empower: fight like a girl (words empower Book 1)

by Amy Berg

  Emlyn glanced up at me quickly, biting her lip. “Can we, Mom?”

  Alarm bells raged in the back of my mind, but what choice did we have? We needed to get off the street. I forced my features to relax. “I don’t suppose you’ve got something green to go along with that?”

  The man smiled, his skin crinkling pleasantly at the corners of his eyes. He held the door open further and waved Emlyn in. “Ladies first.”

  Emlyn danced into the kitchen, the prospect of a warm meal making her practically giddy.

  Twenty minutes later—after doing my best to clean us up in the cramped kitchen bathroom—Emlyn and I sat down at the staff table. It was a comfortable booth situated in a corridor between the main kitchen and the dishwashing area. It was loud, uncomfortably warm, and right in the flow of traffic, but I felt safer here than I had since we’d fled our apartment two days ago.

  “Macaroni and cheese for the young lady.” A steaming bowl of macaroni, cheese, and broccoli slid in front of Emlyn. Her eyes lit up. Our host presented her with a huge bowl of shredded cheddar cheese, ready to spoon some over her dinner. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you love cheese?”

  “One hundred!” Emlyn grinned.

  “Oh! She broke the needle!” The man set the bowl down next to Emlyn. “I’d better leave this with you, then.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and winked.

  “Thank you,” Emlyn said, spooning a small mountain of cheese atop her meal.

  “Easy, cricket,” I warned. Emlyn gave me a sheepish smile. She pushed the bowl of shredded cheese aside and loaded her spoon with a huge bite of the creamy pasta. I felt another pang watching her; she was starving. My mind tripped over the last 48 hours. When had we last had something to eat?

  “And for you, ma’am?” He turned toward me, his smile softening. With what? Pity? I shrugged, embarrassed to be taken for someone…fragile. “Anything.”

  “Really? No preferences? Steak? Lobster? Chilean sea bass?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “All right, but you do realize that’s a dangerous thing to say to a chef.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “I’ll just have to trust you.”

  “Ben.” His voice was full of warm empathy.

  I looked up, surprised.

  “My name. Not that I expect you to reciprocate—or—I don’t mean to suggest that your telling me your name would mean anything untoward.” He smiled nervously and cleared his throat.

  “Untoward?” My smile widened.

  “Mom was an English professor,” he muttered, flushing a rosy pink. “I’ll just get started, then.” He rubbed his hands across the front of his crisp white apron and started to turn away. I caught his hand.

  “Thank you, Ben.” Looking up at him, I was surprised to find I really meant it. Gratitude wasn’t an emotion I experienced in a typical day. Ben smiled again, then nodded and strode back into the main kitchen.

  “He likes you,” Emlyn said, not raising her eyes from her meal.

  “Does he?” I asked, nonchalantly.

  “Don’t pretend. I know what you are.” She took another bite, and a drop of cheese slid down her chin.

  I reached across the table to wipe it off. “Oh, yeah?”

  “You used your magic on him,” she said around the mouthful.

  “So now I’m magic?” I smiled at her, trying to mask my unease. I’d tried so hard to provide her with a normal childhood. That had meant assimilating. Getting a job waiting tables. Paying for things like rent, clothes, preschool. Granted, I made out better than the typical waitress, but I only turned on my charms for the men who seemed like they could afford to tip a little extra. And even then, I’d only used my charms once or twice a week. The goal wasn’t to fleece the town. We needed to make a life here. And, in front of Emlyn, I’d been very careful. Not careful enough, said a little voice in the back of my head.

  Somehow, Terrance Clay had found out there was a Lilitu in this town. And as soon as one of his spotters caught sight of me outside the restaurant, it was all over. The life I’d painstakingly built for Emlyn—gone in an instant.

  “Yes.” Emlyn glanced around and lowered her voice. “You’re a fairy.”

  I stared at her, suppressing a laugh. A fairy? Well, I guess “fairy” sounded nicer to a five-year old than “demon,” but seriously.

  “That’s why you used to tell me that story at bedtime,” Emlyn said, frowning. “The one about the crying. Isn’t it?”

  I racked my brain for what she could possibly be talking about.

  Emlyn watched me, growing a little distraught. She set her spoon down. “With a fairy, hand in hand?”

  “Yeats,” I breathed. His poem, The Stolen Child. Will had written a few stanzas one afternoon in 1886, after we had dallied on the banks of a beautiful river in his homeland of Ireland—well before the world knew him as W. B. Yeats. I’d always found it beautiful and sad. Had I recited it for Emlyn? “Come away, o human child. To the waters and the wild, with a faery, hand in hand, for the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.”

  Emlyn’s face eased. “Yes, that’s it. I’m glad you didn’t forget.”

  I studied Emlyn, but she took another huge bite, returning her attention to her bowl. As I watched her wolf down her macaroni, I tried to strategize. We needed to get out of town. My car was useless. They knew my address; they’d be watching my house. Buses and trains were out; they’d be keeping an eye on the stations, too. A taxicab. If I could enthrall a driver, we might manage a free ride out of the state.

  With my mind fixed on our escape route, I didn’t notice Ben approaching until he set a plate down in front of me. It was a large bowl of spaghetti tossed with vegetables.

  “It’s kind of a specialty of mine,” Ben said, shrugging. “You looked like you could use some comfort food, and this has always made me feel better.”

  “Thanks.” Honestly, I was hungry enough that I wouldn’t have objected to anything. Although usually, when a chef tries to impress me, he shows up with some kind of trussed-up lamb chops or filet mignon spooned with a reduction of something or other. When I took my first bite of this dish, I was totally unprepared for the wave of flavors that washed over my tongue. “Oh.” I closed my eyes, trying to identify what specifically it was about the combination of flavors that was blowing my mind. “It’s good.”

  When I opened my eyes, Ben was smiling at me, pleased. “Bon appétit.” He turned and walked away, with a definite spring in his step.

  Across the table, Emlyn sat back. She’d made a valiant effort to demolish her macaroni, but the bowl was still over half full. Emlyn yawned wide, eyes scrunched up tight. Watching her, it was like the years melted away from her features and I was staring—once more—into the face of my newborn daughter. But then she opened her eyes and blinked, and my newborn subsided back into the face of this smart, insightful little girl.

  “Tired?” I reached across the table to smooth a lock of hair back from her face. She nodded, eyes half-lidded. “Why don’t you lie down on the booth,” I suggested. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

  “Okay.” Emlyn rubbed at her eyes, then lowered herself to the worn red leather of the booth’s seat and curled into a little ball. It didn’t take long for sleep to claim her.

  I ate in silence, savoring the soft rise and fall of Emlyn’s breath, the rich flavors of my meal, the warmth of the kitchen. Even the sounds of the staff and the clink of dishes melded into a pleasant white noise. I knew I should take this time to plan, to think, but instead, once I’d finished my meal, I let myself drift near the edge of sleep. Time passed. Someone cleared our table but left us alone to rest. After what felt like half an hour or so, I stirred.

  The frenzy of the kitchen had died down to almost nothing. The only sound left was the spray and clink of the dishwashers in the room behind us. I looked around for a clock. It was nearing midnight. I ducked my head under the table. Emlyn was still asleep, clutching her fists
under her chin. I sat back. While I couldn’t shake the feeling that we’d already stayed in one place too long, I didn’t want to disturb her. Maybe we’d dodged a bullet. Maybe the Guard had moved on.

  Ben approached, pulling off his apron. “Is she still out?” He nodded in Emlyn’s direction.

  “Yes.” I gave him a grateful smile. “When do you close?” I glanced back at the kitchen. It looked like the last of the line cooks were heading out.

  “Don’t worry about it. We should let her sleep.” Ben offered me his hand. “How about a glass of wine?”

  I opened my mouth to decline, then shrugged. “Sure.” I took his hand and let him lead me to his wine chest.

  “Are you in the mood for anything in particular?” He turned toward me, the soft glow of the wine cabinet giving his eyes a handsome sparkle. He was an attractive man. On first glance, I’d dismissed him as tall and lanky. But up close I could see that he was lean with well-defined muscles under his shirt. He smiled, and I realized he’d caught me sizing him up.

  I smiled, flustered. “After that meal, I’m leaving the culinary decisions entirely in your hands.”

  Ben laughed and then turned back to the wine cabinet. “You know, if you two need a place to crash for the night, you’d be welcome to stay at my place. I have an extremely adequate fold-out couch.”

  “Ah…” I lowered my eyes, thinking. It was hard to ignore the benefits of spending a night with him. One night with this man could replenish all the energy I’d expended over the past few days trying to dodge the Guard and keep Emlyn safe. I could ensure that Emlyn slept soundly and woke none the wiser about our interlude. He was standing so close that the scent of him, the warmth of his body were extremely tempting. And it had been so long. Since Emlyn’s birth, I’d been too afraid of drawing attention to our location to risk spending even one night with a man. Yes, one encounter would only weaken him, doing no lasting damage. But, still, I’d decided to play it safe and visit men for sustenance only in their dreams. Now, letting my eyes travel back to Ben’s face, I found I didn’t want to hurt him. That realization sent a shiver down my spine. After years of abstinence, did I no longer see men as prey first and foremost? And this man, Ben, had treated both Emlyn and me with such kindness. I shook off the thought, chastising myself. I’d enthralled him. What kindness he’d shown us wasn’t real, merely a side effect of my power. And yet…

  A deep sadness welled within me, something I hadn’t felt in years, since well before Emlyn’s birth. I’d thought I’d come to terms with this. I knew I could never have a romantic relationship, not one that lasted more than three nights, at any rate. My embrace was fatal. To let myself love a man would be to sentence him to death.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I said softly.

  Ben glanced at me, then quickly away again. “Right. Whatever you need.” I’d hurt him, but better this pain than the damage I could inflict. Ben pulled a bottle off the shelf and held it out for my approval. “How do you feel about Sangiovese?”

  I smiled. “Sounds perfect.” Ben turned toward another cabinet, this one holding the restaurant’s stemware. I forced my shoulders to relax. It was better this way.

  The door to the alley burst open across the kitchen. A man strode inside. He had close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He scanned the various workstations, looking for something. For me. I didn’t need to see his face to know who it was.

  Terrance Clay.

  Terror shot through me with searing fingers. Ben turned toward the intruder. I reached for his arm, but I was too late to stop him.

  “Excuse me, can I help you?”

  Clay turned toward him. And that’s when his eyes landed on me. In one smooth motion, he drew a dagger out of his jacket.

  “Whoa, mister,” Ben set the wine down, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Easy.”

  “Step away from the woman, sir.”

  “This is my kitchen.” Ben walked toward Clay. He put his hand on the older man’s shoulder, spinning him back toward the door. “It’s time for you to—”

  Clay caught Ben’s arm with his free hand and turned, pulling Ben off his feet. Before Ben could regain his balance, Clay drove an elbow into Ben’s stomach, dropping the younger man easily. Ben hit the ground hard, curling reflexively into a ball. I heard him gag, but I couldn’t pull my gaze off Clay.

  “Mom?” Emlyn’s thin voice pierced the silence. I spun around, horrified. Emlyn sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, unaware that she’d just announced her existence to the enemy.

  Clay’s eyes flicked from Emlyn back to me. “So,” he drawled with a syrupy Southern cadence. “It’s true.” He turned back to Emlyn, a cruel smile turning the edges of his mouth.

  “Don’t touch her, Clay.” I crossed the distance to Emlyn without turning my back on Clay, reaching a hand out blindly behind me. Emlyn raced to meet me, grasping my hand tightly.

  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Clay said. “And I do try so hard to keep all you demons straight.”

  I didn’t take his bait. “Don’t harm her. She’s innocent.”

  “Innocent?” His smile deepened. The casual way he said it sent a spray of goose bumps shooting down my arms.

  “I’m the one you want. I’m the one who broke your treaty. She’s never hurt a soul,” I breathed.

  “You stole a man’s life for that brat.” Clay shrugged, as if it were simple arithmetic. “Her birth is her crime.” He walked toward us with slow, deliberate steps. I shoved Emlyn behind me, trying to preserve the distance between us, as though we weren’t trapped. Ben struggled to his feet behind Clay, still woozy.

  “Please.” There was no reasoning with him. I knew this, and yet I couldn’t stop myself. The only thing I could think about was Emlyn. She filled my head. My girl. My little girl. He was going to kill her.

  “Mom?”

  “It’s okay, baby.” I gave her hand another squeeze. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “I’ll make it quick,” Clay said. “But that’s all the mercy I can offer for—” Suddenly Clay dropped to one knee.

  An iron skillet swooshed through the air where Clay’s head had been half a second before. Ben stood behind him, the skillet clutched in his hands like a baseball bat.

  “That was unwise, son.” Clay rose to his feet, facing Ben.

  Ben’s eyes shifted from Clay to me. He didn’t have to say anything. I grabbed Emlyn’s hand.

  Ben swung again. Clay moved, catching Ben’s wrist and twisting. I didn’t wait to see what happened. As soon as Clay was clear of our path, I pulled Emlyn forward, and we raced as fast as we could to the swinging doors leading from the kitchen into the restaurant.

  The dining area was mostly empty with maybe a handful of patrons scattered about, finishing after-dinner drinks. Every head swiveled toward us as we burst into the room. I froze, and Emlyn clutched my hand even tighter. I picked out the Guard in an instant. There were four of them, three soldiers and a spotter. The spotter was leaning against the front door. When she saw me, she straightened. The soldiers didn’t wait for her warning. They turned toward us, hands gripping weapons beneath their jackets.

  I scooped Emlyn into my arms and backed away from the advancing Guard, scanning the room for the nearest exit. A soldier anticipated me, moving to block access to the emergency exit.

  Clay exploded out of the kitchen doors to our right.

  I felt the adrenaline shoot like liquid ice through my veins, lending me a burst of strength. “Close your eyes, baby,” I whispered. Emlyn buried her face into my neck with a ragged sob. Her arms tightened around my neck at the leathery snap of my unfolding wings. This was not how I’d hoped to introduce Emlyn to our true nature. I felt a pang of regret but shoved it aside. My only task now was ensuring our survival.

  “Clay, she’s cloaking!” The spotter, no longer concerned with discretion, launched herself into the dining room, sprinting toward us as she drew her own daggers. But even as Clay turne
d back toward us, my wings enveloped Emlyn, rendering us both invisible to all but the spotter. Screams split the air as patrons staggered up from their tables, horrified.

  I turned away from the spotter and ran. The dark side street was visible through a large picture window. “Hold on,” I hissed, clutching Emlyn to my chest as I leapt onto a table. I turned my body, impacting the window shoulder-first, shielding Emlyn with my wings. We hit the ground hard, and Emlyn rolled out of my arms, balling her arms over her head instinctively. As soon as my concentration broke, my wings retracted, leaving us exposed on the sidewalk.

  The window’s safety glass rained down around us in misshapen cubes, catching and reflecting the streetlights like a spray of diamonds.

  “Up, cricket. Quickly.” I stood, still shaking with adrenaline. Emlyn looked up, then thrust out her hand. I helped her to her feet. Panic raged in my head, drowning out rational thought. The two of us on foot had no chance of escaping Clay and his soldiers. I grabbed Emlyn and crushed her to my chest. “You have to run, baby.”

  Emlyn opened her mouth to argue.

  “Find a place to hide. Go. Now.” I turned her little frame away from me and gave her a shove. She stumbled a few steps forward, into a pool of shadow, and then turned back, her hazel eyes bright with unshed tears.

  “Mommy?”

  “Don’t look back.” I turned my back on her. Up ahead, Clay and his soldiers emerged from the restaurant’s main entrance. I sprinted across the street, feeling a surge of triumph when the spotter’s shrill voice called out behind me.

  “There! She’s heading for the alley!”

  I heard their boots on the pavement behind me. When I reached the end of the alley I risked a look back. Clay and all four soldiers were on my tail. I couldn’t see Emlyn. Good girl, I thought. Just keep your head down.