Fading Amber

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Authors: Jaime Reed

BOOK: Fading Amber
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Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
FADING AMBER
T
HE
C
AMBION
C
HRONICLES
JAIME REED
Dafina KTeen Books
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
To my sister Jade,
for all her love, support, and sacrifice.
I see it and so does God.
Thank you.
1
I
n regards to bad spirits, it's best to keep your mouth shut.
This is a handy rule of thumb, but secrets are unstable and require way too much maintenance. Every lie has to be reinforced by two more, and on it goes until eventually the secret implodes, and then everyone's day is ruined. It's a fitting punishment for dishonesty, just as long as you aren't both the liar and the person being deceived. That's when shit gets confusing.
So for the sake of honesty, I had to admit that these blackouts I kept having were getting worse. Much, much worse. They weren't daydreams anymore, or some momentary trance, but a complete displacement of time and space. Some sloppy editor had cut and pasted two separate scenes, hoping the audience wouldn't notice the lack in continuity. But there were some clues that gave away this manipulation.
The locale, for example, had changed. Instead of the child sweatshop known as James City High School, I was now at home, in my room, lying on my back on the ceiling. Yes, the ceiling. It wasn't the first time that I'd experienced the phenomenon of levitation, and my heart rate hadn't appreciated it then either. In fact, it was more alarming now since I had no memory of getting here.
I probably would still be asleep if it weren't for the sound of knocking on my front door. It could've been a neighbor, the UPS guy, or a Jehovah's Witness for all I cared. I needed a rescue, STAT. The knocking stopped and I soon heard a car start and back out of my driveway. I went into panic mode, desperately scrambling for control and some sense of reality.
My arms and feet dangled in the air, but my torso was trapped in some invisible harness. I rolled from one end to another and tried to use the corner wall to walk toward the floor, but my efforts were wasted. I had no power up here and I was just as afraid of floating as I was of falling. My entire body shook, my tears dropped on the floor below, and all my cries for help had gone unanswered.
Even if the person at the door had heard me, how would they get in? Even if they called the cops and they rammed their way inside, how would I explain why I was stuck on the ceiling? I could barely understand it myself, and I owned a higher knowledge of weird than the average person. Seeing as I wasn't going anywhere any time soon, I took in the aerial view of my room.
Four poster covered walls, two small windows, and the overflowing closet had never looked so alien, and the green color scheme added to the extraterrestrial feel. My computer desk and dresser sat on the opposite wall under an avalanche of books, soda cans, dirty laundry, and beauty products. I wouldn't have been surprised if something was living in my room making a nest for the winter, but I could sense no life energy in the house apart from my own.
In addition to my defiance of gravity, I was in pajamas and smelled of body wash. My hair hung around my face in wet, tangled clumps to where my fingers caught on the tight curls. It too had been cleaned, but managed by someone who had no skill in how to handle its texture. Since this was no doubt Lilith's fault, I didn't expect her to reveal full details of her deeds. My “internal roommate” went through a lot of effort to cover her tracks, but it was still a rush job, evidence that had to be removed quickly.
There lies the penalty of possession, what Cambions like me feared most. The sentient being living inside us was shady on a good day and could turn on its host if the wind blew wrong. I'd been told numerous times to be careful, to never lower my guard and never underestimate her power, but did I listen?
In my defense, I figured I'd have more time to adjust, to learn more about the Cambion world and the peculiar diet that came with it. After all, I wasn't born with this parasite like the rest of my kind, but got it as a crummy inheritance from a dearly departed friend. Her untimely death dropped a succubus on my doorstep along with a butt-load of responsibility.
Only my death could evict this evil tenant from her new abode, and I wasn't the suicidal type, no matter how bad my poetry got. It just wasn't how I handled problems; not how I rolled. Plus, my mom would kill me. But Lilith's recent stunt was enough to make me reconsider.
“How did I get here?” I asked her in a stern yet calm voice, not expecting an in depth answer. Lilith was a “Yes” or “No” kind of being, a ghostly Magic Eight Ball with limited responses. When she did respond, it would come in fragments of memories or a sharp zing up my spinal cord. But she remained still, tucked in her little corner at the base of my skull.
I struggled for composure, then continued. “Lilith, you need to stop doing this. I mean it! I'm sorry you got a raw deal in all of this, but you gotta let it go. This is
my
body,
my
rules,
my
choice.”
Still no motion, which meant “No.”
I rolled on my stomach and tried to do push-ups, belly flops, anything to demagnetize myself from the ceiling. No dice.
“Lilith! Let me down now!”
Before I could complete the command, gravity kicked in and my stomach jerked at the sensation of falling. The drop lasted longer than it should and the terror of weightlessness seized my heart. I could only manage a gasp as I drew further away from the ceiling, and the soft mattress broke my fall. Catching my breath, I pushed my hair from my face and noticed an important prop was missing from the set. My bracelet. It was gone.
It wasn't some arbitrary trinket, more like a handcuff with no key that required a band saw to remove. Its tracking system would've reported my whereabouts to my mom's laptop, and that security measure had now been breached.
I climbed out of bed and combed the floor in vain hope that I might have dropped it nearby. Pacing the floor, I recapped the last few moments I could remember, which consisted of a whole lot of nothing. What happened between 1:09 P.M. and 3:34 P.M. was a span that had no frame of reference. Only one person could fill in the blanks.
“What did you do?” I asked Lilith again.
That got her attention and she perked up. An image appeared behind my eyelids, a memory of me holding a jar of Caleb's “I love you” quarters that sat on top of my dresser. I remembered dancing and shaking the jar next to my ear like a maraca, one of the many embarrassing things I did in private while thinking about my boyfriend. Cake Boy and I were weird about the L word, so he allowed the accumulation of pocket change to speak for him. The image just popped in my head and I knew the vision was a clue from her.
I went to the dresser and checked the coin jar for anything out of the ordinary. Lying underneath was a note addressed to me on a white index card. At first I didn't recognize the handwriting—it was too sloppy. It reminded me of the way writing looks when you're learning cursive as a kid and using the lines on the page as a guide. At least I didn't have to worry about her forging my signature, although the bubble-like swoop of the
Ys, Qs
and
Gs
was spot on. Lilith had been living inside me for nearly six months with access to all my memories, so she was bound to pick up on a few things. I shouldn't have been shocked at her intelligence, her knowledge of the world around her, but I was. Even more so when I read the message on the card.
Samara,
I've hidden these memories from you.
Don't pursue this, don't question it.
Accept the peace that comes with not knowing.
You're safe now.
Forget it ever happened.
I'm sorry.
Lilith
Was she for real? She really expected me to sweep this under the rug after reading a creepy haiku on a flash card? What was she trying to hide? Was it so bad that it was worth blocking out an entire afternoon of my life? Lilith made it clear that she wasn't going to budge on her decision, so I would have to do my own detective work.
But first, I needed to find that damn bracelet.
I checked the hall bathroom and found my clothes in the hamper along with my house key in my jean pocket, but no bracelet. In a frenzy, I searched Mom's room then went downstairs to check the kitchen and dining room. Unsuccessful, I crossed the foyer to the living room. My feet worked on their own accord as the rest of my body tried to drag out the inevitable. There was no getting around it now—it was the only place I hadn't checked.
I felt like that character in
Pulp Fiction
who had to get his father's watch back by any means necessary. My bracelet held a similar personal value, but without the really gross back story. Instead of a crime boss, I had a ghost to confront, a phantom by the name of Nadine Petrovsky, Lilith's former host.
I had no delusions that this part of the house was haunted, either by an actual substance or by a product of my neurosis. Seeing a close friend die in your living room will do that to you. Either way, bad times were to be had if I so much as stood in the entryway.
In a moment of courage, I rushed to the center of the room, looked for anything shiny, then jumped at the sharp chirp that broke the silence. Slowly, I turned to see the house phone sitting on the end table; the numbers of the incoming call glowing in the tiny display.
It rang again, and I could almost feel Mom's impatience on the other end of the phone. Just like the woman herself, the ring had a nagging persistence, demanding an answer whether I liked it or not.
I reached out as far as I could and snatched the phone off the charger, not moving any closer to the couch than necessary, and avoiding eye contact with the beautiful blonde sprawled on the floor. From this angle, I could see the length of her golden hair, the extended white arm, and the delicate wrist.
If I tried hard enough I could pretend that she was just taking a nap, the Sleeping Beauty after pricking her finger on the spindle. But Lilith knew better, I knew better, and a part of me hated Nadine for leaving me with this burden. Maybe this was her punishment, trapped in the plane of the living, forever beautiful, eternally young, and irrevocably dead.
Focusing on one mental meltdown at a time, I took a deep breath and put the phone to my ear. “Mom?”
“Hi, sweetie. I'm glad I caught you before you went to work. Your father just called my office and he said he's picking you up tomorrow to get your new car.”
My car? It took a few seconds to decipher her meaning. “Oh! Yeah, right, thanks,” I said when it finally dawned on me. “Wait, I have to work today?” I looked at the clock on top of the fireplace, which began to stretch and twist like saltwater taffy. The wall pictures and love seat joined the distortion, which was my cue to get the hell out of this room. I moved to the foyer while Mom ran off details about warranties and prices in my ear.
“Samara? Are you listening to me?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, cars are great. They go ‘vroom,' ” I replied, still trapped in my own thoughts. “This may sound like a weird question, but did you pick me up from school today?”
A long pause dragged through the line. “Uh, no. You called about an hour ago and said that you caught a ride from Caleb so you didn't need me to pick you up.”
And she was cool with that? Ms. Julie it's-dangerous-for-the-two-of-you-to-be-alone-together Marshall allowed my boyfriend to take me home?
“Caleb?” I repeated.
“Yes, Samara. Caleb: tall, skinny, in desperate need of a shave, the boy you can't seem to live without,” Mom said carefully as one would to a kid with special needs. “I figured since you both have to work today he can give you a ride. I'm a bit swamped here at the office. A lot of work piled up from the holiday and I need to play catch up.”
I was still stuck on the ‘Caleb taking me home' part. And the grim fact that I had to work today. Was he really at my house? Maybe he could give me some answers.
I raced to the door, and stopped at the security alarm. It was activated, which required a four-digit security code whenever the door was opened. I wondered what else Lilith had memorized. My locker combination? My Social Security number? My . . . real dress size? I shuddered at the thought.
I opened the door and flinched at the cold gust of air, a rude introduction to the winter season. The foliage was now brown, and most of it littered the lawn along with shattered glass and debris from the supernatural storm on Thanksgiving night. My next door neighbor untied a pine tree from the roof of his minivan. A woman in a pink velour jumpsuit jogged across the street with her enormous German shepherd. A group of kids strolled from the corner bus stop, hauling book bags and lunch boxes. On the surface, my quiet town seemed normal, yet everything was far from it. One only had to look hard enough.
To my disappointment, there was no sign of Caleb or his black Jeep, but I found what I was looking for. There, hanging on the doorknob, was my bracelet. I examined it for any damage, noting Lilith's name engraved on the gold plate. The chain was wet and dirty, and the link had been broken by something sharp, leaving a clean, even cut.
“Are you feeling all right, honey?” Mom asked when I didn't reply.
“Huh? What—no, I'm fine. I'm just a little out of it. I gotta go. I'll see you later.”

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