Bloodlines

by Powell, Jaime W.

  I peer over at her a moment. “Mom, please don’t treat me like I’m stupid. I’ve been ignored for ten years until a few days ago. Now you’re calling me ’honey‘ and Dad is all of a sudden concerned about my well-being. Not to mention you both want me to quit my job after only meeting my bosses for thirty seconds.”

  I drop my cloth and grab my mother, turning her toward me. “Please, Mom. What’s happening? What is all this?” She stares into my eyes for what seems like forever before grabbing the stopper from the sink and draining the soapy water.

  “Come sit down, Em,” she says. She takes me to the couch and we sit facing each other. I can sense the intensity of the conversation to come from my mother’s reaction. “This is something your father and I always knew we would tell you. I’ll tell you a little, but the details will have to wait until your father is home. It needs to be a family discussion.”

  I gaze at her unmoving and not understanding. All I’m sure of is something major is about to change and that a secret must have been kept from me for a long time now.

  “Your father is only a union delegate by day. At night he’s something more. His side of the family has been in the same line of work for generations upon generations. And one day you will be a part of it.

  “You’ll be groomed to do the same work, and it’s dangerous. It requires more than just a sit-down and explanation between the two of us. This is probably the most important thing you will ever hear or be a part of in your life.”

  “Mom, you’re scaring me. I don’t understand.” She places her hand on my cheek and offers me a pitying expression. “Whatever this is, it’s the reason you drink, isn’t it? The reason you checked out of my life years ago and left me to teach myself how to be a woman.”

  “Oh, honey.” She closes her pained eyes and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Em.” She refocuses on me and begins nodding. “I suppose, in a sense, that’s correct. This isn’t an easy life to live. Even harder when you have a child in it.

  “There were so many days your father and I fought about this and what it meant for our family, our marriage, and mostly for you. Your father is part of a secret society. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you for now, and I might have said too much already. Sit with me now, and when your father returns home, you’ll understand everything. I promise.”

  A secret society? My father? As a history buff, my first thought is of the Knights Templar or the Freemasons. Those are the only secret societies I’ve ever heard of. But as I sit here, something tells me my life is about to take a drastic turn.

  Ten

  Bloodlines

  When it becomes clear my father is going to be late, I sneak up to my bedroom and sit at my vanity. I stare at my reflection. What am I a part of? And what have I been born into? I cross the room and collapse onto the bed, rolling over on my side, staring out the window.

  My head swims, but my eyes become heavy despite my thoughts. Slowly, my racing mind switches gears and I begin to drift off to sleep. I awaken sometime after dark by a cool hand running over my cheek.

  “Emma,” the familiar voice coos. I try and place my hand atop his, but it finds only my cheek.

  “Micah. Why are you here? I mean, I didn’t expect to see you again. At least not until I was old and gray.”

  He chuckles. “I’m always here. Everywhere — anywhere I’m needed.”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t know I needed you.”

  He stares into my eyes. “Emma, you’re so young and näive. Tonight when your father arrives, you need to pay close attention to what your parents tell you. You’re placing yourself in danger every day. Every day you spend with Silas, Zeke, and Kutz. You don’t know what they are, but I do.”

  “You’re wrong. My mother is a drunk. Does that in turn make me one?” I argue.

  Micah scoffs and stands from the side of my bed. It’s the first time I get a good look at what he wears: a tan canvas-like, long-sleeved shirt with sleeves that seem to flare out and baggy pants which match the color and fabric. I can’t get past the Jesus resemblance — at least from every portrait I’ve ever seen. “This is what I mean by näive, Emma.”

  “I don’t understand. Isn’t giving everyone a chance and even a second chance something I was taught at church as a child?”

  “These aren’t people, Emma!” he yells.

  “Shh! Stop yelling before my mother hears,” I whisper.

  His arms fall to his side and he sits once more on the edge of my bed. “She can’t hear me, Emma. Only those I choose to hear and see me shall.”

  “Well, that’s convenient,” I mutter. “What are they going to tell me, Micah?” My voice still a whisper.

  He shakes his head as he answers. “It’s not my place to explain those things. When you speak with them though, try to keep in mind they are the good guys.” His answer only creates more questions. “I have to go now.”

  “Wait. Why?”

  His face brightens. “I’m needed elsewhere. Stay safe, Emma.” With that he fades into the darkness and I’m left alone once more. Not for long, though. Soon the familiar slam of the front door startles me into an upright position and I stare at my bedroom door.

  “Honey!” my mother hollers up at my room. I cringe. “Please come downstairs!” My feet feel as though they are made of lead as I drag them down the steps and into the living room. It’s clear by my father’s meek expression my mother has already conveyed to him that this talk needs to take place today. Perhaps she called him at work…or wherever he goes during the day.

  “You’re mother and I must have gone over this conversation a million times, how we would tell you, when we would tell you. Still, nothing prepares you,” my father says with a heavy sigh.

  “Am I going to be late to work?” I ask.

  My father’s eyes meet my mother’s, but she peers down at her lap. “We were going to wait until you were closer to eighteen before we told you,” he continues. “It seems more imperative we do it now, though.” He hesitates, swallowing. “This family, our family, has been members of a certain society for generations dating back further than I care to imagine.

  “This ring,” he says, holding up his hand, “that you pointed out last night, shows I am a member. One day, you will have your own.”

  “What society, Dad?” I whisper, afraid to speak any louder.

  He shakes his head. “I got caught up with it so much, and your mother fell into drinking due to my absence and raising you alone…” His voice trails off for a moment. “We should have attended church more as a family. But the things you were taught as a child about the world are more serious than they might have seemed then.

  “God, Heaven, hell, demons, angels, everything is real. What you might not have taken away from all the teachings is they are all here, on Earth, all around us, at all times.”

  My chest rises and I feel sweat forming on my head. I sit straighter, now hanging on every word. Why? Because he has just voiced all the elements of Silas’s tattoo.

  “They can live among us, speak to us, even influence us, and they do,” he says. “We wanted to wait until you were fully capable of understanding all of this before we subjected you to it. Mostly, because you can’t join the society until you are eighteen and know fully what you are dealing with. It’s then that…well…we gain our sixth sense, so to speak.”

  “I don’t understand. Sixth sense? Where do you go every day? What do you do, Dad?”

  “It’s in our blood, Em. It dates back to the dawn of mankind. We’re demon hunters. God’s Huntsmen.”

  I can’t move or breathe. My eyes flicker frantically between my mother and father. “Demons,” I finally manage to repeat.

  “Yes,” he answers. “I know this is a lot to process at—”

  “Process!” I holler.

  “Emma,” my mother tries to interrupt.

  “You’re killing people and you want me to help you?” I ask enraged. My body vibrates with anger, and I can feel everything on me b
urning, even my eyes.

  “Not people, Emma,” my dad answers in a stern voice. “Demons. Beings not of this world. And I believe you are working with three of them.”

  My mouth opens to disagree but closes back quickly. I’m not sure how to argue this point with him without implicating myself into the madness. “Dad, they aren’t demons. If this sixth sense is in my blood, wouldn’t I know?”

  “Not until you’re eighteen. You might suspect people, but when you become of age you would know for sure,” he answers. My mother stares back and forth between us. Her eyes beckon me to understand but seep with pity for me as well — tears forming in the corners.

  “You’re wrong about them, Dad,” I say in a much more defeated voice, barely above a whisper.

  “I’ll admit, there was something different about them than most I’ve dealt with, something more humanistic,” he mutters.

  “Deal with them? How do you deal with them?”

  “Please, sit back down,” he instructs. I do so. “If a demon haunts a house or possesses a person, for instance, the church deals with them. They perform an exorcism. There are times, though, when a demon comes to this planet in human form, pretending to be one of us, solely for the purpose of hurting someone, influencing someone, or even impregnating someone to create more of their kind in human form.

  “Those are the ones we take care of. They are the ones the church instructs God’s Huntsmen to destroy. So, we do.”

  “And by ’destroy‘ you mean…” I ask, not wanting to finish my question.

  “We kill them, Emma, sending them back to Hell where they belong.” I stand and turn my back to them. My hand covers my mouth, and the urge to cry overwhelms me. I have to hold it in. If he sees me crying, the jig, as they say, is up, so I turn back.

  “I don’t know if I can do that, Dad. I’m not a killer.”

  “Oh, Em,” my mother chimes in, “you wouldn’t be a killer. These aren’t people. I’ve made no effort to hide my disdain of this lifestyle, because it’s hard. I won’t lie to you. It’s imperative, though. Whether you join or not, this is something we should be thankful your father and God’s Huntsmen are willing to do for us.”

  I push my feelings and arguments way down, deep inside me. My mind is now at war with itself. Do I want demons walking alongside me? The real ones? Ones who only have dark intentions and prey on humans? No, I don’t.

  They can’t touch Silas and his brothers, though. I’ll lie through my teeth to protect them because they did the same for me. I straighten my face, letting it fall limp and blank.

  “I have a lot to think about, but for now I have to go to work.” My father grabs my hand before I can turn.

  “Not at the pizzeria, Emma.”

  “Dad, I’ve been working there a while. The only thing they’ve ever been to me is good. They saved my life. Demons don’t do that. Would you agree?”

  His mouth opens and he looks away for a moment before answering. “No, they don’t. Unless there is a reason they want you alive.”

  I grab my hand back. “Stop it, Dad. I’m going.” Stalking up the stairs and into my room, I get ready for work.

  When I come back down, before I fly out the door, my dad calls out to me. “You’re making a mistake, Em.”

  “If what you say is true, and this is in my blood, I’ll know if I’m in danger.” I turn to leave but my curiosity gets the better of me. “Dad? The symbol on your ring. It’s a hatchet. Why?”

  He stares into my eyes from across the room and his face hardens. “Because that’s what we use to behead them.” Chills crawl up my spine, and the hairs on my neck and arms raise at his words. I wish I never would have asked.

  I slam the door behind me and head to work. My thoughts run rapidly. That’s what Micah knew and wanted me to hear. More importantly, though, that’s what Silas and his brothers know — they’re in danger. Someone besides me knows of their existence.

  Will they run now? Leave, never to be heard from again? As much as that would kill me, I want them to. They have to.

  * * *

  Rushing, I make my way from my car and into the restaurant where Silas and the others are. The sign catches my eye as it’s turned to Closed. Three Brother’s Pizza is empty with the exception of the brothers themselves, huddled together at the furthest booth in the back. I drop my purse on the counter and they stare up at me.

  It’s obvious they’ve been waiting for me. I walk slowly to the table, afraid of what might be said. Afraid of what they think of me. Maybe now they even regret saving me — a future God’s Huntsman.

  “Emma,” Zeke says as I sit beside Kutz.

  “I already know. I mean, I didn’t. Not until tonight,” I confess.

  Silas nods his head. “So it’s true, you’re one of them.”

  “No,” I say rushed. “I’m not. You’re not the kind they hunt, guys.”

  Kutz laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s looking to make us friends.”

  I sigh and close my eyes. “What do you want from me? I didn’t know any of this.”

  “We don’t blame you, Emma. I know how they work. It’s in their bloodlines. You couldn’t see us for what we are until you were of age, and we couldn’t see you for what you were for the same reason. Something has to be done, though,” Silas explains.

  “You have to run,” I blurt out as I gaze around at them. It’s obvious they’ve considered this.

  “That’s not the answer,” Zeke finally says. “Believe it or not there are more of you. Everywhere we would think to go, they would be there. God’s Huntsmen have a far reach.”

  “What’d you tell your father about us?” Silas asks.

  “Nothing. He suspects, it’s true. He even said you confused him. That you seemed more humanistic than most,” I admit.

  “He must have never met half-breeds before,” Kutz concludes.

  “It wouldn’t stop him from killing us,” Zeke adds. I cover my face with my hands, resting my elbows on the table, and breathe heavily, trying to calm myself. What do I want? Do I want them to stay or go? What will my father do?

  Would he actually try to kill them? Or “destroy” them in his eyes? In a small town like Jefferson everyone would notice. Wait. That’s it.

  “Jefferson,” I whisper.

  “What?” Zeke asks.

  “Guys, he can’t touch you here. Do you realize where you’re living? If three people, brothers, turned up missing or dead, it would be huge news for this town. I was wrong. You don’t have to run. That’s what he’s counting on.

  “He’s counting on you running somewhere larger where it’s harder to find you, at least in your eyes. That’s when they would come for you. Look, you three are always at work and he has no clue where you live. Besides that, you would know when he was coming, or at least when he arrived. You’d be ready. It’s quiet here.”

  I glance around at the brothers and they each meet eyes with one another. They adjust in their seats, and Silas even leans back with a strange smirk on his face.

  “She could be right,” Kutz admits.

  Silas leans forward across the table, and strokes the back of his hand against my cheek. “I have no doubt she is. She’s one of them after all.”

  With that the table quiets and I wilt at his touch. It’s then I remember what my father said of influencing us. Could that be what Silas is doing with me? Is he manipulating me? I suppose only time will tell.

  Eleven

  Basic Instincts

  When I arrive home for the night, I’m lost. My parents are already in bed, Silas and the others have decided to stay on my whim, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to go to school with all this in my head tomorrow. I go to the bathroom and run a late-night shower for myself. I let the hot water wash over my body until I find myself sitting at the bottom in a lake of dirty water and tears — finally allowing myself to break down.

  I can’t control it. So I pull my knees to my chest as the water falls and cry myself into a near catatonic state
until the water begins to run cold and I can’t stand it anymore. Drying off, I wrap the towel around me and walk to the doorway of my room. It appears more normal and childlike than it ever has before. I cringe.

  I can’t do this. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I grab my keys, not concerning myself with my wet hair, and head out the front door, closing it gently as I leave. As I crank my car, I pray my parents don’t hear, and I roll from the driveway.

  When I arrive at the pizzeria, it’s dark and there are no cars in the parking lot. I shut off my engine and step from my car, slamming the door behind me and staring at the restaurant: the empty parking lot, the darkened windows, and the Closed sign on the door. There’s no one here and I have no idea where to find them. One last tear begins to fall from my eye.

  “I thought you might be here,” Silas says behind me.

  I turn. “You’re here.”

  “Right here.” He closes the distance between us, his hand reaching for my face and wiping the tear from my cheek. “Always right here,” he whispers.

  “I…” I don’t know what to say, or what to feel. My whole life has been a lie, and now I am being groomed to destroy people such as him, or should I say ”beings” such as him.

  “I know,” he says. “You don’t have to say anything. I want to be with you too, but we both know that can’t be. Not only because of your family but because of what I am.”

  “That’s not who you are,” I argue.

  “I think we both know what I mean. We’d never be able to be together romantically, Emma. You deserve to find a good guy and to have children and live a happy life.”

  “I’ve already found a good guy.” His eyes fall to the ground, and his body appears deflated, as if all the air has been knocked out of him. I place my hands on his face and bring his eyes to mine. “Don’t you see that I love you? You’re all I think about.”

  He shakes his head, but I stop him with a kiss, pressing my lips to his and wrapping my arms around him. He seems to go rigid for a moment, but soon his arms are around my waist. When I find the strength to let go, his eyes are almost glowing. I quickly take a step back and gaze into them.