Fading Amber

by Jaime Reed

  “No. I meant Tobias,” I whispered then scanned the lobby again. The name seemed cursed now, where unspeakable horrors awaited anyone who said it three times in front of a mirror.

  Michael pushed the button on the elevator and motioned me to enter first. “Sam, he’s an incubus, not Lord Voldermort. You can say his whole name.”

  “I know, but he can be anywhere, listening in on us.”

  “Not here. We’ve sealed the building with oil.”

  “That didn’t stop him before,” I argued. “Did Caleb tell you about the man who broke into my house?” I gave Michael the lowdown in case his brother left out details. He looked sufficiently worried, especially after learning that I now slept with the lights on in my room.

  When I finished, he said, “That’s very unfortunate. Seems everything’s gone all Pete Tong, hasn’t it?”

  Since he didn’t follow up that random comment with an explanation, I searched the elevator car for one. “Who’s Pete Tong?”

  Michael looked away with a quick shake of his head. “Oh. It means ‘wrong.’ It’s a Cockney thing for slang to rhyme,” he explained. “But I’m not entirely sure Tobias is involved.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that? Am I missing something?”

  “Probably, but I wouldn’t worry about it too much. We’ve got bigger problems at the moment. Let’s focus on surviving the night, shall we?” he said as the doors opened.

  Angie rented the entire top floor, which was one oversized apartment with two levels. We stepped through the glass French doors to the foyer that seemed to go on for miles. A black and white marble floor led to a grand staircase in the center. Beveled mirrors and oil paintings accented the cream walls and oversized palm leaves gave life to the room.

  “Hello? Angie, we’re here!” I called out.

  Angie’s head popped around the corner, her ash blond hair swinging over her shoulder. Letting out a girlish squeal, she clapped her hands and raced to my side. The clink of her numerous bracelets provided a song for every movement.

  She wore her forty years better than the black cocktail dress that clung to her like a wet suit. She had an oval face, a long, pointy nose, and full lips that on anyone else would throw off the symmetry, but with Angie it only seemed to enhance it. She reminded me of one of those femme fatales in old black-and-white detective movies. From her tall, ramrod posture to her feline stride, she epitomized elegance, yet she had a bit of sass that leaned toward the obscene, the dangerous.

  “My little warrior, you are finally here!” she cried and squeezed me tight.

  “Yeah, I almost didn’t make it though.” I rocked from side to side in her arms.

  “Nonsense. You had to come. You would not dare leave me here alone with these savages.” She winked at Michael who looked away sheepishly. It could’ve been the way Angie stared at people, totally engrossed, like they were the most captivating creatures on Earth. It stood on the left of flirtation and just shy of creepy. A popular Cambion trait.

  “Thank you so much for greeting Samara,” she told Michael. “Now would you be so kind as to bring your brothers. Dinner will begin shortly.”

  At her command, my stomach flipped. For a second, I had forgotten that Caleb would be joining this little get-together. I hadn’t seen him since that stunt in my room and I wasn’t in the mood for more drama. Actually, I had seen him plenty of times at work, I just didn’t want to. I was still raw and bitter, and talking to him would just lead to more words I’d regret later.

  Keeping in good spirits, I presented my gift. “Here, Mom made you some cook—” I paused at the plate that now had three lonely cookies and a pile of crumbs. “Michael!” I whipped my head around to see the thief fleeing the scene of the crime. I couldn’t believe it. I’d been holding the plate the entire time and didn’t even notice. Oh, he was good. Munching on his prize, Michael disappeared behind the sliding elevator doors.

  Angie lifted a cookie from the plate and motioned me to the sitting room. “As I said, savages, dear.”

  “So what have you been up to?” I asked.

  “Well, I sold four paintings and have two commissions. My next showing isn’t until February, so I’ll be free to handle business here.”

  Knowing what type of business, my muscles tightened. Did she have any news about the Cambion big wigs? Were they still after Caleb?

  Sensing my unease, she said, “No politics before dinner, Samara. It’s bad etiquette. Let us enjoy our time together. Come, the others are waiting.”

  I wasn’t expecting the red carpet and fanfare, just something a little less awkward. One thing about the Petrovsky progeny, or Cambion children in general, there was no need for a blood test. Dressed in their Sunday best, they lined up by height in the living room, looking like the Von Trapps from The Sound of Music. They stood with hands behind their backs, their postures displaying regality and years of boarding school discipline. Sore thumb was not the right analogy to describe my presence. I squinted my eyes, blinded by the glare of all that blond.

  “And these are my darlings. I told you about them, yes?” With a graceful sweep of her hand, Angie pointed to each replica of herself, starting with the sixteen-year-old. Of all three siblings, she resembled Nadine the most, not just in appearance, but in attitude. She oozed apathy, a world-weary detachment that took years to master.

  I extended my hand to the tall girl. “You must be Olivia, right?”

  A nod was her only reply. With chin lifted in the air, she scrutinized every square inch of my person. Her eyes were keen, hooded with heavy lids as if she were about to doze off at any minute. In that instant, I knew I was working a tough crowd, so I decided to move on to the thirteen-year-old.

  “This is my son, Szymon, and my little mouse, Mishka,” Angie said.

  I bowed my head. “Nice to meet you.”

  Szymon shifted from foot to foot, unsure where to look. Though he had Angie’s features, his light gray eyes excluded him from the group.

  Mishka, on the other hand, seemed more curious than the others and a bit more eager to break the ice. All curls and rosy cheeks, the ten-year-old stepped forward and curtseyed. Her emerald eyes widened as if I were something shiny. “Are you our new sister now?”

  “Uh . . .” I looked to Angie for the right answer, but she was out of ideas.

  “Don’t be stupid, Mishka. Of course she’s not. She’s just a carrier, that’s all,” Olivia said with tight lips.

  Ouch. “I’m a little more than that,” I replied. “But, I’m not here to replace your sister. Nadine was a good friend of mine, and I’m honored to have a part of her with me.”

  She shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “Olivia, that is enough. You are being rude,” Angie admonished.

  “No, that’s okay. This is tense for everyone. The last thing anyone needs is to be fake around each other.” I stood a foot away from Olivia and said, “I’m not a bad person, and I hope you’ll realize that throughout your stay. I’m not expecting us to be best friends, but your mother wants me here, so please respect that and respect me. Otherwise, this holiday is gonna be very uncomfortable for both of us.”

  Olivia glared in rebellion, her eyes flashing with jade sparks. Not wanting to be upstaged, I allowed Lilith to make herself known and the world around me took on a green tint. The girl jumped back, startled, then pulled her brother behind her. “Not when he’s around,” she warned.

  Immediately, I closed my eyes and turned my head. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Samara. He needs more time with you.” Angie stepped to her children. “Olivia, take Szymon upstairs. I will be there shortly.”

  The girl nodded, then ushered her brother out of the room, holding him close in a motherly, almost possessive fashion. Mishka skipped behind them, her spiral curls bouncing around her head. Szymon bent his head toward the floor, never lifting his gaze, not even as Caleb passed him in the hall and ruffled his hair.

  “What was that about?” Caleb asked
.

  Maybe it was because I hadn’t talked to him for a few days, but damn, he looked good. Leaning by the entryway with his hands tucked in his pockets, he seemed to agree. The cuffs of his black shirt were rolled up to his elbows and the top three buttons were undone. His freshly washed hair was combed back, revealing a deceptively boyish face.

  “I let Szymon see my eyes glow,” I explained and turned my back to him.

  His footsteps drew closer. “You have to be careful about that. Only the girls are like us. He’s pure and immune to our draw, but we don’t want to scare him more than we have to.”

  “Uh, yeah, my bad.” I could feel him staring at me, seeking eye contact, but I wouldn’t give in. My heart pounded double-time and all my body weight traveled toward my feet.

  No doubt sensing the tension in the air, Angie said, “Please, get comfortable and enjoy the refreshments while I check on the rest of the food. Room service should be here soon.”

  While the waitstaff placed the food in the dining room, I was left to mingle and dodge the hungry glances that Caleb shot my way. We kept to opposite sides of the living room in a slow dance around furniture and strategically placed easels in the living room. Whenever I worked up the nerve to look up, there he was, stripping another piece of my clothing with his X-rated vision. My skin prickled, laid bare to the hot static in the air while Lilith rattled in her cage to break free. Trying in vain to ignore them both, I steered my attention to the artwork on display.

  Angie was a critically acclaimed painter, and her provocative, ultrafeminist pieces captivated the art world. She was also illusive, only doing a show every five years in select cities, and she presented a sneak peek of her collection as a conversation piece.

  I walked by portraits of people in cages, or shoved through a meat grinder and other kitchen appliances. Some pictures were simple and elegant, while some looked like an epileptic fit with paint.

  “It’s so complex. Look at the angry brush strokes, and the composition; the symbolism of the red across the man’s torso,” an accented voice spoke next to me.

  I tilted my head sideways and tried to interpret the chaos on canvas. “That’s a man?”

  “I hope so,” he replied.

  I stared up at the second oldest of the Ross clan and self-appointed big brother and watch dog. Naturally, Haden arrived unfashionably late, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. He cleaned up nicely in a gray suit and jacket, his black hair slicked back, touching his neck.

  “Don’t look too happy about being here,” I said.

  His indigo eyes made a quick sweep around the room. “I’m not here to be festive. I just wanna know the latest about my brother and leave. Brodie’s been in New York for weeks and he hasn’t called in days.”

  I rubbed his arm. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I wouldn’t worry. Angie will protect him.”

  Haden’s thick brows pinched together, as if he was trying to convince himself to agree. Though big, rugged, and abrasive, he was the peacemaker of the four brothers, the glue that held it all together, but even he had his breaking point. “Yeah well, I want all this over and done with. Michael and I have lives and jobs to get back to.”

  “What is your exact job title, Haden? I know Michael’s some software nerd, but . . . what do you do?” I asked with almost frustrated curiosity.

  “A little of this and a little of that,” was his only reply. He tipped his head toward Caleb, who stood by the wall, talking to one of the female servers. “So why are you angry at Caleb now?”

  The change in topic made my taste buds go numb. “Why don’t you go ask Caleb yourself?”

  “Already have. He didn’t say much.”

  I blinked. “What did he say?”

  “You sound concerned.”

  “Not really.”

  “Right.” A boyish smile stood in contrast to Haden’s hard, scar-ridden features. “Denial is not a good look for you.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek, and a warm sensation spread over my entire face. “Go talk to Caleb,” he whispered and left my side.

  I did another lap around the room, holding a napkin loaded with finger food and wondering what lay in store for us this evening. Angie had news for us, I just knew it, and the wait was killing me. The head of the Cambion family had all but put out an APB on Caleb, and Angie was the only ally we had. I just hoped she had a good plan.

  “You look nice tonight,” Caleb said behind me, his breath fanning the back of my neck. I half expected him to kiss me there as was his usual endearment, but he didn’t, which was more devastating than if he had.

  “Thanks. So do you,” I replied. “It’s amazing what a bar of soap and a comb can do.”

  “Life’s full of many wonders. So, are you still mad at me?”

  “Heavens no! Why would I be mad?” I said immediately, almost yelling the words. “You are what you are. Who am I to change you?”

  “Just so we’re straight here, you’re angry with me because I prefer to feed on random strangers instead of you, or are you mad because you think my diet is out of control?”

  I had to think about that for a minute. “Can’t I be both?”

  “No, because both reasons are stupid,” he countered. “I’m careful of the energy I take and not one woman has died on my tab. You know I’m crazy about you—I don’t even have to say it; you can feel it and know I’m more than just talk. Every second with you takes a painful amount of restraint, but even that will break at some point. What we share will consume us; it’s not a matter of if, but when. So if it’s okay with you, I want to keep my sanity a little while longer.”

  And he walked away, leaving me on edge with a snappy comeback that came thirty seconds too late. I hated when that happened. Every nerve ending on my body was fried, not from his words, but the heat behind them. Why did he have this effect on me? Or maybe what I was feeling was my effect on him. This empathy business was just plain freaky, the constant back-and-forth of emotions, to the point that I was lusting after myself through him.

  Not knowing what else to do, I crammed my face with more crab puff thingies, praying for the night to end quickly.

  Dinner was a strained event, and the first ten minutes were brief lapses in conversation and several sideways glances in my direction. The Petrovskys idealized the typical family who sat down for dinner every night and discussed the day. They were a very affectionate family, always smiling and touching, as if in need of constant assurance of the others’ presence. Tragedy will do that to people, but I had a feeling that they were always like that.

  Another round of food passed about before things began to pick up. The kids seemed a bit more talkative, and Olivia finally stopped glaring at me, put down her steak knife, and focused on her meal. While the kids ate, I could see their hands and the gold band identical to mine hanging on each child’s wrist, even the boy’s. Though this served as an heirloom and security caution, I couldn’t shake the impression of being collared.

  “So, Samara, have you been reading the journal entries?” Angie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  The room grew silent as all eyes fell on me. I couldn’t believe that I was getting a pop quiz at dinner. “In short, Lilith is a succubus, but was once human, and one of many ancient tribe women who breathed in some bad smoke. The smoke being from the charred remains to this giant angelic being that the villagers decided to tear in half and burn. You know, typical family tree stuff. The moral of the story: when around malevolent spirits, keep your mouth closed.”

  With a snort, Szymon covered his nose to keep his drink from escaping. Being far less amused, Olivia slapped her brother on the back of the head. When he recovered, he continued to eat, his body shaking with suppressed laughter.

  “I am happy that you find our lineage amusing,” Olivia snapped. “At least we know where we came from.”

  “Obviously you don’t if you have three different versions of it.” She must have assumed that I hadn’t heard her,
so it shocked her when I answered in her native tongue.

  “English, ladies,” Haden intervened as he looked at the two of us. “Not everyone here can speak Polish.”

  “Thank you, Haden,” Angie said, her stern tone bringing the room back to order. “They are just legends, Samara. No one takes them seriously, although the origin story is celebrated in some cultures. Actors even put on performances retelling the event.”

  “With or without the citywide massacre?” I asked.

  “With.” She smiled. “My main concern is the family line. Have you gotten to the three sisters of Antioch?”

  “Uh, sorta. They’re the ones telling it, right?”

  “The first half, yes. When you reach the part where they hide in the Carpathian Mountains, let me know. So, what are your plans for the holidays?”

  “Well, um, I was hoping you all would come over Christmas day and exchange gifts and have dinner.”

  “We’re Jewish,” Olivia said with a flat note.

  “I know, but I was just throwing some ideas out there.”

  Resting her chin in her palm, Angie leaned closer to me. “It sounds marvelous, dear. I’ve brought plenty of gifts for you and your mother.”

  Looking around the table, I noticed there was a key person missing. I’d expected him to show up at some point, but the chair at the head of the table remained empty. “Where’s Mr. Petrovsky?”

  Angie dropped her fork and stared down at her plate. “I’m afraid he is ill and staying with his family for the holiday. It appears that the years are catching up with him.”

  Confused by her statement and her ominous tone, I asked, “What does that mean? Aren’t you two the same age?”

  The room was silent again and the mood shifted to one normally felt at a wake.

  “We’ll discuss that later. That is part of the reason why I’m here and why I need you to study the journal entries. You need to know what is expected of you as an extended member of our family.”

  The loud clank of silverware got everyone’s attention. Olivia pulled out her chair and stood. “Mama, please excuse me.” She quit the room before her mother could respond.