Entwined

by Kat Catesby

  “I don’t wish you dead, Emilia. I’m –”

  “Shut up! Just go inside so I can get this over with,” I snap and storm through the doors into the conference room, using my telekinesis to slam the doors wide.

  I can’t deal with him trying to apologize right now; I can’t handle the emotional overdose involved with working through our painful feelings. I need to be detached in order to cope with what I’m about to show him.

  One look at Dee and Alex and I can tell they’re trying the same tactic. They look distant yet focused, their professional training kicking in and it rallies me enough to muster a small amount of military bravado, which I’m definitely going to need.

  Jackson follows me in and takes a seat, his expression unreadable – not that I’m trying.

  I take a deep breath, letting it out heavily.

  “Okay, let’s get this over with. The official story of drug trafficking was, as you put it, fabricated to fuck. The group of criminals we targeted was trafficking human children; orphans. Because no one misses or gives a shit when an orphan disappears and then turns up dead.” I can’t help wondering what my life as an orphan would’ve been like had my parents not adopted me. Those children are unluckier versions of me.

  “Your cousin was a monster who beat, molested and fed off of children and tossed their corpses into piles like garbage. They raped little girls and boys as young as five-years-old before draining them dry,” I say and struggle to contain my emotions at the memory of the tiny broken bodies we weren’t able to save. “When we finally tracked them down, they were high on drugs and refused to come in without a fight. It was brutal and maybe we could have brought one or two of them to face justice for their crimes but it would have been at the expense of Guardian lives – you already heard Alex tell you that I nearly lost mine,” I load up the images and file report on the tablet an pass it across the table to Jackson.

  “Every Avidite in that warehouse was killed in either self-defense or the defense of the children they still held hostage,” Dee says.

  “The advantage of no Avidite survivors meant that we could stop the truth from getting out,” adds Alex.

  “Why conceal the truth?” asks Jackson.

  “We all know that perception is more important than we wish it was, and that there are growing political movements whose perception of Avidites isn’t the greatest. Every time they see a criminal report involving an Avidite it bolsters their cause and reaffirms their prejudices. When a human commits a vicious crime, they don’t tar the whole of mankind with the same brush. The same approach doesn’t extend to the supernatural world; when one of us commits a crime, they damn the lot of us – Avidites especially. Those narrow-minded political pockets use such reports to rally their cause; they want to legislate the fuck out of you. They want every Avidite to be on a licensed register and for Donors to have to apply for permits so that they can monitor you all. I know that Donors are vetted by the Avidite community, but that isn’t a legal requirement and you don’t have to pass the information along to government authorities.”

  “The lobbyists also want official investigations every time a human is turned, regardless of their wishes. They basically want to stomp all over your civil liberties and treat you as second-class citizens who cannot be trusted,” Alex continues.

  “Thankfully, there are enough supernatural sympathizers who don’t think that is the way forward and are happy to continue to have us policed by the Corps and were able to have these plans shelved indefinitely,” Dee says.

  “However, if the anti-Avidite lobbyists found out about a massacre of children, not even the sympathizers would be able to stop them from pushing some, if not all, of their plans through. We lied about Astor to protect you and your freedoms because we don’t believe that you should be punished for the actions of a disturbed few,” I finish.

  “If that makes us crazy, murdering bitches then guilty as charged, but take a look at the files for yourselves before you pass any further judgment,” Dee says sarcastically.

  Jackson is deathly quiet as he scrolls through the original report and mission photos.

  Dee, Alex and I stay silent, our faces impassive, but when I look at them I see the same pain and courage in their silver eyes as in mine. We remember the little ones who cried for help and clung to us as they fought for life and the others who were discarded; their broken bodies twisted at sickening angles with blank, soulless eyes. We remember almost losing the fight and the beatings we took to win.

  Suddenly, Jackson roars in anger and is on his feet, his chest rising and falling heavily with his fists clenched so tightly the tendons strain against hit taut skin. I realize that he’s moved onto watching the mission footage and I can guess what they just saw and it gives me a little thrill that he reacts so violently to me in trouble.

  In the footage, I’m fighting an Avidite on a suspended walkway in a disused industrial warehouse once belonging to the Astor Corporation, when Bryant Hopkins no less, gets the drop on me. While my back is turned, he throws me over the rusted railing. Normally, when this happens (and I hate to admit that I’ve been in the falling-to-my-not-quite-death position before) Alex is able to jump me out of harm’s way. On this occasion, he had his hands full and didn’t see me falling, or the metal pipework that I would become impaled on in several places when I slammed into the concrete floor.

  I’ve watched the footage before and it’s pretty fucking gruesome seeing the bodycam images of me bleeding out while my team fight desperately to reach me. Due to the length of pipe I was impaled on, I was unable to extricate myself, which meant that I was losing blood rapidly with no chance of healing. I also had a head injury from hitting the concrete that knocked me unconscious, so I wasn’t able to use my telekinesis to help me. It was a seriously close call; Eric only just got to me in time. He and Alex pulled me free and put pressure on my wounds, but I was in such a bad way that it took me much longer than normal to heal – I woke up two days later in a Corps hospital back in San Francisco with no recollection of how I got there…and with a few extra memories from my past-life.

  And by a few, I mean all of them.

  That’s what makes Jackson’s comments this evening even more bruising; I remember how in love we were.

  I remember the plans we had for our life together.

  I remember he was my whole world.

  I remember him proposing…

  Not that I’ve shared these memories with anyone – they’re mine and I don’t want the world ruining them.

  “This is so much worse than anything I thought Bryant was capable of. I can’t believe they were so monstrous,” Jackson fumes.

  “Believe it…we have to,” grumbles Dee.

  “Now you understand why the truth wasn’t made public and I trust you’ll quit your conspiracy theory quest?” Alex asks Jackson.

  “Of course,” he replies quietly, clearly affected by what he’s seen.

  “Good, because you may have noticed that some of the operatives on that mission were Avidites themselves and the fact that they almost had to fight to the death to save those children would have no sway with the anti-Avidite lobbyists,” Alex says.

  “The Corps doesn’t differentiate between Avidite and Guardian, only between what’s right and what’s wrong – break the law and we’ll take you down no matter what you are, but that ideal doesn’t translate in the twisted world of politics,” Dee says as she stands to leave the room.

  “Not to be petty,” I say feeling exactly that as I’m compelled to vindicate myself, “but I trust that you noticed that your cousin wasn’t one of my targets; he was killed by my Commanding Officer for –”

  “Throwing you off a suspended walkway to what was nearly your death? Yeah, I saw. I would have killed him myself for that,” Jackson says so fiercely that I believe him.

  As soon as Eric told me his cousin’s name, I knew I wasn’t responsible for his death – although had I not been dying, I probably would have sought retributio
n; I don’t like falling and I particularly hate the recovery after I hit the ground.

  “I guess she’s not a crazy, murdering bitch after all,” says Dee pointedly as she walks towards the conference room door.

  “Can I have a few moments alone with you, Emilia?”

  Dee and Alex pause and look at me to confirm I’m happy with his request – happy being too strong a word, but I nod my consent and stay seated while they leave the room.

  Jackson stares intently at me, studying every minute movement and expression until the doors to the conference room close, and then he reaches for my hand across the table. I pull it out of reach as I know the impact his touch has on me when he’s being an asshole, never mind how all-consuming it is when he touches me with tenderness.

  He looks at me with such intensity my chest tightens, making it harder to breathe.

  Avidites have amazing hearing, so even the tiniest gasp of air will be heard by him and I don’t need Jackson knowing the full effect he has on me.

  “I’m so sorry, Emilia. I never dreamed that the truth could be so horrific, but even so, I should’ve trusted my gut because I know exactly who you are; the kind and fearless woman who deserves to have my faith and I’m sorry I lost sight of that. I lied when I said I was forever grateful I let you walk out of my life. Sitting here with you now, I see it was one of the biggest –”

  “Stop it,” I whisper, my traitorous tears threatening to make an appearance again.

  I’m too raw and emotionally drained from reliving my memories of Astor to be able to handle the emotional baggage that is my relationship with Jackson and his apology.

  He’s not over us, that much is clear – just as I’m not over him. All of the things that we’ve said or done that’s caused the other pain will be resolved – one look in his determined eyes tells me so and my heart beats with hope.

  But tonight, I don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with it tonight, to dissect and repair what we need to. I have nothing left to exorcise our issues with and I know that by shutting him down now I run the risk of damaging us further, but tonight I’m damaged and I don’t want that to be how anything between us starts.

  We need a clean slate – again – and we’ve fought and clung to the notion of each other for a decade (well, over a century in his case), so we can wait a little longer until I’m feeling more like me again.

  “I lied earlier when I said my family wouldn’t consider working with you,” I say to move the topic to safer, non-heart-breaking territory. “It makes a lot of business sense to have you on board with the project if you’re still interested?”

  “Business sense?” he asks, the heat and intensity not leaving him despite the subject change.

  “Yes. If you want to synthesize a blood substitute and then market it to the Avidite population it makes sense to have an Avidite on board to ensure that’s done effectively and it will help to build trust with consumers. It also helps that as one of the most successful businessmen in this city –”

  “Country.”

  “Whatever. You have a wealth of resources that you can bring to a venture like this. I’m sure we can squeeze in a meeting first thing on Monday, say 9 am at Stellar Enterprise House? That work for you?” I finish as business-like as I can manage.

  “9 am at SEH? I can make that work. Thank you. Now, may I ask you a question?” His eyes burn deeper than before and I swear he’s doing it on purpose, which means I don’t have long before he breaks through the wall I’ve put up to protect my fragile emotions. I suspect Jackson knows this.

  “We shouldn’t keep your guests, my family or your girlfriend waiting,” I say to deflect him, but inadvertently give him an avenue of attack.

  “Jealous?” he asks with a devilish glint.

  “Why would I be jealous?” I retort, not as nonchalantly as I’d have liked.

  “Because I’m jealous of whatever asshole got to kiss you earlier.”

  “I didn’t kiss anyone earlier,” I say confused and then remember the brief awkward second Eric touched his lips to mine.

  How on earth does he know that? And why do I suddenly feel guilty about it?

  “Avidites have a better sense of smell than Guardians, remember? I can smell him on you; his scent is different than that of your father, the bodyguard and the other Guardian, so I’m guessing it was whoever was in the limo delivering you the Astor file. Your commanding officer perhaps?” He does his freaky mind-reading thing again.

  “It was barely a kiss. It was unwanted and I pushed him away,” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain my encounter with Eric.

  “Did he force himself on you?” Jackson’s words take on a suddenly lethal edge.

  “No! Of course not. He read the situation wrong, tried to kiss me and I declined. Nothing more.”

  “Good. And Sonya isn’t my girlfriend; she’s merely a date so I didn’t have to attend the gala alone, or worse, with some vapid socialite I have nothing in common with.”

  Relief surges through me, unwelcome and distracting.

  “But you’re her maker,” I accuse with my jealousy on full display.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Forget it. What was the question you wanted to ask?” I say, exhausted.

  “Doesn’t matter, it can wait until Monday. What won’t wait is why you think I’m Sonya’s maker?”

  “I don’t have the energy for this right now,” I huff as I get to my feet and move at full supernatural pace to the conference room doors and open them.

  Jackson is by my side in a fraction of a second, linking his strong arm around mine and pulling me to a stop…I try desperately hard not to react to the contact, but on some base level, I fail.

  “Emilia, I can read you better than anyone else you know because I know you better than anyone. Your face gives everything away if you know the signs to look for and look close enough, and Angel, I am always looking closely, so say what’s on your mind.”

  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think?” I fire back.

  “Or maybe, I know you more than you’d like to admit. It’s how I can answer your questions before you even ask them; every beautiful emotion that crosses that stunning face of yours or clouds your amazing eyes. I see them and I know what you’re thinking, what you’re needing.”

  “If that’s the case, then how did we manage to mess ‘us’ up so badly? If you can read me so well then how did you fail to see how much I wanted you as well as the freedom to make my own choices? And why did you ignore me for six years because of it?” If he knew me so well then why the ultimatum, why did he ignore me…why did I let him?

  “I never set out to ignore you for six years; when you’ve been alive as long as I have, six years isn’t a large amount of time, so it just sort of flies by.”

  “Well six years is a long time for me and that still doesn’t really explain anything. You know what? Never mind. I can’t do this right now,” I pull my arm free from his grasp and walk away from him.

  “Is this you running again?” he says smoothly, miles away from the angry man he was the last time I walked away from him.

  “This is me saying we need a clean slate and a fresh start, but at this moment I have nothing left to give. This is me pleading you; not now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Jackson lets me walk away and it doesn’t take me long to hail a cab back to my apartment.

  I left the gala before I ate anything so I rummage through our mostly bare cupboards and find some instant noodles. It’s not the greatest but it’ll do.

  Sitting on the sofa, staring out into the dark night and twinkling lights of the high-rise buildings in the distance, a bowl of noodles nestled on my lap, I think about this evening and about my memories from my past life. I’m so consumed by my thoughts that my food grows cold and I can’t be bothered to change out of my dress…I don’t even take my heels off.

  I know I told Jackson not now, but now that he’s not next to me, I wish
I was still at the gala, that we were talking and working through things. Like a truly crazy person, I wish I never left at all.

  In the quiet of my empty apartment, I’m able to put the Astor mission memories back in their do-not-open box and clear my mind enough to think of nothing but Jackson.

  The logical part of me can rationalize his behavior; if I thought the person I loved had become a violent asshole who had hurt my family, I probably wouldn’t take it well. The less pragmatic voice argues that I wouldn’t be in that position in the first place because I credit him with more integrity than that and trust my instincts about him, as he should have with me.

  Does it hurt that he lost faith in me? Of course, it does.

  But then, have I ever given him a reason to have faith in me? I fled Dartmouth in fear, I walked away from him to pursue my career and my own choices – yes, I shouldn’t have had to. But neither of us handled that conversation particularly well.

  In another life, he proposed to me. He loved me so fiercely that the last thing I remember seeing from that life was the tears in his heartbroken eyes as he held me dying in his arms. And every time since then that he’s thought he’s got me back, I’ve left him.

  No wonder he never believed the best in me. We both know I’m a different woman to the one he swore to love forever, so it’s understandable that he would question me – even if in essentials, I am still the same.

  But I’ve never shown him that he can depend on me, that I would take his heart and keep it safe, which explains why he’s been less than delicate with mine.

  He’s had enough heartache.

  And suddenly I’m overcome with the need to fix this.

  I know I still need to hear why he let me walk away and why he ignored me…and also why he decided to turn Sonya – although I’m worried that’s one issue that’s going to take a seriously long time to get over.

  I pull my phone out from my clutch and send another message to Eric…hopefully I’m still in his good graces enough for another favor.