Burning Emerald (3 page)

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Authors: Jaime Reed

BOOK: Burning Emerald
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He leaned into me, getting good and comfortable, not in the slightest rush to leave. “Share it with me. What's it called?”
I put a finger to my lips. “
Shh. ”
He looked around the parking lot. “What?”
“No, that's the title,
Shh
,” I explained. “It's about angels and the battle between Heaven and Hell. According to Hebrew myth, an angel enters the womb of every pregnant woman and places a finger over the lips of the unborn child. They silence the baby from revealing the secrets of Heaven, including God's true name. The proof of that secret is that small dent in your top lip.” My finger danced over the outline of his mouth, making him shiver. I could tell he felt the attraction, a pull rooting from the chest, joining our two magnets together.
Dropping my hand, I continued, “Anyway, this autistic boy doesn't have that dimple. He's a mute, but he's been leaking secrets all through his writing and artwork. A group of angels come to Earth to kill the kid, because once heard out loud, humanity will remember the secrets told to them and all of Hell will break loose, literally. It's a race against time because the kid starts mumbling in class out of nowhere.”
“Sounds good! Let me borrow that when you're done.” His lids grew heavy as he inched closer.
I tried to push off his Jeep, but his nearness made it impossible. He was stalling, squeezing a few more minutes alone with me, but our time was running out.
“Did you want to come over to my place for a bit? I made a new playlist that you haven't heard—” He stopped midsentence when I flashed my bracelet in his face.
The gold chain shimmered under the parking lot lights, creating a sufficient force field against his libido.
Caleb's shoulders slumped under the weight of defeat. “I thought that was only activated for emergencies.”
“So did I, but Mom's got it synched to her laptop to track where I am. Cambion or not, my curfew still applies until I'm eighteen and out the house. It's just a safety measure. Can't be too careful these days.” I offered him a gentle smile.
“Fine. I'll see you tomorrow.” He pulled back and allowed me to pass.
Parked in the next row was a metallic gray Nissan Juke, my new ride—
new
being a relative term. It was new to me, and love allowed me to overlook the high mileage and stench of fried bologna that an entire bottle of Febreze couldn't remove. It was mine and I had earned it, and that was enough for me.
I didn't make it two feet before his hand caught my wrist and pulled me back into his arms.
“Caleb,” I whined, though I felt just as needy. “I have to go.”
“Well, am I at least allowed to kiss you? I've waited all day to do so. Indulge me.” He lowered his head for a kiss that never came.
The sound only had a second to register in my ears: soft at first, then louder as it drew closer—ending in an explosion not even a foot from where we stood. Natural instinct took effect and I ducked from the whoosh of air and sailing fragments of glass.
I hit the ground hard—scraping my knee on the pavement—and covered my face and eyes from the blast. Tiny shards rained on my head, over my shoulder, and tinkled against the concrete. Caleb's body fell over mine; his weight crushed me as he withstood the brunt of the attack. It's funny how situations can change. One minute, I held my boyfriend, the next I was on the ground, curled into a ball.
Once silence enclosed the parking lot again, Caleb stood up and assessed the damage. “Stay here,” he ordered.
Of course, I didn't listen and I joined his side before he could open his door.
Not one, not two, but every window in Caleb's Jeep was missing. What remained sat in the driver's seat and formed a glittery ring around the vehicle. The weatherproof hardtop didn't fare too well from the impact, seeing that it now laid upside down in the next row.
“What did that?” I asked. “I thought it was a bomb.”
Caleb circled the Jeep and peeked underneath its carriage. “Nothing else seems to be damaged, just the windows.”
I searched around the parking lot. All of the employees were gone, and only our cars remained. “Maybe some kid shot at the windows,” I suggested.
He whipped out his cell phone. As he dialed, his anger mounted with every punch and click. “It wasn't a gunshot and it couldn't have broken all the windows at once.” He used his free hand to push me away from the debris. While relaying the situation to the operator, he examined my hands and face for injuries.
If anyone needed medical attention, it was him. Tiny scratches tracked his left cheek and temple. Blood ran in a thin stream down his neck, seeping into the collar of his white polo shirt. He didn't notice any of it; he seemed too distracted with plotting bloody vengeance.
Caleb was slow to anger, but he reached full hotness when he showed aggression and his eyes glowed bright lavender. Though the color was pretty, the carnage that followed that wondrous view was not. That was how Caleb's “roommate” made his presence known and it was clear that Capone wasn't happy with the situation, either.
I pulled away from him, not liking the storm brewing in those eyes. “I'm fine, but you need a doctor. I'll take you to the hospital.”
Ending the call, he regarded me with a furrowed brow, his lips tightened. “No. I need you to go home.”
Was he serious? “I'm not leaving you!”
“The hell you're not. This is dangerous, and I want you away from it. The police should be here any minute. I'll wait with the mall cop.” He tipped his chin to the security vehicle cruising its way toward us. “Now I want you to go straight home. No stops, no detours. Understand?”
“But I—”
“The longer you stay here and argue, the more you'll have to explain to your mom. Now do you really want that? 'Cause
we all
know how laid-back and trusting she is. She wouldn't mind her only daughter getting grilled by police at ten-thirty on a school night. Oh no, it wouldn't freak her out at all.” He hid his smile behind pursed lips, because not even in sarcasm could he describe my mom as lax and keep a straight face.
I would've pointed that out, but that wouldn't make him any less right. Mom didn't play these days, constantly checking my comings and goings to the point where I couldn't tell if I was grounded.
I was being pushed in the direction of my car, and I didn't complain. In all honesty, I really wanted to get out of there. The night had a sharp sting to it, very dry, and my breath seemed to freeze before I could even push it out. The frigidness had little to do with temperature.
“Call me when this is over,” I said.
“No. I'll call you tomorrow. Don't worry about me.” He took my keys to open my door, then lifted me in his arms for the kiss he had been denied. I knew he needed a distraction, so I obliged his brilliant attempt at redirection. Hell, I forgot my own name.
It wasn't the softness of his lips that put me into full swoon mode, nor was it how he stole my breath and gave me his own. It was the way he held me like I would soon disappear, as if at any minute someone would rip me away from him. I understood the feeling. It had taken us months to achieve what so many took for granted, to share a simple kiss. Maybe we were making up for lost time, because every kiss felt like the first and the last we would ever have. We were Cambions, not cannibals, but I was willing to make an exception for Caleb. I wanted to eat this dude alive, starting with that plump bottom lip as my new chew toy.
Just when it was getting good, he ended the kiss and set me down. My body dragged down the length of his with agonizing slowness. I nipped his lip, his stern chin, his bobbing Adam's apple, every spot I could reach before my feet settled back to earth.
“I'll be fine, I promise. You'll feel it if I'm not.” His lips rounded the curve of my cheekbone, planting a petal-soft kiss by my bruised eye.
Knowing exactly what he meant, I nodded at that small assurance. He waited for me to climb in my car and left no room for argument.
I revved the engine, then pulled out of the parking space. Peeling out of the lot, I watched his body grow small from the rearview mirror, and I fought the temptation to turn around. Only when I was two blocks from the shopping center did the pressure dissipate, though my heavy foot on the accelerator wasn't taking any chances.
I rolled down the car window and breathed in the yeasty musk of Williamsburg. The heavy cloak of dread fell from my shoulders, and I could now ease my foot off the gas. But the discomfort lingered, its ghostly fingers creeping up my neck. There was no camera flash this time, but I heard the whisper in my ear to keep driving. The warning was louder, more insistent than the one before, yet it held a harsh undertone that seemed an awful lot like a threat.
3
I
pulled into my driveway; the pop and grind of gravel against rubber filled the car's interior.
Turning off the engine, I sat behind the wheel for a moment. I tried not to think about what happened tonight, but the scene was stuck on instant replay. There was something strange going on, again, and I knew this was only the beginning, the quiet before the shit storm. I liked to be ahead of the curve when something was about to blow up in my face; however, sometimes knowing was worse than being caught off guard.
I closed my eyes and focused on Caleb, searching for his face in my mind's eye. It didn't take long to find him, or rather feel him. Confusion, annoyance, and high levels of pissed-off rushed to my senses, giving me a sudden urge to break something, which was a good thing. He wasn't scared or in danger, so I could at least try to sleep soundly tonight.
I set the dilemma on pause and studied my dingy house with the flaky white paint. The shriveled flower bed lined the front deck, and the putrid yellow porch light made my house visible from space. Pine needles, nutmeg, and my neighbor's chimney smoke sprayed the air with a perfume only worn this time of year. Of all the things that had changed in my life, my birth home stood the test of time. I climbed out and breathed in the cool autumn night, enjoying the crunch of dry leaves under my sneakers.
Once inside, I checked and double-checked the security alarm by the door. My eyes locked on the blinking green activation light, marking the time at which it had been set. It became a habit of mine to test it twice lately, just in case.
Under a floral mist of scented candles, the air still carried that sour hint of paint fumes from Mom's room. Little crumbs of drywall had settled into the crevices between the stairs. The cracks in the ceiling were gone, and the bloodstains had faded under strong bleach and several coats of paint. The repairs had given Mom an excuse to redecorate, but that had only covered the external damage. After a shrewd face-lift, the Marshall residence no longer resembled a house of horrors, but the ghost of that terrifying night still roamed the halls.
Soft light from the kitchen told me where and how Mom had spent her evening. Instead of passing through the hall by the stairs, I entered the kitchen from the dining room to my right. The crimson walls and gold tasseled drapes reminded me of a brothel, but this eyesore hurt less than the one from the living room.
The side route allowed me to sneak up on Mom, a difficult prank with only the top of her brown bun in sight. The rest of her hid under a mountain of encyclopedias, old news articles, and other source material. This had always been Mom's makeshift office, but it had quickly transformed into a library and demonology classroom.
An astute accountant by day, by night Mom moonlighted as a renegade myth buster. She burned the midnight oil trying to understand why a succubus spirit had jumped bloodlines to occupy my body. This type of possession was supposedly a hereditary trait, so this new living arrangement produced a ton of questions and sleepless nights.
“Hey, Mom.” I dropped my bag on the counter and headed to the fridge.
“Hey, honey.” She returned from somewhere behind the stack of books.
I grabbed a carton of orange juice and poured a glass. “How was counseling?”
“Awkward as usual. I'm not a big talker, so I end up listening to other people's problems more than anything else. The stories they tell in the meetings would break your heart, Samara. I feel guilty because I always leave thinking, ‘You know, things aren't that bad.' ”
“Group therapy: proof that life could get a whole lot worse.” I saluted her with my glass before taking a sip, but watched her with caution.
I worried about her recent issues with insomnia and night terrors, and I secretly wished Nathan Ross could be just a little bit more dead for her sake. Even in death, the face of Caleb's father taunted her, like some movie villain coming back for one last scare. Her doctors chalked it up to trauma, and Caleb and his brothers assured us there was no lasting damage. Good luck explaining that to a woman who almost had the life sucked out of her by a deranged Cambion. In either case, nothing could be left to chance, not even dreams.
I leaned against the counter, watching her carefully. “You know, there's better ways to vent if you're upset. You can always go back to the gun range.”
“True. I just hate that they close at nine. I mean, what's a girl to do in the middle of the night.”
“Drive-bys?” I offered.
Mom smiled and returned her attention to her laptop. Text and lights dragged across her glasses.
“What you working on now?”
“Trinkets and sanctified objects. Did you know that priests and missionaries use olive oil for exorcism? There's a sacred ritual that expels demons.”
“For real?” I rummaged through the overhead cabinet and retrieved the bottle of olive oil Mom used for cooking. As soon as my hand gripped the bottle, Lilith flinched, causing a quick jolt in the middle of my back. It ended as quickly as it had begun, so I figured she was probably hungry.
I let a few drops fall on my finger and hissed at the contact. “Ah! It burns! It burns!”
That got Mom's attention. Immediately, she stood to her feet and raced to my side. “Baby, are you okay? What happened?”
I gave a wide grin and showed her my oily hand. “Nothing. I'm just playing with you.”
Mom didn't look amused. She turned away, then did a double take. “What happened to your eye?”
“Dodgeball shows no mercy and takes no prisoners,” I said in a dramatic, movie-trailer-guy voice.
After giving me a light whack on the back of the head, she returned to her research.
I licked the oil off my finger, then said, “I don't know why you bother with that stuff. It's hardly accurate.”
“Well, it says it has to be sanctified and untainted. That's the cheap stuff; I think I got it on sale.”
I rested my elbows against the counter. “You mean like anointing oil?”
“Something like that.”
“Doesn't work, either. I tried it on Caleb when he first came to the house.” In fact, I thought I still had that little vial somewhere in my bag, among other things I should've trashed months ago. I had a hard time throwing stuff away, resulting in me carrying extra baggage.
“Do I even want to know why you used oil on him?” Mom asked, sounding a bit disturbed.
“The same reason you're looking up folklore in the middle of the night. You're scared of the unknown.”
Mom's eyes lifted from the computer screen. “I'm not afraid of you. You're my child. I'm just trying to keep it all in perspective. Evangeline has been trying to answer some of my questions, but I keep coming up with more.”
I smiled at the mention of Nadine's mother, making a mental note to call her tomorrow. Evangeline Petrovsky, or Angie for short, was an unstoppable force in her own right. Since Lilith came from her lineage, Angie had pretty much adopted me, teaching me the ways of the Cambion. No matter where she traveled in the world, she was always a phone call away.
“Oh, look at this!” Mom motioned me to her side. “According to myth, Merlin the wizard was a Cambion. That's why he had those magical powers.”
I peeked over her shoulder. “Like King Arthur and Camelot?”
She nodded. “Also, they say a true incubus has the physical ability to appear as what a woman most desires, plaguing women while asleep, and seducing them to his will.”
The concept swirled around my head for a moment. “So an incubus is going to creep into my room looking like Usher?”
“Not sure. It's what your heart desires, so he might look like Caleb.” Crystal-blue eyes slowly met mine.
All sound and good humor fled the room. My mind swam to the night when Caleb's father had used the same trick for personal gain, a deception that nearly killed me. It was a very powerful, confusing ability that few people lived to tell about.
Mom continued, “The folklore varies with each culture. Some say they're gremlin-looking imps that perch on a person's chest to drain energy, like that superstition about cats. This might contribute to their animalistic nature. All in all, these incubi creatures are a randy bunch, enslaving and impregnating women.”
“Myth.”
Her head popped up. “What?”
“Myth,” I repeated. “Incubi first possess a human male, then use him to impregnate a female. A part of its soul passes to the female during conception.”
Mom just stared, her mouth agape. After a few blinks, her hand slid to the wireless mouse, ready to scroll down the web page for confirmation.
My hands rested over hers, halting her movement. “You won't find it there. Ask Angie.”
“I'm avoiding her calls. She keeps insisting that I'm tired and need a spa makeover. Honestly, how can I look tired over the phone? You see what she made me do to my hair?” Mom nervously patted her newly highlighted curls.
I stroked the top of her head. “I told you before, it looks nice. She just wants you to stop stressing all the time.”
“I don't know how she talks me into these things. I can't say no. It's odd, Angie and me, it's like—”
“Love at first sight,” I finished.
“Yeah, but in a strictly hetero way,” she was quick to add. “How did you know?”
“That's what it was like with Nadine and me. It took Mia and me years to get to that point, but with Nadine, it was an instant connection. Cambions are attracted to wary women, I guess.” For reasons beyond my control, my bottom lip quivered and tears burned around my sockets. Lilith jittered up my spine, letting me know she grieved as well.
Mom removed her glasses and gave me a hard stare, probing my every move. “Samara, maybe you should come to a few of my counseling sessions—”
“No, thanks.” I turned away and moved back to the counter.
“Just a few meetings. They're really helpful, and you don't even have to say anything, just listen.”
“I'm fine, Mom.”
“Baby, you need to handle your grief properly. I can only imagine what you're going through. You won't even enter the living room by yourself. You barely talk about Nadine and you've become detached.”
I paused. “Have not.”
“Samara, your father and I are worried about you, and you can only hide so much from that man.” She quirked a brow.
Mom had a point. Though ignorant of Lilith's existence, Dad wasn't stupid, and it was damn near impossible to lie to a lawyer. Mr. Watkins called more often now, laying guilt trips on me for not coming around. My visits were a test of endurance since listing Caleb's many flaws became his favorite topic at dinner. In Dad's book, no one was good enough for his baby girl, especially the son of a killer. So no, baring my soul to certain members of my family was not a good idea right now.
“Have you talked to Caleb about this? It's not healthy to have all this bottled up inside.”
“It's pretty hard to find ‘quality time' with the LoJack I got strapped to my arm.” I looked down at my wrist and snarled.
Like Lilith, this trinket had also belonged to Nadine, and it was one of the most stylish and unassuming tracking devices on the planet. Only after it had been placed in my care had I learned that it could never unlock once it was fastened. Waterproof and flame retardant, the tiny chip embedded inside the nameplate monitored the wearer's location and sent updates to the software on Mom's hard drive. This heirloom had been passed down to me as a form of protection, but now held the weight of iron shackles. The bracelet's outrageous retail value kept it from meeting the fate of a bolt cutter.
I tried to reason, though I knew it was a lost cause. “Angie told me that you two were discussing my relationship with Caleb. Why is it such a big deal? We have to see each other; we feed from one another for energy. I'm not going to skank out or anything.”
“She said that your body chemistry will change more than usual during the adolescent phase. I've seen how you get when you don't feed. I can only imagine what might happen with
other
cravings, and I'm not trying to be a thirty-four-year-old grandmother.”
I lifted my head to the ceiling. “Where is the trust in this house?”
“It's not you I don't trust, baby. It's your roommate—as you call it—that needs to be chaperoned. Which means that outside of work, you're not allowed to see Caleb without supervision. I'm not budging on this, so you can save your breath.” Mom replaced her specs and returned to the solace of her laptop.
At that point, this meeting of the minds was over. I snatched my bag and left the kitchen. This broken record kept playing over and over, and I had grown sick of the song. First Dad, and now Mom sung backup to the tired tune. At least it had gotten her off the subject of therapy, a topic that slipped into our conversations a lot these days.

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