. Think of that.

The alley looks like a tomb of indefinite depth. I’m trying to tear my eyes away from it when my hands begin to shake. Crap. Not now. There’s never a good time for an attack, but right now has got to be the worst. Fear floods my chest, paralyzing my racing heart.

My eyelids grow heavy with that familiar force that always threatens to banish the light. I fight it, biting the inside of my cheek, clinging to the image of that beach. I take a deep breath, trying to stay in control. My best friend’s in the dark alley. He’s counting on me. I have to—

The attack comes at once.

Shadows form inside my mind, scurrying like teeming spiders. In an instant, they climb one another, forming massive black giants that obscure everything. As they swarm, my very thoughts are scattered like bricks in the path of a wrecking ball. Quickly, the giants break apart and flock to each broken thought, ready to destroy them, like hungry locusts.

I fight to form a new thought, a simple one.

Breathe , Marci.

I inhale. A new specter rises inside my mind. It’s amorphous, but my fear gives it a jagged mouth and empty sockets for eyes. It devours my thought to breathe, killing the impulse to fill my lungs, spreading over my consciousness like a whirling oil spill. In the next second or minute—I don’t know which—I’m gasping for air, trying to remember why I’m not breathing. Then it comes back to me. I’m under attack!

Breathe , I think once more. I need to let the thought bounce and morph. If it stays in the same place or shape, the shadows will destroy it. Breathing is important. Random thoughts are important.

Air. In and out.

My gloved left hand squeezes the clutch without my permission. I struggle to release it, while trying to hold on to the thread of my precious thoughts.

Stay calm. Don’t lose it. Steady. Controlled. Breathe!

With unblinking eyes, I see my hand shaking, torn between gripping the handle and letting it go. The two conflicting commands clash inside my brain, neither of them winning or losing. My hand is in the limbo between the shadows and my will to fight them off. My eyes burn like hell. Tears spill down my cheeks, but I don’t blink. I need the light. I need to stay grounded or I’ll be lost in the shadows and their ravenous gloom.