From the Ashes (Witches of The Demon Isle Book 8) (11 page)

Lizzy stirred the potion, happy so far with the results. “To answer your original questions, Melinda, watching from the sidelines as my human life should have wound down, unable to participate, was… hell. In so many ways a perfect picture of hell. If I were told tomorrow I was going to hell, it’s exactly where I’d expect to go. It was like living through a slow kind of torture. Not physical pain, but mentally. Spiritually.” Lizzy set down the spoon and turned down the heat on the burner.

Melinda sensed that deep pit in her gut widening. Lizzy had lost so much. Yet endured with a strength and vitality that made Melinda tired simply thinking about it.

“I watched everyone in my life move forward, without me,” she kept going. “In some ways, like I hadn’t even existed. Like I didn’t mean as much to them as I thought. Perhaps I’m judging too harshly, they had to move on. I was the one who was stuck. Not them. But in some cases it did seem too easy for them to forget me. And after too few years, they were all dead. There was no one left who knew me. It can make a person feel rather alone and insignificant. The mind can go to some dark and scary places, even in a ghastly form. But most of those wounds healed, over time. Today, I think it’s important to build new relationships. Stronger ones than I had before. It’s never been clearer to me that we’re not just our actions, or the things we do and leave behind. It’s the people in our lives that help give it meaning. Give it purpose. If no one mourns us when we die, until the day
they
die, then you really did nothing of value in the end.”

It was certainly one way to look at the meaning of life, thought Melinda, quite certain her life did not fall under the category of fulfilled, if Lizzy’s version of the meaning of life was even close.

There was a rustling of movement and she picked up her head to see Charlie standing in the kitchen doorway. She wasn’t sure how much he’d overheard, but he his gaze was fixed on Lizzy with a mixture of sadness, determination, and adoration. It brought a weak smile to her lips; her brother really was in love. It looked good on him. Like a natural fit.

Lizzy’s gaze lifted and she caught him. What he saw staring back at him was,
I still don’t expect you to get down on one knee and propose, but don’t make me wait too long because I’ve chosen my life and I want it to start.
But to save him from saying anything, she used her head to point at the hairbrush in his hand. “Perfect timing. The potion’s cooled just enough.”

He ambled into the kitchen and handed it to her, watching as she took a few strands out of the brush and tossed them into the pot. Stirring once again. Melinda got up close, making note of every move. Charlie noticed and sent her a questioning look.

“Lizzy’s teaching me stuff about potions.” She got an excited gleam in her eye she never got when he tried to teach her things. But it didn’t irritate him in the least. He leaned back against the counter and watched his sister and Lizzy finish the potion. His heart lighter for it. There was something about Lizzy in his kitchen, helping his sister that tugged at perfection. Almost a bit like fate.

Maybe Lizzy wasn’t appreciated or needed in her time, but perhaps, those in control of this crazy world somehow foresaw she would be prized, here. It was a poisonous thought to think he’d ever fall for another woman. There was only one Lizzy Deane. And she was his.

How stupid was he, afraid to ask her out on a date?

“Dinner, tomorrow night,” he suddenly blathered out. She wanted romance, he’d give her all he could manage.

“What?” Lizzy looked up at him. She’d only been half listening to him. Focused on the potion and showing Melinda how to stir it just right.

“Dinner. Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He wasn’t taking no, or I’ll have to think about it, for an answer. Lizzy didn’t reply, but her answer was obvious in the grin curving on her lips, and written in the blush of her cheeks.

“Okay. Stop stirring,” ordered Lizzy a few minutes later. She turned off the heat and the mixture stopped bubbling. “It has to sit and cool for an hour at room temperature.”

As the hour passed, the trio worked together to clean up the kitchen. Michael and Emily came home; she sprinted up the stairs to their bedroom without so much as a hello to anyone, and he strode into the kitchen a mix of heat and ice reaching for a bottle of whiskey.

“You guys are home a little early? Doesn’t the bookstore close later?”

Michael poured a hot, downed it, followed by a second. Some of the fire left him, leaving behind a somber, lost-looking man. He aimed the whiskey at his shot glass prepping a third round.

Lizzy grabbed a shot glass and thrust it out at him. “Me too please. I’ve never tried it before. I’ve been a bit hung up on the tequila.” Some of the forlornness lifted in Michael’s gaze and he poured her a shot. Michael downed his, releasing a burning, but satisfied, breath. The booze giving him the instant downer he needed.

Lizzy almost dipped her nose into the shot glass, sniffing in the aroma. She flicked her tongue into it, tasting it at the tip and licked her lips, excited. She tossed it back, loving the sting that followed across her tongue down her throat and released a guttural sigh.

“God, that’s so freaking good. Booze today is way better than in my day!”

Charlie growled under his breath. She was goading him, on purpose. The woman was seriously asking for trouble.

Michael was so worked up about Emily he didn’t even sense the tension between Charlie and Lizzy. He tapped his fingers on the countertop, agitated from head to toe. Although without the booze, it would have been fists hammering into a wall.

They waited until he finally got out what he wanted to say.

“We got in a fight, she closed the shop. We came home. Emily says I’m stalking her and wants me to stop taking her to work and walking her home. She says she doesn’t need me to do that, vampire on the loose or not. She figures at this point, if she’s meant to die, or get invaded by some spirit, nothing will stop it.” He raised his hand stopping anyone from responding. “I’m just. I don’t… she refuses to mourn properly. And I know it’s because of me. And even so, I can’t bear to let her out of my sight. It scares me to death, just thinking about what might happen to her.”

Melinda wished she could help in some way. In her mind, they were a perfect couple, in love and would always be in love. But this love was breaking them. Every time she thought she was beginning to make sense of love, something got her opinions and realizations all bent out of shape.

Michael spun around, determined to head up to their room and confront her. Force her to see reason. Maybe if he got her angry enough she’d finally give in. And at least get pissed. It would be better than this denial and refusal she was living in.

“Michael,” called out Charlie after him. He stopped, turning. He wanted to tell Michael to give her space, to give himself some space. He’d never seen his brother such a mess. Instead, he said, “We don’t need your help tonight.”

Michael’s entire body deflated. He was leaving his family to fend for themselves, in order to watch over a woman who didn’t want him around. His Emily… thought he was smothering her. And God damn it, he was, but he refused to stop until she’d mourned. Properly.

He gazed toward the upstairs unable to leave her alone. However, he could give her some space, without leaving the house. And try to be of use to his siblings. “I’ll be in the study.” He shifted directions and trudged into William’s sanctuary. It was eerily quiet without the vampire, or his crackling fire he kept around for company.

Michael sat on the edge of a chair for a few minutes, gathering himself. After a bit, he moved to a stack of boxes that had been delivered by the cleaners. Well, he should say Josh since his dad retired. Michael grabbed a couple of them and lugged them over to William’s desk.

The front door slammed, alerting him to the others’ departure.

Only him and Emily in the house.

But it might as well have been just him.

He opened the first box, peering inside, wondering what he’d find. Wondering if this wasn’t a big mistake and maybe he should wait and go confront Emily. Again. He fought the urge and starting rifling around inside the box, taking things out. With every item he removed, his heart broke a little more. He had no idea what was still holding it together at this point.

Why hadn’t any of them seen it?

Caught onto what the Jordan’s were up to?

It was their job for Christ’s sake!

The box was filled with notebooks containing collected information attained by Anthony and Eva Jordan… on all things Howard. And the Isle. And the power source.

They’d been spying on them a lot longer than this past summer.

A wet droplet splashed onto one of the notebooks and he let the book fall, keeping himself upright by holding onto the edge of the table. He’d tried to keep this from happening. He needed to be strong for Emily… he couldn’t fall to pieces. Not now.

If only they’d questioned the Jordan’s presence on the Isle.

If only they’d been smart enough to see the signs, so obvious now.

If only his dad hadn’t died…

If only William was here…

If only he had
his
Emily back…

If only…
those two words could go to hell!

He let go of the table and slid to the floor, leaning his back against one of the desk legs.

If only his emotions could turn off like they’d done when they’d first discovered Emily’s father dead, and she, missing.

If only none of this mattered and he could live a normal life.

If only, if only, if frigging only…

A soft movement told him he was no longer alone. He opened his tear-filled eyes to see Emily sitting cross-legged in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled, sitting up straight.

“No. I’m sorry,” Emily returned. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own misery I haven’t even asked you once, how you are. I didn’t mean to get so angry at you. I’m being the worst girlfriend ever.”

“Never…” he tried to smile.

There she was, in front of him. His Emily, at least, in part his Emily. More so than he’d seen in days.

“I don’t see how, Michael. It’s not clear to me at all right now. But we will get through this. Right?” She wanted to comfort him, but her confidence was shaken and she had no comfort to offer.

He leaned in and grabbed her hands. “As long as we’re together, Emily, we will make it through this. But right now, I have no idea how, either. I’m just trying not to fall to pieces. And I’m waiting for you to. Please don’t hold back because you think it will hurt me.”

“And you can’t hold back waiting for me.” She smiled, sadly, and caressed his cheek, wiping away tears. He grasped her hand, holding onto it as if his life depended on it.

“I thought he was coming back,” he whispered coarsely.

“I know.” Emily understood he was talking about his dad. “Neither of our dads are coming back, Michael.” Her tone took on a sudden flatness. She was saying it. Admitting it, aloud. But still wasn’t ready to believe it, and live it. To do so meant she was alone. With no relatives still alive. No more blood relations. This left a person feeling vulnerable. And so alone no matter how many friends or non-blood related loved ones that had.

Michael had no choice but to accept the truth. He’d had to live through losing his parents once already. Living through it a second time sucked so much harder. He swore his empathic ability feeding off everyone else’s emotions was taking years off his own life. He’d talked about this to Emily; before all this Feyk turmoil had gone down. Before he’d realized she might take that conversation to heart, so much so she refused to mourn around him fearing she’d add to his suffering.

But he was anyway. Because until she was able to live her life again, he’d continue to suffer. It would be brutal to get through, but he’d survive it if he knew she’d be okay when it was done.

He sucked in, and held it for a few seconds, letting it out slow. He had to lock it all back inside. This was all the time he got to mourn. But letting out even that much, combined with the whiskey, he was overcome with exhaustion.

Emily leaned back against a bookshelf, her gaze hollow. Michael had no choice but to live with this life. It was his heritage to be a protector of The Demon Isle. But Emily only came into this life because she’d met him, and because her family had moved here after finding out she was a spirit vessel capable of allowing spirits of the dead to use her body to speak with the living.

But with her ring, now in the hands of the Feyk leader, Stricker, she could have chosen to live in peace anywhere. There were plenty of magical hot spots around the planet that would have strengthened her ring; The Demon Isle was not the only one. But she’d ended up here.

It hurt to think it, but Michael wondered if she’d be better off living somewhere else. Anywhere else that was not The Demon Isle. That thought frightened him more than any other right now. Living here, without her. It was selfish. But she was one of the few good things worth staying for.

Emily wasn’t only dealing with the loss of her father and the reality of this life, but also living in danger of having spirits unwillingly take over her body. Which was something Eva Jordan had done and it nearly killed her. Emily wasn’t ready to face these realities yet. He wished he could do it for her.