Igniting (The Dark Origins)

By D.L. Miles

The Dark Origins can be read in ANY order!

Havenbrooke County has an unusually high number of sudden fires, strangely pinpoint accurate earthquakes, and a terrible percentage of out of school youths. Among all three statistics is Grace, a fifteen year old girl with an uncontrollable temper and knack for thieving. All her life she’s been tossed between foster homes, and always kicked out after a fire. She’s finally free of the system and found a home with others like her, with one that even knows her darkest secret.
Those sudden fires have all been caused by her, even the earthquakes. When Grace gets upset she can’t control the fire within her and tends to explode, with black flames lashing out at high velocity. She doesn’t know what she is, or why this is happening, but she does all she can to hide it. Until someone sees her.
A group of masked men try and grab her from a busy nightclub when a boy saves her. Noah isn’t like anyone Grace has met; he doesn’t shy away from her prickly demeanor and tells her he knows exactly what she is and why a group of men have made her their top priority.
Noah tells her he could explain everything, she just has to come with him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.L. Miles
• Release date: Oct 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301923533

D.L. Miles

Miles is a Sun Scorpio with the heart of a Moon Pisces. She began her publishing journey in 2012, admittedly maybe a little too soon. Her eclectic taste comes through in each book she writes, ranging from soft fantasy romances to dark brooding poetry to serial killers that hold a grudge.For special offers and updates check out her Patreon! www.patreon.com/dlmilesbooks

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Igniting (The Dark Origins)

D.L. Miles

Copyright 2013 by Devin Miles

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by www.yocladesigns.com

The Dark Origins

Read the stories of three girls as they discover who they are, where they come from, and where they're going.  Each book is the tale of one girl, their life, and how different events lead them to the same place at the same time.  Find the other novels in the series...

Igniting

Shimmering

Also by D.L. Miles

The Ethereal Crossings

Shadeland

Fenridge

Northcliffe

Glenbrook

Threads of Chaos

With Cross & Charm

Astral Bodies

Goderich Girl Novellas

Violet 24

Rouge 52 (coming soon)

Prologue

RUNNING

Most of my life had been spent on failed attempts to run away, or successful attempts at escaping. Okay, so maybe that doesn’t make a lot of sense, but let me explain. When I was a baby I had been dropped off on a church step (how movie-esque), and abandoned by my birth parents. The church burned to the ground shortly after I arrived and I was put into the foster care system, being tossed from house to house after more fires started (hence the successful escapes).

Finally when I was eight years old, I decided to run away, at which point I was caught two blocks away and returned to my loving temporary family.

Three houses later at the age of fourteen I managed to escape another fire, and was presumed dead by authorities. I don’t know who they found in the remains of the school that day, but they thought it was me. Whoever it was, I’d like to thank them because they’re the only reason I’ve managed to live free from adult supervision for a year now. I just wished I was free of the black fires.

My name is Grace; a nun gave it to me after she found me in the burned remains of that church.

I’m a fire starter.

Maybe.

Actually, no.

I have no idea what I am.

Chapter 1

LIVING (BARELY)

I ran faster down the street, deep auburn hair flying behind me after shaking loose of the small elastic. Really, I hadn’t expected the security guard to actually resort to hair pulling in his pursuit. But I grinned wide as a bus passed by and I spotted Clara in the window, waving frantically at me with a matching smile. I glanced over my shoulder, the guard falling further behind.

I took a corner as quickly as I could without needing to brace myself for impact. Next time I took Clara to the mall for a little shopping I would make sure that the stores hadn’t installed new cameras with a brand new security company. Then again, there might not be a next time when Fern found out.

Thankfully it was late in the evening, the busiest time of day for foot traffic in Havenbrooke County, and as soon as I hit the crowded street I was lost in a sea of people. I threw my green hood up, ensuring they wouldn’t recognize me by my hair. You’d be surprised just how many times I’d been caught based on the fact I was a redhead. It was rather unfair, really, but I was reluctant to dye it.

I gripped the plastic bag tighter in my hands, feeling the conspicuousness of the food as if it had giant arrows pointing me out. Another quick look over my shoulder told me I’d temporarily lost the guards, or maybe they just didn’t care that much about a few bracelets and groceries; or, most likely, their chairs and doughnuts were calling them back to the mall.

Someone slammed into my shoulder, shaking me enough to almost fall over. A hand caught my elbow and steadied me. Sorry, they said, didn’t see you there.

Yeah, I breathed, looking up to find a pair of insanely light green eyes staring down at me; they almost looked turquoise. It must be so hard to look in front of you.

The boy that had hit me didn’t look much older than I was but I found it unnerving that he wasn’t immediately letting go of my arm. My chest warmed with a familiar heat that often came before one of my accidents, so I wrenched out of his grip.

You know, technically you hit me when you were looking over your shoulder, he said.

Yeah, well, I stammered, you coulda dodged me. I hurried away from him, a strange tingling sensation rushing through me. Everything was blurring in and out of focus as I moved quicker down the street. I didn’t know how many people I ran into trying to get somewhere secluded but the burning in my chest was getting worse. Finally, only when I set out running again did it start to calm down.

I whirled around another corner only to crash into the side of a hotdog cart. The man operating it yelled at me in a language I didn’t know. Sorry! I shouted back at him, the flames on the grill rising high enough to reach the umbrella. The fabric ignited and more screams erupted when the black flames lashed higher, but by then I was already down the street and thankfully out of earshot. After what felt like an eternity I made it into Fern’s building and ran for the basement.

The door to the supply closet slammed behind me and I fell to my knees.

It doesn’t control you, I whispered, you control it. It is your gift, not your curse. I grunted as small sparks erupted from my fingertips. Keep it down.

A few shaky moments later I took in a deep breath. Sweat trickled down my face and dripped onto the concrete. Slowly I came to my feet, apples spilling out from a burned hole in the grocery bag; thankfully the contents seemed just fine.

As I opened the door a wave hit me, giving me only enough time to mumble, Aw hell, before the explosion hit.

When I made it up to Fern’s apartment (after taking five flights of stairs because the elevator was permanently broken) I noticed that my little problem in the basement had shaken the four off of our door. I nudged it aside on the grimy carpet and stepped inside, the lock still broken, to be met with a rusted chain across my eyes.

Fern! I called in. Fern, open the door!

I would if I wasn’t so busy trying to straighten all the pictures from that stupid quake! she yelled back at me. After some minimal crashing the door slammed shut and reopened to show me Fern.

Splattered in paint and soot and a few other unidentifiable splotches across her chest, she eyed me. Dyed black hair tied in a tight bun on the top of her head, I saw a few random pieces of clay and paint in there too. I stepped inside, slamming the door behind me. Clara here?

In her room, Fern said. Lost it again? She gave me a pitying look.

I grimaced and moved on, not feeling like getting into what had happened. I’m good now. Got some groceries. The bag hung on my fingertips as I raised it into the air.

Ohh, she cooed, apples! Burnt apples…how do apples burn like this exactly? She took a large bite out of one and grabbed the broken bag from me, dragging it into the kitchen. Since she was occupied, singing a song about how she was making a pie, I wandered into the room I shared with Clara.

You got away! she cheered when I stepped into the doorway.

Yup, I said, trying to be just as happy about it. Despite my slip up downstairs it had been a pretty good day. It had been a pretty good six months, actually, not that you’d be able to tell by the state of our apartment.

In my room was one twin size bed and a sleeping bag, a few books piled in a corner with a mysterious water stain beneath an empty cobweb. The window near the bed had a crack in it that got a little bigger every time I had an accident. Our dresser held assorted stolen jewelry, clothes, and art supplies with a single picture of the three of us on top. I eyed it a moment before joining Clara on the bed; what would I have done if Fern hadn’t found me?

Check this out, Clara said, pushing a pair of earrings towards me. Real diamonds.

What? I questioned. Where did you get real diamonds?

That little sales person on the street, she went on excitedly. She was busy talking to some guy about them and I nabbed them coming home. Awesome right?

I smiled at her. Good job. Now go to bed, you got school tomorrow! I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the woman on the street corner was a scam artist, and that the earrings weren’t real diamonds.

Do you want the bed tonight? she offered.

I shook my head. No, it’s fine. I’ve got some things to do with Fern anyway. As I left the room I flipped the light switch off. Clara only sent a couple groans of protest my way before falling silent.

The floorboards creaked as I shuffled towards the kitchen. Fern found me, her head poking out of the kitchen. Did I hear you talking about school?

For Clara. I sighed and hopped onto the counter.

You should go too, Fern argued, get an education, go to college. You’re fifteen, you should be in school.

I should be a lot of things, I mumbled.

You should have the opportunity to get a better life.

I should have a last name, too, yet here I am. I leaned back on the counter and watched her reaction, but like the typical laid back woman she was, Fern only smiled.

I don’t have one either.

You choose not to have one, I said, I don’t have one because…I just don’t.

Fern set the apples in the sink and began to rinse them. After she rubbed one clean she sighed and put it down, turning off the trickling water. She faced me, her normally bright eyes seeming tired and lifeless. "We decide who we are, that’s why I choose not to have a last name. I don’t need what my family was willing to give me; I’m my own person. A name doesn’t define us, Grace. Our actions do. We do."

I rolled my eyes and jumped from the broken tiles on the counter. Right, you always say that.

You’ll understand one day. She smiled and returned to washing apples.

It was hard not to roll my eyes again. As grateful as I was for having Fern in my life, and having her be so willing to take me in, she said things like you’ll understand one day and it will make sense in time a lot. It’s been nearly sixteen years; if I don’t understand now how could I later?

Though I didn’t want to I said, I’m going out.

You’re not going to steal again, are you? Fern asked. Just as I reached the front door I turned and faced her worried expression. Guilt crept into my stomach and I tried to shrug it away.

I’m just going to a club, I told her, but it did little to ease her worry. She clasped her frail hands together and only nodded. She knew just as well as I did that we needed to money. Besides, it’s not like I ever got caught.

I was feeling exhausted after blowing up again, but I didn’t have the luxury of grabbing a good book and taking a nice long bubble bath, mostly because we barely even had a bathtub. Also, most of the books we had were burned after I accidentally exploded in our old place (which was technically a motel room).

My shoulders rolled as I sighed, wondering how hard it would be to get into one of the four clubs downtown. Pickpocketing was easy in those places, at least compared to a bar. Lots of cash, cell phones and cameras that could easily be pawned, and most people didn’t notice anything was missing; and when they did I was long gone. The only trouble I usually had was getting in. At fifteen I really looked like I was fifteen, which meant I always had to find an open back door.

I decided to hit up the busiest club in the county, Haven Oasis. Most people just called it The Oasis, and it was about as dark as a club could get without everyone being completely blind. They had drinks that were priced just right to make people want to pay in cash, which meant extra cash if I managed to get in. Recently they’d beefed up their security after a group of minors had gotten drunk and one vanished from their restrooms.

As I turned the corner the moon was already overhead and glaring down at me. I shivered against the cold of March, thinking about how I should have switched my sweater for a jacket. But I could already see the line of people waiting to get into Oasis, and there was no turning back now.

I skipped past the line of people, noticing a few of them sent me glares as I walked past. I ignored them and went to me I special access. It just wasn’t lined with a velvet rope, and instead was blocked by the dumpster.

A single knock at the door around the corner and it opened, and Sam appeared with a smile. Gracey, good to see you again.

It’s Grace, I corrected. Let me in already, it’s freezing out here.

Ah-ah, he sang, pushing back his long blond bangs. Thirty per cent of the findings. He wagged a finger at me.

I gaped. Thirty? Last week it was only fifteen!

He shrugged, a hand still resting on the door. I got caught letting minors inside, and the price has gone up. So, thirty.

I pursed my lips, wondering if it would be worth it. Sam knew he had me; there was no way I’d be getting in the front door. Slowly I nodded my head and his grin widened. That’s my girl.

Bite me.

I would love to, he told me as he stepped back. But Song has put in a rule that I’m not allowed to touch the talent.

Talent? I repeated. I flexed my fingers at me sides, trying to get a bit of feeling back into them. The back of the club smelled of cigarette smoke and just a bit of puke. A dark hallway led towards the front of the club, the music already vibrating through my body. Sam followed me towards the front of Oasis.

You earn lots more money kitten, he said, and Song would like you to know of a few more rules. He stopped me just before the door. His large hands suddenly gripped my shoulders, his breath hot against my ear. No repeat steals, no hassling the musicians, and no getting caught.

I tried to shrug him off but his grip only tightened; I winced under it. And one more thing, he added, leaning in even closer, if you skip out on the bill again, you’ll wish you were dead. Have fun!

Sam opened the door and shoved me out. Even the heat of the club couldn’t stop my shivering.

It was hard not to think about what might happen if I did skip out on giving Song, the creator of this lovely theft system, thirty per cent of what I stole. I’d only skipped out on the bill once, and it wasn’t fun. I did wonder what he would do though; what would make me wish I was dead? A lot of things crept into my mind, and none of them I liked. I remembered what happened last time, and compared to what I’d heard about it wasn’t so bad. First punishments were always pretty lenient…second ones though? Not so much.

I shook out of my head, focusing on the problem at hand. If Song was going to be getting thirty per cent, I needed to get a bit more. No waiting until afterwards to find what I took; I had to check while I was still there.

As always, the club was packed. Young men and women lined the bar and dance floor, moving and swirling to the music. I picked out a couple targets while I was on the edge of the chaos and started moving.

Chapter 2

TAKING

I had managed to nab four wallets from the men, and two small clutches from the women before deciding to check them out in the bathroom. I hide them beneath my sweater as I ducked into a stall, beating a drunk girl before she had a chance to pass out in it. As I opened the first wallet I heard her throwing up into a sink, and the disgusted moans of the other women.

So far the night had paid fairly well, with one iPhone, one digital camera and about two hundred dollars between the wallets. I pocketed the phone for myself, feeling that if I was able to score another phone Sam wouldn’t mind me taking the first one. That didn’t mean I was going to stop for the night; I’d only been there for half an hour.

I stepped back out onto the darkened dance floor after receiving a glare from the drunk girl as I left. A few dance moves later and I had another wallet in my hand. Unfortunately I also had a hand on my wrist. I stalled and looked up.

Oasis had apparently hired an even newer security guard, because the man that held my wrist was not the usual uniformed lackey. He dressed in a black sweater, with leather pants and he actually had a mask on; like a full out balaclava. The only part of his face that showed were his eyes and mouth, and they weren’t exactly pretty. Someone could use some lip balm. Seriously, if he wanted to stand out he should have just worn a sign that said, Hi, I’m security and take my job way too seriously.

Did it hurt? I asked him. The only way I could tell he’d heard me was by a subtle tilt of his head. You know, when I kicked your jewels in.

I didn’t kick him, but opted to knee him below the belt. He grunted and leaned over, letting go of my wrist. I took my cue to leave and ran for it, hoping to get to the back door where Sam would maybe keep me safe. At the very least he’d keep me from getting arrested.

The crowd seemed to move in on me, more and more people flooding in from the front doors. Geez, hadn’t Oasis ever heard of fire hazards? The further I moved the harder it was to breathe.

A glance over my shoulder showed me I’d lost the man that had grabbed me, and I was beginning to question if he’d even been security. It was beginning to look a lot like a kidnapping, so where was the real security? I pushed hard against the people, finally making it to the edge of everything when I saw that the man in the balaclava had friends.

Two more men in black masks appeared, rushing towards me through the crowd with surprising speed. Normal people did not move that fast in a club and I knew they weren’t the normal security. There was no way Song would hire these guys if he wanted his patrons to be robbed.

My heart was beginning to beat hard against my ribs, panic was setting in along with a familiar warmth. I pushed it down, wondering why my heat would flare up so quickly after I’d already lost control. It had been less than two hours!

As the men closed in on me I started moving towards the back doors, only to be blocked off by a third man. This one wore all black,