The Flame Keeper

Chapter 31

The place wasn't large by any means, perhaps a little bigger than the Cheers and Beers Tavern but nothing absurd.

Yet it felt nothing like that, the clamor of conversation and movement and bodies squishing against me as I bobbed up and down to keep up reminded me of traversing the Harvest market in Arborad. Only that this time, a sea of skittering feet was out to trip me, shooting back and forth and crisscrossing along the floor as I leaped over one after another.

The pounding music was no help either, shaking the floor every few seconds so that not only did my ears ring, every bone in my body shuddered.

"Wallace, over here!" Ken's voice broke through the mayhem and before I could open my mouth to protest, he dipped below the crowd, leaving only his familiar red hat to guide me.

Seeing that hop-walking was less than ideal with people streaming in like water, I ducked my head and wiggled through the bodies, my hands blazing a trail through the forest of clothes and fancy footwork taking over my legs.

I felt almost like an eel weaving in and out of tangled seaweed, on pace with lightning, even, but at the cost of my face heading straight on against it. A knee stabbed me square in the nose, a flailing hand nearly knocked my head off my neck, all the while my cheeks scraped against the warm, rough clothes of hot bodies pressing together.

My lungs felt as if they were about to burst, choking air congesting my throat, and I shot up, taking in deep gulps of air as I scanned the room for the three. Ken's red hat had merged with the vibrant accessories of others, tinted spotlights on the frame of the ceiling casting a moody atmosphere on the dance floor that clouded any sense of color.

I squinted, spotting a bobbing blur of red that seemed to be Ken, and sprinted—attempted to, at least—to catch up.

"Oh, thank goodness you have that hat on you," I breathed, shifting occasionally to dodge a dancing pair. "Do you know—"

The man turned, the pungent smell of alcohol wrinkling my nose as he eyed me strangely and licked droplets of whisky trickling down his chin. The "hat" I had seen was just a loose mop of dyed hair, streaks of black peeking out underneath, and his back crooked to meet my eyes. The swirling dark irises held only darkness, threatening to swallow me if I looked for too long, and I averted my gaze only for the man to slug me in the shoulder.

"What did you say, little fella?" I nearly recoiled as his breath clouded in front me, my nose wrinkling. When I said nothing, he latched his meaty hands onto my shoulders and I could make out each hair on his face as he leaned dangerously close. "Look at me, will ya?! Dumbass..."

And then, I felt the familiar tingling feeling that almost calmed me, ironically. It was the same strong, boiling sensation that coursed through my veins, and beads of perspiration trickled down my arms as they trembled dangerously. Deep breaths, I told myself as I stared horrified at the bandages on my hands, little tears slowly stretching the fabric to its limit.

"What, you're mute?" The man snorted, spewing saliva coated with whisky that splattered all over my face. "Figures that all you can do is put up this little tough act."

It was like holding in a volcanic eruption with only a thin tarp, all the anger bottled inside of me yearning to be set free, and I almost wanted to let it go. To release it all—

Cool fingers suddenly wrapped themselves around my arm, and whatever fire pulsed in them dissipated, replaced with an itching fear. My throat constricted as if someone were strangling me, blaring warnings flooding my mind, telling me to make a break for it. But the floor seemed to grab at my feet with imaginary claws, binding them together with a thick rope sewn with fear-coated sweat that trickled down my neck.