The Angry Flame
By Divamercury
Please read and review! Here's Chapter 3!
Chapter 3
The applause was wary. I wasn't expecting much, so the half-heartedness of my paying spectators wasn't that much of a surprise.
Well, boys, if you want a show, then you'll get one.'
The downbeats of what seemed to be a fast-paced song ("I Wanna Be Bad" by Willa Ford, Ciara told me later) began. I froze. I had no idea what I was going to do. But the music had its own ideas. That and the Witchblade had suddenly come to life, glowing like no tomorrow. Together they created a somewhat euphoric feeling that coursed through my veins. If I had tried with all my might, I couldn't have stopped myself from moving to the music. Somewhere during my set, I noticed that a man's hand clasped around the Witchblade, and in anger pain from its irritation across my forehead, snapping me back to reality. I did the only thing I could do at the timeI lashed out with my foot and connected with his head. Apparently the other patrons took the hint because no one else touched my bracelet. When I was wondering if the set would never end, the song's closing blared through the room and the announcer said, "Give it up for Overdrive!" I finally realized that it was time for me to step down. I leapt joyfully down off of the runway and found Ciara in our previous spots at the bar.
"Nice job, especially for a new girl. But why did you kick that guy?" she asked, confused.
"I have problems with people touching my bracelet," I said. "It's a habit: someone touches the bracelet, they get pulverized." In more ways than I care to admit,' I thought, rubbing the stone of the Witchblade absently, thinking about the damage it could do. I'd have to be careful about it while I was here.
"I'm kind of the same way about this," Ciara said, gesturing to some jewelry around her neck that I hadn't noticed before. It was a thin metal wire of sorts, and a piece of the same metal embedded with a deep black stone was suspended from it, the pendant resting against her throat.
"Whoa, nice," I said. "What is it?"
"It's onyx. I call it the Ciarstone, not after my name. Ciar and Ciara both mean black in Old Irish."
"Well, people have called this the Witchblade, though I don't really know why," I lied. I could guess exactly why they called it the Witchblade.
"Interesting."
"So, what's next?" I asked, not knowing what to expect.
"Oh, just Candy. Watch and you'll see what I meant by my description," Ciara said, and I nodded.
We watched her perform, and I wasn't impressed. Neither, it seemed, were most of the patrons, except maybe the drunkest ones.
"Pigs," I muttered. Ciara nodded.
"Some guys are just here ever once in a while, but there are the regulars, of course. It's like they don't have anything better to do than to come down here and watch us," she said. We watched Candy as she continued dancing to this incredibly cheesy theme song (titled the same as her name by Mandy Moore) and when the set was over I feigned nausea and gagged, relishing Ciara's reaction of helpless laughter. I had never had a "girl-friend" before, because I had really been one of the guys for as long as I could remember. When girls my age were having sleepovers and doingugh, manicures, I was out playing football and cruising arcades. So needless to say it felt incredible to have a woman actually seem to comprehend me and my somewhat unorthodox humor. And personality. And maybe even my taste for liquors (most women found me odd because of the fact that I enjoyed going out for drinks with the guys after work).
The club closed at one in the AM, but I was out of there at midnight.
"Where are you off to so early?" Ciara asked.
"I've got to get to work in the morning, and being able to get out of my bed requires me to actually have the strength to move myself, and that calls for sleep. See you tomorrow, Ciara," I said. I was almost through the door when Candy blocked my way. Up close I could tell that she must have had a few bad tangles with tanning beds in her past because even though she didn't seem to be that old, wrinkles were already abundant in her face.
"And where exactly are you going, Overdrive?" she inquired. "The night's not over yet."
"That's none of your damn business, Candy," I said, stating her stage name in the same hateful tone she had stated mine in. "In fact, I actually have a legit job that I'll have to show up for in the morning; therefore, I need some sleep. Good night," I said, brushing forcefully past her and leaving the club, stomping the whole way back to my bike. Straddling my bike, I revved her engine and relished the sound. I shoved my helmet on and leaned forward, pulling out of the parking lot.
There were a lot of things bouncing around in my mind on my journey home. Like why the Witchblade had reacted the way it had to my performance. That was a good question to start with. It had always seemed to react to my most intense emotions, and I had a feeling that something like what had gone on in there was definitely an intense emotion.
I unlocked the door to my apartment a few minutes later and when I opened the door, sounds of someone walking around coming from inside reached my ears. I drew my gun from its holster in the inner pocket of my leather jacket and held it down in front of me. Stepping sideways, I climbed the stairs silently, thanking the inner sense that had told me that morning to wear my boots. When I reached the top step, I melded into the shadows and stepped silently through the apartment. I saw the figure standing by my bed, staring at it almost as if in wonder.
"Freeze!" My voice shattered the silence. The figure whirled, its trench coat flying out around him. I glanced past him to the wall behind, noticing that the window was open. My eyes flew to the face, and I was correct in my recent supposition.
"Good evening, Lady Sara."
