Free Afterlight by Elle Jasper

tell me. Or if Riggs and the guys—”
    “There’s nothing bothering me, Riley,” he said sharply, and this time, he did look at me, and his gaze was cold, angry, the green a shade or two lighter, and he slipped his shades back on and returned his stare to the window. An instant dismissal.
    I stared at my brother’s profile for several seconds—noticed the tousled brown waves, his straight nose and firm jaw—and suddenly, I couldn’t see my baby brother anymore. I saw a young guy. An angry young guy. “Okay,” I said, and placed my hand on his shoulder. “But I’m here anyway.” I didn’t linger or wait for a response, but simply left the room. Inside, my heart hurt—literally ached—from Seth’s coldness, but I knew that to stay and try to pry stuff out of this new Seth wouldn’t do any good, so I put my brother’s behavior behind me for the night. It wasn’t easy. I’d gone from street punk to grown-up real fast, and I’d been responsible for Seth since I was nineteen. I loved him more than life, and I now knew what my mom probably went through when I did the same thing to her.
    When I walked back into the living room, I instantly saw Nyx’s already pale face staring at the TV, a shocked expression pulling her mouth taut. “Oh my God,” she muttered, and I glanced at the flat screen to see what it was. The local news was on, and the reporter, standing in front of the Cotton Exchange building, looked grave as he reported the brutal murder of a young marine recruit. A police car blazed blue lights nearby, and the rapid-fire flash recoiled off the black plastic bag covering the body strapped on the gurney. Then a picture of a handsome marine recruit flashed across the screen, along with a name: Zachary Murphy, age nineteen. “Zac,” I muttered. My heart seized as I recognized the young guy who’d come in for the Celtic lizard tattoo Saturday, and a wave of sadness swept over me. “Damn, Nyx,” I said, and glanced over at her. “That’s two murders in one day. I wonder what happened to him.” God, his poor parents. I knew exactly what they were going through.
    Over the next few days, Seth’s condition changed. I’m not positive it worsened, just . . . evolved. What made matters worse was that Preacher had extended his trip to Da Island, so I didn’t have his counsel to rely on. Seth’s excessive sleeping eased up somewhat, but he wore his shades all the time, indoors and outdoors, sunshine or no sunshine. He barely spoke a word to me, or Nyx, and as soon as it was dusk, he was out, saying he wanted to hang out with his friends before school started. I’d never let him just run the streets—I knew where that could lead, and no way in hell was I about to let my brother screw up like I had. No freaking way. So when Riggs and the other boys showed up at Inksomnia at sundown, all wearing shades and looking like a band of thugs, I put my foot down. God, I sounded like an old stick-in-the-mud. But this was Seth, and I wasn’t about to let him set even one size-eleven sneaker in the wrong direction if I could help it.
    “Hey, babe, where’s your brother?” Riggs asked. He leaned a hip against my vacant inking table, arms crossed over his chest, trying way too hard to look cool.
    Chaz rose from his rug, the hair along his back bristled, his head down, and the now-familiar low growl emanated from deep in his throat. This time, I let him. I turned to Riggs.
    “Babe? Yeah, I don’t think so, porcupine. Try again. And take off those stupid glasses,” I said, totally irritated.
    Riggs’ expression turned . . . I don’t know, hateful , and froze into place like stone. Slowly, he slid his shades off, and if the look on his face had seemed startling, the glare in his eyes was even worse. They seemed like ice, his eyes, without feeling, or anything, really. They even looked lighter than before. How could that be? Inwardly, I flinched, and that shocked me. The boy might be a teenage peckerhead now,