Sacrifice
Page 32
He recognized the voice, but with the noise and the low lighting, it took him a minute to spot its owner. About three tables over, with his back to the door, sat Tyler Morgan.
Tyler. Tyler.
You’ll know when me when you see me.
Michael stormed between patrons. He hadn’t thought Tyler was behind this. Not really. But now, with proof right in front of him . . .
He slammed his hand down on Tyler’s table. It took everything he had not to drag the guy out of his chair and slug him in the face. “You think you’re going to mess with my family?” He hit the table again, and he must have looked fierce, because Tyler shoved back a few inches. Michael got in his face. He was yelling and he didn’t care. “You think I’m going to let you get away with it?”
Tyler didn’t move. “Get out of my face, Merrick.”
“Those people. All those people. You—”
“What people?” Tyler glared back at him. “Did you forget your medication or something?”
“You know what people.” Michael shoved him, causing the chair to scrape back a few more inches.
Tyler gritted his teeth, but he didn’t move. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you think this is funny?” He was causing a scene, but Michael didn’t care. That Tyler would do this—that he would make jokes—that he could—his neighbors had died—
“What is your problem, Merrick?”
“You’re my problem! Did you do this? Did you start those fires?”
Tyler’s expression darkened. He didn’t move from his chair. “Look,” he said, his voice low and lethal. “I don’t know what you’re on, but if you don’t sit down and act like a normal person, Tammy is going to call the cops.”
Michael stared at him. The restaurant had gone silent except for the jukebox still cranking out tunes in the corner. Four men were standing nearby, ready to come to Tyler’s aid. The waitress—Tammy? —had a phone in her hand, and she was looking at Tyler, as if waiting for him to tell her what to do.
Michael’s breathing echoed in his ears.
Tyler raised an eyebrow. “Sit down and behave, or leave, Merrick. Your call.”
Michael swallowed. He felt like he’d run a mile at top speed. “Did you text me to meet you here?”
“No.”
“Don’t you f**k with me, Tyler—”
“Jesus! I don’t even know your number! Why the hell would I text you?”
“Tyler?” said Tammy. “Should I call?”
I don’t even know your number. That was true. Michael had never given Tyler his number. Not that it wasn’t listed with most of his business stuff, but still . . .
Michael couldn’t catch his breath. He glanced around again. He was causing a scene—but no one else had come out of the woodwork.
Tyler gave Michael a clear up and down. “He’s all right. He’s going to sit down and have a beer. Right?”
Michael looked around again. The anticipatory tension in the restaurant was potent. God, what was wrong with him?
He collapsed into the chair across from Tyler. Normal activity slowly resumed around him. The four men returned to their tables. Tammy picked up her tray and slid the phone into a pocket of her apron.
Tyler scooted back up to the table. “You don’t have dy***ite strapped to you or anything, do you?”
Michael glared. “Don’t be an idiot, Tyler.”
“You come rolling in here like a psycho, and I’m the idiot. Okay.”
“If you didn’t text me, what are you doing here?”
“Having dinner.”
Michael pulled a whole peanut out of a bucket on the table and crushed it between his fingers. He didn’t want to eat it, but he needed something destructive to do with his hands. He glanced around again, ready for someone to jump out of the shadows and yell Boo! “Sure. Here. This is your scene.”
“I don’t know if it’s my scene, but my family owns this place, so it’s free.” He paused. “What are you doing here?”
“Your family owns this place?”
“My grandparents did, actually. My folks inherited when they died. Want me to draw you a family tree?”
“No, I’m good.”
But he wasn’t good. This didn’t make sense. Did . . . whoever-it-was know that this was Tyler’s family’s restaurant? Did it matter?
You’ll know me when you see me.
Another glance around. The only person he recognized was Tyler.
But really, this whole thing—none of it felt like Tyler, just like none of it felt like Calla. Tyler had brutalized Michael’s family for years, wanting the Merricks put to death because they were full Elementals. Then Tyler had accidentally revealed his carefully kept secret to Nick: Tyler was a full Elemental himself—a powerful Fire Elemental who had just as much reason to fear the Guides coming to town as the Merricks did.
They weren’t friends now, not by a long shot. But Tyler hadn’t bothered them in weeks. And no one knew Tyler was a Fire Elemental.
Michael took a long breath and let it out. “Our house was set on fire last night.” He hesitated, keeping his voice low. “My whole street.”
Tyler frowned, then went still. He leaned in against the table. “I heard about that on the news. I didn’t know it was your neighborhood.” He paused, and his voice sharpened. “And you thought I would do that?”
Tyler. Tyler.
You’ll know when me when you see me.
Michael stormed between patrons. He hadn’t thought Tyler was behind this. Not really. But now, with proof right in front of him . . .
He slammed his hand down on Tyler’s table. It took everything he had not to drag the guy out of his chair and slug him in the face. “You think you’re going to mess with my family?” He hit the table again, and he must have looked fierce, because Tyler shoved back a few inches. Michael got in his face. He was yelling and he didn’t care. “You think I’m going to let you get away with it?”
Tyler didn’t move. “Get out of my face, Merrick.”
“Those people. All those people. You—”
“What people?” Tyler glared back at him. “Did you forget your medication or something?”
“You know what people.” Michael shoved him, causing the chair to scrape back a few more inches.
Tyler gritted his teeth, but he didn’t move. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you think this is funny?” He was causing a scene, but Michael didn’t care. That Tyler would do this—that he would make jokes—that he could—his neighbors had died—
“What is your problem, Merrick?”
“You’re my problem! Did you do this? Did you start those fires?”
Tyler’s expression darkened. He didn’t move from his chair. “Look,” he said, his voice low and lethal. “I don’t know what you’re on, but if you don’t sit down and act like a normal person, Tammy is going to call the cops.”
Michael stared at him. The restaurant had gone silent except for the jukebox still cranking out tunes in the corner. Four men were standing nearby, ready to come to Tyler’s aid. The waitress—Tammy? —had a phone in her hand, and she was looking at Tyler, as if waiting for him to tell her what to do.
Michael’s breathing echoed in his ears.
Tyler raised an eyebrow. “Sit down and behave, or leave, Merrick. Your call.”
Michael swallowed. He felt like he’d run a mile at top speed. “Did you text me to meet you here?”
“No.”
“Don’t you f**k with me, Tyler—”
“Jesus! I don’t even know your number! Why the hell would I text you?”
“Tyler?” said Tammy. “Should I call?”
I don’t even know your number. That was true. Michael had never given Tyler his number. Not that it wasn’t listed with most of his business stuff, but still . . .
Michael couldn’t catch his breath. He glanced around again. He was causing a scene—but no one else had come out of the woodwork.
Tyler gave Michael a clear up and down. “He’s all right. He’s going to sit down and have a beer. Right?”
Michael looked around again. The anticipatory tension in the restaurant was potent. God, what was wrong with him?
He collapsed into the chair across from Tyler. Normal activity slowly resumed around him. The four men returned to their tables. Tammy picked up her tray and slid the phone into a pocket of her apron.
Tyler scooted back up to the table. “You don’t have dy***ite strapped to you or anything, do you?”
Michael glared. “Don’t be an idiot, Tyler.”
“You come rolling in here like a psycho, and I’m the idiot. Okay.”
“If you didn’t text me, what are you doing here?”
“Having dinner.”
Michael pulled a whole peanut out of a bucket on the table and crushed it between his fingers. He didn’t want to eat it, but he needed something destructive to do with his hands. He glanced around again, ready for someone to jump out of the shadows and yell Boo! “Sure. Here. This is your scene.”
“I don’t know if it’s my scene, but my family owns this place, so it’s free.” He paused. “What are you doing here?”
“Your family owns this place?”
“My grandparents did, actually. My folks inherited when they died. Want me to draw you a family tree?”
“No, I’m good.”
But he wasn’t good. This didn’t make sense. Did . . . whoever-it-was know that this was Tyler’s family’s restaurant? Did it matter?
You’ll know me when you see me.
Another glance around. The only person he recognized was Tyler.
But really, this whole thing—none of it felt like Tyler, just like none of it felt like Calla. Tyler had brutalized Michael’s family for years, wanting the Merricks put to death because they were full Elementals. Then Tyler had accidentally revealed his carefully kept secret to Nick: Tyler was a full Elemental himself—a powerful Fire Elemental who had just as much reason to fear the Guides coming to town as the Merricks did.
They weren’t friends now, not by a long shot. But Tyler hadn’t bothered them in weeks. And no one knew Tyler was a Fire Elemental.
Michael took a long breath and let it out. “Our house was set on fire last night.” He hesitated, keeping his voice low. “My whole street.”
Tyler frowned, then went still. He leaned in against the table. “I heard about that on the news. I didn’t know it was your neighborhood.” He paused, and his voice sharpened. “And you thought I would do that?”
