The Flame Keeper

Chapter 34

There were only two of them this time, yet the knot in my stomach did not loosen, my limbs tightening as the hairs on it straightened like vigilant soldiers.

As the two sauntered over to Albert, a poised aura cleared a path for them as people eyed them warily, the sound of voices mingling with a scraping of chairs. Nobody wished to mess with the six-foot hulk of a man whose lanky limbs were made up by his thunderous footsteps, and the sharp, calculating glint in the other's eyes that matched the cunning silver bangs swishing to reveal them.

"Albert," The tattooed man gruffed as he took a seat to the table adjacent to us, his accomplice pulling up a chair across from him. "Let's talk business here. No need to draw any attention."

With trembling hands, Albert gripped the table and stood up. His wild eyes darted from both men before catching my gaze, a frantic look concealed with calming breaths as he slunk down in a seat farthest away from his debtors.

The man rested his head on his hands and leaned back with a smug grin, the serpent's silver fangs nipping at my heels. A little too friendly for my taste. I hastily shifted my chair and let the darkness envelope me. That was way too close, I thought, my heart thumping rapidly as if to recuperate the missed beat stolen by fear. If he had stretched back a little more—

"Ow!" Matilda flinched and clapped a hand to her mouth before the words could spew out coherently.

"Sorry," I muttered and shifted the metal leg off her toe.

She nodded and pointed a scrunched finger at the silver-haired man. The deck of cards in his hands fluttered like chirping birds as a rush of air propelled them upwards before landing gracefully on an invisible whirlwind above his palms, dust and flecks of paint streaking the air. "When the time comes, we need to dispose of him first—he has the brawn and brains. And our emblem."

The coin pouch dangled on the man's hip, close enough that I could reach it with a few steps, but far enough that it seemed just out of our grasp.

"When it is time, you're dealing with him, Matilda." Ken rubbed his arms protectively as if trying to coax the flame in him to burn just a little longer. "I'll be there, but I'm not in for another beating—"

This time he cringed as Matilda put a finger to her lips after finishing her not-so-subtle antics, jerking her head towards the table in front of us.

"But in all seriousness," He said. "If they make a move on Albert, we go. If all runs smooth and they don't, we're gonna get our emblem back anyways."

"I'm not betting on the latter," I murmured, glancing at the table.

The two men seemed to loom over Albert as their silhouettes cast long shadows along the wood. Cracks between the wooden boards swallowed the darkness hungrily, and when they would hold no more, it spilled across the table. Splotches of flamboyant light danced along their faces, casting neon undertones, but the upbeat spirits could not lift Albert's sunken eyes nor the lump in his throat.

"You don't look too shabby, eh?" The tattooed man smirked, breaking the tense silence that tethered the three together with uneasy gazes.

Albert ignored him, his eyes fluttering anxiously as if blinking away hot tears that threatened to overwhelm his trembling body. At least, only with his right eye—the other seemed more like a large, purple grape that had swollen so much the peel had split and revealed a veiny eyeball underneath.

"You're usually here earlier," He muttered.

I poised myself for the man's outburst—he did like to talk with fists—but his face remained motionless like a still pond.