Burning Emerald

by Jaime Reed

  I wish I could share these things in person, but these books will have to suffice until we meet again. Until then, give Caleb my love.

  Take care and celebrate life.

  Angie

  After reading the letter three times, the data still wouldn’t process—perhaps there was a clog in my mental frequency. The confusion had nothing to do with the Polish dialect, but the ready-made assumption behind the request. Had Angie just given me the green light to bump uglies with my boyfriend? And what business was it of hers if I did or not? And what the hell was Cambion bonding?

  Sitting on the bottom step, I plopped the first book on my lap and unfastened the buckle. As promised, pink and yellow tabs marked several entries. Since this book had no index or table of contents, I skimmed through the marked pages.

  And that’s when I lost my mind.

  “Caleb!” I yelled, loud enough to hear from the Buncha Books parking lot. Heads turned as I charged the metal detectors of the music department, intent on murder. I peered over the CD shelves, DVD kiosks, and trendy kids littering the aisles. Children hid behind their parents, women clutched their purses, and shoppers gave way for the fiery wrath of hell that was Samara Marshall.

  Caleb stood behind the counter and, as usual, chatted up a group of girls, including Courtney B., much to my disgust. Batting lashes and lip biting, the groupies clung to every word out of his lying, conniving mouth.

  Shoving his entourage to the side, I slammed my hands on the counter and met him nose to nose. “We need to talk. Break room. Now!” I stomped away without another word, while the shocked audience watched my swift retreat.

  Thank goodness no one was in the break room, and the manager’s office was locked. No one should witness the lashing that was headed Caleb’s way—the less collateral damage the better. The room always reeked of burnt popcorn and fried rice, and the combination made my stomach turn. I paced the floor, breathing hellfire, my fingers itching to lock around his neck. I didn’t have long to wait, and I spun around when the door opened.

  Caleb pressed his back and left foot against the wall with hands shoved in his tan khakis. Wearing his trademark grin of conceit, he stood as if waiting for the photo shoot to begin. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

  “What’s wrong with me? With me? You’re the one keeping secrets again. I thought I could trust you.”

  “You can, so tell me what’s wrong.” Wincing, he asked, “You’re not PMS-ing, are you? Because I can’t go through that again.”

  “Trust me, if I was, you’d be dead right now,” I snipped, though I inwardly smiled at his apprehension.

  One small penalty to our link was that Caleb suffered the hormonal roller coaster that came with my monthly visitor. Oh yeah, payback was a bitch. Too bad he didn’t endure the cramping part, though time would tell on that score, if what I had discovered proved true.

  I handed him Angie’s letter and a scanned excerpt of her journal. “You care to explain this?”

  He glanced at the page, then handed the letter back. “Sam, you know I can’t understand Polish. Read it to me.”

  I’d forgotten that with Lilith came the ability to understand Nadine’s native tongue.

  “I’ll give you the punch line: You were planning to sleep with me without telling me about this bonding thing. If two Cambions mate, they are intertwined for life, and one cannot survive without the other.” His puzzled look annoyed me, so I decided to dumb it down. “Our emotional connection will take a physical extreme. If I get cut, you bleed; if I itch, you scratch.”

  Once awareness hit, he sighed in relief, as if this wasn’t the end-all, be-all of bad news. “I figured you knew. I mean, Nadine knew.”

  I balled up the printout and threw it at him. “I’m not Nadine!”

  He watched the crumpled paper bounce off his chest and tumble to his feet. “But you have her memories, her knowledge.”

  “Not all of it. And this surely wasn’t part of it.” I paced the break room, looking for something else to throw at him. “No wonder Mom’s all freaked out about us being alone together. I thought she was just being paranoid as usual.”

  “Wait, so you’re mad because of the bonding or mad because I didn’t tell you?”

  “Both!” I snapped. “Is there anything else, anything else, that I should know about what we are? Any key factors hidden in the fine print? Stuff keeps popping up out of nowhere and I don’t know how many more surprises I can take. I’m so ready to walk out of that door and not look back.”

  Pushing off the wall, he stalked closer with a smooth, predatory quality. He kept his distance, ambling around the long folding table in the center of the room. I followed his lead in this odd waltz, drifting in a circle with only the table dividing us.

  The dance ended when he pulled out a dollar and slinked to the snack machine for his sugar fix. He took his time choosing the one he wanted, which only pissed me off more.

  Finally, he said, “We’re not a normal couple, Sam. You know we can’t just quit each other and walk away. Our kind mates for life, and no man, no religion, and no court can go against that.”

  Scooping up the chocolate bar and his change, he continued, “You ever see an old couple who’s been married for eighty years, then they die within months of each other? They were bonded, a process that takes normal people decades to achieve where it would only take us one night.”

  I crossed my arms. “Can you break that down for me?”

  He pulled out a chair and sat, not even thinking about sharing his treat. Cake Boy would give me the moon if I asked, but it would require the Jaws of Life to pry sweets away from his greedy clutches.

  “Take my father, for example. When his spirit began to recognize my mom’s presence, a link developed, like the one we share. Dad could sense her mood, her pain, even knew when she was near, like you can with me.

  “Since Mom was normal, the link was one-sided and they could never form a solid bond like we can. That partial link was enough to destroy him when she died; he went insane from withdrawal. So, can you imagine if two Cambions got together? I can’t even wrap my mind around it.” He pinched his eyes shut, cutting off the negativity before it could sink in. Telling by his burdened expression, these thoughts occurred regularly.

  Riveted, I crossed the room to stand between his parted legs. My fingers danced around his jaw and I enjoyed the color contrast, his creamy beige skin against my golden brown. Despite the temptation to strangle him right now, I couldn’t let a moment go by without touching him, to remind him that his pleasure, as well as his discomfort, was mine also.

  I tipped his chin to look at me. “You do realize this is a serious problem in our relationship? I can barely go a day without seeing you, but we’re talking long-term commitment here. What if you become a jerk in ten years?”

  He scowled. “You’re one to talk.”

  “And if I get really nasty and super fat?”

  “Hey, more cushion for the pushin’.” He took a huge bite of his candy.

  I rolled my eyes. “Or what if I get hit by a car—”

  “Then I would die with you, simple as that.”

  I gasped at the thought. “At the same time?”

  “I don’t think so. Maybe a couple of weeks, less than a month for sure. It’s unavoidable, Sam. Our link is just a precursor to a lifelong bond that the beings inside us will demand. And they will demand. It’s what most Cambions dream about: being with someone without fear of killing them, having a permanent outlet for all that tension building inside.” The worry lines melted away as he reveled in the concept.

  Mindlessly, I played with his hair. Cool strands glided through my fingers as smooth as water. “You dream about me?”

  “Only when I sleep.” He shrugged, then tossed the candy wrapper over his shoulder, missing the waste basket by three feet. “And as far as the sex issue, well, I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t want you. Badly. I’m not too quick to sign my life away either, but if it had to be to
someone, it would be you. Just know that I’m ready when you are, and not a moment sooner.”

  I closed my eyes and pushed the air from my lungs. I could sense his disappointment, that balloon deflating and losing shape, but it was too soon in our relationship to go that extra step. This bonding thing was no joke, a decision we shouldn’t make in the heat of passion. It didn’t help matters that Caleb kept gawking at me like I was hot dinner.

  I dragged a thumb across his bottom lip. “Are you really okay with us waiting?”

  “The question is whether you can wait.”

  I drew back my hand. “Why?”

  “You have a succubi spirit in your body. Its appetite is legendary, in more ways than one. Some of the folklore may be exaggerated, but not about that. You saw what happened to me when I denied Capone simple nourishment. It’s only a matter of time until it will desire other things, and having a similar being around you will only make the need stronger. So yeah, there’s cause for concern.”

  “We could always see other people,” I suggested. “You slept with hordes of girls before you met me.”

  His face hardened with a mixture of disgust and rage, both expressions shooting fire to my torso. “You make me sound like a whore. Sex is pleasure. Pleasure is energy. Energy is food, nothing more. Yeah, I had women, but I never stayed long enough for Capone to recognize their presence, nor did I want to until I met you. What we have is something completely different and you know it, so take that righteous look off your face.”

  The words slammed into me, stunning me for a moment. I was mad and hurt, but I had no right to judge a past that didn’t include me. We were carnal creatures, a call that we both had to answer to at some point, and adding more conflict was unnecessary.

  After a moment, Caleb’s eyes cooled to a darker, less hostile shade. He rose to his feet and closed the space between us. “Bonded or not, we will still need to feed from others to survive. That will never change. But being with anyone else in an intimate way would be as pointless as drinking sea water. It would never quench my thirst, no matter how much I drink. So I’ll take whatever you can give me, even if it’s just one sip at a time.” He took my mouth in a searing kiss, stealing my breath and all argument with it.

  Greedy fingers crept under my shirt and caressed my back. I stood on my tiptoes so we could be at eye level. My arms circled his neck, digging my nails into his scalp. No light could pass between our bodies, yet we shook with the need to get closer.

  A current passed from my lips to his, its high voltage crackling and sizzling against my tongue as his life crossed my vision in a jumbled montage: his twelfth birthday party in Rome, his first day in India, his school in Germany. I sat with him during his final conversation with his mother before she died. I relived the moment he first saw me in the café, and hundreds of other moments fluttered around like fireflies. I tried to catch as many as I could and add them to the thousands I already had in my collection.

  While feeding from each other’s energy, our inner beings tingled with delight as they were let loose to play. Capone and Lilith tangled and rolled together, frolicking within their spiritual plane. They whined and begged for a deeper connection, a throb rooting to my core and forcing me to press harder into Caleb’s body.

  Suddenly we noticed Alicia, paused in the doorway with her mouth open. I buried my head in Caleb’s chest, my cheeks burning.

  Clearing her throat, she moved to her work locker and dumped her backpack inside.

  “Well, I was gonna heat up my Hot Pocket, but I seemed to have lost my appetite.” Fighting a smile, she left the room, leaving us locked in the same position we’d been in when she’d entered.

  6

  Though the Cambion motto dictated that we celebrate life, death deserved a holiday as well.

  Once a year, at this hour, that dark stranger crosses our path and offers us candy. Despite our fear of the unknown and the warnings of elders, what child could truly refuse?

  This occasion inspired me to dream, at a time when the clouds bruised the sky and the air turned purple. The sun retreated behind the trees, resigning its post while the moon began a new shift. I lived in that impasse, being neither shadow nor light, but the median amid two rivals.

  Sighing, I turned away from the bedroom window and finished dressing. I’d wasted too much time staring into space and channeling Nadine’s inner poet. Call it a coping mechanism, call it a crutch, but slivers of insight crept into my subconscious to numb the pain. It was aspirin for my clotted bloodstream, a treatment for my lifelong disorder. I couldn’t dwell in that deadened state for too long or else I would develop a habit. The night was young and alive, and I owed it to Nadine to enjoy it sober.

  Halloween with the gang was no casual affair and we took our sugar raid to almost militant proportions. Back in the day, Mia, Dougie, and I had been the original A-Team, laying waste to the entire junk food industry one block at a time, leaving devastation and candy wrappers in our wake. We outgrew plastic masks and pumpkin buckets, but those three kids laughing in the night stayed trapped in time. Which was why I resorted to blackmail to reunite the trio for one last stand.

  Caleb managed to squeeze an extra invitation to Courtney’s party for Mia, and I dangled that carrot over her head until she called a truce with Dougie. The holiday just wouldn’t be the same without him, leaving Mia no choice but to put up or shut up.

  It took me over an hour to get dressed, but seeing the results in the mirror was well worth the trouble. Covered from head to toe in my favorite color and five pounds of glitter, my costume revealed plenty of leg for Caleb to drool over. They were my best asset, Caleb’s Kryptonite, and a foolproof weapon against Courtney B.’s advances during the party.

  Just after seven, Mia picked me up, wearing a short-cropped wig and a spandex suit with neon lining that had to be painted on. She had spared no expense on authenticity, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d bought the costume from a studio back lot.

  “Why, if it isn’t Quorra, the rebel without a Clu,” I called from the top of the stairs.

  She whirled a glowing Frisbee with her finger and watched my awkward descent to the foyer. It took true agility to walk through narrow passages while rocking a four-foot wingspan.

  Crossing her arms, she conducted an MRI on my attire, her eyes missing nothing. “What are you supposed to be, again?”

  “The green fairy.” I twirled around, and my frayed ballerina skirt and sheer wings danced around me.

  Mia’s nose crinkled, her mouth shifted from side to side. “Like the one from Pinocchio?”

  “That’s the blue fairy. Mine is more provocative.” I rolled my shoulders and swayed my hips.

  “No, you’re definitely not a Disney character. More like Tim Burton.” She smirked.

  I stopped mid-spin and frowned. “You ready to go?”

  “Yep. I’ve got a score to settle and I wanna make Dougie squirm. Always let your ex see what he’s missing,” Mia replied and pushed up her cleavage.

  I swooped up my bag waiting by the door when Mom entered the foyer.

  “Oh, don’t you two look ... nice.” She grimaced. “Won’t you be cold?”

  “We’ll be fine, Ms. M. I got an extra coat in the car,” Mia said.

  “All right then, you two be careful. Don’t touch any candy that looks tampered with and don’t eat anything people baked. I just saw on the news where this man slipped rat poison in his cookies and—”

  “Thanks, Mom. We’ll keep that in mind. Later.” I opened the door and shoved Mia out before Mom gave us nightmares.

  “Have fun, baby. And remember what I told you.” Mom tapped her wrist, indicating the bracelet on mine.

  With a groan, I nodded, then closed the door behind me.

  A ten-minute drive across town led us to the back entrance of Kingsmill, an upper-class neighborhood with a guard gate, a dozen golf courses, duck ponds, and a plethora of wild parties. On top of the hill, overlooking the James River, was the clu
bhouse where the big shindig took place. Just pulling into the car show posing as a parking lot, I knew we were in for a night of pretension.

  Mia was halfway to the door when she noticed I didn’t follow. “Sam, where you going?”

  I didn’t answer and let her chase me around the building to the service parking lot in three-inch heels. I broke into a run, following the sound of heavy bass growing louder. When she finally caught up to me, she didn’t look happy at the change in plans.

  Dougie’s Range Rover parked in the fire zone with the engine roaring. The tinted windows and metal framework shuddered under the sonic boom of gangster rap. On sight of us, he climbed out, unleashing lyrical turmoil and Auto-Tunes on the neighborhood. As if to enhance his street cred, Dougie wore the exact white suit that had made Al Pacino infamous in the hip-hop world.

  I shook my head. “Douglas, Douglas, Douglas, why do you do this to yourself?”

  His lips twisted to the side of his face as he shrugged. “I gotta do me, naw mean, man?” he said in an impressive Tony Montana parody. “What you ’spose to be?”

  I threw my hands in the air in frustration. “What is wrong with you people? I’m the green freaking fairy! You know, the one that appears when you get high after drinking—”

  “Absinth,” Caleb said behind me. Flashing a grin, he dropped his box of equipment and reached our side.

  I bowed my head in gratitude and pulled him to me. “Thank you. Finally.”

  With a look of indifference, Dougie said, “Okay, whatever. You look like Tinker Bell with a drug problem.”

  “Shut up, Dougie!” I hissed, then wrapped my arms around the lost inhabitant of Middle Earth.

  Wearing a long blond wig, pointy ears, and gray leggings, Caleb was a dead ringer for the arrow-slinging elf. He approved of my choice of costume, judging by the subtle glow to his eyes. The luminous effect spoke volumes and brought this ethereal character to life. Strapped to his back was a custom-made bow and arrow that I had seen numerous times on his living room wall.