The Soul's Mark: Broken (7 page)

“Does she know?” Mitchell asked, still
trying to wrap his head around the farfetched tale.  He wasn’t the only one. 
Luke, Lola, Angelle, Eric, Tyler; they all looked skeptical.  Mitchell had
always known that Amelia had a complicated past.  Her troubles with magic, the
way she fought the bond, her acceptance issues.  All the signs were there.  But
this…this was more than complicated.

“Yes, although I don’t think she realizes
she does yet,” Sally replied, as that oddball smile spread across her face
again.  It was almost as if in some sick way she enjoyed watching them all
squirm.  “But I assure you that the memories are there.  She just needs to look
for them.”  She eyed Mitchell, with a strange intensity, and laughed, clapping
her hands together in excitement.  “I’m quite pleased at how calm you are.  I
expected to die the moment I walked through your door.”

Mitchell scrubbed at his face and ran his
fingers roughly through his hair.  He guessed it was a fair statement, and he
figured he probably deserved it, but really, did everyone think he was a loose
cannon?  Sure, he had made some mistakes where Amelia was concerned, but
really, did his mind-set from the last eight months wipe away all the good he
had done in the eight hundred years before that?  And aside from that, there
was no denying that she was a powerful witch.  She had already knocked him off
balance and paralyzed him.  He wasn’t entirely sure that he could kill her,
even if he had wanted to.  He sighed loudly and said, “The last time Amelia
went missing it was someone that I wanted to kill that helped me save her.  I
figured I should hear you out before ripping out your throat.”

The color drained from the psychic’s face,
and she shifted in her seat nervously.  It made Mitchell wonder if she really
was as strong as she was trying to portray. 
Could the little show of power
have drained her already?
 The nervousness didn’t last though, and she
shrugged.  “Like I said before, you’re just a big old teddy bear, and something
tells me you don’t actually enjoy killing like most vampires.  You’re in touch
with Amelia’s humanity, and it’s stronger than any connection I’ve ever seen.” 
She narrowed her eyes and looked him over, taking her time to study every
visible inch of him, and then nodded with a wide smile.  “Yes, I can see it.”

Mitchell held her stare for an
excruciatingly long minute, and she gave him a look that dared him to deny it. 
And it was actually a shock to him when he couldn’t.

“How does Megan tie into all of this?” Eric
asked, breaking through the awkward moment.  He had finally become fed up with
the hood of his sweater hitting him in the face and had put it on right.  It
didn’t really help his disheveled appearance or his testy tones.  He was
chomping at the bit, and Mitchell was sure that the only thing stopping him
from running out the door to track Megan was his firm hand on Eric’s shoulder
holding him in the chair.

“Every witch is only as strong as their
coven,” Sally said, giving Eric an encouraging look.  “Megan is Amelia’s
backbone.  Without Megan, she will not be victorious in this lifetime.”

“And you’re sure that we need the cross-breeds?”
Luke questioned.

“I’m certain,” Sally said with a nod to
herself, as if confirming her own statement, and then she turned her darkened
eyes back on Mitchell.  “Mitchell, you need to know that if Amelia lives
through this, it may not be for you.  If you stand in her way, the path will
inevitably lead to your final death.”

“I understand,” he said with conviction. 
He was done controlling her, not that he had ever really been able to in the
first place.  Amelia was a free spirit and headstrong.  But he’d be flat out
lying if he tried to say that he’d be okay with her picking the other path that
dangled before her.  He’d rather die, but he knew he wouldn’t stand in her way
either.  If she picked him, it would be because he had earned it, not because
he made her.  He guessed that he really was getting the chance to prove to her
that he wasn’t a big jerk just as he had promised he would.  It just sucked
that proving it might mean stepping back and watching her leave or even letting
her kill him.  Could past lives really change a person that much?  He wasn’t
sure, but he really, really hoped they couldn’t.  He couldn’t imagine the Amelia
of today actually killing him, at least not now after everything they had been
through together.

The psychic flicked her long hair out of
the way, put her elbows on the island, and rested her chin in the palms of her
hands.  A frown spread over her forehead, creating a v-shaped crease between
her eyes.  “But will you make the same mistakes again?”

“No,” he said firmly.  And he knew he
wouldn’t.  You don’t live eight hundred years by making the same mistakes over
and over.

Eric blanched and pushed up with force,
trying to stand, but Mitchell kept him in place.  When he realized his struggle
was useless, he stopped moving and asked nervously, “And me?”

Sally looked at Eric and smiled, just a
small curve of the lips.  “Megan only lives for you in this life,” she said. 
“If she is changed, her other paths will cease to exist.”

“Can you see them now?” Lola asked bluntly,
and sneered.  “Are you sure they are still alive?”  Her voice dripped with
contempt, as if she personally blamed Amelia and Megan for their current
predicament.

Luke shot Lola a look that Mitchell had
never seen him use on her before.  It was hard, cold, and disapproving; it was
the look that Mitchell had been receiving for the last few months.  “Have some
tact, Lola,” he seethed.  “Our family is in danger.  Don’t act like you don’t
care.”

This is bad,
a voice in Mitchell’s head chanted over and over, as he watched Lola squirm
under Luke’s stare and mumble a weak apology.  Lola was outspoken.  She always
had been, and Luke always humored her.  It was just her way of dealing with
stress.  But for Luke to reprimand her publicly … it could only mean one
thing.  He was about to crack.  And a cracked Luke was not something any of
them needed or wanted to see right now.

Sally picked up on the tension that had
fallen upon them and reached across the table, patting Lola’s arm.  “They are
for now.  The figure behind this is playing with them.  I don’t think he’s
ready to end this.”

Mitchell forced himself to take a long
breath.  His fear was hot, and a sickening shiver skidded around his stomach. 
Playing
with them.
  He didn’t want to think about what that could mean, because
when he did, his imagination ran wild with grisly images of torture.  He let
out the breath slowly.  “Why can’t we feel them?” Mitchell asked.

“Because someone is tapping into Amelia’s
energy stream,” Sally said happily, with a dreamy look in her eyes.  She sat
back in her chair and let out a longing sigh.  “They’re using the girls’ power
to mask their connections to you two.  It’s really amazing.  Those cross-breeds
must have a lot of kick to them.  Handling magic from the Caldwell coven is not
easily done.  The power tends to have a mind of its own.”

Mitchell swallowed the snarl that tried to
escape at the thought of someone else using Amelia’s magic against her.  His
shoulders tensed, the muscles under his skin rolled, and it took every bit of
will power he had to stay seated and probe the psychic for more information. 
“And you cannot see who is doing all this?”

“No, not clearly, but I can see that his
motives revolve around you,” she said to Mitchell.

He threw his arms up in exasperation.  “Of
course it does.”  The movement was a mistake.  As soon as his hand left Eric’s
shoulder, he shot up out of his chair.  Mitchell had to wrestle him back to his
chair.

“Eric, you can’t just rush out there.  If
you make a wrong move, it could get them killed,” Luke said, as his eyes
narrowed and his lips formed a thin line.  “We don’t know who or what we’re
dealing with here.”

Mitchell guessed that the old saying held
some truth; karma really was a bitch.  There was a tug-of-war going on inside
him.  One side wanted to start a war and mindlessly kill anyone or anything
that stood in his way of finding Amelia, but the sensible side was fighting for
him
to stand down, listen to logic, and most importantly, to not make a
move until he knew what he was dealing with.

“Um, this may be a dumb question, but why
are we just sitting here?” Angelle asked.  She had been sitting there silently,
her eyes bouncing back and forth between everyone as if she was watching a
Ping-Pong match. “Shouldn’t we be out scouting the area and trying to track
them?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Eric said, which
floored everyone.  He looked around the table, counting them off and mouthing each
number, twice.  “I think we need to talk to Erin.”

“What?” Lola snapped.  “What’s that baby
going to know that we don’t?”

“She’ll know where Tristan is,” Mitchell
said, plucking the answer from Eric as if they shared the same brain, but
really, he had just noticed the same thing Eric had.  Erin wasn’t there.

“Erin left twenty minutes ago,” Sally
offered.

Mitchell gritted his teeth, biting back the
overwhelming urge to snap her neck.  “You heard her leave?” he growled, seeing
nothing but red.  Had he read the witch wrong?  Was she merely meant to be a
distraction?

“No, no.  I didn’t hear her, I saw her,”
Sally said, tapping her finger against the side of her head.  “She needed to go
in order for the pieces to align and to present the next step to us.  Whoever
she ran after is involved with the girls, and Erin loves him against all
reason.”

“Tristan,” Mitchell breathed.  He sucked in
a sharp breath, and his anger ran cold.

“Mitch,” Tyler said.  “Tristan’s a punk. 
He couldn’t really do all this, could he?”  He tried for conviction, but the
way his eyes darted back and forth gave him away.  He was nervous.  “And Erin
hates him.  She wouldn’t run after him.” 

“Can you see where they are being held?” 
Mitchell asked in a barely audible whisper.  He couldn’t answer Tyler’s
question, because the truth was, he knew that Tristan was crazy enough to try.

“No,” Sally said with a wide smile that
made Mitchell’s stomach clench and twist into painful knots.  She glanced at
the ground, searching the marble floor.  “But I can track them.”

It could have been five minutes or five
days.  Amelia wasn’t sure.  Time stood still as she watched the big screen. 
She didn’t want to watch, but despite all efforts to look away, Amelia was
glued to the TV.

Megan was still out cold, and Amelia was
beginning to wonder if it was magic keeping her unconscious.  At first, she had
thought that Megan was already dead, but when she narrowed her eyes and stared
really, really hard, she could just make out the slight rise and fall of her
shoulders with every intake of breath.

Erin had stopped screaming.  She sat
pressed against the bars as far away as she could get from Megan’s hanging
form, her knees pulled firmly to her chest in a ball.  Her blazing eyes were
fixated on the slow drops of blood that fell from Megan’s wrists.  Amelia knew
it was only a matter of time before Erin gave into the hunger.  And the worst
part about it was that Amelia’s brain was telling her this was all okay.  It
was okay that Megan was going to die.  It was fine that Erin would kill her. 
It was for the best, and the sooner it happened, the better life would be.

That doesn’t seem right,
Amelia’s subconscious told her. 
You don’t want Megan to die. 
But
the thought lacked conviction.

A sharp pain pierced the back of her neck
and radiated upwards through her skull.  Amelia pulled at her arm, wanting to
rub the pain away, but the restraints held tight.  The pain didn’t last long
before it began to fade.  Warmth spread through her body, touching her skin
like the sun on a hot summer day.  She closed her eyes, letting the heat soothe
her aching head.  She pulled in a lungful of sweet air and released it slowly,
and the last bit of pain floated out with her breath.

Amelia heard the door open, and she smiled
as a new wave of cotton candy and gumdrops drifted around her.  The door
clicked shut, and the sound of the deadbolt turning probably should have
bothered her, but it didn’t.  She kept her eyes shut, breathing in the sugary,
sweet air around her.

The restraints around her wrists loosened,
and her ankles were suddenly free. 
Josh,
she thought.  Her heart rate
picked up, her stomach fluttered, and she sighed.

That didn’t feel right,
Amelia thought.  Josh wasn’t the person her heart beat for, or the
person that made her skin tingle.  There was someone else.  She was pretty sure
of that.  Someone that she should remember.

“Get up,” a voice hissed in her ear.  The
voice didn’t sound right either.  It was hard, cold, and rough.

Amelia’s eyes snapped open, and the chubby
face that looked down at her sent a slithering chill racing down her spine, and
suddenly she thought she was going to be sick.  Mitchell’s sky blue eyes rushed
back into her head.  His smile, his wavy mess of brown hair, and perfectly
sculpted face.  Those chiseled abs and strong arms.  How could she have even
thought about Josh the same way?