Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 8 of 22

Draxin stayed on the porch a long time. Zag shifted on his shoulder, small stubby hands gripping his collar. The mushroom creature's green cap brushed his ear. Through the open door he could hear voices inside the hideout, low and steady, the crew Dante called Burn going about their evening. Draxin's chest still held the dull warmth of the stone he had swallowed. Every minute here was a minute the men who killed his parents kept walking away. A voice cut the yard behind him. "So this is the babysit." Draxin turned. A man had come around the side of the building. Short, shorter than Draxin by half a foot, with a jagged white and purple mohawk and a ripped sleeve hanging off one shoulder. A purple skull was inked there. He wore a spiked choker and a wide grin full of teeth. Draxin knew right away this man belonged to Dante the way a knife belongs to a hand. "Name's Spike," he said. He walked up the porch steps two at a time. "Right hand of the captain. And you're the kid who ate our rock." "I didn't know it was yours." "Cute." Spike circled him once, sniffing like a dog. He stopped in front of Draxin and had to tilt his chin up to meet his eyes. His grin tightened. "Tall for a thief." "I'm sixteen." "I didn't ask." Spike raised one hand. Black liquid welled up from under his fingernails and beaded on his knuckles. It hissed against the porch board where a drop fell. The wood smoked and pitted. "Dante says wait. I say we open you up, take our stone back, save the crew two months of feeding a corpse." Says Spike. Zag squeaked and pressed flat against Draxin's neck. Draxin held still. He had seen men move fast before. He watched Spike's wrist, not his face. Spike's hand shot forward at Draxin's stomach. A larger hand caught Spike's wrist mid-air. Dante stood in the doorway, cigar between his teeth, smoke curling around his knuckles. Draxin had not seen him arrive. "Spike." "Cap. I was gonna be quick." Dante squeezed. Spike's grin flickered. The black ink on his fingers pulled back under the skin like water down a drain. "The kid is mine to open or not open," Dante said. He did not raise his voice. "You touch him before I say, I burn the hand off. Clear?" "Clear." Dante let go. Spike shook his wrist out, laughed once, and stepped back. He pointed two fingers at Draxin like a gun. "Lucky kid." He walked inside. Dante did not follow him yet. He looked at Draxin over the cigar. "You just made an enemy in my crew," he said. "Show me something soon, or I stop standing in his way." He went in. The door swung shut. Draxin gripped the rail. He had bought time. Not much. He had to make the stone answer him soon.