2. Darkness in the Blood Master copy MS 5 (13 page)

“Is that what he said?” I asked, running my fingers over the silver whorls and links. “Jacob with the ponytail and pipe said that?”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t think it to look at him.” Ethan turned my other wrist. “All those Hollow folks kind of freaked me out, to tell you the truth. There was a weird kind of energy around the place, a shifting light and low humming sound, like magic but not as disorienting. It was maddening.”

“The Hollow is a weird kind of place,” I agreed. “And Jacob really only makes jewelry if he feels like it. How did you afford this?” The candlelight caught the dozens of tiny crystal facets and bounced the light off the ceiling, making the poor plastic substitute of my elementary school planetarium seem pathetic in comparison. “You must have been saving since…”

“Since I first got a job?” He held my hands wrists up, so that he could see the wing-shaped clasps. A single fingertip slipped through one to touch my pulse point there. My eyes widened at the sensation; I could see them flare brilliant silver in Ethan’s irises. He smiled.  His hand found mine in the dim light. For a moment both of us watched the candle flame and the tiny dots of slowly moving light overhead. “I’ve never been camping before. I’m not sure what to do.”

“Yes, well, you can see we’re really roughing it,” I said drily. “Here we have our candle flame camp fire. We use it to roast marshmallows, tell scary stories, and keep away vicious beasts.”

“Such as the ruthless Abigail?”

“Exactly,” I laughed.

“And the flashlight?”

I waved it dramatically under my chin. “Ghost stories, of course.” I made a face. “Or for protection when your brother jumps out at you on your way to the bathroom.”

He laughed. “I don’t think it will be quite so scary tonight.”

I fingered the silver of one of my bracelets, feeling the loops press into my skin. “Me neither.”

After carefully extinguishing our ‘fire,’ we lay on our backs, half of us under our sheet-tent. I kept one hand on my new bracelet and one hand in Ethan’s as we silently watched the stars spin by. I rolled on my side, facing him. “Thank you,” I said, tracing the silver loops. “No one’s ever given me something so beautiful before.”

He ran a finger over mine. “It’s funny. When I first came to you, I had no concept of things like money. And now…” he trailed off, a satisfied smile on his face. “Well. I couldn’t wait to buy you these.”

“Don’t you miss it?” I asked him softly. I’d asked him that same question many times since I found him, shivering and human, outside my apartment. We both knew by now it was a question that masked many others: Do you have regrets? Do you blame me? Are you happy?

“Don’t you mind having a boring human boyfriend?” he asked in return. Another layered question, hiding others: Am I less to you, now that I’m mortal? Do you blame yourself? Do you come to me out of love or obligation?

But they were questions too big to be answered. We could only hold each other, and try to reassure. We handled each other like newly blown glass, and every touch was a streak of fire. Before when he kissed me my skin burned from the contact, layers of me literally stripped away. Now, at last, there was no need to hold back, no danger of a thoughtless deadly injury. Yet still we were careful with each other. Maybe everyone who has come so close to losing the other half is as careful. Maybe we were just fearful and learning, but we couldn’t stand not to touch, as if letting go might mean the other of us would disappear, or we might wake up and find we’d dreamed each other up after all.

Ethan braced himself on his elbows. I loved his longer hair, the way it never stayed neat, no matter how many times he brushed it. I messed it up even more, so that his entire face was in shadow. All I could see was his silhouette outlined against the light dot stars, and a hint of blue green glow from his eyes. I trailed my fingers down to rest against his heart, and then fanned them out across his back, where planes of brilliant light had once protected me and marked him as immortal.

“Sshh,” he said, rolling so that he lay on his side and pulled me into him. I realized I was crying. “Hey now. You’re ruining our campout. What’s wrong?”

I clutched at his back. “It’s just…” I sobbed into his bare shoulder. “I know it hurts. In your sleep, you talk about them.”

He stroked my hair, the back of my neck. “You know how you can see wings as planes of lights? Doors, or portals, to the Realms? Not feathers, like everyone else?” I nodded. His voice had a soothing effect. “There’s nothing to miss, Caspia. Not like a limb, because it was never there. It’s more like a door is shut that used to be open. Like I’ve lost the way home.” I burst into fresh tears. “No, no. It’s not forever. There are more ways to the Realms that just one, Caspia. All humans find their way back eventually. And so will we. Nothing’s gone forever.”

Right before sleep claimed me, I managed to attach myself to his bare back, my arms wrapped around his. I pressed myself against him, hoping my heart beat, poor substitute though it was, might somehow make up for his lost way home.

Chapter Thirteen:

Azalene

“Hey.” A rough shake jostled me awake. “Hey, get up. We don’t have much time.”

I’m not an easy to wake kind of person. Usually, it takes many cups of coffee. The unfortunate person who actually has pre-coffee contact with me has, more than once, stopped speaking to me for days. But not this time. I awoke immediately, filled with an unfamiliar energy bordering on euphoria. I had no desire to close my eyes and roll over. Instead, I sat bolt upright from my place on the floor.

Then I jumped to my feet and backpedaled wildly, trying hard not to scream.

In the middle of the make shift tent of sheets and dining room chairs, I lay deeply asleep, curled around Ethan, who had rolled over on his back during the night. He had his arm around me. It should have looked sweet and touching.

Instead, we looked more than a bit like corpses.

That’s when I saw the tattooed boy.

“It’s ok.” He slipped up beside me. We both gave off the same faint blue glow. “You’re dreaming. Everything’s fine.”

“Uh, no. Everything is very much not fine. This is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” I whispered, horrified. I managed to drag my gaze away from my lifeless body to confront the guy who’d ‘woken’ me and started all this. I wanted to demand answers, to know why he kept showing up, half-naked, in my dreams. I wanted to sound tough and unafraid. “Don’t you even own a shirt?” I heard myself say instead.

I couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but it was obvious he was laughing at me. “I told you last time I’d come back. And yes, I own several.” He wore the same black pants as he had the night I dreamed of him in my living room, playing my brother’s records. His arms and chest were still decorated with strange tattoos. As I watched, the lines of them shimmered against the faint blue glow we both gave off in the dream. Their dark liquid ink edges looked alive. They moved ever so slightly, as if they had a pulse.

“What are they?” I asked, fascinated in spite of myself by the symbols that seemed to live just beneath his skin.

“A way of controlling the Shadows- of channeling and amplifying them. They’re one of the few things that give mixed bloods an edge in a fight. Nephilim can’t bear them. Their stone skin can’t take the marks. It’s why I don’t like to cover them up in potential combat situations.”

“There’s a way to control Shadows?” My hands ached with cold, electric fire. “How?” I breathed. “I’m not a getting a bunch of tattoos, or walking around without a shirt,” I warned.

“You’re hilarious.”

I thought of a million sarcastic replies. Instead, I asked, “Is your name Jack, like the newspaper article said?”

He looked surprised. “Yes, I’m Jack.” He snorted. “I can’t believe I made the paper. Dad would have a fit.”

“How did you learn to control them? Is there someone like us who taught you?”

He spun and walked away from me. From my bedroom window, he said, “There are no others exactly like us. Not anymore. There are others with gifted blood, though.” He half-turned to me in the moonlight, and I remembered how Ethan stood there, months ago, and told me I was wobbly for a human.

How the world had changed. As if hearing my thoughts, Ethan stirred restlessly in our make believe tent. Jack stared at him intently, almost as if he recognized him. It wasn’t a friendly look.

“The Shadows. How many others can call them?” I skirted my own sleeping body. I would force an answer if necessary.

“Just the two of us now.” He flashed me a bitter smile. “We’re the last of the Azalene warriors.”

“The last who?” I echoed, baffled.

He looked at me, surprised. “The last of Azazel’s line? Azazel, of the First Fallen?” Whatever he saw on my face must have convinced him I wasn’t faking ignorance.

“What is an Azazel?” I repeated, fisting my hands against my rising anger.

“Easy there,” he cautioned, taking my hands. “You need to work on emotional control. It’s the first step towards controlling your gift.”

“My…” I started to say. Suddenly we were in the park, right in front of the fountain, brilliantly lit up for night. I yanked my hands out of his. He watched me, assessing, then shrugged. He leapt up so that he balanced on the very edge of the fountain. A multi-colored light outlined him in rapidly shifting colors. “We’re a dying people, Caspia,” he said. His bare toes gripped the stone effortlessly. “Our gifts are weakened, or skip generations. Most of us have only one. You and I are different, though.” I didn’t like the look he gave me. I couldn’t figure it out. He acted as if he didn't like me at all, yet here he was, explaining things to me. “You can draw the future. I can Dreamwalk. But more importantly, both of us can fight.”

“Fight,” I repeated. He watched me carefully.

“Fight,” he affirmed. “You haven’t seen the fat bald man with the sword around, have you?”

I tried to shove him into the fountain. “Don’t make fun of me,” I warned.

He wouldn’t let go of my arm when I shoved, and as a result, I almost went into the fountain with him. “I’m not,” he sighed. “Here’s the story. We think roughly two hundred angels were the first to take human wives and start families here on earth,” he said, releasing me as if I hadn’t just tried to drown him. “They knew things primitive man wasn’t supposed to know yet. When they had children, they couldn’t stand by and watch them struggle in ignorance. And so they taught them this forbidden knowledge. One of them, Azazel,” he nodded his head at me. “Taught his children how to fight. He taught them how to make blades, and how to fight with what we call Shadows, pulled from the Dark Realms. And then, when his beloved died, as all mortals must, he made one last special blade.”

Jack’s voice had a singsong, practiced quality. “You’ve told this story before.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “This blade was special because, unlike any other blade on earth, it could cut through a Nephilim’s stone skin like paper. He made sure his oldest son understood how important it was, and then he used it to cut out his own heart. He couldn’t face eternity on earth without his wife.”

I thought of Asheroth. If he was the alternative, this Azazel had made the right decision. “And this is the sword you’ve been asking about?”

“I gave it to someone the night I was taken. He should have brought it to you by now, unless something happened that prevented it. Which would be bad.” His smile was bitter. “But don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“It hasn’t made it,” I reminded him.

“I know. But it will. I have to believe that.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter much, but I didn’t believe him. Not after the story he’d just told. “There’s another reason I came tonight. I want you to meet someone,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed at a spot just over my shoulder.

“I thought we were alone.” The space between my shoulder blades had begun to tingle, exactly as if someone was watching me from the dark.

“No, I said there was no one in the Dreamtime unless I brought them.” He dropped his voice. “Listen, she’s been through a lot. It’s hard on all of us, where we are, but it’s twisting her more every day. I thought if I could bring her someplace normal, even for a few hours, it would help.”

The feeling of being watched had increased to an uncomfortable level. I spun back toward the fountain. “Who is it?” I whispered. “Is she dangerous?”

The specks of sliver were back in his dark eyes, but they were dull this time. “She didn’t used to be.”

Live Oaks, with their thick, downward swooping branches, perfect for reading and shade, have always felt sheltering to me. Wrapped in white lights, they became something otherworldly. In her white nightgown and light blond hair, the girl at the edge of the fountain plaza looked like a frightened fairy. I had seen a blurry picture of her once before, but that’s not how I recognized her. Even from this distance, I felt her. She pulled at something inside me. My blood roared in recognition. It was similar to the response I’d had to Jack but more protective. “Caroline?” Her head snapped up. “Caroline Bedford?”

Still she hesitated. 

“It’s ok,” I added quickly. I wanted very badly to go to her, this child afraid to set foot in my town square. The force of it shocked me. But she was a wild thing, and injured besides, on the inside where things were hardest to fix. I could so easily scare her away. My palms flared with Shadows, so I crossed my arms behind my back. I felt Jack stiffen in surprise beside me. “It really is ok,” I tried again. “My name is Caspia, and this is my town. Jack brought you here, and we won’t let anything happen to you.”

She inched forward. “Is it true you’re an Azalene warrior?” she asked, an ugly skepticism that had no place on a child’s face challenging me. “The last one besides Jack?”

I risked a quick sideways lash with my eyes. He’d pressed his lips into a tight line, like he was trying hard not to smile. We were side by side now; Shadows flared almost painfully at my back. That blackmailing bastard, I thought. To Caroline, I said carefully, “That’s what Jack said, and he’s as good as his word.” I bumped him with my hip. “Isn’t he?” Freezing ants marched up and down my arms.