Book of Revenge

by Abra Ebner

  Since Jane had told me about my father’s secret, my whole outlook on life had changed. I was no longer alone. I was no longer afraid of what was happening to me because I finally felt a part of our family—a part of my father. It was normal for me to hear these things, and I was proud of that fact. I’d managed without Vicoden for two weeks now. Drugs had only separated me from the gift my father left me and the giant shoes I was destined to fill. I was embracing what I once loathed. It felt good.

  Wes tilted his head and addressed Gladys, a show of respect he used universally. Grasping the handle of the front door, Wes guided me out onto the porch. I wanted so badly to turn and peck him on the cheek, but I refrained, remembering that I’d ruined my ability to do so with my stupid idea of starting over.

  A soft chortling sound animated the otherwise silent fall air. Wes and I both looked up at once. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

  “What the—” Wes’s gruff voice was close to my ear.

  “Shhh,” I elbowed him in the stomach.

  He grunted, doubling over.

  Leaves slowly spiraled to the ground, covering the front yard in an organic blanket of oranges and red. Though that sight alone was gorgeous, it was the brown-white owl perched on Wes’s car that had taken our breaths away.

  “It’s not moving,” I commented.

  Wes was rubbing the spot where I’d elbowed him. “Well, that’s obvious.”

  I swallowed, glaring at Wes over my shoulder before inching forward. My pink Converse slid across the decking, making nothing but a dull shuffling sound. The owl remained perfectly still, unfazed by me, a statue among the falling leaves.

  The owl had yellow eyes, its feathers dappled and thick. It watched both of us, a spark of intrigue in its eye. I wanted to get closer to it. I wanted to hear its thoughts. I lowered my foot off the deck, inching onto the pathway. The owl’s feathers fluffed, as though annoyed that I’d tried to come closer. I shut my eyes, focusing my attention, trying to hear. At first it was just a whisper, but as I moved my other foot from the deck and stepped down, there was a sudden burst of sound.

  Stop!

  My eyes flew open, just in time to see the owl take flight, its talons scratching across Wes’s hood.

  “Great.” Wes cursed under his breath. “Thanks a lot.”

  I spun. “Wes!” I scowled at him, making this his fault, not mine.

  “What?” He was genuinely confused, wondering what he’d done wrong.

  I tried to re-collect my thoughts. Was it me or the owl that I’d heard in my head? Did it tell me to stop? Or did I tell myself?

  I grumbled, “Thanks a lot, Mr. Smooth.”

  Wes’s shoulders hunched in his defense. “What did I do?”

  I twisted my backpack out of his hands as he continued to stand on the porch, holding me back and looking shell-shocked. “That thing’s been here like, everyday this week, Em. Chill out.” He jumped off the porch, both feet landing on the pathway with a loud slap.

  “What? It has?” I gaped.

  Wes walked to his car and I followed after him. He ran his hand over the hood, inspecting the new set of scratches, right next to a number of other, older ones, some already rusting.

  “Well…” I tried to make some sense of it. “What does it want?”

  I saw Wes’s jaw clench. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything.” At least I didn’t think I had.

  He leaned casually against the car. “So, then who knows?”

  Jane:

  I ran my fingers down the frets, my hair draped over the neck of the cello. My eyes were shut, feeling the emotion in me swell. A cold hand touched my neck, tracing up to my ear. I opened my eyes, the song breaking as I gave in to a shiver.

  “Max,” I whispered, only mildly annoyed. “I thought you were going to leave me alone.”

  He pressed his forehead to mine, his deep blue eyes smiling. “I have something for you.”

  My lips curled. “You do?”

  He stood back, and I saw that one hand was hidden behind him.

  “Is it magickal?” I blurted. Max had yet to show me more tricks and objects, though he’d promised.

  “Not really.”

  I frowned.

  Max touched my knee, slowly drawing the cello from between my legs, replacing it with his body as he knelt on the ground before me. Max’s hand slid from behind his back, a small green bottle cradled in his palm. It was simple, made of a frosty glass that reminded me of the Caribbean ocean.

  “What is it?”

  I could see the pride in his eyes, a twinkle of life that I wished was his own. “It’s perfume.”

  My chest rose, filled with delight. I clutched the bottle delicately between my fingers, lifting it from his hand. Max reached for the stopper, removing it as a long spear of glass slid out. He dabbed off the excess oil, lifting it to my nose.

  “Close your eyes, Jane.”

  I shut them, the smile still adorning my lips.

  “Breathe deep, and tell me what this reminds you of.”

  I slowly drew in a careful breath, not wanting the unknown fragrance to overwhelm my senses. It was delicate at first, a sharp tingle, lightly coated in a sweet frost. It was summer in a bottle, happiness and life. I opened my eyes, flooding my vision with the ocean of his eyes.

  “It reminds me of…” I couldn’t decide just what it was, but it felt like home—like me. I caressed the cool glass, wanting to surround myself with the sensation the smell gave me.

  “It’s rose and tea leaf.” He placed the stopper back into the bottle, allowing me to continue to hold it.

  “I love it,” I declared, and it was the truth.

  “I knew you would.” His hands crept around my waist, his fingers resting on my spine, pulsing energy into the root of my nerves.

  “Where did you get it?” The bottle felt fluid in my hands, refreshing and clean.

  Max turned away from me. “In Winter Wood.”

  “Winter Wood?” I tilted my head, my brows furrowed. “Where’s that?”

  “It’s here, but at the same time it’s anywhere but here.” There was a sense of longing in his voice, telling me it was a place he hadn’t been in a while.

  “Here? Where?”

  Max ignored my question. “The alchemist had a shop there once. It’s where I got this.”

  I looked back at the bottle. “So it’s old?” It sounded like an insult. “I mean, not old, but…”

  Max placed his hand over my mouth, urging me to listen, not talk. “Very old, but I got it for you all the same.”

  I looked at the bottle again. It didn’t seem old at all. The scent was still crisp and new, like freshly picked roses and budding tea leaves. I pulled his hand away from my lips. “What do you mean? If it’s old, then surely you didn’t get it for me.”

  Max’s finger grazed the skin from my mouth to my chin, directing my gaze to look at him instead of the bottle. “I did get it for you.”

  “How?” I protested. “Explain.” I’d grown tired of his vague responses.

  Max bit his lip, apprehension in his eyes. “I’m afraid that reason will scare you.”

  I frowned. “Then why show it to me at all? Why even say that? You had to know I’d ask about it if you say it like that.” Annoyance loaded my voice.

  His lips cracked and a half smile emerged.

  I laughed. “Max, it won’t scare me. I love you, remember?”

  He lifted his brow. “And I you, but this is… this is just…”

  “What?” I pressed.

  He cleared his throat. “Obsessive?”

  I drew in a long breath, seeing what he meant by the fear in his eye. The thing about Max was that I knew he loved me, and I knew he obsessed over me, though I didn’t want him to necessarily show that, let alone admit to it—that made it more real somehow. My attitude toward the situation changed and I suddenly wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know the story at all, but not knowin
g it would surely eat me alive. How could he start off with a word like that—obsessive—and expect me not to want to know the story?

  I rolled the options around in my head. “I still want to know.” I’d settle for the facts. It was going to come out eventually.

  Max stared at me for a long time, weighing his options. He was trying to read my thoughts though I’d learned to guard against his invasion, along with the help of the ring he’d given me. His lips finally parted, and his story took form. “A long time ago, I was severely depressed by my… condition.” He looked at the tattoos on his arms. “I was walking through Winter Wood, and came across the alchemist’s apothecary with the thought heavy on my mind. I told Patrick about my troubles, and well, he gave me a Truth.”

  “What’s a Truth?”I said quickly.

  He chuckled, disregarding my disruption. “Well, I mean he gave me a rock that told me a Truth,” he went on.

  I tried again. “What’s a Truth?”

  He heard me this time, and sighed. “A Truth is a certainty, sort of like seeing your future, though it’s more of an answer to your biggest question. A Truth is just simply the truth.”

  I nodded, wanting to understand, but finding it difficult.

  “I took this rock, and something amazing happened. I went to this field, and…” he stopped himself.

  His pauses were really getting tiresome. “And… what?” I was already seeing myself in this field where I was left hanging.

  His lip curled, revealing the dimple in his cheek that I loved so much. “I saw you there.”

  I narrowed my vision, not completely believing him. “Me?”

  “You.”

  My eyes felt heavy. Happiness, excitement, love and desire all streamed through me and into him. He was using up my positive energy telling his story, and exhaustion overwhelmed me.

  Max went on as I sat back. “You were there. You were laughing. I was laughing. I hadn’t felt that happy in so long, Jane. You have to understand how amazing it felt.” His eyes were deep, sucking me into his soul. “I never learned your name in that dream, but I could never forget the way you looked, the way you smelled.”

  The bottle was still in my hand and I looked at it lazily. I hadn’t paid much mind to its subtle details before, but I realized it was only half full.

  The way I smelled?

  I swallowed, twisting the bottle amongst my fingers. It suddenly felt heavy in my hand, no longer a simple, sweet gift, but a remnant of the pain he had endured, and the longing he’d had for me for so long. This bottle was the one thing he could hold onto in his otherwise dark and unforgiving past. This perfume had been his hope.

  Max’s weight shifted, and I could tell that he’d seen I’d put the pieces together. “That was all I had to remember you by. The scent was a name to me, in and of itself. It’s all I needed to remember that something better was coming, that there would be a light at the end of it all, and you, my best friend and love.”

  The question I wanted to ask grew thick on my tongue. I felt such pain, such sadness. How long had he waited for me? “How long ago was that, exactly?” I said it simply.

  His mouth trembled slightly. “It was 1942.” His gaze fell, as though he were about to cry, though he couldn’t. That simple gesture was stolen from him, instead only offered through my own tears. I felt him weaken between my knees, a sudden vulnerability released from such a simple gesture.

  Sixty years. He had waited for me for sixty years.

  Avery:

  I smacked my lips and looked at my nails, waiting impatiently. The trees around me were bare, other than the few evergreens that were mixed in. Fall had once again descended on the mountains of Colorado and I realized just how much I’d missed this place. Grasping at the strap of my quiver, I yanked on it, inspecting the gold inlay and following the pattern with the tip of my finger.

  I exhaled impatiently. “Come on, Greg,” I mumbled, shaking my leg. “Any day now.”

  No sooner did the words fall from my lips that I heard the distant sound of footsteps. They were heavy, clumsy, and outright disturbing. It was definitely him. Greg had finally entered the wood, his arrival expected in a moment’s time.

  “Finally.” I stood tall, flipping my curls and poisoning the air with the smell of cinnamon.

  I shut my eyes and envisioned Greg. His form slipped through the trees, rounding an evergreen about forty feet away. His black leather coat was flashy and a sharp contrast against the rugged beauty of the bark. He hadn’t seen me yet, and I delighted in that fact. Opening my eyes, I reached over my back and grasped an arrow from my quiver. The bow was tucked into my belt; I unhooked it and loaded the string. I brought the golden, feathered end of the balanced arrow to eye level, envisioning its directed path, whizzing just past his ear.

  I licked my finger and shined the tip before steadying my hand and releasing the string. The arrow split the air, silent to a human’s ear, but whistling within my own. The sound alerted me to its exact position, the slightest twist making all the difference. It passed him as expected, slamming into the meat of a tree beside him. Greg halted, twisting his gaze about the forest before looking to the canopy above.

  With my bow in hand, I ran to a nearby tree, wrapping my arm around the trunk and flipping my body up until my knees hooked with the first branch. I curled from my torso, continuing to climb with breathless energy. The branches remained still and silent under my delicate weight. I jumped from treetop to treetop until I was no more than ten feet from where Greg stood on the ground below, looking weak and defenseless.

  I let out a little sigh, shaking my head as glitter fell from my hair. It rained to the ground in an array of colors. Not to my surprise, Greg didn’t notice. I grabbed another arrow, kissing the end and loading the bow. With a grin, I shot again.

  It sliced down through the air with more efficiency than the last, barreling along its intended path right past Greg’s other ear. To my surprise, he caught it.

  I watched as he rolled it in his hand, a grin growing across his face. “A-very!”

  I giggled to myself, not because he’d remembered me or my arrows, but because it hadn’t taken him long to figure it out.

  “Avery, stop teasing!” He yelled again.

  I tucked the bow into the quiver on my back and leapt to the next tree before swinging down, landing solidly in front of him. I put one hand on my hip, not even breaking a sweat. “Long time no see, Greg. I’ve been expecting you.”

  He laughed. “Can’t say I’ve been expecting you.”

  I grinned. This was an impromptu meeting.

  He stared at me, unconcerned by my presence, eyeing me guardedly. “You missed.” He held my arrow teasingly in his hand, just out of my immediate reach.

  I hated the smug look on his face, but that was about to change. “Missed?” I reached forward, touching Greg’s ear where cool blood dripped from his lobe. Drawing my hand back, fingers stained, I showed him his weakness with a pleasure I found hard to subdue. “I never miss, dear Greg.”

  He stood his ground, the smug look remaining. “You didn’t kill me,” he challenged.

  I laughed, feeling the plan inside me already unfurl. “Killing you would defeat my purpose,” I admitted—my revenge—I added to myself.

  Greg’s lip was permanently arched in amusement. His pale face and stony features were not unlike his brother’s—a man I once loved more than myself. “Your purpose?”

  I reached forward, grasping the arrow from his still outstretched hand, refusing to delight him with an answer.

  Greg had a knowing look on his face. “Are you saying you’re finally seeing my side of things?”

  I shrugged, keeping my intentions hidden. “Maybe I am.”

  Greg relaxed, kicking his foot out and propping his hands on his waist. “Max won’t like that news.”

  The mention of his name made jealousy burn in my heart. “Max?” I snorted. “You think I still care about him after what he did to me?”

&nbs
p; Greg shrugged in a mocking manner. “Some things don’t change.”

  I could tell he didn’t want to trust me, but why would he? I’d once been his enemy, but as the years passed, and the bitterness of rejection grew, I’d begun to see his side of this battle.

  I narrowed my gaze. “Anyway, the point is that Max doesn’t need to know.” I stood tall, proud. Greg was trying to read my mind, but I refused to let him. I couldn’t blame him for distrusting me. I was a pixie, and there was no doubt he questioned my motives. That’s what made this fun.

  “So, you’re saying you want to trick him?”

  I didn’t move. I didn’t reply.

  “Have you even seen him since he’s been back?”

  I felt his remark trying to dig into my emotions, pulling out my real motivation. I turned my gaze to my hands, mindlessly inspecting my nails as I always did. “Unfortunately, I have seen him.” I sighed, conveying indifference. “It seems he’s found a new pet. I wonder how long that will last.” Especially considering how fleeting our own engagement had been and how badly it had ended. He’d tricked me and stolen my light.

  Greg snorted, looking to the trees above. “He thinks he loves her.”

  We laughed together for a moment. Max loving anything was far fetched as it was, let alone a human—a Seoul. She was so in love with death, how could she possibly love anything else?