Amaretto Flame

by Sammie Spencer

“Why not?”

  “Because. That job is just a cover for my real job, and it’s very possible that someone might send me a bomb.”

  “Oh,” he said with feigned seriousness. “What’s your real job?”

  I wiped the smile off my face and shrugged. “I’m an assassin.”

  He laughed again, his whole face lighting up, and then he opened the gate and thrust the paper bag toward me. “In that case, this is all yours.” After I took the bag, he made his way around to the driver’s side of his jeep.

  “Hey,” I said. “How did you know I was Olivia?”

  “Oh,” he smiled. “I saw you in the club. I’m Jackson, the singer slash DJ.”

  I nodded sheepishly, remembering the sound of the guitar as I had left the club.

  “You start tomorrow, right?” He asked, opening the jeep door.

  “Yeah,” I nodded.

  “Well I guess I’ll see you then.”

  “Yeah,” I said again. “Thanks for bringing this over.”

  “Just remember you owe me,” he replied, settling into the driver’s seat. “You know, incase I need to put a hit out on someone or something.” He winked at me and started the jeep, pulling out onto the quiet street. I watched him drive away, and shook my head, smiling.

  With a last look around the empty street, I turned and walked toward the house, waiting for the call from Max and wondering if he’d have any ethical issues about helping me break the law.

  Chapter 3

  Thursday morning, I woke up to a sky filled with thick clouds in all shades of gray and purple. In the same way the sunshine would brighten most people, the possibility of a good rain lightened my mood. I stayed in bed for a while, listening to the sounds in the old house and thinking of the stark contrast between the quiet here and the continuous bustle back in Eagleton.

  Max would arrive sometime this morning with the ID I needed. He’d called the previous evening, during a long soak in the claw-foot bathtub. It took a little needling to get him to do what I wanted, mostly reassurance that I wasn’t going to get into trouble.

  When I finally did get up, I lit a fire downstairs to fight the chill, and then picked up the paper bag from an armchair where I’d placed it. I pulled out the uniform and looked at it for a long time before trying it on. The skirt was far too high, and I wondered why Bob didn’t just make his girls wait tables in bikinis. I looked at myself in the downstairs bathroom mirror, examining every inch of the reflection I saw.

  I wondered what other people would see when they looked at me. Thick hair that was as black as a midnight sky, falling to the middle of my back in silky tresses. Steel-gray eyes that matched the cloudy sky. I was pretty, but I’d long ago given up the hope of being beautiful. My face was too guarded and cool for great beauty, not at all warm like Sylvia’s. Sometimes when she smiled, it was like the whole world was being lit by a cheery fire. Feeling a sudden pang of homesickness, I began taking Bob’s tiny uniform off.

  I caught the glint of the scars in the mirror, and for once, I didn’t look away. They were rectangular, inch-long, silvery reminders of my past. Two rested on the underside of my arm, three across my upper stomach, three near my left hip, and two that were dangerously close to my heart. Everett had told me once that they were my battle scars, the proof that I was here for a reason, the testament of my strength. I hated the scars. To me, they were a ‘rejected’ stamp; proof that I was hated and unwanted.

  I jumped when I heard the knock on the door, and I quickly pulled on the t-shirt and pajama bottoms I’d been sleeping in. Max’s face through the peep hole was the most beautiful sight I’d seen in days, and I flung the door open with a grin.

  “Madam, your illegal documents,” he said in a false British accent, waving an envelope at me. His shaggy black mane sparkled with tiny drops of water, and a five-o-clock shadow darkened his chin. He scooped me up in a quick hug as he entered the living room, somehow making the enormous house seem much smaller and cozier.

  While he took off the light jacket he was wearing, I peeped inside the envelope to find a perfectly-created identification card that turned me from a teenager into a twenty-two year old. Again I felt the warm pleasure of rebelliousness, and an unexpected excitement for the first day on the job.

  “So, you want to tell me what you needed the ID for?” Max asked, turning the corners of his mouth up in a sly grin. He rubbed his hands in front of the fireplace, letting the heat take the remainder of the chill out. I eyed him for a long moment and then I shrugged. If I felt a flicker of shame at my childishness, I didn’t let on.

  “Ivanna wanted me to live as a human, so I got a job.”

  Max cocked his head and looked at me incredulously. “A job?” The word came out like a curse. “So why did you need a fake ID? Did you get a job as a stripper?”

  “No,” I shrugged again. “I got a job at a bar.”

  After a long moment, Max raised an eyebrow and gave me a little smile. “Ivanna’s going to love that.”

  “You’re not going to tell her,” I replied.

  Slowly, Max nodded, and then looked around the living room for the first time since he’d entered. “Do you have everything you need? Is there anything I can get you?”

  “I’m fine, Max.”

  He smiled again, this time a genuine one, and nodded. “Well in that case, I have to get back. Ivanna gave me a time limit.”

  “What?” I scoffed. “What did you tell her you were doing?”

  “Bringing you a painting.” I noticed the smudges of paint on his hands just then. In addition to being great with a keyboard and mouse, Max was quite the accomplished artist. “Things are kind of…tense right now,” he added.

  “Why? Does it have to do with the meeting?” I said, instantly curious. Maybe I could get more out of Max than Everett had been willing to share over the phone.

  “I don’t know. Ivanna and Perry have told us nothing, but that’s what I’m guessing. Everyone has been a bit more vigilant, talking in whispers…you know. But I guess all will be revealed tomorrow morning.”

  I thought about the meeting again with the Moss Point coven, and felt a strange lurch in my stomach. Coven meetings were rare unless there was some sort of big celebration, like a marriage or one of the Sabbats. If Ivanna and Perry were giving coven members time limits, and things were ‘tense,’ something bad was happening.

  I nodded at Max and he kissed me on the cheek. “Be careful,” he said, looking pointedly at the envelope.

  “Careful is my middle name,” I arched an eyebrow dramatically, and Max smiled. As he shrugged the jacket back on and gave me one more little wave, I wished suddenly that I were back home. If something terrible was happening, no one needed to be in Eagleton as badly as me. I could protect my family if needed. I could put into action the years of training I’d received there.

  Frustrated, I slumped on the sofa near the fire. Harm none. These were the two words that had been repeated over and over during my years with Ivanna and the coven. The energy that a person spends in life will most certainly find its way back around, and having gained momentum on its journey, will be more powerful when it has made the full circle. I knew this, and I believed it with all of my heart. And still, I was created for the sole purpose of harming others. I’d been told time and again how rare this gift was that I’d been given.

  When I was a very young girl, not long after Ivanna had rescued me from the foster home, Perry had attempted to explain things to me.

  “Of course we should never harm any living thing, little one,” he’d said, “but we must also protect ourselves from being hurt. If someone were trying to harm us, then it might be necessary to hurt them. Do you understand what I’m saying?” His brown eyes studied me, looking for a sign of comprehension.

  “And if we harm them, we will be punished? It doesn’t seem fair,” I said, wrinkling my brow with the task of conveying my feelings through the limited vocabulary and understanding of a child.

  “It’s true
that our energy will come back to us, but do you think the Great Mother would punish you for protecting yourself?” He sighed. “There is balance in everything. Never forget that. The Goddess is the life in the flowers that spring from the ground, the rabbit that hops in the forest, and the weather that is ever changing. But the Goddess is also the wrathful face of death—in the winter that freezes those same flowers, in the destruction of a hurricane, and in the runt that the mother bird throws from the nest.”

  I thought about that for a long moment, and then I looked into his face with a sudden understanding. “I am the wrathful face of the Goddess,” I said, referring to my abilities. Perry’s expression flickered from contemplation to pity, and then to warmth.

  “Yes, dear Olivia. I suppose you are the wrathful face of the Goddess. But the work you do will be honorable, and the energy you expend to do it will be out of love for your family and for what is right.”

  The conflicting feelings welled up in me as I watched the flames in the great fireplace flicker and dance. In remembering the teachings, I felt foolish about my little stunt with the fake ID and the job. At the same time, I welcomed the pain and annoyance I might cause, because at least I was controlling this rather than simply dealing with things that were beyond my control. The latter feeling won, and I began to dress for work early, not knowing whether my sudden irritation was at Ivanna or the Goddess herself.

  I saw him as soon as I entered Stallott’s. He was on the stage, sitting on a stool and fiddling with some knobs on a big machine that I couldn’t identify. He looked up as I entered, running a hand through his coppery hair, and shooting me a smile and a little wave. I felt a little off-balance, but I returned the smile. I’d walked slowly to the club, my skimpy uniform covered by a thigh-length, tan jacket. The steady drizzle had demanded an umbrella, something I would normally have chosen to leave behind, but used this time to prevent myself from showing up looking like a drowned rat.

  I ducked into Bob’s office and provided him with the fake ID, and listened to a quick round of last-minute instructions. “Just make the customers happy,” he said finally, signaling that he was finished. When I returned to the outer club, Erika and Jenny greeted me excitedly.

  “Olivia!” Jenny said, giving me a hug as if we’d been friends for years. I studied her face, looking for some sign of mocking, but finding only warmth. This brought a small smile to my face. She was impulsive, this human girl, never having to be guarded.

  “We have a few minutes before we actually open,” she said. “Why don’t you show me something?” She glanced at the door, as if half expecting to see someone there. “Maybe something small that would give someone the message to back off.”

  She wore the same blue eye-shadow, but today, her short hair was streaked with pink, making her look a bit like a cartoon character. I shrugged out of my jacket, and placing it behind the bar, tried to pull my skirt a little further down my legs. There was no way I could actually do any real movement in this uniform, and I was well aware of Jackson’s presence on the stage behind us.

  “Well,” I said, thinking quickly as Erika and Jenny looked at me expectantly. “The most important thing you can start off with is your attitude. You don’t want the attacker to think you’re scared. You have to show him that you’re not intimidated and that you’re willing to fight it out. This will make him think twice about wanting to try something.”

  Jenny glanced at Erika and then back at me. “How do I do that?”

  “You use your words, and your facial expression, and your body language. Most people will lower their head when they’re afraid. Their voice will become quieter, and they’ll stammer. Lift your head up, square your shoulders, and speak loudly. Threaten, look your attacker dead in the eyes, and make sure they know you mean whatever you say.”

  Jenny nodded, glancing back toward the door as Renee entered, brushing rain drops from her jacket.

  “Okay,” Jenny said. “Like this?” She leaned toward me, her chin high, and narrowed her eyes. “I’ll hurt you,” she said loudly, balling her fists up at her sides. She looked so awkward doing it, that a giggle erupted from Erika, and I fought to keep from laughing as well.

  “That’s good,” I said. “Try cursing, like you’re really mad. You’re not going to take anything from anyone.”

  Jenny laughed a moment, and then consciously smoothed her face out. She leaned in toward me again and said, “I’m going to kick your ass if you touch me again.” This time, there was a real fierceness in her voice that didn’t appear false. I nodded approvingly.

  “Great job,” I said, and her face instantly brightened again, her smile easily brought out. She laughed, and Erika looked at me.

  “There’s a creep that comes in here who gets awful friendly sometimes. Jenny’s his favorite,” she explained quietly, balling up her own fists.

  “Can’t you tell Bob?” I asked. “He said no one was supposed to touch his waitresses.”

  Erika rolled her eyes. “She won’t do it. She’s afraid of losing the job.”

  I looked back at Jenny. “I don’t think he’d fire you. He seemed pretty serious about that.” Before either of them could answer, I heard the rich sound of the guitar and swiveled to glance in the direction of the stage. The instrument was draped across Jackson’s lap, and his head was bent to look at it, his fingers playing expertly.

  There was fluid in his movements, a grace that must have come from playing so often. My glance must have lingered, because when I turned back to Jenny and Erika, they were both smiling at me mischievously. The next second, when I grasped the meaning behind their smiles, I felt my cheeks turning warm.

  “That’s Jackson Vance,” Jenny said, her smile growing. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

  “No!” I said, flustered. When the two of them exchanged a glance, I wondered if I might have offended them. I quickly moved to fix my error. “He’s very nice looking,” I said. “I just…I’ve never known someone who could play the guitar.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes at me. “Don’t worry. You can say he’s gorgeous. Just don’t get too close. Jackson is something of a…” She searched for a word fitting him.

  “A what?” I asked, suddenly curious.

  “A ladies man,” Erika offered up. “He’s actually very sweet. He just doesn’t get too involved as far as relationships go.”

  “Well, let’s be honest. He gets involved, just not emotionally.” Jenny laughed, and then looked at me. “But he’s a really good friend.”

  All at once, I felt awkward, as if this kind of conversation was beneath me. Still, I couldn’t help but feel curious. I’d never spent time around men who weren’t Wise Ones, and the topic had a certain appeal to me. Thankfully, we weren’t able to continue the conversation, because the first few customers came through the door and moved toward a booth.

  I spent the next several hours receiving training unlike anything I had ever experienced. I felt claustrophobic as the building began to swell with customers, all wanting something sweet, tart, or fiery to drink. Still, I was determined to beat it down and do what I’d come here to do. Jenny and Erika towed me along with them for the first few hours, explaining how to take the orders, give them to Renee and serve the drinks. I watched them interact flawlessly with the customers, smiling and laughing at drunken jokes.

  The people were amusing, and I often found myself overwhelmed at the simple pleasure they seemed to be enjoying. Even during celebrations in Eagleton, when we were all laughing and having a great time, there was vigilance; some lesson that could be learned. Here, the entire point was fun, and I liked watching the easy laughs, the human contact.

  The hardest part was remembering which drinks were in what glasses. When there were only a few watered down sips in the bottom of a glass, a gin-and-tonic looked a lot like a pina colada. I quickly found that by smiling sheepishly and telling the customers that it was my first night, I was met with support and praise. Also, the customers continuously handed over tips that I
shoved into the pockets of the tiny apron tied around my waist.

  I enjoyed the music. Jackson had a voice that was smooth and bluesy, and it wound its way through the melodies of his songs perfectly. In the moments when he took a break and played some upbeat, current song, I found myself wishing he’d sing again.

  Another thing I learned is that all of my years of training did not prepare me for the protests my feet would make. They felt like clubs by the time the last customer stumbled outside and the place was empty. For the next hour, we dipped cloths in hot, sharp-smelling water and wiped down all the table-tops and vinyl seats, and washed our way through a mountain of dirty glasses.

  Finally, when I thought I could pass out on my feet, it was time to leave. As the girls put their jackets on and straightened their tips, I glanced at the clock. It was well after two in the morning.

  “Olivia, you should come to May Days with us over the weekend,” Erika said, pulling me out of zombie-mode as I shrugged my jacket on.

  “What is May Days?” I asked, wondering if she could possibly be referring to some sort of Beltane celebration. Very few humans celebrated the seasons in the way Wise Ones did, and her question threw me.

  “It’s this carnival that comes to town every year,” Jenny explained. “They’ve got rides and tons of food. It’s fun.”

  “Oh. I’ve never been to a carnival,” I said thoughtfully.

  “Are you serious?” Jackson raised an eyebrow.

  “Well then you kind of have to go, don’t you?” Erika asked. “I mean, what if you died suddenly without ever having gone to a carnival? That would be really sad.” She put on a false serious face and wiped a non-existent tear.

  “Yeah, come with us. It’ll be fun,” Jenny said. I felt like I should probably have shaken my head and said no thanks. I mean, it was okay to interact with humans, but at what point would they see me for the fraud I really was? Still, Jenny’s look was so innocent and pleading…as if she truly wanted to enjoy my company. Strangely, I found that look to be crippling.