Ignited

by Corrine Jackson

  Lucy was breathing hard from her outburst, and I’d never felt calmer, fueled by a cold anger. My voice sounded steady and firm when I spoke. “You’re acting like a brat. You were pissed at me when I wouldn’t heal Mom and now you’re pissed because I tried. You can’t have it both ways, Lucy. Either I’m a monster for letting her die, or I’m a martyr for trying to save her. Pick one, and have a little conviction if you’re going to punish me for it.”

  I’d never spoken to her so harshly. Her mouth fell open and she stepped back, her muscles rigid.

  I continued. “I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m doing the best I can. I’m sorry if that’s not good enough for you. And I’m sorry that you’ve lost everything and that you’re sad and hurt and angry. But look around—you’re not the only one.”

  I left her standing in front of the fireplace, but I turned back when I reached the door. Three times now she’d called our parents hers, as if I hadn’t belonged.

  “One more thing . . . They’re my parents, too. Whatever you may think about me, they saved my life when they brought me home and made me their daughter. You don’t get to take that away because you’re mad at me.”

  With that, I left the room and ran smack into Asher. He gripped my shoulders and squeezed. In a low voice, he said, “Good for you, mo cridhe.”

  I used the book as a shield to push him away. “And you. Stop calling me your heart when you don’t mean it.”

  He stepped back like I’d slapped him, and I shoved past him without looking back.

  I couldn’t go outside, so I went to the next best place. The conservatory had a glass ceiling and walls, offering a view of the rooftop terrace through the double doors on one end. Rain fell on the roof, creating a musical cacophony before drizzling down the sides. Two wicker chairs and a table had been positioned in one corner to make the most of the tranquil room.

  Dropping the book on the table, I sank into the chair near the doors, tracing a drop of condensation on the glass. I probably shouldn’t have said what I had to Lucy, but I couldn’t keep sucking it up and turning the other cheek. That would make me the martyr she thought I was, and I didn’t want to be that person. I had always tried to heal people when I could. What Asher and Lucy had always failed to grasp was that my decision to do this wasn’t about a death wish or being impulsive. I healed people because I knew what it was like to hurt and feel like nobody would be there to help you. I understood what it was like to be weak and at the mercy of fate. My friends and family all seemed to think that I didn’t value my life, but the opposite was true. I healed people because I valued life. To be able to cure someone’s suffering, to save a life, that was power. And I was good at it.

  What would I do, though, when we found my father and I moved on alone? I could try to set down roots somewhere. Except every time I used my abilities, I chanced being found by one of my enemies. Did that mean that I should stop using them? Could I watch someone hurt when I knew I could help them? The idea of it made me sick. It reminded me of all the people who had turned a blind eye to the bruises and burns I hadn’t been able to hide or heal as a child. Dean had tortured my mother and me, and nobody had stepped in to help us. Alcais had been hurting Erin and nobody had helped her, either. I didn’t think that I could be someone who sat on the fence. Not when all those years of healing my mother had made me feel like Dean’s collaborator. I couldn’t go back to living like that.

  Maybe it would be better to live on the run, moving from place to place. If I never tied myself down, then I would never bind myself to someone who could be hurt. Suddenly, I wished that I could confess everything to my father. He had a way of looking at all the sides of a thing and cutting to its heart. I wanted to be able to talk to him and hear his voice so much that I ached with it. I wouldn’t believe for a second that he was gone forever. We’d find him, and he’d be okay. But if he wasn’t, I would heal him, and then anyone who had hurt him would pay for what they’d done. Hell hath no fury like a Protector whose family has been threatened.

  Gabe and Lottie had better come back soon because I wasn’t going to wait around for much longer. Soon, I was going to look for them, even if I had to go through Protectors to do it. I picked up the book I’d brought with me for no other reason than I’d forgotten I held it. The book fell open on my lap, the pages worn and well-read. All of the entries were handwritten in an old script that was difficult to read. I flipped through a couple of pages, trying to understand what I was looking at. It appeared to be some kind of genealogy book tracing Healer and Protector bloodlines.

  Names had been entered onto the pages, and marriages had been indicated with small equal signs. Dates were listed next to names, and I thought they might indicate births and deaths. Healers had been marked with an H and the Protectors with a P, and the two never mixed under a surname. A birdlike symbol appeared next to a very few names.

  I scanned page after page of dates. Some of the births dated back to the 1300s, and it was odd to see how many Healers’ names had death dates listed, while the Protectors stopped dying after the late 1800s. The last update to the book that I could find had been the year the war started. Death dates had been added to three Protector names: Sam, Helene, and Angus Blackwell. Asher’s parents. I traced the entry and wondered who had made the addition. Not Asher, because I would know his handwriting. Lottie had been sixteen at the time. It must have been Gabe. I imagined them all near my age, having lost their parents and their brother on the same day they lost their senses, and my heart ached for them.

  I flipped back through the pages, scanning names this time. Twenty-six pages in I gasped when I saw the name O’Malley with a crest beside it. The crest showed a ship, a horse, a wild boar, armor, swords, and bows and arrows in a complex design. Under the design, three words appeared in what I guessed was Latin: TERRA MARIQUE POTENS. Then a column of names appeared, but it was a shorter column than under other surnames because the last O’Malley entry was in 1629.

  I stared at the page. It could be a coincidence. I mean, did I really think this was my family? What were the odds that my father was descended from this group? It was a common Irish surname, after all. But how many O’Malley families are also Protectors, Remy? I shook myself. Did it matter? After all, the O’Malleys in this book had disappeared long ago.

  I was about to close the cover when another name caught my eye. A Healer named Camille Lovellette had married Martin Dubois in 1853. I’d heard both names before, for very different reasons.

  My mother hadn’t talked about her parents often when I was growing up, but a couple of times she’d mentioned how she’d loved my grandmother’s maiden name. Lovellette sounded like love letter, and the romance of it had appealed to her when she was a child. I doubted there were many Healer families with that last name. It would have been dangerous for my grandmother’s family to use such a unique last name once they went into hiding, unless they thought the name had disappeared from people’s memories when the last Healer named Lovellette married and became a Dubois in 1853, years before the war.

  It wouldn’t have mattered, except Camille had given birth to a daughter: Elizabeth. I was 99.9 percent sure I was a descendant of Elizabeth Dubois, the woman responsible for killing Sam, Helene, and Angus Blackwell. The woman whom Asher had killed while defending Lottie and the reason he’d become immortal in the first place.

  The book fell to the floor, and I gazed into space. It can’t be. This can’t be happening. My ancestor had started the war between the Healers and Protectors. I rocked back in my seat, dropped my head on my knees, and huddled into a ball. Fate had a screwed-up sense of humor. The Blackwells were going to freak. Right when we’d begun to settle our differences and get along so well. Ha! I laughed and it had a hysterical edge.

  Son of a bitch.

  “That wasn’t quite the welcome I was expecting, Remington.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  My mental walls snapped into place before I’d sat up s
traight, and Gabe frowned at me. He’d obviously just come up the stairs; he still carried his bag in one hand and his damp brown hair looked almost black. He dropped the duffel at his feet and shook his head, sending little droplets of water everywhere. I squeaked and dove for the book to protect it.

  He stared at it with curiosity. “Why are you reading that? It has to be the most boring book in our library. Man, I haven’t seen that thing in decades.”

  “I was in the middle of a fight with Lucy when I picked it up. I didn’t plan to read it. It caught my attention because it was so old.”

  He took another step into the room and flipped on an overhead light. I hadn’t even noticed that it was getting dark, but now all I could see was how the light created a kind of halo around his body, outlining his broad shoulders and narrow hips. I licked my suddenly dry lips. My thoughts dipped in a direction they shouldn’t, and I yanked them back.

  “Have you ever heard of such a thing as a phone?” I snapped. “You could have called so we knew you weren’t dead.”

  My anger bounced off him. “I see my diabolical plan has worked,” he observed.

  “What plan?” I asked with narrowed eyes.

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Tone down the outpouring of affection, Remington, or I might get the wrong idea and kiss you.”

  My mouth dropped open. I regained control of my jaw with effort and snapped it closed again. “Try it,” I dared with a vicious smile. “I’m in a mean mood, and I’m likely to bite your tongue off.”

  “Promises, promises,” he said in a low voice that whispered along my nerves. My mind raced through escape scenarios, and Gabe laughed. “I’m teasing you. Come on. Lottie and I brought dinner and news. We’re all gathering downstairs in the dining room.”

  He swept a hand toward the door and waited for me. I rose and made to walk by him when he snagged my waist and pulled me behind the door where nobody would see us. I gasped and looked up. His green eyes had focused on my lips, and his head lowered toward mine. This close, he mesmerized me, and it took the closing of a distant door to snap me out of it.

  I smacked a hand against his mouth. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Oh, I’ll think about it,” he said against my fingers. It tickled and I dropped my hand in a hurry. “But I won’t push you. Just tell me you thought about what I said and that you missed me like crazy.”

  I pressed against his shoulders and he let me back away. A whole inch. I sighed. “Of course I did, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not doing this.”

  “This?”

  I waved a hand in the whole six inches that separated our chests. “This. It’s too complicated.” And I’m not a ho. Take that, inner grandmother.

  “Why are you thinking about red lipstick?”

  This time, he let me go when I gave him a hard shove. “Damn it, Gabe. Stay out of my head.”

  He held up both hands in a gesture of innocence. “Hey, I’m not the one who feels so strongly about cosmetics that my thoughts are practically shrieking about it.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered. I retrieved the book from the floor and followed him down the stairs. I praised myself for handling that well. After all, I’d avoided a kiss. So what if I admired his butt as we took the stairs? And who could blame me for wishing there were more stairs when he moved the way he did? It occurred to me that he was moving at a snail’s pace, and I suddenly realized why. I reinforced my walls to look like a fortress in hopes of keeping stray, lecherous thoughts from sneaking out.

  He threw a satisfied smile over his shoulder and said, “You’re no fun, Remington.”

  “And you’re eavesdropping.”

  He shrugged, and I knew he didn’t care a bit.

  We finally reached the dining room, where the others had already gathered. To-go containers were scattered around the table, and everyone was helping themselves to a plate like any other family eating together on a Friday night. The scent of curry thickened the air, and I inhaled happily. I hadn’t eaten Indian food since I’d moved to Maine. I was fixing myself a plate when I felt Gabe watching me. With a smug smile, I doubled up on the garlic rice and garlic naan bread, the smelliest foods on the table. He merely raised his brows in challenge and added a triple helping of garlic-laden dishes to his plate.

  I’m not kissing you.

  He smiled as if this didn’t concern him. Maybe he hadn’t heard me, though. His gaze dropped to my lips. Then again, maybe he had.

  “Can you pass me the samosas?” Erin asked Gabe.

  His attention shifted, and I was finally able to focus on the others in the room. We settled into our seats. I sensed Gabe sitting next to me and ignored him. At one end of the table, Lucy studiously avoided making eye contact with me by staring at her plate.

  It was Asher who finally called us to attention. “Don’t keep us in suspense. What did you guys learn?”

  I didn’t expect them to say they’d found my father. Gabe would have told me immediately. That didn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed when he said as much.

  “We weren’t able to get near the Morrisseys. They’ve closed ranks, and it would have looked suspicious if we suddenly showed up. But we did do some asking around to see if the others knew anything.” His face took on a grim bent, and I steeled myself for more bad news. “Remember our friend Xavier?”

  Like I could forget the bastard who had shot Asher and tortured me. He’d also helped kidnap my father and run Laura down. My hands fisted in my lap. If I could get my hands on him, I would break every bone in his body. “Is he here?” I asked, sounding almost hopeful.

  Across the table, Asher gritted his teeth. He looked as bloodthirsty as I felt, and I didn’t blame him.

  Gabe shook his head, his expression unchanging. Under the table, his warm hand covered my fist. He stroked my fingers until my hand relaxed, and then he retreated. He picked up his fork again and continued. “He’s not here, but he was. Spencer knows him. Xavier bragged about the setup he had going with Franc.” He turned to me. “Your grandfather is a real sweetheart. He’s promised you to the Protectors if they catch you. Apparently, he’s given up on the idea of using you and just wants revenge.”

  “More likely, he plans to double-cross them.”

  I’d seen the crazy light in Franc’s eyes. Somebody as fanatical as he was wouldn’t give up so easily. Not when he was sure that he was right and that the ends justified the means. His moral code had been compromised long ago, and he wouldn’t think twice about betraying a Protector.

  “What a bastard,” Erin muttered.

  I snorted. That was putting it mildly.

  Lucy asked, “Did Spencer and Miranda suspect that you knew Remy?”

  The question surprised me. Was she asking because she was worried about me? I couldn’t tell from her expression. She tucked her hair behind her ear and watched Gabe’s face. Her attention switched to Lottie when she spoke.

  “No. We were careful. They did wonder why Asher wasn’t with us, but we told them you’d decided to make a side trip to Paris. I’m not sure they believed us.”

  Considering how long they’d been gone, I was disappointed that they didn’t have more news. I guess I’d hoped they’d have some kind of clue that would lead us to my father. How much longer could we sit around without doing something? They’d already had him for too long. Look what they had done to Asher in a matter of weeks. They’d had my father for months.

  Lottie stood to begin clearing plates, and I said, “Can you wait a second? I have something to tell you, too.”

  Gabe tensed beside me like he thought it was about him. I waited for Lottie to retake her seat before I told them what I’d found in their book about the O’Malleys. It hadn’t occurred to me to keep it a secret when we all had too many things left unsaid already. Lucy’s eyes lit up when I described the crest in the book. I opened it to that page and pushed it toward her. She read the three words below the crest out loud.

  “Mighty of the land and sea,” A
sher translated.

  “The crest has a ship in it,” Lucy said, touching it. “Do you suppose sailing has always been in our blood?” she asked me with wonder in her voice.

  I smiled. “I think Dad would insist it is.” He’d made his living building ships and spent every weekend he could on a sailboat.

  Gabe tapped the table, lost in thought. “You know, it’s weird. I don’t remember any Protectors named O’Malley. How does a family just disappear? We might not have known every Protector in existence, but we knew of every family name. Do you guys remember the O’Malleys?”

  Asher and Lottie both shook their heads. My gaze landed on the page opposite the O’Malley page. “Hey, Gabe. Do you know what these markings mean?” I pointed at the small birdlike symbol that appeared next to some names in the 1600s.

  He studied it. “Never seen it before.”

  “There’s more. I think I found my mother’s ancestors, too.” I explained what I knew about the name Lovellette, and how I suspected my grandmother’s family had taken that name back.

  “It makes sense,” Lottie said. “I could see your family wanting some connection to their heritage when they’d been forced to cut themselves off from everything. Most Protectors don’t have a record like our family kept in that book, so they were probably safe using the surname. Does it say what name Camille married into? Maybe we knew your mother’s family.”

  “Oh, you knew them.” Dread made me wish I hadn’t eaten that last piece of naan bread. I took the book back from Asher and found the page with Camille’s name. I pointed to it. “Read it, Gabe.”