Amaretto Flame

by Sammie Spencer

  “When I was very young, I lived with a group of other people like myself, probably the way you do, from what I gather. I was gifted in a way that many people didn’t understand, and because of that, I was a curiosity, even amongst my own people. Still, they supported me, taught me to use my gifts. When I was fourteen years old, I woke up in the middle of the night, hearing cries.” Her eyes were glazed over, and I realized she wasn’t still here, in the kitchen with Jackson and myself. She was back in her bed, at fourteen.

  “They were the most terrible cries you can imagine, Olivia. They pierced right through to my soul. I was scared to death. I stood, and walked out of my bedroom. The people I lived with, what I like to call my family, stayed together in a house not much smaller than this one. A group of others came that night. I saw them before they saw me, shapes of black against the shadows, moving quickly through the house.

  I realized what it was they were doing, and I tried to fight back. I was so young, and my power isn’t one that would enable me to actually hurt anyone. The sounds of my family screaming were cut off as their lives were, one by one. A large man took hold of me, and I closed my eyes, understanding that it was my time to die then. So, when I didn’t, I was shocked.

  They took me with them. For most of the journey, I slept, dreaming over and over again of the screams. When we finally arrived at our destination, the man bundled me up again and carried me into another house. He left me in a bedroom for a long time, but I didn’t really notice. I was still waiting for my time to die…my time to join my family.

  When he came back, he spoke softly, telling me not to be afraid. He said that it would be difficult for me to understand, but that my family had been very bad people. He told me that I was safe now, and that he would take care of me. Hope sprung up in me, and I realized that I might be able to live after all. I was his…pet, in a way. He was enamored by my power, and often made me demonstrate it, both for himself and the others.

  Olivia, I knew the only way for me to stay alive was to act…to pretend as if I believed every word the man said. So I did. I hung on his every word like God himself had descended from above and said it. But secretly, I cherished the memories of my family, and I used them to fuel my hate against this man. They had normal people there, humans with no powers. They used them as slaves and sometimes whipping boys. Through all of this, I pretended. When he thought I was truly converted…that I truly believed him, he tested me.

  He brought me into a room, filled with trophies from his hunt. Locks of hair, braided and fastened to a plaque…hands, bronzed and mounted, still thrust out as if trying to cast a spell. It was the most hideous thing I had ever seen in my life. The room was full of them…hundreds and hundreds of people who had all been killed for no reason but sport.

  Still, I pretended to be delighted, to be fascinated with them, all the while adding to my secret, growing and slithering hate. In the house were five other people besides the normal ones, and I planned and plotted for two years. I gathered as much information as I possibly could, scheming and trying to determine how I would get out. When I was sixteen years old, this man took me…for his wife.”

  She paused, tears welling in her eyes. I was horrified, living the story with her as she told it. It wasn't until Jackson reached over and took my hand that I realized I, too had tears in my eyes.

  “Soon after, I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to hate the baby growing inside of me, to somehow cast it forth. But I couldn’t. I loved the baby the moment I knew it was there. I vowed, swore that I would somehow fight to live and escape, taking my baby with me. I knew I didn’t have long. If I lingered, he would fill the child’s mind with vile, unspeakable things…make the child think like him.” She shuddered, a tear falling from her eye.

  “I loved my little child more than I had ever loved anyone or anything in my entire life. His father was not interested in him for the first few years, so it made it easier to tarry. Still, I had my plan in place and I was gathering in myself the courage I would need to take action. One morning, I snapped awake to the sounds of my child screaming. They weren’t normal screams…and they reminded me of the screams from my childhood…from my family.” Her eyes were glazed over again and as she continued, her voice was shaky.

  “I raced through the house, desperately trying to find him, a feeling welling up in me that I had never felt before…that no woman will ever feel until she has her own child and feels that her child is in danger. When I found the room the screams were coming from, I burst through the door and he was holding Jackson down, while another was doing something…I didn’t quite realize what it was at that time, only that it was making him scream so terribly.” She paused, flicking a tear from her cheek.

  “Well, to make a long story short, that’s when I took my son and left. I wasn’t sure where to go at first, but then I decided it didn’t matter. Wherever I went, I would be prepared. No one would ever again sneak into my house in the middle of the night unnoticed. I would make sure of that.”

  When I spoke, the words came out a whisper. “What were they doing to the boy…to Jackson?”

  Claire nodded at Jackson, and there was no denying the look of shame on his face. He let go of my hand and turned in the chair so that his back was to me. I had a sense that I should look away, but I kept my eyes on him. He lifted his shirt slowly, revealing the tanned skin of his back. Further up it went, until it was over his head. For a split second, I saw nothing, and then a jolt of shock hit me.

  There, on the back of Jackson's neck, were the hunter's arrows.

  Chapter 15

  I bit down hard on my lip. The arrows weren't like the normal ones; they were white scars rather than the dark lines of the tattoos the hunters wore. It was obvious that they'd been drawn over and over again, rather than just once. How had I never seen these scars before? How was it that I hadn't experienced some kind of intuition? I remember being inside Stallott's for the first time ever and feeling some sort of magick, but then shaking it off as an overactive imagination.

  Still, that tell-tale sign might have warned me that Jackson wasn't a regular human, but not this. As Jackson dropped the shirt back over his head and turned toward me, he avoided my eyes and looked at the tabletop. I recognized that look on his face and I was fairly certain I could guess what was going on inside him. The same things that I felt when Ivanna talked about my biological parents, or when someone saw my scars.

  Claire muttered something about being back in a few minutes, and when she was gone from the kitchen, Jackson met my eyes. I worked hard to keep my face blank, in spite of the stray tears that escaped my eyes.

  “I never thought you were evil,” Jackson said quietly. He must have been referring to what I'd said earlier, and the remark he'd made about being part of a group of evil magick users. “I didn't understand completely, but I knew that there was a difference between what you are and what I am.”

  “No,” I said, before I could stop myself. Because while Jackson might have broken my heart, or at the very least damaged my ego, he was not one of the hunters. “You're not evil.” I sighed, and then added, “I meant what I said in the woods about you being the summer and the life. You weren't given such a tremendous gift for no reason, Jackson. Your scars are proof of how strong you are, and I'm really glad I got to know you.” I had to stop talking then, because I was getting choked up and stumbling over my words. Thankfully, Claire reentered the kitchen and I tore my eyes away from Jackson's.

  “The people that are looking for Jackson,” I said to her, “they wear those same marks, except they're colored in; they're black tattoos.”

  Claire nodded. “Jackson's skin wouldn't take the ink, which is why they kept trying over and over, I guess.” She hesitated a moment and said, “How many more do you think are left? He couldn't have recruited many more, even in all this time.”

  I shook my head, not understanding. “What do you mean? Who is he? Jackson's father?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I
killed Jackson's father. I killed everyone at the house except for one. He was out that day, doing something or another. He's the only person who would have known the plans Jackson's father had for him. I don't even know exactly; only that he thought Jackson would be some great fighter for them some day.”

  I glanced at Jackson and said, “I don't know how many people are after Jackson, or what kind of debt they think he owes them, but there are thousands of hunters, Claire. They are a never-ending battle for my people.”

  “Thousands,” she whispered. I wasn't sure whether it was a question or not, but as I watched her face pale, I realized she'd had no idea. She'd done the right thing, escaping with Jackson, and had been lucky to slip under the radar for so long. But she'd also been sheltered from the truth about the people who wanted her son.

  “I have to get you out of here,” Jackson said to me suddenly, standing. My eyes followed him as he began pacing back and forth in front of the kitchen sink. “I can't let you get hurt because of me.”

  “I'm not going anywhere,” I said, surprised at the ringing in my voice. It sounded almost like Ivanna with her clear, magickkal tone. “This is what I've been trained for.” I rethought that and added, “This is what I was made for.”

  He stopped walking and looked at me for a long moment. When I spoke again, my voice was quieter. “Besides, I'm about to call in the cavalry.” I pulled my cell phone from the pocket of the pants, where I'd put it after changing, and dialed Ivanna's number. I explained as quickly as possible about Jackson and how the Venator were clearly after him and not Everett. As it turned out, Margaret had just had another vision an hour before my call, where the face of the person they were hunting was revealed. Ivanna said she'd described him as handsome, with warm eyes.

  I could tell she wanted further details, but now wasn't the time to delve into it. The most interesting, and perhaps the scariest news, was that Margaret had seen the Venator heading to Staves, and not the scouts this time; the whole entourage. There were twelve of them. When Ivanna revealed this, I struggled to show no outer sign of the panic within me. There was a big difference between the Venator who were coming and the ones Jackson and I had already fought. The ones that were coming knew what they were coming for, and they were sure to use whatever power they could in order to retrieve it.

  Even with my entire family, Jackson and his mother, and myself, we were still going to be outnumbered. It was the most dangerous battle Eagleton Coven had ever engaged in, but fear wasn't enough to stop us.

  “Should we bring the boy and his mother to Eagleton?” Ivanna asked, and I was quiet for a long moment. She was asking me? She usually wasn't one to ask the opinion of others, but it didn't matter, because the answer was already making itself known to me.

  “No,” I answered. “They might already be here and could follow us to Eagleton. We don't want our home compromised.”

  “You're right,” Ivanna said. “Then we'll come to you.” She promised to be here as soon as she could, and made me swear to stay put until then. With nothing to do other than wait and try to comb my brain for some kind of brilliant plan, I spent a lot of time pacing back and forth. The world through the windows was turning lighter, soft shades of gray-blue staining the sky. I was running on nervous energy; tired beyond words, but unable to do much of anything but worry. Feeling constricted, I stepped out Claire's back door and into the manicured yard.

  I thought about how I felt. My family would be here soon to do what they could to protect Jackson and his mother. I knew they'd do this for any Wise One who was in trouble, but I couldn't help feeling a little guilty; like they were coming here to do me a favor. If I didn't care about Jackson, would I have been able to go home, and extract myself from his problem without worrying about him? No. The answer to that question came to me instantly. I hated the Venator so much that I would have fought them for anyone, but what I hated more was innocent people suffering. This was the very thing the Venator stood for.

  I sat down on an old, covered stone well in the backyard and put my head in my hands. I had trained for this, just like I'd told Jackson and his mother. But the truth is, I could easily see that the odds were stacked against us. Against all of my family living through a battle like this. Which ones would be the weakest? Sylvia, who couldn't fight with magick at all? Who couldn't stand the thought of a fly getting hurt? Ivanna, who was my rock, and the person I was truly inspired by? When my mind began to go in the direction of Everett, I shook my head to empty it. I couldn't do it; I couldn't think about which family member's death would be the least painful to me.

  “I offer myself, Goddess. If blood must be shed...if someone on our side must die, let it be me,” I whispered down at the thick grass. That's when I heard the footsteps behind me and I whirled around, remembering that I'd been sitting just like this when the hunter kicked me before. It wasn't a man dressed in black approaching me, though. It was Jackson.

  “Sit back down, Slayer,” he said. “I'm not going to hurt you.” Relaxing, I returned to my seat and Jackson sat down beside me. He was quiet for a long time, looking out at the day, which was brightening.

  “I have a theory about you,” he finally said, turning his head to look at me.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I think the reason magick doesn't work on you is because you are accidentally blocking it. I think that block works kind of like trust,” he said. I was so confused by what he'd said that I turned to look at him as well, raising an eyebrow.

  “See,” he continued, “most people trust automatically. In fact, most people have to work really hard at putting guards up; at blocking other people out. You, on the other hand, work in the opposite way. You automatically block people out and you have to work really, really hard to let them in. It's the same with your...walls, or whatever it is you use to keep me from healing you. That day in the woods, you fought really hard to let me in, and it worked.”

  I threw his theory out before he'd even finished, because my family had tried magick on me throughout the years and it hadn't worked. And I trusted my family. Didn't I? Before I could answer him, he took my hand in his. It was warm and there was the familiar tingling.

  “I'm sorry you regret doing that,” he said. “Letting me in.”

  “It doesn't matter,” I said quickly. “I was being naïve. We're from two completely different worlds. We have different priorities and morals. We're just very different.” I realized I was babbling and shut my mouth. He squeezed my hand and lifted my chin so that I was forced to look him in the face.

  “We are different,” he said. “But not in the way you think. I could feel it when our powers were switched earlier. It was like some part of you came to me along with your abilities. We're so different that we're necessary to each other.”

  His lips were so close to mine, and I couldn't help being caught in his eyes. I wanted to kiss him so badly that it was startling. “What do you mean?” I whispered as a small breeze swept across the yard. Jackson brushed his hand against my cheek and looked at me with an intense concentration that made my stomach do little flip-flops.

  “I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was wrong with me,” he said. “Why I could never feel the same way about the girls who said they cared for me. Sure, I wanted to have fun with them but at the end of the day, they held nothing for me.”

  I started to look away, but Jackson held my face with his hand and continued speaking, “It's because you held it. I don't know how or why, but in this small amount of time, you've been able to do something to me that no one else has ever done.” His amaretto eyes were burning into mine, and in a book or some movie, I might have leaned over to kiss him. I might have told him that he'd touched me, too. But in the real world, I slapped him.

  “Don't say those things to me,” I hissed, my eyes full of angry tears. “You're a liar. You're the only person outside of my family that I've ever trusted with the truth about me. I did let you in, and you're right. I regret it. I don't know if
I regret anything more than I regret that.” I stood to leave, but Jackson caught my arm and pulled me back to him.

  “I didn't tell her,” he said. “She came to my house. She had a key that I never remembered to get back. She was there when I got home one night, waiting for me. I made her leave, and thought that was that. I didn't realize until after she already outed you what happened; she read the things that I wrote about you. That's how she knew.” Jackson's rough grip on my arm turned softer and he took my hand in both of his. “If I'd told her...if I had truly shared that with her, she would have loved it. The only thing that could make her mad enough to do what she did to you was the fact that I didn't share. I stayed loyal to you, and she couldn't take it.”

  I shook my head, trying to clear it. Had Jackson really kept my secret? Did that even matter? There were still secrets he didn't know about me. I blinked hard and said, “I killed my father. It was an accident, but I did. That's why my mother hated me. That's why she tried to kill me.” There. I'd said it. Now he could realize what kind of person I really was. Now he could forget about trying to make things better. Instead of talking, Jackson pulled something out of his pocket and put it into my hands.

  “Olivia, they're here,” Claire called from the back door. My family. I scrubbed the remaining tears from my face and took a deep breath. After a long look at Jackson, I turned and headed toward the house.

  Strangely enough, I was nervous to see my family. Overjoyed, but also nervous. When I walked into Claire's kitchen to see Ivanna walking through the front door, I wasn't sure how to react. My last memory of seeing her in person involved me threatening her and her refusing to allow me to go home. She embraced me immediately, though, and my reservations were gone.