Amaretto Flame (21 page)

“What you did took a lot out of you,” Jackson
said. “Last time, I healed you more than once as you slept and it
still wasn't enough to bring your energy level back up completely.”
He frowned, and added, “You should have just let me heal you this
time.”

“I have no control over that,” I said
coldly.

“Yes you do,” he countered, shifting toward
me. “I could feel it when you dropped your guards in the woods that
time.”

I could feel my cheeks burning pink, not
because of what he'd said but because of the memories it triggered.
I'd called him beautiful. Ugh.

“You should know that Paula --” he started,
but I interrupted him by holding my hand up.

“I don't want to get into this. I have things
to do, so can you tell me what you brought me here to tell me so
that I can go?” The feeling of being punched in the stomach
returned, and although I felt guilty for being short with Jackson
in front of his mother, I really didn't want to hear anything he
had to say about Paula. Claire cleared her throat, and I saw her
glance at Jackson as if telling him to shut up with her eyes.

She put her hands on top of the table,
fingers intertwined, and looked directly at me.

“Olivia, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to
tell you a little story. I know that you’ve had a rough night and
you’re probably quite confused.” I nodded, understanding that I was
finally going to get some answers. As if wanting to begin before I
got irritated enough at Jackson to leave, Claire launched into her
story.

“People use the word ‘hate’ too much, Olivia.
It diminishes its power to be so overused. Hate is a seething
anger, and when someone thinks of the person or object that they
hate, their blood turns as thick as oil, burning with disgust.
Truly hating someone devours you…makes you think of nothing but
causing them pain. I’ve hated someone before in this way. In a way
that still makes me shudder to think of it.” She glanced at
Jackson, apologetically. I had no idea what hate and anger had to
do with anything.

“Who?” I asked, calling her eyes back to
me.

She exhaled loudly, and then with even eyes,
she said, “My husband, and Jackson’s father.”

I felt my own eyes flick toward him, but his
face was calm. His head was bent down slightly, eyes examining the
wood grains of the table. I had a sense of déjà vu and realized
that this felt a lot like the formal introductions back in
Eagleton. Claire continued, demanding my full attention.

“When I was very young, I lived with a group
of other people like myself, probably the way you do, from what I
gather. I was gifted in a way that many people didn’t understand,
and because of that, I was a curiosity, even amongst my own people.
Still, they supported me, taught me to use my gifts. When I was
fourteen years old, I woke up in the middle of the night, hearing
cries.” Her eyes were glazed over, and I realized she wasn’t still
here, in the kitchen with Jackson and myself. She was back in her
bed, at fourteen.

“They were the most terrible cries you can
imagine, Olivia. They pierced right through to my soul. I was
scared to death. I stood, and walked out of my bedroom. The people
I lived with, what I like to call my family, stayed together in a
house not much smaller than this one. A group of others came that
night. I saw them before they saw me, shapes of black against the
shadows, moving quickly through the house.

I realized what it was they were doing, and I
tried to fight back. I was so young, and my power isn’t one that
would enable me to actually hurt anyone. The sounds of my family
screaming were cut off as their lives were, one by one. A large man
took hold of me, and I closed my eyes, understanding that it was my
time to die then. So, when I didn’t, I was shocked.

They took me with them. For most of the
journey, I slept, dreaming over and over again of the screams. When
we finally arrived at our destination, the man bundled me up again
and carried me into another house. He left me in a bedroom for a
long time, but I didn’t really notice. I was still waiting for my
time to die…my time to join my family.

When he came back, he spoke softly, telling
me not to be afraid. He said that it would be difficult for me to
understand, but that my family had been very bad people. He told me
that I was safe now, and that he would take care of me. Hope sprung
up in me, and I realized that I might be able to live after all. I
was his…pet, in a way. He was enamored by my power, and often made
me demonstrate it, both for himself and the others.

Olivia, I knew the only way for me to stay
alive was to act…to pretend as if I believed every word the man
said. So I did. I hung on his every word like God himself had
descended from above and said it. But secretly, I cherished the
memories of my family, and I used them to fuel my hate against this
man. They had normal people there, humans with no powers. They used
them as slaves and sometimes whipping boys. Through all of this, I
pretended. When he thought I was truly converted…that I truly
believed him, he tested me.

He brought me into a room, filled with
trophies from his hunt. Locks of hair, braided and fastened to a
plaque…hands, bronzed and mounted, still thrust out as if trying to
cast a spell. It was the most hideous thing I had ever seen in my
life. The room was full of them…hundreds and hundreds of people who
had all been killed for no reason but sport.

Still, I pretended to be delighted, to be
fascinated with them, all the while adding to my secret, growing
and slithering hate. In the house were five other people besides
the normal ones, and I planned and plotted for two years. I
gathered as much information as I possibly could, scheming and
trying to determine how I would get out. When I was sixteen years
old, this man took me…for his wife.”

She paused, tears welling in her eyes. I was
horrified, living the story with her as she told it. It wasn't
until Jackson reached over and took my hand that I realized I, too
had tears in my eyes.

“Soon after, I found out I was pregnant. I
wanted to hate the baby growing inside of me, to somehow cast it
forth. But I couldn’t. I loved the baby the moment I knew it was
there. I vowed, swore that I would somehow fight to live and
escape, taking my baby with me. I knew I didn’t have long. If I
lingered, he would fill the child’s mind with vile, unspeakable
things…make the child think like him.” She shuddered, a tear
falling from her eye.

“I loved my little child more than I had ever
loved anyone or anything in my entire life. His father was not
interested in him for the first few years, so it made it easier to
tarry. Still, I had my plan in place and I was gathering in myself
the courage I would need to take action. One morning, I snapped
awake to the sounds of my child screaming. They weren’t normal
screams…and they reminded me of the screams from my childhood…from
my family.” Her eyes were glazed over again and as she continued,
her voice was shaky.

“I raced through the house, desperately
trying to find him, a feeling welling up in me that I had never
felt before…that no woman will ever feel until she has her own
child and feels that her child is in danger. When I found the room
the screams were coming from, I burst through the door and he was
holding Jackson down, while another was doing something…I didn’t
quite realize what it was at that time, only that it was making him
scream so terribly.” She paused, flicking a tear from her
cheek.

“Well, to make a long story short, that’s
when I took my son and left. I wasn’t sure where to go at first,
but then I decided it didn’t matter. Wherever I went, I would be
prepared. No one would ever again sneak into my house in the middle
of the night unnoticed. I would make sure of that.”

When I spoke, the words came out a whisper.
“What were they doing to the boy…to Jackson?”

Claire nodded at Jackson, and there was no
denying the look of shame on his face. He let go of my hand and
turned in the chair so that his back was to me. I had a sense that
I should look away, but I kept my eyes on him. He lifted his shirt
slowly, revealing the tanned skin of his back. Further up it went,
until it was over his head. For a split second, I saw nothing, and
then a jolt of shock hit me.

There, on the back of Jackson's neck, were
the hunter's arrows.

I bit down hard on my lip. The arrows weren't
like the normal ones; they were white scars rather than the dark
lines of the tattoos the hunters wore. It was obvious that they'd
been drawn over and over again, rather than just once. How had I
never seen these scars before? How was it that I hadn't experienced
some kind of intuition? I remember being inside Stallott's for the
first time ever and feeling some sort of magick, but then shaking
it off as an overactive imagination.

Still, that tell-tale sign might have warned
me that Jackson wasn't a regular human, but not this. As Jackson
dropped the shirt back over his head and turned toward me, he
avoided my eyes and looked at the tabletop. I recognized that look
on his face and I was fairly certain I could guess what was going
on inside him. The same things that I felt when Ivanna talked about
my
biological parents, or when someone saw
my
scars.

Claire muttered something about being back in
a few minutes, and when she was gone from the kitchen, Jackson met
my eyes. I worked hard to keep my face blank, in spite of the stray
tears that escaped my eyes.

“I never thought you were evil,” Jackson said
quietly. He must have been referring to what I'd said earlier, and
the remark he'd made about being part of a group of evil magick
users. “I didn't understand completely, but I knew that there was a
difference between what you are and what I am.”

“No,” I said, before I could stop myself.
Because while Jackson might have broken my heart, or at the very
least damaged my ego, he was not one of the hunters. “You're not
evil.” I sighed, and then added, “I meant what I said in the woods
about you being the summer and the life. You weren't given such a
tremendous gift for no reason, Jackson. Your scars are proof of how
strong you are, and I'm really glad I got to know you.” I had to
stop talking then, because I was getting choked up and stumbling
over my words. Thankfully, Claire reentered the kitchen and I tore
my eyes away from Jackson's.

“The people that are looking for Jackson,” I
said to her, “they wear those same marks, except they're colored
in; they're black tattoos.”

Claire nodded. “Jackson's skin wouldn't take
the ink, which is why they kept trying over and over, I guess.” She
hesitated a moment and said, “How many more do you think are left?
He couldn't have recruited many more, even in all this time.”

I shook my head, not understanding. “What do
you mean? Who is
he?
Jackson's father?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I killed Jackson's
father. I killed everyone at the house except for one. He was out
that day, doing something or another. He's the only person who
would have known the plans Jackson's father had for him. I don't
even know exactly; only that he thought Jackson would be some great
fighter for them some day.”

I glanced at Jackson and said, “I don't know
how many people are after Jackson, or what kind of debt they think
he owes them, but there are thousands of hunters, Claire. They are
a never-ending battle for my people.”

“Thousands,” she whispered. I wasn't sure
whether it was a question or not, but as I watched her face pale, I
realized she'd had no idea. She'd done the right thing, escaping
with Jackson, and had been lucky to slip under the radar for so
long. But she'd also been sheltered from the truth about the people
who wanted her son.

“I have to get you out of here,” Jackson said
to me suddenly, standing. My eyes followed him as he began pacing
back and forth in front of the kitchen sink. “I can't let you get
hurt because of me.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” I said, surprised
at the ringing in my voice. It sounded almost like Ivanna with her
clear, magickkal tone. “This is what I've been trained for.” I
rethought that and added, “This is what I was
made
for.”

He stopped walking and looked at me for a
long moment. When I spoke again, my voice was quieter. “Besides,
I'm about to call in the cavalry.” I pulled my cell phone from the
pocket of the pants, where I'd put it after changing, and dialed
Ivanna's number. I explained as quickly as possible about Jackson
and how the Venator were clearly after him and not Everett. As it
turned out, Margaret had just had another vision an hour before my
call, where the face of the person they were hunting was revealed.
Ivanna said she'd described him as handsome, with warm eyes.

I could tell she wanted further details, but
now wasn't the time to delve into it. The most interesting, and
perhaps the scariest news, was that Margaret had seen the Venator
heading to Staves, and not the scouts this time; the whole
entourage. There were twelve of them. When Ivanna revealed this, I
struggled to show no outer sign of the panic within me. There was a
big difference between the Venator who were coming and the ones
Jackson and I had already fought. The ones that were coming knew
what they were coming for, and they were sure to use whatever power
they could in order to retrieve it.

Even with my entire family, Jackson and his
mother, and myself, we were still going to be outnumbered. It was
the most dangerous battle Eagleton Coven had ever engaged in, but
fear wasn't enough to stop us.

“Should we bring the boy and his mother to
Eagleton?” Ivanna asked, and I was quiet for a long moment. She was
asking me? She usually wasn't one to ask the opinion of others, but
it didn't matter, because the answer was already making itself
known to me.