Amaretto Flame

by Sammie Spencer

  “Where is he?” The man asked again, and then added, “and don't even think about trying magick on us. I'll knock you out cold before your spell has even started.” I glared up at him, realizing he had no idea what my power was. That was good. He was looking for Everett, but was totally unaware of the kind of power he'd kidnapped. It was taking a huge amount of energy to keep from screaming now that I had the opportunity. The power was building within me like a storm. I managed to choke it back long enough to ask a question. My voice came out raspy and low.

  “What do you want with my brother?” There was no way I was letting these goons know anything about Eagleton or Everett. I'd already decided that I would die first, or they would...whichever the Goddess saw as the most beneficial. In answer to my question, the man in front of me pulled his hand back again and punched me in the stomach. The breath left my lungs in a woosh and I struggled again at my bindings.

  “You're not asking the questions, little girl,” he said. “Your brother has an outstanding debt to pay, and we're going to collect it.” An outstanding debt? I couldn't begin to imagine what he might be talking about, but I thought that if I could keep him talking, the third man might eventually wander into the room so that I could take all three of them out. I hoped he'd hurry, because my energy was draining quickly.

  “My brother has nothing to do with you. He's done nothing wrong, and he doesn't owe you anything,” I spat at him. The second man, who'd been standing idly and watching the action, stepped forward and smiled an oily smile at me.

  “Your skin would look fantastic on a plaque in my room,” he grunted, running his fingers through my hair. “But I bet we could have some fun before we end you. You look cold. I bet it would be pretty easy to warm you up.” He let his fingers trace over my cheek and touch my lip. I should have probably been scared, but more than anything, I was angry.

  “I'll take care of that when I kill you,” I replied coldly. “Watching your people die always makes me feel warm inside.” Both men stared at me for a fraction of a second before the one that had been talking to me threw his head back and laughed.

  “You're going to kill me?” He managed, between guffaws. “That's good. Unfortunately, there are two of us and only one of you. And you seem to be a little restricted at the moment.” While he was speaking, the other man pulled a long, evil-looking knife from a strap on his leg. The handle was as long as my forearm, and the blade was serrated and gleaming. A small ball of panic bloomed in my stomach at the sight of it. Wait. Two. He'd said there were two of them. What about the third heartbeat?

  “It's a shame your brother won't be here to take care of this for you,” the man holding the knife said. With that, he swung his arm out and the knife slid across my arm, opening a gash that began weeping blood immediately. That's when the door opened, and in walked Jackson. His face was dark, his eyes narrowed. My stomach dropped a little at the look on his face. It was...murderous.

  “I'm not her brother,” he said, his voice cold and low. I stared at him, trying to absorb the twist that had just made itself known to me. The men were taken off guard for a fraction of a second, and then they sprang into action, going toward Jackson and forgetting about me momentarily. I strained against the ropes on my arms, but they weren't budging. I looked around frantically, thinking I could use some sort of magick to free myself, but hesitant to drain any more power than necessary.

  I watched as Jackson kicked at the man who was holding the knife. He dodged, and the other man landed a blow on Jackson's shoulder, sending him backwards a few inches. He was like a machine, though. He kept coming forward, dodging and swinging out, managing to get a few really good hits in. He moved with purpose and each time one of the men got close to him, I felt the pressure within me soar to almost unbearable heights. I kept my lips clamped together, though, as the hunter with the knife swung his arm out toward Jackson. I saw the blade graze against the tanned skin of his forearm.

  It was like I was watching in slow motion. I could almost see the skin opening up on impact, but as the hunter pulled the knife away, the only visible thing on Jackson's arm was a tiny white line, as if he'd already had a scar there. I gasped, but didn't have much time to think about this, because the next moment, Jackson was behind me. His arms went around me and the chair, and he tilted me back so that I was looking directly up at the hunters who were coming our way.

  “Let it out, Slayer,” he whispered into my ear. My mouth opened and the pressure that had been building and dancing within me came rushing out, making the walls rattle and pictures crash to the floor. I watched the fear in the eyes of the men as they realized they had probably bitten off more than they could chew with me, and so help me, I cherished it. I enjoyed their fear, and I don't know if they felt any pain before their life forces left them and they turned into dust on my living room floor, but I hoped they felt a lot. I was the destructive face of the Goddess, the winter wind that kills the blossoms, and raw power coursed through me.

  Then, when it was finished, I sagged back against the chair and felt Jackson gently put it upright again. His hands worked on my bindings while I tried to fight the darkness. I knew there were so many things I needed to ask him; puzzles that I needed to put together in my mind, but I just didn't have the energy do to much more than stare at the floor where the piles of dust were, the huge knife between them. When my hands were free, I managed to pull them around to inspect the damage on my wrists, which were rope-burned and red. Blood covered my entire right arm, and my face as well.

  Jackson came around and knelt down so that I could see his face. “You're hurt,” he whispered. Without another word, he put his hands on mine and closed his eyes. I could feel the tingling, which was comforting in a way, but at the same time, reminded me of the horrible scene at the bar. It felt like it had happened a few days ago instead of just a few hours ago.

  “Open up to me, Olivia,” Jackson whispered. “Hurry. We have to get out of here.” I understood what he meant. I was doing that thing again where my 'walls' were up and he was unable to heal me. Good. I didn't want his pity.

  “I'll heal naturally,” I said, my voice coming out harsher than I'd intended. He opened his eyes and looked up at me for a long moment. I refused to make eye contact.

  “Fine,” I heard him say, and then he lifted me up over his shoulder and carried me out the door. I wanted to fight him; to refuse to be in his presence for one more second, but I couldn't do it.

  “Where are we going?” I demanded, my body sinking into the warmth and the tingling that was Jackson. “Put me down.”

  “We're going to talk to someone. I think I have some explaining to do,” he answered, putting me in the passenger-side of his jeep and buckling the seat belt across my lap. “And I'd really like it if you would hear me out.”

  I frowned as he walked around the jeep and got in, starting it up and pulling away from the driveway. “I guess I don't have a choice,” I answered. “But that's only because I'm weak right now and unable to fight you.” I could hear the bitter note in my voice and bit my lip. I didn't want him to know how badly affected I was by Paula and the scene before. I saw his lips curl up into a small smile, though, as he glanced toward me.

  “Even at your strongest, Slayer, you still wouldn't be able to fight me,” he said, and then patted my knee. I rolled my eyes but stayed silent. As he drove, my mind flashed back to what had happened in the house. I'd watched the knife cut Jackson and I'd seen his skin heal before the knife had even been finished cutting. That in itself was amazing. I'd never encountered healing powers that strong before. But there was something else. Just before the hunter had cut me, he'd said something...

  “It's a shame your brother won't be here to take care of this for you.” Then, he'd sliced my arm open. My brother. My brother, as in Everett, wouldn't have been able to take care of that for me, because he didn't have healing powers. Then Jackson had stormed in like the grim reaper himself, and had declared that he was not my brother. The Venator ha
d never been after Everett at all. I turned my head to the side to look at Jackson's profile.

  His copper hair shone in the dim light inside the jeep; warm, golden eyes looking out over the road. I choked back the tenderness for him that filled me up, because even though he'd betrayed me, he still came to my rescue. The truth was still hitting me with more force than the hunter's fist had packed when it punched me in the stomach. Jackson turned his head toward me and our eyes met.

  “The hunters were after you,” I whispered.

  Chapter 14

  Everything was sort of a blur to me. I slipped in and out of consciousness as we drove through the small town of Staves, although I was constantly aware of Jackson being beside me, as if he were an extension of myself. I was vaguely irritated by that, but consumed by other thoughts. So many questions swirled around inside of me.

  Was it really a coincidence that I was sent to Staves when the Venator were searching for a Wise One that lived here? Was it a coincidence that I had become fond of him? What was the Goddess trying to tell me with recent events? I didn't have the answers, and I was honestly too tired to try and unravel things at the moment.

  I became aware of the fact that we were no longer moving, and opened my eyes wide. “Where are we?” My voice was thick and all I wanted to do was sleep.

  Jackson shifted his body in the seat and looked at me. “I need some help to explain everything to you, so I brought you here.” His eyes glanced up and swept over the view in front of the jeep. Sitting amongst the large oak trees was a house almost as big as the one I'd been staying in. This one was definitely more cared for, with a well-manicured lawn and neatly-trimmed hedges. It sat at the end of a long, curving drive like a punctuation mark at the end of a sentence.

  “Okay,” I said, “but where is here?”

  “This is my mother's house,” he replied, before getting out of the jeep and closing the door. Great. This is exactly what I wanted to be doing right now. Actually, I should be calling Ivanna, and creating some kind of game plan to deal with the hordes of Venator that were probably descending upon the town of Staves to collect their debt from Jackson, whatever that might be. Instead, I was with the man that betrayed me, getting ready to meet his mother.

  My door opened, and Jackson helped me out of the jeep. I tried to avoid his help, but when I swayed on my feet, he bent down and swept me up in his arms, carrying me toward the house.

  “I can walk,” I grumbled, although I wasn't sure I could walk the entire way without resting. I didn't mention that part, though.

  “Stop being such a stubborn ass,” he muttered, and then gave me another little amused smile. I decided to ignore that and just focus on whatever he was bringing me here to tell me. Obviously that the Venator were after him for one reason or another, and he was probably going to request help from my coven. That part was no problem. We'd do anything to thwart the hunters' plans and save innocents, but I knew that probably meant I wouldn't be able to go straight home. It also meant that Jackson might be a part of my life for a bit longer than I had planned. I sighed at the thought. All I really wanted to do was go home and forget about Staves.

  We reached the porch, where a light pooled over the painted boards and illuminated the matching wooden rocking chairs on either side of the door. Before Jackson could knock or walk in, the door opened and a woman emerged. Her hair was the same shade of copper as Jackson’s, but hers was tame - falling around her shoulders in smooth ribbons. She had a kind, heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, and chocolate-colored eyes. Jackson put me down gently, and when he held onto my arms for a moment, I mumbled about being fine. My clothes were still damp and blood was drying on my face and was still leaking slowly from my arm. I felt like a half-drowned, beaten rat.

  “Hi, Ma,” Jackson said, stooping down to kiss her on the cheek.

  “Jackson,” she said with adoration. Her eyes smiled at him, crinkling slightly at the corners. She smiled warmly at me and said, “Olivia. I'm glad you're here. Come in.” As she turned to lead us into the house, I glanced at Jackson, my eyes full of questions.

  “I know it's late, Mrs...” I let that linger, because Jackson hadn't told me her name.

  “You can call me Claire, Olivia,” she replied, shutting the door behind us. “And actually, it's early. About three am early, but I don't mind.” She turned to me and pointing off to the right, she said, “Through that door you'll find the restroom. I've laid some dry clothes out for you, although they'll probably be a little big. You'll find towels for cleaning up in there as well and when you're finished, I'll see what I can do about your arm.”

  “Thank you,” I said, truly grateful for the possibility of getting out of these clothes. I didn't waste any time taking her up on her offer. In the bathroom, I used the towels she'd set out to clean off most of the blood, feeling a little bad that they were ruined. The clothes nearly fit; a super-soft t-shirt and khakis that were a few inches too long. I didn't have a brush but I dug around in the waitress apron from my uniform and found a rubber band that I used to pull my hair back from my face. I put my clothing into a small pile and then exited the bathroom, following the voices to the brightly-lit kitchen.

  Plates with thick sandwiches and slices of fruits waited at the table, and at the smell of the food, my stomach growled. Before I had a chance to be embarrassed about it, Claire gestured to the seat at the head of the table.

  “I really appreciate this,” I said, gesturing down at the clothes. The next moment, I felt the strange shifting in the air that signified magick, and my entire body felt very warm. I tensed, looking around for some sort of attack.

  “It's okay, Olivia,” Jackson said. “She's healing you.”

  I glanced at Claire as the warmth intensified, and became nearly unbearably hot in my arm where the gash was. Her eyes were closed, but a small smile was on her face, and then the heat was gone. I looked at the cut and saw that it was completely healed. The only trace of it was a small white line, as if it had been healed for months now. I even felt a little kick of energy running through me.

  “You're a healer too?” I asked. “Amazing.”

  “No. I'm not a healer. I have a strange ability,” Claire explained. “I can switch the magick of two people so that their powers are reversed. It's not useful most of the time, except now of course, since Jackson can't directly heal you himself.” She smiled at me even though I must have clearly looked confused. A few seconds later, it hit me.

  “Wait. You gave me his power?” I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Only for a few moments. Long enough for your wounds to heal,” she answered. I was floored. I'd come across some strange powers in my time; Jackson's were most definitely odd, but this was just weird. I rubbed my hand over the scar on my arm and thought about how the warmth had felt. It gave me a small thrill to think that Jackson's powers were in me for a moment, but I squashed that down and asked him if he'd felt anything when it happened.

  “Heaviness,” he answered. I gazed at him, but he offered no other explanation.

  “Have something to eat, and then we'll talk,” she said. The smell of the food broke down any resistance I might have had, and I sat down, too. I felt a little like I was dreaming. This was definitely one of the strangest situations I'd found myself in so far. I didn't really know what to say, so I ate the sandwich. It was some kind of chicken salad, creamy and with little bursts of pickle and onion here and there. I was either really, really hungry or Claire was fantastic at making sandwiches because it was delicious.

  When I had finished all the iced tea in the glass, I finally looked up from my plate. Claire quickly cleared away the dishes, and I said, “Thanks for the food. I didn't realize how hungry I was.”

  “What you did took a lot out of you,” Jackson said. “Last time, I healed you more than once as you slept and it still wasn't enough to bring your energy level back up completely.” He frowned, and added, “You should have just let me heal you this time.”

  “I have
no control over that,” I said coldly.

  “Yes you do,” he countered, shifting toward me. “I could feel it when you dropped your guards in the woods that time.”

  I could feel my cheeks burning pink, not because of what he'd said but because of the memories it triggered. I'd called him beautiful. Ugh.

  “You should know that Paula --” he started, but I interrupted him by holding my hand up.

  “I don't want to get into this. I have things to do, so can you tell me what you brought me here to tell me so that I can go?” The feeling of being punched in the stomach returned, and although I felt guilty for being short with Jackson in front of his mother, I really didn't want to hear anything he had to say about Paula. Claire cleared her throat, and I saw her glance at Jackson as if telling him to shut up with her eyes.

  She put her hands on top of the table, fingers intertwined, and looked directly at me.

  “Olivia, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to tell you a little story. I know that you’ve had a rough night and you’re probably quite confused.” I nodded, understanding that I was finally going to get some answers. As if wanting to begin before I got irritated enough at Jackson to leave, Claire launched into her story.

  “People use the word ‘hate’ too much, Olivia. It diminishes its power to be so overused. Hate is a seething anger, and when someone thinks of the person or object that they hate, their blood turns as thick as oil, burning with disgust. Truly hating someone devours you…makes you think of nothing but causing them pain. I’ve hated someone before in this way. In a way that still makes me shudder to think of it.” She glanced at Jackson, apologetically. I had no idea what hate and anger had to do with anything.

  “Who?” I asked, calling her eyes back to me.

  She exhaled loudly, and then with even eyes, she said, “My husband, and Jackson’s father.”

  I felt my own eyes flick toward him, but his face was calm. His head was bent down slightly, eyes examining the wood grains of the table. I had a sense of déjà vu and realized that this felt a lot like the formal introductions back in Eagleton. Claire continued, demanding my full attention.