Burning Emerald (14 page)

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Authors: Jaime Reed

BOOK: Burning Emerald
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“What authority? Like the police? The feds?” I asked.
“It's an agency of sorts,” Haden intoned. “There are powerful Cambion families all over the world; a few operate in the U.S. In order to keep track of the Cambions in their region, every newcomer must be registered and accounted for, like a census. Foreigners who come into a new country have to notify the family of the region if they plan to stay. By doing so, you relinquish your power to those governing the territory.”
“So these families are like a Cambion embassy?”
“Strange way of putting it, but, yeah, I suppose,” Michael said. “No worries, love. You're a Petrovsky now, one of the most influential names in the fold. And when you tie the knot with Caleb, he will carry the honor as well, with Evangeline's blessing.” Michael rubbed his hands together and laughed—clearly he was already plotting the decorations at the ceremony. “Evangeline is a good woman, and Nadine was a good friend, almost a sister.”
“Better than the ones we have.” Haden sucked his teeth in distaste.
I'd known Caleb and his sisters were estranged, but I didn't know things were that bad. “Why are your sisters so mad?”
Not meeting my eyes, Michael said, “They're not mad, just afraid. Our sisters cut all ties with us when Mum died. We haven't heard from them in years. They could never understand what we were. They were afraid that one day we would turn on them.”
“Bunch of bigots if you ask me,” Haden grumbled. “Not once did they phone us to see how we were. They didn't even come to Dad's funeral.”
“What did you expect? Dad was the reason they took off. Can't blame them, they're not like us. They have every right to fear us,” Michael argued while checking his cell phone for messages again.
The mood shifted as I tried to follow the thread of the conversation. “Why would they be afraid of you guys? You're family. The spirit won't attack what it knows. Didn't you explain the recognition thing?”
“They weren't convinced. Regardless of the years we all lived under one roof, they were suspicious. As soon as they were old enough, they took off. And when Mum died, Ava and Grace blamed Dad and we haven't seen them since. Whenever we tried to find them, they moved away. After a while, we got the hint.” Michael's eyes fused to his cell phone, but his brows furrowed in evident hurt.
Haden stared to the door, focusing somewhere beyond the room, beyond the hospital, beyond the planet. His jaw flexed, his full lips drew into a tight line.
I knew what it was like to be ostracized by family for being different. My own grandfather had disowned my mother for something as petty as race. I could easily sympathize with the prejudice the brothers had to deal with.
“If you guys are siblings, can't you use your link to find them?” My question was followed by scoffs and gagging. “What?”
“To establish a link, you have to feed from them directly, several times. And doing that with our sisters, well, that's just disgusting.” Michael took another drink and moved to Caleb's bed.
A new question struck me, one that had been on my mind for a while. “If the Cambion curse only affects the males of your family, then how do you have sisters? Wouldn't your dad's spirit make sure all the offspring were males? Does it have any control over the gender of the baby?” I asked.
“In a way. Our spirit is a conscious being and at its core, male. He must feed from his opposite and can recognize his equal down to a single chromosome. To reproduce, he has to give up a piece of himself during conception. He can never get that piece back, so every try must count and the timing has to be right. It's the game of life. Sometimes you score; sometimes you don't. Our family is just gifted with tactical players.” Haden winked.
“Hey, guys, look!” Michael motioned us to join him by the bed. Noting the sudden excitement in Michael's voice, Haden and I circled around Caleb.
I hopped up and down, trying to peek over their wide shoulders. “What's going on? Let me see.”
“Come on, come on. Do it again!” Michael coaxed.
“Do what? What happened?” I asked.
“Come on, Caleb, you can do it. Come on.”
“Let me see!” I cried when Haden's arm swooped around my waist and pulled me into the fold. I looked down at Caleb, searching for some grand event, but he lay as motionless as before.
“Look right there,” Michael said.
We followed where he pointed and gasped. I covered my hands over my mouth as tears leaked down my cheeks. My chest contracted, never so overtaken by joy. Not even feeding could grant this much satisfaction, this small sign of hope.
Swallowing my sob, I bent down to kiss each finger that twitched under my lips.
14
C
aleb moved his hand.
To anyone else, this wasn't worth running and screaming to the rooftops about, but that didn't keep me from doing cartwheels in the hallway. Again, I got questioned by the brothers about my strange behavior, but not even their suspicion could kill my good mood. After visiting hours ended, I kept with the plan to buy olive oil. But first, I had to stop for a victory slushy.
The occasion called for the divine trinity: ice cream, flavored syrup, and whipped cream. Despite the cold weather, the line wrapped around the parking lot of the tiny mom-and-pop yogurt shack, but it was worth the wait once my tongue reached sugary nirvana. With that task done, I continued my mission.
I drove to the ritzy grocery store across town instead of the nasty one near my house, and it was a relief not having to smell the meat department from the parking lot. Slurping down my icy treat, I pushed a squeaky cart through the condiment aisles. Haden said it had to be pure and unrefined, which led me to the organic section. I was a stranger around these parts, and all this green-conscious, eco-friendly crap that tasted like air made me itch.
The entire area was set away from the rest of the food, where I met two men in powdered wigs and stockings comparing prices on tofu. No matter how many times I saw the historical actors, it always took a second to get over the initial shock, to allow the flux of surrealism to level out. Their costumes were not the usual farm worker or politician, but more of the sophisticated people of the era, complete with saggy britches, black tri-corner hat, and matching waistcoats with brass button trim.
No colonial speak came into the exchange as the two huddled together, bickering like an old married couple. They must have seen the lost orphan look on my face because they took pity on me. With plenty of “honeys” and “sugars,” they pointed me in the right direction, offering info on organic food and alternative living.
“Oh, that one is good, great on garlic bread,” the shorter of the two commented while loosening the bind of his neckerchief.
“No, she said she's looking for pure oil—unseasoned. Put that back. Um, let's see. They're all pretty good, but if you're willing to chuck out some cash, I recommend this.” The taller one with the ponytail tied in a ribbon reached up and pulled a small, decorative bottle from the top shelf. The bottle was no bigger than a saltshaker, which meant it was way out of my price range.
“It's Dio Bellucci
,
the Lamborghini of olive oils. All the famous chefs use it.” He turned the bottle so the label came into view.
When I saw the price sticker on the shelf, I nearly fainted. “Forty bucks! For this?”
Ponytail Guy placed his hands on his hips. “What do you expect? Dio Bellucci doesn't come cheap.”
“Is that name supposed to mean something?”
The shorter man blanched and covered his mouth in a gasp. “It's like one of the most well-known companies in the world. All of their products are handmade in a monastery in Naples. They make perfume, designer fabrics, and beauty cream with finely crushed pearls inside. Expensive! All the celebrities use it and it has to be specially ordered.”
“They also make the best wine—three hundred dollars a bottle,” Ponytail Guy added.
“Wow. All because some monks crushed the grapes themselves?” I asked.
“That, and the region and the special blend of the soil. It's all very spiritual, and rich people eat all that up,” the short one supplied.
“So, do you think it might be, um ... sanctified?”
Ponytail Guy rolled his eyes. “Honey, it came from a monastery full of Catholic monks. Their toilet paper is probably blessed.”
That was all I needed to know. I dropped the oil in my cart along with a few others from varying prices and regions of the world. Waving my thanks to the colonial duo, I grabbed my cart and whimpered all the way to the checkout line. My bank account was gonna bleed from this cut, all in the name of science.
On the way back to my car, a black sedan pulled up next to me in the row. The window rolled down and I groaned when I saw the face behind the tinted glass. The timing was just terrible.
Don't ruin my good mood. Don't come over here. Please
, I chanted in my head. But it was too late.
“Evening, Samara. Fancy seeing you here,” Ruiz said as if this was a real coincidence.
“Yeah, what are the odds?” I agreed in a flat tone. Did no one have a life in this town? My life wasn't interesting enough for someone to want to follow me around. “I'm celebrating Caleb's recovery. He moved his hand today.”
He looked genuinely surprised. “Congratulations. I'd love to hear what he has to say when he wakes up. You shouldn't be walking around by yourself like this.”
“My car's right here. I'm heading straight home after this.” I went to open my car door.
He nodded. “Be careful out there. Someone's got their eye on you. Have a good night,” he said, then drove away.
When he was far enough away, I shuddered from the creepiness of that moment. This guy seriously needed a girlfriend, a hobby, a
real
job—something. After I climbed into my car, I gave Haden a quick call and warned him in case Ruiz made a surprise visit. The dude was straight shady and nothing could be left to chance.
On the drive home, I grew excited with possibilities, but I was alone in the celebration. Lilith trembled and curled within, dreading some impending punishment.
“Lilith, what's wrong? Are you scared?”
I couldn't explain the sheer absurdity of talking empathically with a spirit. Her response was choppy and relayed in code, similar to that yellow car from
Transformers
. There were some things about possession that I would never get over; like the lack of privacy, the slight pressure on my back, and the constant paranoia of someone standing right behind me. I could turn in circles until I got dizzy, but she would always be behind me. Lilith: the ghost in the machine.
Suffice to say that I wasn't the only one involved in this little experiment. She was scared of me tampering with hazardous material, and I couldn't really blame her. Tobias had told me that Lilith would protect her host, but I didn't know how far she would go for self-preservation. Either way, it was unfair not to run this decision by her first.
“I know you're scared, but I need to know what's going on. If you can think of a better way to figure this out, I'm all ears. I'm not gonna hurt you or me. Trust—”
I didn't finish my sentence because I caught the feeling of being watched. A sense of unease came from nowhere. I knew that feeling, the icy chill of fear and the searing heat of stalking eyes. It drew closer, a menacing overcast of ill intent. Its energy wasn't human, that much I knew, and it seemed hell-bent on scaring the crap out of me.
My eyes stopped at a dark figure standing under a streetlight. Believing it was a fickle shadow, or perhaps a trick of the light, I tried to ignore it. The key word was “tried.”
The inky shade unnerved me, not so much as its presence, but by its association with the lamppost. The light didn't bounce off the form as it should, but sucked into a vacuum of obscurity. I couldn't see the color or style of the clothes, just the basic silhouette, a void with the illusion of endless depth. Surrounding houses, cars, trees, the entire block was nothing more than an elaborate backdrop, and this thing, this chasm in the scope, was cut out of the frame.
When I drove closer to the lamppost, it moved. It happened so quickly, I wasn't sure I saw it. It moved again in choppy jerks, parody to a nervous tick or bad stop-motion animation. None of that prepared me as the thing leapt off the curb and stopped in front of my car.
I slammed on the brakes, but I wasn't fast enough. My heart bobbed to the back of my throat, the scream shredded my windpipe, and yet, there was no collision. A gust of wind hit the driver's side with such force that it rocked the car.
The rush of flying leaves plastered to the windows, darkened the interior, and blinded me from the street. The wind passed over the hood in a visible ripple, entangling debris in its path. Air shot from the heating vents and thickened the interior with a humid musk that I could almost taste. As quickly as it began, the light returned. The onslaught faded into a gentle breeze that brushed the windows clean, revealing an open stretch of road.
Watching leaves dance and flutter to the ground, I had no doubt what had caused this, or rather who. Loud, ragged breathing filled the car in an audible struggle for calm.
I stared at the street, not sparing a glimpse at what now sat next to me in the passenger seat. I just sat there for several moments until my breathing calmed, my hand wringing the steering wheel, wishing it was his neck.
“Drive,” he ordered.
My foot, which seemed stuck to the pedal, lifted off the brake for the car to cruise along. Normally, I would have a witty comeback or a masterful cuss-out ready to go, but all rational thought had left me, and I had a suspicion that I was going to wet my pants.
We rode in silence for a few blocks. Five houses away from home, I risked a glance at him from the side. Tobias, in all his malevolent hotness, sat with his eyes glued to the road, panting in that strange canine fashion. Whether it was his body heat or the tangible proof of his anger, the temperature rose considerably and fogged the windows.
He must have felt my stare, and that one fleeting look was enough to get him to speak. “I tried to be reasonable, to give you time to accept the truth, but you insist on forcing my hand. I saw you drive to the hospital. You went to see
him
.”
Not bothering to deny it, I said, “Caleb's in a coma and his spirit is starving. How else can Capone feed?”
“It's a waste. You're just polishing his coffin.”
My head whipped in his direction. “You can't hurt him. I won't let you.”
“I told you before, I have unfinished business. I warn you now, Samara. Stay out of my way.”
“Or what? If what you say about you and Lilith is true, then you can't hurt me without hurting yourself.” I paused as a burst of insight nearly struck me blind, a point so obvious that I scolded myself for missing it. “And if you harm Caleb ... you'll hurt me ... and by extension hurting yourself.” His body suddenly went tense, giving me all the confirmation I needed. “That's it, isn't it? That's the
real
reason you haven't killed him already? You certainly have the power to do so, and you had a ton of chances, even before Halloween. You just
can't
, can you? Bet you didn't see that coming, huh? We really are
linked
,” I sneered, the words leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
The sickened look on his face told me he didn't like the flavor of that truth either, or at least the part that involved Caleb. “Yes. But your mother is not. Your father, your friend Mia, her lover Douglas, your coworker Alicia—they have no connection to me whatsoever.”
“You son of a—” My words were cut off as his fist slammed against the dashboard. The hatch to the glove compartment fell open; its contents spilled onto the floor. At the same time, the lights of the interior went off and the car jerked to a halt. My seat belt kept me from flying into the windshield and yanked me back against the headrest.
He shifted in his seat to make sure he had my complete attention. He had it—just not the good kind of attention. I stared at a face only made in Heaven, while Hell stared back at me through two glowing orbs. The contrast was simply terrifying, the ultimate deception.
“Already you forget who I am, and what I'm capable of, so let me remind you. I'm not human, and human life means very little to me other than food and pleasure. And it is my pleasure to take every ounce of life from the Ross family. The only reason they aren't dead now is because of you, but don't push me. Killing him might hurt, but I have a higher tolerance for pain and loss than you can imagine. The question is: How much pain can
you
stand?”
“Tobias, you're scaring me,” I said, shocked to have confessed that aloud.
Instantly, he slumped back and looked out the window. His face scrunched up in a pout, and even with that very human expression, he could never be mistaken for a mortal. “Your car has a strange odor, like old lunch meat,” he said, and I wasn't sure if it was an insult or an observation.
I didn't answer him and started the car again. A moment later, I pulled into the driveway and noted that Mom wasn't home yet. She had her group meeting tonight, so I wasn't too concerned; actually, considering my angry passenger, I was grateful. I consulted the clock, but 12:00 blinked on the dashboard as a result of Tobias's short temper. Great. I would have to reset all my favorite radio stations, but I had to handle business first.
Shutting off the engine, I turned to him. “If I stay away from Caleb, will you let him live?”
He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Yes.”

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